The Forest of Peldain

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“We come to the moment of truth, my lord,” an acid voice said at Vorduthe’s elbow.

Lord Vorduthe leaned against the ship’s balustrade, staring across half a mile of water to the shore. The Forest of Peldain grew right down to the edge of the tideless sea, sending green tendrils trailing out into the sparkling blue. The scene was a deceptively quiet and pleasant one. But beyond the first rank of curiously curved and sinuous trunks Vorduthe fancied he detected a flurry among peculiar verdant growths whose structures were hard to make out at this distance.

He shuddered, and turned his gaze to the other nineteen ships riding with sails reefed, their decks crammed with engines, tackle and armored men waiting for his signal. All eyes were on the forest, either with trepidation, with chafing enthusiasm, or in the case of the sailors, with the anxious hope that the landing could be effected quickly and the ships stood off out of harm’s way, or else returned to Arelia.

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