The last thing Anwyn Baldomyre expected to see as he wandered the wooded path meandering like a snake, was a knight kneeling before an oak tree. It put the harper mage in mind of a song he once learned from his old master.

 

The knight who knelt beneath the oak,

A’ waiting for his lady fair,

Was grieved to learn her tragic fate,

For she’d been eaten by a bear...

 

“That’s not exactly a pleasant song,” his harp Glynnanis sang in his head.

 

As Anwyn recalled, the song had been a satirical one. He was about to debate the harp’s accusation, when the knight looked up and his brow furrowed. Creaking like old wood, the man rose to his feet, brandishing a wooden sword.

 

“Come no closer, silver-eyed monster,” the knight said, “lest I be forced to slay you with my steel.”

 

Anwyn blinked. “But I am not a monster, good knight,” he said. “And besides, your sword is made of wood.”

 

The knight hesitated, glancing at his sword. “So it is,” he said, confusion marring his face.

 

“For that matter, so are you,” Anwyn added, wondering which way he should prepare to run. Wood or not, the sword would hurt if the knight chose to put it to use.

 

The knight glanced at his hands and gasped. “Oh, cursed fiend that put us into these trees!  Is this your revenge?”

 

“Us?” Anwyn asked.

 

“The tree behind him,” Glynnanis said. “Look at it.”

 

Anwyn did look and his eyes widened. Within the twist of the wood, he was able to make out a woman’s comely shape. Her arms were stretched over her head and her expression was one of serenity.

 

Is she dead? Anwyn wondered.

 

“No, she lives,” the harp said.

 

Living wood?

 

“No,” Glynnanis replied. “But she is part of the tree, and the tree lives, and so she lives.”

 

“What exactly happened to you,” Anwyn asked.

 

The knight hesitated. “I know not why I should tell my tale to one with silver eyes, for it was one of your kind who put this curse upon us.”

 

“Because if I am to be of any help to you, I must know the how and why of it,” Anwyn said. Probably best not to mention he had never made the sacrifice to be a true mage. All the magic he possessed were his Songs of Power, taught him by Rhystar of Far Reach.

 

“Careful, Anwyn,” Glynnanis said. “This curse feels ancient, and you might not have the power.”

 

I have to try, Anwyn thought. Look at the poor man. He’s drying out, and his face is weathering.

 

The knight looked uncertain, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “My name is Darius, and I was a knight in the castle of Stoneward just to the south of here.”

 

Anwyn nodded. He had passed a castle of mortar and stone traveling from the south. It was in ruins, and clearly had been so for some time.

 

“My life was little more than protecting the master of that place,” Darius continued. “He was a good man, a merchant by trade, but for all his kindness, he was not so wise in matters of money. Apparently, he owed a great debt to another who chose to call it in and would have left him destitute. My master also had a beautiful daughter named Fiona, and I must admit that the first time I laid eyes on her, I fell in love with her. And she told me that she was in love with me. We did tryst on her chamber balcony when her old nurse would slip away for a repast from the kitchen, and there we often declared our devotion to one another. Our love, however, was forced to remain chaste.”

 

There was something in the way Darius spoke of the young woman, Anwyn could not help but sigh. As a harper searching for songs, he often heard tales of love, and they touched his heart.

 

“In order to settle his debt,” Darius continued, “my master informed me Fiona had been promised to another, and one day they sent men to come claim her, and I was ordered to be a part of her escort north to the realm of her husband to be. The trip tore at us, tested our will, and we could no longer stand the thought of being apart, so we slipped away from the entourage and fled into these woods.

 

“What we did not know was that this very forest was the eyes and ears of her future husband. And while we spoke of our passion for one another on this very ground, he came roaring upon us, riding an unnatural beast. He cursed us for our infidelity and told us that since we could not remember our places, he would see that we kept them forever. It was then that he turned us into trees, standing just close enough that our branches could barely touch. He left us here, vowing that Fiona’s father would pay for this insult.”

 

“But you are not in a tree,” Anwyn said.

 

The knight gestured. To one side of the oak where the woman was encased was a second tree, and this one looked as though lightning had struck it and split it apart.

 

“That was my tree until a storm set me free a sen’night ago,” Darius said. “But it did not set her free, and so I wait for the day when lightning strikes her prison. Until then, I will stay here at her side.”

 

But if he was man turned into tree and then set free, why is he still made of wood? Anwyn wondered.

 

­“His curse,”­ Glynnanis suggested. “He became a tree because of magic. He was set free by a fortunate strike of lightning that did not kill his heart wood, but he is still a tree. His transformation was clearly complete. Elsewise, he would not be made of wood.”

 

Would it be possible then to set her free?

 

For a moment, the harp was silent. “Possible,” Glynnanis finally sang, “But the wrong sort of strike could kill the heart wood that she has become and kill her as well. Apart from which, I think they have been trees a long time. After all, that castle to the south had been nothing but ruins.”­

 

Anwyn shook his head. There had to be something he could do.

 

“You could try to heal his tree as you healed the Oak King’s tree,”­ Glynnanis suggested. “Or perhaps, if he could take root again…”

 

Of course, Anwyn thought as he looked at the knight. “I fear there is nothing I can do to set her free that might not cause her death,” he said.

 

The knight’s eyes widened, and his head hung low. The moan he issued was like the bending of wood when wind twisted the boughs of a tree.

 

“Nothing?” Darius said.

 

“I am sorry,” Anwyn said.

 

“But I cannot live without her,” Darius said. “I will die.”

 

Anwyn sighed. His eyes traced over the grain of the wood that made up Darius’ complexion. “I think you need some water,” Anwyn said. “Why don’t you stand next to her—hold her if you wish.”

 

For a moment, Darius looked suspicious, but then he stepped over to his lady and wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. “Do what you must,” he said. “If you cannot set her free, then burn us both and let us die as one.”

 

Anwyn shook his head. “I do not plan to burn you,” he said. “But if you truly love her as you say, then there is one thing I can try to keep you together.”

 

He stepped back from the tree, pulling the cover of Glynnanis’ cerecloth sack over the head of the harp. Then taking a deep breath, Anwyn began singing his Song of Rain. Droplets of water started to fall from the sky. The moisture ran down the lady tree and dampened the knight as well. His wood began to soak up the magic rain like a sponge and swelled so the cracks closed.

 

Then Anwyn switched to the Song of Growing, one that made plants blossom and take root and thrive. As he sang, roots descended from the knight’s feet and wormed their way into the soil. His arms stretched and expanded and lengthened into boughs, wrapping even tighter around her tree. Leaves began to sprout from him as well.

 

Within moments, the knight was gone, and in his place another oak was entwined about the lady oak. She seemed to smile just before the knight tree grew over her.

 

Anwyn ceased his song. Water dribbled down his face as he stepped closer. Sure enough, he could see the knight’s face, lips brushing against the lady trees lips.

 

With a sigh, Anwyn shook off the water and drew back Glynnanis’ cover so the harp could see what he had done.

 

“Together for an eternity,” the harp sang. “That should please them.”

 

Anwyn merely nodded and started wandering past the pair. He would write his own version of the song now. But for the moment, he wanted to see if the sorcerer who did this cruel deed still lived in the forest. “Do you think the sorcerer who did this still lives?”

 

“Let us hope not,” Glynnanis said.

 

“Indeed,” Anwyn said as he went searching for a path north.

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