Chapter Four
It was a different world.
The sky of the forest canopy, was a shifting mass of sun-speckled green, the untold thousands of leaves breaking the light of the sun into hundreds of tiny shafts of golden light. Trees, some of which were thicker than human towers, stood like vast elementals, as if they were pillars of heaven supporting the sky. Damp and musty decaying leaves gave the trees the nourishment they needed to survive with the sparse rainfall that very rarely touched the branch-covered forest floor. The expanse of forest was a realm of murky shadow, with each piece of wood possessing an acute sense of history that clung to its bark.
Jaheira found the forest of Tethir beautiful. No, more than beautiful. To her eyes, it was as if the soul of nature existed within this realm. In the occasional slink of a deer through the thickets, in the sound of birds as they flew to their nests, in the scuttling of beetles underfoot... in all the multitudes of natural wonder, she found contentment, release and happiness.
In any forest, and especially this one, there are islands amidst the sea of murky emerald. Perhaps they are places where lightning might have struck a small section, setting it ablaze. After the conflagration, the light of the sun able to warm unobscured, the ground. Rainfall would clear away the ash and black, and grass would begin to sprout, delicate fairy fingers compared to the brutish strength of the trees. The balancing act of nature, forming glades within the heaven of the trees, for in those glades, the deer would graze. Bluebells would bloom on the edge of the shadows, sparkles of blue. Flowers would erupt joyously in the centre, bathed in the sun that was so rare in the rest of the forest.
It was in those glades, that the elves of Tethir, the forest they called the Wealdath, danced.
Jaheira closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply.
Two years, she had spent beneath the canopies of Tethir, working to restore the Balance of nature. When Nalia had named her Lady of the Forest, some nobles had snickered, but Jaheira did not care for nobles. For this was her kingdom, and she had established her rule over her territory with consummate skill. Oh, the elves now had a legal right to this place, and their rangers wandered it with their graceful skill, but it was Jaheira who governed the land outside the elven city, who knew everything that happened within it, and even the elves in their racial arrogance accepted this was true. Everything in the forest listened to her words, and she listened to everything in the forest, for such was the way of the Balance.
Not many people could understand Jaheira's approach to the Balance, which often had her making actions that Khalid would never have approved of.
For example, when she had first arrived in Tethir, she had hunted the many bands of orcs, hobgoblins and such like, until they were fragments of their former selves. Now though, Jaheira left them alone, to recover slowly, in their dark caves. Nature had created the dark creatures for a reason, and it was not Jaheira's responsibility to destroy beyond any hope of recovery, anything that Nature had formed. The elves would not understand that approach. They saw the creatures as their enemies, and so had tried to continue the hunting. Jaheira had stopped that in its tracks, informing Queen Ellesime that Jaheira would fight the elves if they continued in their path to destroy the few remaining tribes.
Jaheira had not been welcome in the elven city of Suldanessllar since.
In the brush behind her, she heard a rustling of leaves, and she turned, to gaze into the shadows. From the press of tangled branches, slithered a snake, with peculiar blue markings glistening on its scales. The druid smiled, and asked, "Are you lost, brother Mikel?"
The snake hissed once, and with a sinuous wriggle, changed. It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment a snake brushed along the ground, the next, a brown-robed man stood, his face covered in dirt, his long brown hair matted, with twigs and leaves threaded into the stands of hair with strings of animal hair. He carried a staff, and around his neck, a wooden symbol of Silvanus hung. He bowed once, extremely low, "Grand Druid, I bring word from the northern enclave, as to your authority over them."
Jaheira quirked a brow, "Indeed? And what do our brothers and sisters there say?"
For two years, Jaheira had been attempting to unite the druids of the Sword Coast. Chaotic and jumbled, loosely organised and often adhering only to their own principles, it was a difficult task. The first druids she had spoken with had been openly hostile. "You will submerge us into a mire of autonomous rule under your rule!" some said. Others, "How can one person know what is best for an entire region?" Yet those Jaheira had managed to win round. She did not wish to impose rules, but did wish to have all druids gathered under her leadership. That leadership would be open to challenge at any time. And that leadership would be largely inspirational, except in matters that threatened the entire region, in which case a druidmoot would be called, by the Grand Druid who in this instance happened to be Jaheira.
Mikel shrugged, and scratched his chin. It was scraggly with hair. Most druids did not shave, but Mikel shaved more than most. Even so, he did so infrequently, and so his chin was streaked with dark hairs which he was constantly scratching. "They've agreed to come to a moot at nightfall, here in the forest, in the glade by the storm-blasted oak, near the stream by the cave of Glumfist the black bear."
Jaheira nodded. "Have Dendril bring his circle to the glade. I will travel south into Tethyr, to inform the rest."
The northern enclaves, the druidic circles that tended the lands around Candlekeep and the mountains around Nashkel, had been extremely stubborn concerning Jaheira's request. Although the southern enclaves had agreed to abide under Jaheira's nominal leadership as seniormost druid, other druids had named them traitors to the druidic way. If the northern enclavse did not agree to abide under Jaheira's leadership, it could create unrest between druids on a scale not seen before. Quite often, two druids would clash over their individual ideas on what should happen to the land. In that case, a battle of power would commence which was rarely fatal. The winner would decide what would happen. Such was the way of nature.
If the northern enclaves decided to move against the southern enclaves, it would not be just a simple issue of single druids duelling. No, it would be a vast conflict between at least a hundred druids, with actions that would seriously devastate nature. Jaheira sighed. Tonight, she would have to argue well against whatever spokesperson was nominated by the northern enclaves.
As Mikel dissappeared, this time into the form of a blue-tailed falcon, Jaheira nodded. Focusing her mind, she shifted to the shape of a golden eagle. With a parting shriek to the falcon, Jaheira soared upwards, out of the glade, into the open sky, riding the thermals south to Tethyr, where her allies waited for her word to come to a moot. As she flew, she fancied that she felt Nature hold its breath...
That might be arrogance on my part, though, she thought almost apologetically. Nature will recover, whatever happens. It always does.
The silver-blue gaze of Selune's orb bathed the glade in a soft-hued light. The bluebells in particular, seemed to shine with magical energy, even though Jaheira knew it was just a trick of the light. Yet she did have the impression that this night was special. She waited, wearing her own wooden amulet of Silvanus, with her hair tied back into a ponytail and carrying a staff she had crafted last year, with the blessing of Silvanus himself. As she waited, the staff seemed warm to the touch, and she let it rest on the ground, where it almost imperceptibly pulsed, becoming part of the delicate webs of energies that governed the natural world.
Every so often, from the forest around them, a druid would appear, some bearing the symbols of Silvanus, just as she did, others serving Chauntea, Eldath, Mielikki, Gwaerom... all the gods of nature and the forest were represented in the druidic circles, and all had come to see what Jaheira once-of Tethyr had to say about the crisis that had come upon their order.
The hours passed. Although many druids around her were chatting, informally perched on rocks, or stumps of trees, Jaheira stood in silence. Her neck was tense, her eyes fixed on the sky, where she knew her key challenge would come from. Word had reached her just an hour ago, of who the challenger to her authority would be. Phillar the Peregrin. A venerable druid, who had served Silvanus for seventy years, he carried great respect within the druidic world. He would argue against her with great skill.
Speaking suddenly, from the forest, a musical voice swilled through the muted chatter. "The stars indeed are shining on the hour of our meeting, druidess."
Jaheira turned, and was struck with a memory from two years ago, when she had met the same elf guarding the entrance to Suldanessllar. She stared at the elf standing in front of her. He wore green robes with gold trim, of a light silken material. Over those robes, he wore gleaming green chainmail that reached just above his knees. Bracers of green metal clasped the arms of his robes to him, accentuating the paleness of his skin. His long brown hair was braided, and a small band of emerald cloth bound it and kept it from his eyes. Even to Jaheira, he was attractive, his brown eyes filled with a knowledge and mystery that astounded her.
Dimly, she cast about for a name, finding it in ten seconds, "Eldeth?"
His nod confirmed it, and his face lit up into a smile, "The very same, Jaheira. I am delighted that you remember me."
Her heart fluttered again, as it had done so those two years ago, but her will was steel, and she nodded. "I am good with names." She fixed his incredible eyes with an imperious, flinty gaze that used to cow even Imoen and Kathryn. "You are here for the druidmoot, then? I am pleased that the elves wish to be represented, even though many of them refuse to answer any of my calls."
A delighted laugh, typical of the elven sense of whimsy and humour, leaped from his throat, "The People will do what the People will. You of all people should know this." He stepped backwards. "The beautiful Ellesime asked me to tell your brethren this... once all is decided, let there be a dance, to celebrate in the joy the nature can provide. The Queen herself might depart Suldanessllar this night, to dance alongside the druids, who have for centuries guarded the sanctity of these lands, which the elves prize above many things."
Jaheira nodded. "I bid you welcome."
"As do I," a deep-throated, commanding voice intoned.
An expectant hush fell over the gathered druids, and even Eldeth stepped backwards into the treeline, to watch the approach of Phillar. The old druid moved with the grace of a wolf, his stride a smooth, elegant lope. His bear was long and grey, decorated with beads and leaves. He wore a symbol of Silvanus around his neck. He wore fur trousers, but nothing on his torso, which was painted with symbols sacred to his God. His ice-blue eyes fixed Jaheira with a calm gaze, and then he bowed, very low. "Jaheira once-of Tethyr, I bid you greetings, and ask for the blessings of Silvanus upon the glades you guard."
Jaheira nodded, and also bowed low. "Phillar the Peregrin, I return your greetings, and beseech with equal fervous the same blessings. Welcome to the druidsmoot."
The silence continued, and then Phillar spoke, his voice carrying further, shivering with authority, "An ant hive is governed by one queen bee, and he mind allows the ants to live according to specific tasks. Fighter ants guard the hive, worker ants gather food. Nature has a place for the strictest of order. Yet if the queen dies, the hive falls to mindless chaos, and nature's harmony is disrupted."
There was several mutters at that, but Jaheira spoke then, her crystal voice slicing through the half-gathered discord.
"A wolf-pack is governed by laws of tradition, by a strong sense of order. By rite of battle, the wolves decide upon an alpha male who decides which reaches to hunt, which paths to take. The alpha male can be flexible, allowing for adaptation, but even if he is not, another wolf would grow to challenge him. For wolves, the order works, and nature's harmony is kept intact."
Even from some of the northern enclave druids, there were murmurs of agreement.
Phillar started to speak his response, and as Jaheira listened to the subtelty of his arguments, she could easily see why this druid was so respected. His analogies were brilliantly original! It was a tradition, that at the druidmoot, discussions would not take place with the structures of civilisation, with phillosophy and arithmetical logic. No, for discussions of nature by druids, analagous declarations were used, placing the subject up for debate into the context of nature, which is what Phillar had begun, and what Jaheira had continued. The issue at stake was order and leadership, so it was up to Phillar to find instances where such was bad for the Balance, and it was up to Jaheira to find instances where it was beneficial.
Slowly at first, then increasing speed, Jaheira and Phillar exchanges declarations, each one becoming successively more and more complicated. Above them, the moon gleamed bright, and the stars twinkled. Around them, the sounds of the wild creatures in the forest occasionally barking or braying could be heard. It became clear, halfway through the exchange of arguments, that neither Phillar or Jaheira would budge an inch. Yet tradition dictated that they continue to the end, and so they did, Jaheira's high, regal tones rising in sharp counterpart to Phillar's deep voice. Finally, after Jaheira had spoken for the final time, Phillar looked around the glade, his dark eyes fixing each druid in turn. "Shall we ask for our brethren to decide, sister?"
Jaheira nodded. "Of course."
Phillar said, his voice loud, "For constancy, shout nay! For change, shout aye!"
The glade erupted into a loud din of shouting druids, each faction trying to be heard above the others. Jaheira noted that there were a few of her own druids shouting nay, and some of Phillar's shouting aye. Stalemate, thought Jaheira bleakly, and as she glanced at Phillar, and saw a strange, sad little smile brush across his lips, she knew he had seen the same.
She raised her hand, and called, "Silence! The Argument of Example has been unsuccessful. The Argument of Druidic Support has failed. It leaves but one course of action."
It was Phillar who finished, his voice dark with forboding, "The Argument of Strength."
The druids of the two groups gathered in a large circle. Every druid present, had stripped of clothing and gear. It was tradition that in trials of strength, all came, fighting or merely watching, as they had arrived to the world. Few druids had any problem with nudity, but even those that did, would have driven those concerns to one side. In a trial of strength, a holy duel between two druids, all who were gathered had their minds fixed on the bleak outcome that could be ahead of them if there was another stalemate. The future of co-operation between druids in the Sword Coast rested on this battle, due to the intransigency of the two views, one which supported chaos, another which supported order.
Jaheira stood in the centre, her naked form marked with blue paint that glistened in the moonlight. Directly in front of her, Phillar waited with his arms folded. One druid, who possessed a steel razor, extremely rare, had shaved the magnificent beard of the old druid. It was a shame, but Jaheira knew a beard, just like her long hair, was a weakness that he could not afford. For that reason, Jaheira had asked the druid to cut her own hair, and now the auburn locks were shorn close to her scalp.
Another druid who had been named adjudicator, stood between the two, the only druid in the glade who was still able to hold a staff, by tradition.
He looked from Jaheira to Phillar, before asking, "Are the two combatants ready?"
Jaheira answered immediately, "Yes," and her word came at exactly the same moment as Phillar's answer. The adjudicator nodded, and then raised his staff to the night's sky. "Then I dedicate this battle of strength to the Balance, and Nature. Let the idea that will strengthen nature be victorious, according to the will of the gods who guard its beauty!"
And, stepping out of the ring, the adjudicator slammed his staff upon a rock.
The duel began.
Jaheira uttered a prayer immediately, and great strength flowed through her form. Her muscles strengthened. She could sense them tightening and hardening. As soon as she had finished chanting, however, Phillar smirked, and in an instant, rushed towards her. His form changed as he moved, in one fluid, brilliant piece of shapeshifting. He was a wolf, and he slammed into her with a howl of challenge!
Knowing that she had a few seconds to fight back before he held her in a death grip that would end the duel instantly, Jaheira punched at the beast's midriff. Her fighter's instincts were still strong, and, aided by her prayer, the strike was a good one. She heard the wolf yelp, and fall back, jaws snapping with ferocity towards her. Jaheira stepped backwards, chanting as she did so. Immediately, she felt her steps quicken, and this time, when the wolf charged at her, she sidestepped, swinging her fist into its head with precision.
The wolf fell to the floor, and in another instant, Phillar was standing, his eyes considering Jaheira carefully. Slowly, his arms moving towards the sky, he started to chant, his voice echoing throughout the glade. Jaheira began her own prayer, and her eyes were fixed on Phillar's. With a last shout to invoke the powers of nature, she called forward the power of the life-giving sun. From her hands, flared an impossibly bright line of sunlight, which bathed Phillar with a fierce, burning line of fire. Yet her prayer did not prevent his casting, for he finished it the moment before the sunbeam struck. Jaheira felt the wind around them stir, and instantly dropped to her feet, her hands digging into the ground, chanting as she did so.
From the ground, vines erupted, to grip hold of her, grasping at her, preventing her from moving. The wind continued to pick of pace, growing stronger and stronger. What began as a soft moan soon progressed to a shrieking set of howls. The treeline quivered and shook, as a vast whirlwind surrounded Jaheira. Instinctively, Jaheira summoned the power of her prayer, to send five more flashes, sunbeams, against the vaguely visibile shape of Phillar, whose grunts and startled winces of pain told her they were having some effect.
Several small rocks and stones, whipped up into a frenzy by the icy whirlwind which was biting cruelly at her naked skin, struck her viciously. Her stomach was sliced with fiery pain, and one hard strike at her head made her fall deeper into the clutch of the entangling vines she herself had summoned. As the whirlwind grabbed at her with incredible force, she was glad for her unorthodox tactics. A whirlwind was a potent spell indeed, and had she been standing without protection, she would be helpless within the cyclone. As it was, she had used a spell most druids used against their opponents to root herself within the strong vines.
The whirlwind died down, as the minutes passed, and Jaheira mentally commanded the vines to release her. As visibility was restored, she saw Phillar with smouldering burn-marks all over his skin. His eyes widened as he saw her standing there, but she knew he had done enough damage with the whirlwind. She was bleeding from one nasty cut on her forehead, and the back of one knee was in pain. Elsewhere, her skin was scarred with lines of crimson blood.
Breathing heavily, she, started to chant loudly, gesturing once. From the ground, erupted several ants. Fixing her gaze on them, she began another prayer, and watched as they enlarged rapidly in size. At her mental command, the ants rushed towards Phillar, who shrugged, as if entirely unconcerned. He rushed towards them, and Jaheira blinked, only once, as she saw him assume the form of a wolfwere. A sleek, grey-haired, almost beautiful creature, he easily knocked aside the six giant ants. The ants twitched once, and then the magic that sustained their giant forms faded, leaving six bewildered ants crawling through the grass.
The calm gaze of the wolfwere gaze quietly at Jaheira, for ten seconds or so, and then with quicksilver speed, he was rushing at her.
Jaheira formed an image in her mind of the constancy of the solid earth, of the armoured elemental, of the rumbling earth powers. Focusing her mind, she allowed her self to flow into that form, and there were several gasps as she assumed the shape of a massive earth elemental. The wolfwere did not, however, slow, or withdraw.
The earth elemental raised its head to the night, and bellowed, the sound forcing many of the druids that were present, to clap their hands over their ears. The wolfwere howled, a shrill, ululating cry that sounded like bewitched music floating in the air. Then, the two slammed into each other. Although the strikes of the earth elemental were hard and powerful, the scratches of the wolfwere were swift and precise. Grey and earthy brown writhed against each other, their forms locked into combat, eyes hard and fierce.
For an hour, they thought, the wolfwere bleeding heavily, the earth elemental having lost many chunks of its form. After another five minutes, both forms flickered, and Jaheira and Phillar were now fighting, their pale, blue-painted skin thrashing on the ground, prayers and shapeshifting forgotten as the two druids locked themself in primal fighting. Jaheira's hands found their way to Phillar's throat, but he snapped her wrists back and kicked at her midriff. Although she punched his stomach and left him gasping, his kick at her head left her reeling.
Panting heavily now, her sweat obscuring the symbols painted upon her, Jaheira struck again towards Phillar, though she did so weakly. With a pained grunt, as if exhausted, Phillar blocked the blow. Just as he was about to attack again, a solemn, incredibly loud voice shrugged through the air. It spoke with an astounding vibrancy, that rattled Jaheira's teeth and seemed to set the earth to shivering: Enough. You are both strong children, and your fighting could go on for days, had you bodies that could match the strength of your souls.
Jaheira gasped, as she felt the power of a god, her god, wash over her. She fell to her knees, as did Phillar. Tears streamed down her face, and she saw the druids of the forest kneel down as well, even those who served Chauntea and the other gods. For a long moment, there was a stark, utter silence, then: I will tell you of my decision, and all druids in the Sword Coast will abide by it. My brothers and sisters in the heavens have empowered me to speak for them. There will be a Grand Druid, ruler over all the druids of this region. Elsewhere, there will be other Grand Druids. Each Grand Druid will oversee a large area, and will give guidance to each enclave or individual. That guidance can be ignored, but only with good reason. A Grand Druid must be flexible, and at every druidmoot the Grand Druid will duel to prove their worth. A symmetry of order and chaos will be reached. Is this understood, my brethren?
Around the glade, a resounding "Aye" rose from the lips of every druid.
Furthermore, let it be known, that my servant Jaheira will not be the one to lead you as Grand Druid any longer.
Jaheira bowed her head, though his words, pronouncing that he judged her inadequate, rocked her to the core. She felt shamed, sickened by her own failure. She heard the murmurs of the druids, who were astounded to here him pronounce his displeasure.
I give you your new Grand Druid, Phillar the Peregrin.
The old man, his eyes looking sympathetically towards the silent, but tearful-eyed Jaheira, bowed to the air. Jaheira found it difficult to see through her swimming vision, but she did not let herself cry. She fixed her gaze upon the distant orb of Selune, and watched as a crown of leaves was placed upon Phillar's head. Even though her dreams of a united order were fulfilled, she felt like all her victory had been transformed into bitter dust.