“My people—our people now—are afraid of dogs, you know, all but the shepherds’ dogs. My uncle used dogs to scare them and hurt them as well as for hunting, so I haven’t brought any in. Kieri didn’t use them in the Company. Would you like a dog, Beclan?”

“I don’t know, my lord. Hunter was so special…”

“What about horses?” He said nothing, and Dorrin went on. “If you have never had a feel for plants, I was wondering about animals … a dog, a horse, anything that would help you make that connection to the taig.”

“I thought the taig was all about trees.”

“Hmmm. I should have had you talk to the Kuakkgani while we were in Chaya. If I can find Ashwind, I may ask him to come and instruct both of us. My understanding is that the taig is formed of all living things.”

“My lord Duke!” That was one of the King’s Squires Kieri had sent to guide them through the forest. “We could spend the night in a ranger shelter if it please you.”

Dorrin nodded. “It does. The queen told me about Verrakaien brigands who’d been killed, and my king would like to know which of the attainted they were. Will rangers be at the shelter?”

“Yes, we expect to meet some there,” the Squire said.

The next morning, before resuming their journey west, she and Beclan followed one of the rangers to the grave site, but the ranger’s description of those killed did not give her enough information to identify them for certain. The grave was covered with a dense growth of a vine she did not recognize.

“We planted that,” the ranger said. “It is good for such places, where evil is buried. Its roots hold fast, and it devours without being tainted. Later it will die, and by its death we will know any evil has been cleansed.”

“I am sorry my kinsmen caused you such trouble,” Dorrin said, “but glad you have taken precautions with their remains.”

When they reached the border; their Lyonyan escort turned back. Dorrin and Beclan rode on with only the two Verrakaien militia. The spring sun, the fresh scents of the forest, raised Dorrin’s spirits, and she saw that Beclan was taking an interest as well. After a glass or so, Dorrin felt the taig weakening. “Something’s wrong here,” she said.

“It feels … sad,” Beclan said. “If I’m feeling what I think I’m feeling.”

The feeling worsened as they rode on, and then they saw the first deformed tree. Only half the limbs had leafed out; the branches and trunk had lost bark. Others stood beyond, grotesque parodies of healthy trees. Under them grew only a few twisted shrubs and stunted flowers, the blooms pale and already wilting.