THE TALKING FOREST

The dwarf Durand had a serious problem. He, considered the most cunning of his tribe, had fallen into the hands of a human. And in his own home, at that!

Durand had inhabited the Dark Forest back in the days when the magician Merlin tramped through it with his shambling gait. Durand had spoken to the human several times then, of his own free will, though, as befits a true dwarf, he held no particular fondness for humans. Fortunately, they didn't visit the Dwarf's Ravine very often, and lately, practically never. Under a few rotten roots, Durand had made himself a comfortable burrow, which he was very reluctant to leave. He practically only did so during periods of mating—once every half-century or so, when his unbridled lust drove him to sneak up on human dwellings and commit mad mischief, thereby becoming impregnated, only to emerge a dwarf child in less than a week. Durand's ingenuity in provoking outbursts of human anger became legendary among the dwarves. He would skillfully demolish a peasant's cottage, or season the entire family with belladonna soup for them, who would later writhe in terrible agony on his tiny eyes. Sometimes he would saw off the spans of a wooden bridge as a cart laden with harvested grain passed by, thus ingenuously destroying the fruit of a year's work. People usually knew perfectly well who was to blame for their sudden outbursts, and in helpless anger, they would threaten the treetops where the malicious dwarf was hiding, eliciting cries of delight from him.

However, Durand had long since ceased his expeditions, claiming he had left enough offspring. From that moment on, his contacts with humans ceased completely. Moreover, Durand rarely met even other dwarves. The only creature he'd been in contact with recently was a young whirligig that had taken up residence in a nearby stream. Durand stumbled upon it one morning by pure chance. Like every dwarf, Durand took great care of his appearance. Every day, he combed his long beard into elaborate folds and dotted his prominent, bulbous nose with appropriately saturated pimples. It was during these activities that he was surprised by the whirligig, which attempted to seize him with its long tentacles and then drag him underwater. The dwarf then gave the young changeling a sound beating, which was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. It was the whirligig who kept him updated on the latest events in Stary Bor and its surroundings.

Today, Durand also left his cozy, damp burrow and slowly clambered out from under a twisted root. At that moment, his magnificent, pustular nose failed him completely. True, he did smell a strange odor, but it had been so long since he last encountered a human that he didn't recognize it. Suddenly, a huge figure leaped out of a clump of wolfberry bushes. It threw a hemp net over him and with remarkable skill bound the stocky dwarf so that he couldn't move a single part of his body. Having thus bound the creature, the man perched on a stump and looked mockingly at the dwarf, tugging at the barely visible stubble on his beard.

"And what, my lord?" he laughed triumphantly. "There are still people cleverer than you!"

The dwarf remained silent, pretending not to understand the human language.

"What's that, my lord?" The man stood up and stretched vigorously, his powerful arms creaking. "Have you forgotten your tongue? Or are those strings too tight?"

At these words, Durand stirred abruptly.

"So," the giant laughed, "you do understand human speech! Good! I haven't had the opportunity to open my mouth to anyone for two days, so now I'll indulge myself."

The man sat down on the tree stump again, and Durand continued to mentally curse his carelessness, pondering ways to free himself. For now, however, nothing came to mind.

"What, master elf?" the giant raised his hand. "I am Isaac Hayes, brother and knight of the Order of the Guardians of the Temple!"

The knight paused, and, eyeing the changeling carefully, said after a moment:

"These names probably mean nothing to you. You sit here in your quiet forest corner and you won't even stick your beautiful nose out!

" "Leave my nose alone!" " snapped the dwarf, deeply moved, who hated any criticism of his most magnificent adornment. Isaac silently thanked his teacher, Master Anselm, for not limiting himself to purely bookish knowledge.

"You can speak too, my lord dwarf!" the Templar stated cheerfully.

"My name is Durand!" the dwarf sighed heavily, as further silence made no sense. "What do you want to do with me, human? Will you take me like the unfortunate Belmond to the Monk's Keep?" he asked anxiously.

"Don't worry!" the knight reassured him. "I intend to release you if you only agree to answer a few of my questions and swear on your beard not to pursue me with your malice.

" "Agreed!" the dwarf shouted without hesitation. "Ask!

" "Easy, dwarf! We'll make it! My questions won't be too extensive."

"Ask!" the dwarf croaked impatiently.

"You've probably lived in this forest long enough to know all its secrets. I want to reach the Great Circle of the Grail! What do you know of this place?

" "I don't particularly care what happens beyond the Dwarf's Hollow!" Durand huffed, the spots on his nose turning visibly red. "But I happen to know this place, having been there more than once."

At that moment, the dwarf, if possible, adjusted his position, rolled onto his other side, and continued:

"If I notice correctly, you are not a Celt, much less a druid. You know, sir, that this is a forbidden place for anyone who is not a Celtic druid. There, since time immemorial, beyond even my dwarven memory, the leaders of the local clans have met there to discuss the most important matters. It's true that I'm not particularly interested in human affairs, but my friend the wij claims that such a meeting is about to take place!"

The Templar nodded. He knew perfectly well about the Great Council. That was one of the reasons he had rushed to this place. The dwarf was scowling at him.

"I see, Knight of the Temple," Durand said, "that you know this as well as I do. I thought so!" he said, seeing Isaac's affirmative gesture. "So what more do you want?

" "In this circle, the druids used to hide their deepest secrets. Have you heard anything about the Key of Valor?" the Templar asked tensely.

"I have never heard of any Key of Valor!" Durand replied quickly. "But perhaps the druids also keep it there. And there, most certainly, is the dreaded Knar—the King of Trees, whose snake breath kills—kept in a magical ring. The great Merlin himself placed him in the circle. To gain his favor during the Great Council, the Celts offer him a bloody sacrifice of a stranger, whom they trick into coming to the place. Be careful, human, that such a fate does not befall you," Durand laughed hoarsely.

"There is only one death!" Hayes remarked philosophically. "Show me the way to that place!

" "You must stick to the Green Path!" the dwarf began dully. "You will go along the Running Stream, watching out for werewolves. They are quite repulsive creatures!" Durand clicked his large tongue as if hinting at the danger this encounter would pose to the knight. "When you see three large oaks, turn south and thus reach the Great Glade. There you will find the Ghostcatcher's Cage. Dealing with the Ghostcatcher is not easy, and only a truly wise man will survive. Whoever guesses the Ghostcatcher's riddle will not fall into his pot!" Durand suddenly spoke in verse, but the Templar had already grasped the meaning of the dwarf's speech. – Once you’ve escaped the Ghostcatcher’s clutches, you’ll easily find your way to the Druid village, where you’ll find the secret Grail Circle in the center, though it’s probably better for you, human, if you didn’t find it – he concluded.

"Is that all?" Isaac asked uncertainly.

The dwarf quickly nodded, indicating there was nothing more to add.

A few moments later, Isaac Hayes, whistling carelessly, was walking confidently along a small stream. Durand, freed from his bonds but still in pain, watched him go with a reluctant gaze. A moment later, he quickly leaped under a twisted root, eager to forget the unpleasant incident.

The forest was dense, full of long-fallen tree trunks interspersed with sprawling clumps of euphorbia, among which small animals flitted, and occasionally the shadow of a royal stag or a chomping boar could be seen. The thicket was slightly visible just above the thin trickle of the stream, and it was through this that Isaac Hayes made his way, careful not to encounter the tentacles of the centipede, which he knew had its lodge nearby. This didn't particularly disturb his thoughts. Almost two days had passed since he'd quietly left Jarvis. He wondered if Sheriff Meilyr Gwent had decided to pursue him, and if he himself had gone to the Great Council. He was also deeply concerned about the fate of his young squire, Nabil, who had become entangled with a group of Celtic pilgrims and ventured deep into the Darkwood. Truth be told, he feared Durand's words about the stranger being lured into sacrifice might refer to him. However, the search for the enigmatic Key of Valor had proved far more dangerous than it had initially seemed. The search for the keywords that would lead him to success was over. Now it was time for action, and Isaac felt that the clues he had found in Jarvis were pointing in the right direction.

The templar's thoughts were interrupted in a manner as abrupt as it was dangerous. Lost in thought, Isaac completely forgot the dwarf's warnings. He didn't notice the strange bluish flowers, which, as if listening to his footsteps, were creeping ever closer to the path. The moment the knight stepped between them, the flowers suddenly shot out long red tongues from their bases. Isaac felt a sharp burning sensation that turned his legs into two limp logs. Out of the corner of his eye, the templar saw an almost human shape slowly rising from the marshy ground. Fitwak was already certain of his prey. He hadn't had the opportunity to devour humans in a long time, and now he savored the fear he felt in the air. Hayes, however, had already gathered himself and wasn't about to give up so easily. His strong hands began to tear away the snakes of red tongues clinging to his legs, which, when thrown away, writhed like pieces of a reptile. Fitwak became alarmed. Could it be that its victim was trying to escape the murderous grip of its paralyzers? The fitwerk shuffled faster toward the struggling Templar. He now intended to use his most dangerous weapon. He held out his enormous abdomen, resembling a huge, unfurled pine cone, with millions of winged spores visible inside. He intended to fire them at the victim in a moment, transforming it into a living cocoon, within which, for the next few weeks, the spores would prepare a generous portion of delicious, half-digested food. There was no way to resist the fitwerk's attack, and Isaac knew perfectly well that at any moment he might end up as a delicacy for the changeling. At this point, he had a one-in-a-thousand chance to escape the monster's tentacles. First, however, he had to regain his freedom of movement. With a final effort of will, he yanked out the two remaining tongues with a powerful jerk and, with a howl of pain, forced his legs to obey. He managed to move a little away from the shambling monster, though its abdomen still gleamed dangerously close. It was enough, however, to yank his sword from its sheath and reach for the horn knife tucked into his belt with his other hand. Now armed, somewhat calmer, yet swaying on aching legs, he waited for the were-fitter's attack. Its small greenish eyes surveyed the knight, searching for the most suitable spot to insert its abdomen's blade. It leaned back as it did so, exposing the side of a pine-like growth. Isaac decided to look for his opportunity. He hadn't heard of anyone successfully piercing a were-fitter's abdomen, but it connected to the monster's body via a ring-shaped muscle, which, by its very nature, had to be devoid of chitinous armor. At that moment, the Templar did something that completely surprised the monster. Instead of continuing to flee, Isaac suddenly charged at it, sword raised, and as it tried to block the blow with its armored arm, it brought the angular blade of its knife down on the knotted muscle. A terrifying screech sounded, and its abdomen fell with a loud smack into the mud.bleeding greenish ichor. The 'fitwak', badly maimed, had lost all will to continue the fight after losing its most dangerous weapon. Like a wounded bear, clutching a bleeding wound, it dove into the muddy goo. A moment later, only a few bubbling bubbles marked the spot where it had vanished. Isaac breathed a sigh of relief. He had miraculously escaped death. Truth be told, he was indeed very lucky. He approached the cone-shaped abdomen to take a closer look. The abdomen still pulsated with a bloody glow, but most of the spores had already died. They resembled maple seeds searching for suitable soil. The chitinous, transparent coating was a true impenetrable barrier, and more than one sword would likely have met its end.

"I didn't think you could handle this monstrous creature, sir!"

Isaac jumped in surprise. The voice came from the nearby bushes, from which a shaggy head with piercing eyes peeked out, shooting quick flashes at the knight.

"Forgive me, Sir Isaac!" The head suddenly emerged from the bushes, dragging the bulky frame behind it.

The man was dressed in the coat typical of Welsh peasants, and the Templar had the distinct impression that he knew this little man, whose pockmarked face was all too evident.

"Forgive me, eminent sir!" he repeated. "Don't you recognize me? It's I, Abbot Noah's servant! Harry!" The little man approached cautiously, as if afraid the knight might not want to hear him, but Hayes already recognized him.

"What are you doing in this wilderness, Harry?" "Are you following me? " the Templar asked in surprise, feverishly recalling everything he knew about the man.

He was indeed the hand of the previous abbot of Jarvis, but—Isaac wondered—Noah is dead.

"I'm following you, venerable sir!" the servant admitted rather brusquely.

"So you're following me?" the Templar was surprised again, simultaneously scolding himself for not being vigilant enough.

"Yes, sir!" the little man bowed, sweeping the surrounding bushes with his matted hair. "I've been following you since Jarvis!

" "I must admit, you've managed to wander far like that!" Isaac's voice held a certain disbelief. "If I remember correctly, I met you in London. You didn't seem like the sort of man who could handle tracking there.

" "But I'm from here, sir!" Harry said indignantly. "I was raised in the forest, and if I wanted to, even the best eyes wouldn't spot me in the thicket." It was in the city that I felt like a stranger!

"I must admit, I thought I was a more vigilant tracker!" Hayes laughed. "Well, I guess I owe you an explanation."

"Of course, venerable knight!" Harry's sly eyes twinkled with amusement. "You probably remember, sir, that I served Abbot Noah. He was a good lord. A just one!" Harry quickly wiped away a tear that suddenly glistened on his cheek. "About a year ago, when we returned from the court of His Majesty King Edward, strange things began to happen in Jarvis. Very strange new brothers appeared in the monastery, whom my abbot reluctantly accepted into the order, having received such orders from the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. One of the new brothers was that accursed Winkelried, who from the very beginning began to undermine Abbot Noah's authority and create a clique hostile to him. Soon, practically all we could count on was old Brendan, the librarian. What's more, Winkelried had allied himself with the Sheriff of Gwent, and together they began conducting strange business deals. It was even rumored that they had brought apostates into the forest. My abbot tried to prevent this, not wanting the place sacred to our Saint Bede to be defiled by unclean creatures. He even wanted to call a Council of the Great Clans, as he had the right to do as Abbot of Jarvis. And then that accident happened…

"I heard," the Templar interjected, "that Abbot Noah accidentally fell off a ladder!"

"Perhaps accidentally," Harry laughed bitterly. "Someone helped him out a lot! I saw that ladder. Someone worked hard on it to make sure it broke when it needed to. Immediately, a letter from the bishop appeared, appointing Winkelried as the new abbot. Astonishing! Isn't that right, sir?

" "So you think Abbot Noah was murdered?" Isaac wondered.

"Yes, sir!" the servant responded quickly. "I know you liked my master. You have no idea, sir, how happy I was when I saw you at the abbey." I immediately thought that with your help, I could surely avenge my abbot. And when I saw what you had done at the inn with that strange man, I decided it would be best to follow you, to be of assistance if necessary. However, before I could follow you, sir, I saw a strange cavalcade heading down the Old Road towards the Dark Forest. At its head, riding proudly on a gray steed, were Abbot Winkelried, and behind him were two powerful Dominicans pulling a pony with a strange-looking pack. I immediately thought that my paths and the abbot's would cross sooner or later. And I followed you, sir. Even after you left your steed behind—very rightly so, in fact—your trail was clear enough for me not to lose you. I don't know how you learned about the Dwarf's Hollow, but it was very clever of you. Capturing a dwarf and getting him to talk is no small feat.

"Why did you decide to reveal yourself?" the Templar suddenly interrupted Harry's argument.

"Forgive me, sir!" the young servant smiled faintly. "This adventure with the were-cat has made me realize that, although you're coping surprisingly well, you've reached a place where it's better to have a guide. The Dark Forest, which we'll soon enter, isn't one to navigate without the proper knowledge. I absorbed that knowledge with my mother's milk. Without me, sir, you'll never reach the Great Stone Circle!" the servant smiled slyly at the knight, who nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, Harry, lead the way!" the Templar pointed, wondering at the same time if this unexpected and unsolicited help would prove fruitful.

They delved back into the forest. Harry led them slightly away from the luminous stream, though Isaac's acutely sensitive nose still caught the pure scent of the forest stream. The henchman attributed this distance to the possibility of a second attack from werewolves and werewolves. The Templar knew that there, in turn, they were threatened by light elves, who suddenly swooped down upon their prey, hanging like bats from enormous trees. However, he decided that, at least for now, he would give the young henchman the benefit of the doubt. And he had to admit, the young man was at home in the forest. From a distance, Harry seemed rather heavy, but he moved among the trees with the grace of a forest animal. Isaac, relieved by his young guide of guarding the trail, could now better survey the surroundings. The Dark Forest was truly virgin territory. The only trails leading through it were trampled by herds of deer and wild boar. But the most magnificent thing about the Dark Forest were the trees—huge oaks, black, shady beeches, and even the occasional ancient larch. Some of them probably still remembered the wars waged against Roman legionaries by the savage Picts, who—the only people—were not afraid to live among the trees. The small, dwarf Picts left behind many secret and cursed places, where to this day some Celtic clans performed forbidden rites in honor of the Dead God. Isaac hoped that, because of the convocation of the Great Council of Elders, no one would think of reviving these ancient customs. When asked about them, Harry was visibly embarrassed, and only after a moment did he reply with a slightly trembling voice:

"It is not pleasant for a Celt to speak of things that are shameful to many clans. If you will allow me, my lord, I will remain silent about these shameful practices!"

The Templar silently agreed, and the young servant quickly added:

"However, my lord, you need not worry about that." The clan elders have issued a blanket ban on entry into the Inner Circle for anyone who does not participate in the council and its ceremonies. No one will risk the Balor's Curse!

Isaac was tempted to ask about the mysterious Balor, about whom he had found information in the hermetic "History of the Britons," secretly shared with him by the distinguished librarian from Jarvis. At the last moment, however, he refrained, deciding he would find an even more opportune moment. The young guide suddenly stopped, gesturing for the knight to do the same.

"Hush, sir!" he whispered in the Templar's ear. "Some men ahead! Behind that clump of trees!" He pointed to a cluster of dark beeches. "We'd better hide under that rotten trunk!"

They quickly dodged to the side, where a huge trunk, hollowed out by large black ants, once a proud larch tree, lay. In its shadow, they waited for their unexpected guests, and Isaac marveled at the young Celt's keen senses. He himself only noticed them when the group of riders emerged from the clump of beeches. There were four riders. Watching them, Isaac understood why the idea of ​​leaving their horse behind had proved so fortunate. Anyone who wanted to slip through the forest unnoticed couldn't do so on horseback. The crackling of dry branches, of which there were plenty scattered among the undergrowth, could be heard far away. It was impossible to avoid it on horseback. The lack of any paved trails, the tangle of small bushes and fallen tree trunks also posed significant difficulties. This was evident in the approaching horsemen, who struggled toward them with incredible difficulty, showing little concern for undetectedness. At the head rode a powerful knight with a black beard tied in elaborate knots. Isaac recognized him immediately. This was the same rowdy giant who had tried to provoke a fight with several Celts in Jarvis. Behind him rode two bearded men similar to him, and the procession was brought up by a scrawny servant with a monstrously large axe. The giant at the head of the group swore loudly with every step of his gigantic steed. Some of the words soon became completely understandable to Isaac's ears.

"Those damned tree-loving cronies will regret this!" the bearded man added a few inarticulate curses. "How could these goat outcasts drive me out, a descendant of Celtic kings? Their dog clans reek of manure and goat droppings!"

He erupted in insults again, and the Templar feared that this outburst of anger would lead to the accidental discovery of their temporary hideout, for the enraged giant, as if to bolster his spirit, pounded a rotten larch trunk with his powerful fist, nearly punching a hole in it. Fortunately for Isaac and his companion, one of the riders addressed the bearded man:

"And what does the noble Meilyr say to this?"

"That dog didn't say a word!" "The bearded man yelled. "The distinguished sheriff seems to have forgotten who he should be supporting in all this. It's good that Winkelried realized it so quickly. He'll give them a bean before they know it!" he laughed hoarsely.

"Has the Reverend Abbot himself set off for the Dark Forest?" the second rider interjected.

"Yes, brother! We will join him when the time is right! And then neither the Stone Circle nor those Druid tramps will protect them!" the giant rasped in impotent rage, and, thrashing the unfortunate horse he was riding, he roared, "Get your horses, brothers! Let's make haste!"

With that shout, he charged headlong across the small clearing that had opened before them. For a long moment, the sounds of their maddening riding could be heard, slowly drowned out by the music of the forest.

"They ride as if the Fiend were chasing them!" Harry laughed, scrambling from under the tree trunk. "It's that renegade Mervyn!" he added, looking intently at the knight.

Isaac was in no mood for conversation.

"The Great Council has already begun!" "But he said after a moment.

The young guide nodded his shaggy head.

"That's good for us, sir! It means no one should disturb us as we continue our march. We're less than a day's journey from the Great Circle. Unless, of course, something unforeseen happens," he added immediately.

"Let's go then!" the Templar commanded, pushing the young man rather unceremoniously.

The forest was getting denser. They were clearly entering the heart of an ancient forest, where for centuries only trees had reigned. Harry was walking extremely slowly now, mindful of every step. The knight tried to follow his footsteps exactly. Suddenly, he noticed some strange-looking trees that seemed to bow to them. Harry turned and, pointing at them, said quietly,

"You see, sir! These are volatile swamps. Whoever enters them will perish forever. If you had continued along the stream, you would surely have gotten stuck in them!"

The young Celt now pointed to the thicket stretching before them:

"Watch out for the branches, ladies. We're entering the Elven Grove now."

Isaac glanced up anxiously. The tangle of branches above them was so vast that he could practically not see the sky. And the templar had no desire to meet a bloodsucking elf. Elves were nonexistent outside the ancient forests, and Isaac had previously considered them mere legends to fill empty evenings. However, ever since he had crossed the barrier of the Dark Forest, he had believed every fairy tale he'd ever been told, and now he stared ahead until his eyes ached, hoping to spot the luminous creatures early enough. From that point on, the march became even more difficult. Isaac kept tripping over roots and fallen branches emerging from the ground, but he kept his eyes focused on the upper reaches of the forest. Fortunately for both travelers, they encountered no elves. Either they were disturbed by the unusual commotion in the forest and hid in some of its nooks and crannies, or they were really just a figment of imagination.

They came across the Ghostcatcher quite unexpectedly. He was lying under a spreading, mossy oak, humming merrily to himself. He didn't look like a Ghostcatcher at all. More like a plump peasant, extremely pleased with the day that was just ending.

"Good morning, travelers!" he greeted them with a hearty laugh. "We so rarely see guests here! Sit down next to me, esteemed travelers!" The Ghostcatcher hospitably pushed forward two massive logs, after roughly clearing them of moss and leaves.

"Let's go, sir!" whispered Harry. "You don't refuse a Ghostcatcher!"

They sat down. The Ghostcatcher pulled up his plaid kilt and, with a sigh, settled back even more comfortably, observing his guests carefully.

"I like to know who I'm dealing with!" The ghostcatcher tensed expectantly, and Isaac felt an overwhelming urge to immediately respond to his kind host.

"I am a knight of the Order of the Temple, commonly known as the Templar Order. My name is Isaac Hayes. I journey with my companion to the Great Stone Circle of the Grail, where I hope to find an object called the Key of Valor. I also fear for my squire, who has secretly journeyed to this place." Isaac paused, and only then did he realize that for no apparent reason he had revealed his most intimate secrets to this barrel-bellied man, secrets he would not otherwise have revealed even under the most elaborate tortures.

The ghostcatcher smiled discreetly beneath his bushy mustache.

"You say, traveler, that you are some kind of Templar," the ghostcatcher scratched his hair, which was covered in dry leaves. "I have never heard that name before. You have an extremely difficult task ahead of you." Before you lies the Lord of the Trees, in whose power lies the Key of Courage. However, I sense your intentions are pure. My cage will not become your dwelling, though I would gladly listen to the long tales you would regale me with on rainy autumn evenings. Your path, however, leads you to places even I cannot see with my mind's eye." A thoughtful expression appeared on the Ghostcatcher's thick forehead, but it was clear that the fat man did not like to deprive his belly of activity for too long.

He laughed loudly again, and his enormous belly rippled with joy.

"What will be, will be! The most important thing is that your soul, wanderer, has not yet had time to become tainted by the filth of the world. That is truly rare!"

The Ghostcatcher now turned to the young Celt and carefully peered beneath his thick locks. A moment later, as if satisfied with the result of his examination, he said curtly,

"I have nothing to discuss with you, young man! A difficult choice awaits you, but I will not be able to help you with it." Just remember that the well-being of the trees comes first!

Ghostcatcher rose from his perch and began to pace, nodding his hairy head heavily. He muttered something softly, then said louder:

"The forest is full of footsteps. This hasn't been seen in Stary Bor since the days of the men in the great crests."

It took Isaac a moment to realize that the Ghostcatcher had simply used this strange term to refer to Roman legionaries, but he continued:

"We, the old inhabitants of the forest, are concerned about this sudden interest in the Dark Forest. Worst of all, the tree-destroyers have also arrived here, their peace disturbed. The Lord of the Trees has awakened!" the Ghostcatcher roared hollowly. "His wrath will shake the forest!"

Suddenly the fat man jumped up and, twitching his large, damaged ear, yelled:

"You must leave now, travelers! I hear strange sounds coming from the heart of the forest. I hear the voice of the Dead God! Go!"

The two travelers rose, and the fat Ghostcatcher, as if urging them on, urged them on with quick movements of his arms. Before he entered the thicket, Isaac glanced back. The Ghostcatcher stood, swaying like a mighty bear, waving his huge hand.

"Remember when old Oak Tom!" The Ghostcatcher's voice was lost in the thicket of trees.

The Templar felt at that moment as if he had just emerged from a bathhouse. This time, Harry moved quickly through the forest, urging Isaac on with his gestures. Isaac, surprised, didn't ask any questions, though questions were beginning to well up in his mind.

The forest was already slowly growing dark. The day was drawing to a close, and darkness was falling incredibly quickly in the forest's depths. Soon the deer path disappeared from their sight, and only their hyper-sensitive senses allowed them to continue their journey. Once or twice in the distance, they heard the sudden flapping of wings, drawing dangerously close. Suddenly, the knight felt soft, warm fur brush against his skin. Some animal, probably a deer, had almost run over him! But the guide clearly had no mercy for his protégé. Only around midnight, when they had traveled a good few furlongs from the Ghostcatcher's clearing, did Harry suddenly stop and order a rest. There was truly no point in reaching the Stone Circle—where the real dangers would await them—extremely exhausted. The night was quite cold, but a quick meal of flatbread and dried meat, occasionally snacked on broad beans, warmed them somewhat. They settled down in the shade of a few larch trees, which formed a sort of hoop around them, allowing them to feel relatively safe.

Isaac pulled his cloak tighter around him and, for the first time that day, allowed his muscles to relax. He looked at the young Celt, whose silhouette he could see against the massive tree he was leaning against. This young man, seemingly incompetent, surprised him more and more.

"Tell me, Harry," the Templar began. "We encountered a ghostcatcher today... Everything I've heard about these creatures was terrifying. Even the dwarf Durand warned me about the dreaded ghostcatcher. Meanwhile, Oak Tom seemed like a kindly, fat man who loved to laugh. Something's not right here!" Hayes wondered.

"You see, sir!" Isaac detected a certain hesitation in Harry's voice. "You haven't seen the dark face of a ghostcatcher! And believe me, it's terrifying! I heard from a friend of mine, who knows this like no other, the terrible torments he subjects the souls of those he kidnaps to. He keeps them in wooden cages inside rotten trees, tormenting them with questions. And the bodies of these people wander aimlessly through the forest until they become food for wild animals. I once saw such a living corpse with my own eyes."

"So why did this ghost catcher treat us so kindly?" the Templar wondered.

"It seems to me, sir, that ghost catchers are mirrors of sorts, reflecting the human soul. One whose soul is pure, without evil intentions, has nothing to fear. But anyone imbued with falsehood must reckon with the possibility of ending up in a ghost catcher's cage.

" "Now I understand," Isaac laughed, "why, when that fat man looked at me, I felt I had to tell him everything.

" "You didn't have to say anything, sir!" the young guide remarked. "A ghost catcher examines a person's soul, and no words are necessary.

" "You know a lot about ghost catchers," the Templar said from the darkness, regretting at that moment that he couldn't see Harry's face. "It's as if you were raised among them," he added.

"That's true in a sense!" the young man confirmed unexpectedly. "Anyone, like me, who grew up on the very edge of the forest surely knows all the legends of the Dark Forest and takes them for granted."

"So I'm asking you as an expert," Isaac tried to seize the moment. "I heard Balor's name several times today!" The templar felt, despite the darkness, that the Celt's entire figure had frozen in a pose of terror.

"Sir!" he whispered. "Do not speak his name aloud! Especially at night! His Eye might be upon us, and then woe to us!

" "Don't you think," the knight asked suddenly, "that I'm in greater danger because of my ignorance of what I'll have to encounter anyway? You've heard, after all, that the object I seek is in his power."

"So listen, ladies," Harry said after a long hesitation. "Balor is the oldest inhabitant of the Dark Forest. He was created by the Dagda, whom you, ladies, probably know as Cery, the Creator, or Eochaid Ollathair, the Father of All. But even the voracious Dagda was terrified by the terror of the one-eyed Balor, and while he slept, the Dagda devoured him. However, under the influence of his brother Govannon, who often—as a master of arcane lore—peeped into the Dark Side and there gazed into the future, he spat him out from his bowels. He ordered him to live in the then-deserted Dark Forest, so that he could not use his powers. But when the Dagda's strength began to wane during the battles with the sons of Danu, Balor began to sneak out of his prison, wreaking terrible devastation. Only the radiant Argentlam, or Silverhand, drove him back to the Dark Forest with his bow." At his command, the "painted men," led by the legendary hero Cruithne, son of Cingi, built the Great Circle from magical menhirs. From then on, fortunately for the local population, Balor lay dormant for centuries under the power of the magical stones. However, about a thousand years ago, the monster awoke thanks to the aid of the Scottish King Ban, who wanted to use him in his fight against the Saxon Aethelfrid. This proved to be of little use, as he was defeated in a battle with a Viking horde that unexpectedly appeared in Northumbria. The demon was released, however, and the devastation he wreaked at that time extinguished the power of the Picts. His lidless Eye struck suddenly, wiping out entire settlements, and the monster's insatiable bloodlust inspired terror throughout Britain. At that time, the Britons were ruled by the magnificent King Arthur, who sent the wizard Merlin and Lancelot du Lac against Knar, as he was called at the Round Table. The latter, however, had personal reasons for joining the expedition against Balor. He was the son of the unfortunate Ban, the source of all these misfortunes. Arthur gave Lancelot his sword for this expedition—Excalibur, which you've probably heard a lot about, sir. Magnificent songs were later composed among the Celtic people about the battle between these two heroes and Balor, which are still sung today, but only among those of a certain descent. Even thousand-year-old oaks were broken by Balor's blows, but Merlin's power, supported by Lancelot's valor, was immense. Traces of this battle can still be seen in Stary Bor. Merlin finally drove the terrible Knar back to his lair by the magic circle, and Lancelot, striking him on the reptilian tail with Excalibur, forced him to cross it. There, a decisive battle took place, during which Merlin's wand broke, but Excalibur accomplished its task. He pinned the Beast's head to the rock, and Balor departed from this part of the world. Lancelot, guided by a strange premonition, cursed anyone who would touch Excalibur, thus awakening Balor. However, Merlin, possessing the gift of clairvoyance, foretold in the inner circle that a man would come from across the sea,"Who will pull Excalibur from the rock and transform the earth." He added nothing more, which further led to countless subsequent interpretations of the prophecy, usually deliberately created by druidic priests who thus protect the sacred site. It was said in my settlement that Balor, despite Excalibur, awakens periodically and then demands a bloody sacrifice. Initially, these were animal sacrifices, but I heard that for some time, specifically since Brun became High Priest, human sacrifices began, which greatly strengthened the monster. I believe, sir," the young Celt paused and continued, as if hesitantly, "that Brun is preparing an uprising against the Normans, wants to revive the old religion, and for this he needs Balor, whom he wants to free. He has found an ear among many Celts, who are tired of constant humiliation at the hands of the Normans. You know, sir, that people like Winkelried, who destroy trees, are not uncommon. I myself have suffered at the hands of Norman dogs!" – Harry exploded with sudden fury.

The outburst of anger was short-lived, however. Harry quickly calmed down. After all, Isaac was also a Norman, so he said in a normal voice,

"Try to get some rest, sir! Tomorrow is a long day."

The knight didn't try to argue. He'd already learned far more than he'd expected. Harry was a veritable treasure trove of knowledge about the Dark Forest. Perhaps even—for a mere servant—he knew a little too much. But Isaac would worry about that later. Now, taking the opportunity, he tried to organize the day's events in his head. Of course, he'd obtained the most important information from the young Celt. Much of it was quite different from what he'd gleaned from poring over the old books of the Venerable Bede at Jarvis Abbey. Most importantly, however, he was now almost certain that the item Grand Initiate Jacob of Valois had sent him to retrieve was King Arthur's legendary sword—Excalibur. It was this sword that Bede had written about in such enigmatic terms. It was this sword that had kept the dreaded Balor in check. Isaac knew he had to find a way to wrest Excalibur from the secret Great Circle. He hoped to figure out how to finally neutralize the monster first. First, however, he needed to figure out a way to safely enter the Sacred Grove himself and pass through the magical boundary of the Great Circle. How could he deceive the watchful druids, who would point out the stranger without a moment's hesitation? How could he bypass the guards of the Celtic Great Council? Most of all, he feared that the mad Brun would carry out his desperate plans too soon. His last conscious image was the face of his squire, Nabil, who had preceded him in entering the Holy Circle of the Grail. He fell into a light, nightmare-free sleep.

Harry woke him at first light. Isaac was a little annoyed that the young servant hadn't woken him, but had spent the entire night on guard.

"Don't be angry, sir!" the young man soothed. "I think you'll benefit from much more rest. You have a difficult journey ahead of you today."

The Templar, realizing his guide was right, made no further attempt to protest.

They quickly devoured the cold meat and the remains of the beans. Before the sun emerged in its full glory, they were on their way, quietly moving along a small stream whose scent had piqued the Templar's interest only the night before. The scent was unusually intense, bringing unexpected memories of a green meadow. Nearby, a large clearing opened up, which Harry was clearly heading for. The Templar looked at him with considerable surprise. He had thought the guide would avoid open spaces. Instead, he intended to march into the very center of the clearing, where they would be perfectly visible to anyone who happened to be nearby. However, at the very edge of the thicket, Harry abruptly stopped and, turning to the knight, said:

"Surely, sir, you're seriously considering ways to infiltrate the inner circle." Harry looked at Isaac carefully. "It's certainly hard to mistake you for Celts, sir. Even with the good will of the beholder!" he laughed. "Nor can we assume that all the guards will suddenly go blind, or that we'll be clever enough to sneak secretly to the location of Excalibur."

Isaac jerked at these words. The shaggy boy both knew and suspected far too many things.

"Don't be surprised, sir," Harry apologized hastily, "but I have eyes and ears, and I can use them! And getting back to the matter at hand, it seems to me, sir, that you'll have to find a magical way into the magic circle.

" "Unfortunately, I've only passed the lowest levels!" Isaac replied sadly.

"Have you heard, sir," Harry asked, ignoring the Templar's words, "about the 'luminous earth'?"

Isaac shook his head.

"Sir, I'm not at all surprised you've never heard that name," Harry said, "that you've never heard of it. Outside of the Dark Forest, this mineral, as far as I know, doesn't occur anywhere in the world. And it has very specific properties. It's seemingly no different from ordinary earth, but it's enough to rub it on any object, and after flashing with a luminous lightning bolt, it disappears. The problem, however, is that 'luminous earth' causes invisibility within a very short period of time. A few prayers, tops!

" "Boy!" the Templar's face lit up. "I don't know what spirits placed you in my path, but I will bless them in my daily prayers from now on!

" "Wait here, sir!" Harry looked embarrassed and continued quickly. "I rushed you yesterday on purpose, because this clearing is the only place where this mineral can be found!" You ladies don't know what to look for, so you'll stay here, and I'll find…" The young Celt, without finishing, leaped crouching like a hunted wolf into the open clearing.

Surprised, Isaac watched his guide, who had once again surprised him with his behavior. It seemed the Templar's timid attempt at praise had completely embarrassed him.

Isaac saw how skillfully the young man moved, bent over, across the vast clearing. It seemed the young man was simply searching for mushrooms, as his nose almost buried in the moss growing in the forest clearing, he weaved here and there, finally dropping to the ground and quickly pulling something out from under the lichen and hiding it behind his cloak. A moment later, Isaac's nose delighted for the second time that morning with the scent of a flowery meadow.

"Does it smell beautiful?" Harry asked, holding a small pouch filled to the brim with greasy earth to the Templar's nose. "That should do it!" he added.

At that moment, an unexpected sound reached them from the distance. It was a shrill wail that echoed through the forest in resounding waves, somewhat reminiscent of the howl of the striped hyena Isaac had once seen at Edward's court, brought from distant lands to entertain the powerful.

"It's Balor's roar!" Harry announced, and Hayes shuddered at the thought of having to encounter a creature that uttered such terrifying sounds.

"Let's go!" he commanded after a moment's hesitation.

The part of the forest they were now traversing resembled an old, sickly man. There were scores of long-fallen trees, their rotted trunks emitting the stench of decay like festering wounds. Only in a few places did young shoots tentatively push their way through. Isaac felt despair and fear permeating the air.

"This is the oldest part of the Dark Forest!" Harry explained. "These trees don't want to die! They're afraid!"

Isaac nodded in understanding, and the young guide continued:

"This is the shortest route to the circle. I intended to spare you this sight, but I don't think we have time. Many of these places have been touched by the wrath of Balor—the Dead God—and I don't want to see any more of the monster's fury. Let's hurry, sir!" the young Celt was clearly terrified.

Despite the difficult terrain, they were practically running, stumbling every now and then. For reasons unknown to Isaac, the young man began to rush. They crossed the sickly forest in practically the blink of an eye, though the stench there was almost breathtaking. Only when they entered numerous clumps of euphorbia did the guide speak:

"I think you've smelled the smell of death, sir. These old trees have blackened souls. It's dangerous to stay among them too long. We must be very careful now!" Harry warned. "We're very close to the Circle now." True, we were approaching from a direction where guards weren't usually posted, as the Dead Forest best protected the sacred site. However, the danger of encountering someone now increased immeasurably.

Indeed, muffled sounds came from the distance, including the faint neighing of horses. People must have been camped somewhere nearby.

There weren't many of them. About twenty riders in horned helmets were camped in the shade of a few oak trees. Isaac fretted. These were definitely not Celts. Only Norman warriors wore such chainmail armor and horned headgear. And their presence at the very threshold of the most sacred place for all Celts could mean only one thing. Sheriff Meilyr, or perhaps Lord Churchill himself, had probably decided to finally deal with this "silent revolt" that had been gnawing at Wales for months. Isaac watched the Normans anxiously. Among them, a large black-bearded knight with a powerful two-handed axe stood out for his demeanor and the respect with which others treated him. He used it to issue orders, pointing every now and then to the thicket in the distance and gesturing vigorously. At that moment, Harry signaled the Templar to immediately drop to the ground, as a group of three or four soldiers emerged from a nearby grove, clearly having just been dismounted, and complaining loudly.

"May Captain Willbrodt the Black be swallowed!" cursed the loudest of the infantrymen, a slightly stocky Norman with a face scarred with numerous marks. "Why should we wander through these wastelands, and on foot at that? All the shaggy-haired ones have long since retreated to their big clearing.

" "Shut up, Huck!" growled the red-bearded soldier, who was clearly leading the group. "Be careful," he added quickly, laughing ominously, "you don't catch One-Eye's eye!"

"Don't call the wolf out of the woods!" interjected a third infantryman, his beard already dusted with gray. "Apparently One-Eye has emerged from his hiding place!" It's better for us if we don't meet him on our way.

"Are you afraid, Bill?" the infantryman named Huck laughed hoarsely.

"Let's see what you do when One-Eye shows up in front of you?" the accosted infantryman roared. "All I had to do was hear his roar!

" "Shut up, both of you!" the redhead suddenly became angry. "You probably scared away all the Celts hiding in those bushes."

Isaac's heart leaped into his throat as the soldier pointed directly at the bushes where they were hiding, but the redhead had already turned and yelled,

"Remember, we were sent for the tongue!"

At that moment, the Templar felt a sudden weight fall on his neck. Sharp, spike-like teeth sank into his neck, and the wound burned as if on fire. He tried to turn away, but the left side of his body felt paralyzed. With a tremendous effort of will, he managed to yank the misericord from its sheath and struck it blindly. The blade sank into something soft, but the weight and pain in his neck didn't ease. Isaac felt his consciousness slipping away. As if through a haze, he heard the raspy voice of the red-haired Norman commander:

"Got both of them? Bring them here! And chop up those bloodsuckers so there's no trace of them..." The redhead's next words were lost in oblivion.

Isaac was roused from his fainting state by the murmur of a distant conversation, the meaning of which, however, he couldn't quite grasp. He lay tied to a thick pole in a position that made it difficult for him to observe the surroundings more closely. On top of that, he felt a constant, excruciating pain in his neck, which spread like a searing heat throughout his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the young guide lying in the same position as him. In the distance, horned warriors could be seen circling around a small fire.

"Harry!" he whispered loudly enough to attract the young man's attention, whose gray eyes were staring intently at him. "What happened?" he asked.

"I think," the Celt's voice was slightly muffled, "that we were attacked by wood elves. They secrete a venom from their teeth that paralyzes their victims and renders them unconscious." The scouts must have heard the noise, and so, saving our lives, they took us prisoner.

Harry suddenly interrupted his discourse as a powerful thug approached, limping slightly. He suddenly kicked Isaac, sending a painful shiver through his body.

"You dogs are awake!" he growled menacingly. "Quickly! You can see how little venom you've shed! Master, they're awake!" he shouted loudly at the group by the campfire.

A powerful-looking man immediately moved toward them.

"Who are you?" he asked grimly, scowling at the prisoners.

Silence answered him.

"You'll be singing soon, little birds! Our Little Robby will make everyone talk," he laughed venomously. "And perhaps our sheriff will want to talk to you too. And in his presence, it's better to tell everything you know! I ask again, who are you? And I advise you..." The giant paused, as if to further emphasize the threat.

Isaac imperceptibly signaled the young guide not to speak, and with obvious fear in his voice, he spoke up:

"Don't be so angry with us, worthy knight!" he pleaded contritely. "I don't understand why you imprison us, sir?

" "Silence, you Celtic dog!" the bearded man exclaimed angrily.

"Sir, I am not a Celt!" Isaac vehemently denied. "I am a Norman, as are you, sir! My name is Isaac Hayes, and I am a knight and brother of the most holy Order of the Guardians of the Temple in Jerusalem.

" "What is a Templar doing in the middle of a Celtic forest?" the bearded man asked in surprise.

"You see, my lord!" the knight began to explain with emotion. "I had a faithful squire named Nabil, with whom I went through many things. Unfortunately, in Jarvis, he became familiar with me for some unknown reason. He met some Celtic wanderers here, with whom he wandered deep into this dreadful forest. And since a good lord never abandons a servant in misfortune, I followed him, even though I didn't even suspect that such horrors lurked in this forest." The Templar shuddered with obvious disgust.

"A remarkable sacrifice!" the giant laughed ironically. "He must be a truly valuable servant!

" "You see, my lord!" Isaac smiled discreetly. "The power of attachment is immense. I don't want anyone to sacrifice my Nabil on the altar, either, and I've heard that's exactly what these madmen do to strangers!

" "And that Celt?" the bearded man pointed at Harry.

"This young man has agreed to show me the way to the altar!" the Templar quickly explained.

"That's enough!" the bearded giant said. "Sheriff Meilyr will arrive soon, and he will decide your fate!"

After making this announcement, the bearded man turned and limped toward the fire.

"You played it smart, sir!" Harry praised softly. "The story may be improbable, but it explains our presence here to some extent.

" "The Sheriff will be worse!" the Templar wondered, trying to observe the soldiers' camp, which suddenly burst into activity.

A detachment of about a hundred soldiers rode into the clearing. Already visible from afar was the stocky figure of the Sheriff of Jarvis—Meilyr Gwent. Beside him, on his dapple-gray steed, Isaac saw the gangly figure of Abbot Winkelried. His presence seemed dangerous to the Templar.

The bearded giant leading the scout team gave a quick report, gesticulating wildly. He gestured several times at the fallen prisoners, clearly arousing the sheriff's interest. He immediately moved toward Isaac and his young guide, followed by Abbot Winkelried, flanked by two hooded monks.

"So we meet again, Brother Isaac!" the sheriff gasped, dismounting heavily. "In Jarvis, however, you were an honored guest, a friend of our King Edward, and here you are my prisoner, whom I have reason to suspect may be acting to the detriment of our most gracious lord.

" "Dominican brothers," Abbot Winkelried also chimed in, "will verify whether you, brother, remain a faithful son of our Mother Church!

" "Eminent sirs, allow me to explain!" the Templar asked humbly, repeating the story of Nabil once more, embellishing it a bit.

"Perhaps you speak the truth, Knight of the Temple!" Meilyr mused ominously. "But you will remain our prisoner, sir, for I intend to deal definitively with that accursed rabble bowing to the trees today. So I'd rather not risk releasing you at a time like this. When this is all over, we'll sort out any inconsistencies in your story!" the sheriff concluded with a hint of menace.

"Forgive me, sir!" the Templar seemed unconcerned. "You, sir, have far too few soldiers, in my opinion. With such force, you certainly won't crush the rebellion!" Isaac said boldly, clearly infuriating McLean, who blurted out, forgetting his courtly manners:

"Fool! Do you think I would attack all the Welsh clans with such force? Lord Churchill is marching from the north with his entire army, and our friend Mervyn will probably bring reinforcements before nightfall. But what does that matter to you?" "Forgive me, sir, for a fool!" Isaac continued, undaunted by the outburst.

"I have a great request for you, distinguished gentlemen! I truly care about this Nabil. Spare him, sir! He's a fool, but a faithful servant!" The Templar now spoke directly to the sheriff, who merely snorted angrily and, his cloak flapping, mounted his horse with surprising ease for a man of his stature.

Behind the retreating Meilyr, the abbot, with his ever-present Dominicans at his side, followed like a shadow. A moment later, the movement in the clearing died down. Perhaps ten men remained in the camp, including a black-bearded giant who—with a frown on his bushy brow—came with a red-haired soldier to loosen their bonds. They were now bound much more loosely, allowing them much greater freedom of movement. Leaning against a massive oak tree, they sat in a hut, watching the soldiers mill about. Only at this point did Isaac begin to consider the prospects for release from captivity. They didn't look too rosy. The bonds had been expertly applied, and there was little chance of escaping them. Besides, one of the soldiers, albeit from a distance, was constantly keeping an eye on them. Meanwhile, for the Templar's plans to be implemented, remaining in captivity was becoming downright dangerous. Isaac had to find a way to reach the Grail Circle before evening. First, however, it was worth gathering as much information as possible. So, taking advantage of the bearded man's proximity, he politely addressed him:

"Sir Knight, allow me a moment!"

The bearded captain initially pretended not to hear the prisoner's request, but after a moment's hesitation, knowing he was facing a member of a powerful corporation with whom it was best not to quarrel, he turned back.

"What is it?" he asked dryly.

"You see, sir!" the Templar moved away from the tree and showed his bound hands. "The rope is digging into my wrists. Could you, venerable sir, loosen it a little?" he asked.

The bearded man deftly complied.

"Thank you, sir!" Isaac bowed. "Do me one more favor, sir! Believe me, I can repay you. My companion"—Isaac pointed to the lifeless Celt—"fainted, and I hate being without anyone to speak to for long. So, sir, could you enlighten me on a few matters? The sheriff hasn't forbidden you to speak to me!

" "He hasn't!" the bearded man admitted. "What do you want to know?

" "Sheriff Meilyr mentioned some rebellious Celts he intends to crush. I've been at our lord's court for a long time, and no news of the Welsh rebels has reached me."

"News from the borderlands always finds it difficult to get through and is usually ignored," the giant observed bitterly. "How many times has our sheriff sent letters to London about the need to deal with the criminal tree cult, which is still being fueled by those fraudulent priests calling themselves Druids. In Jarvis itself, rebels raised their heads, threatening the abbot with the vengeance of the one-eyed monster. But the last straw was enough, and the time has come to settle scores with these traitors. Today we will destroy their cursed stones, cut down their sacred groves, and not even the dreaded One-Eye will help them!" the bearded knight concluded defiantly.

"Forgive me, sir, for asking again!" Isaac assumed a humble expression. "Haven't you tried other methods to calm the riots? Some talks with the clan elders...

" "What reason do you think we're not with Lord Churchill's forces?" Sheriff Meilyr set off to meet the elders of the families, but as soon as they saw our holy abbot, they refused to even listen to the eminent sheriff. They did, in fact, take him into the inner circle, where we were no longer allowed, but he quickly returned, extremely agitated, and we immediately set off again. Soon, we were overtaken by the galloping auto-four of Mervyn Berba, who, despite being a Celt, was on our side. When I saw him, I was certain war was imminent.

At that moment, a rider on a foaming horse burst into the camp, and the giant rushed to listen to his hurried account. The Templar's words didn't quite register, but from the servant's gestures, he deduced that he was recounting the course of the battle in the forest thicket, which, judging by the giant's rapid movements, might not necessarily be going the way the Normans had hoped. He immediately ordered the guards to be doubled and dispatched two soldiers in the direction from which Isaac suspected the reinforcements under Mervyn's command would arrive.

"Sir!" the whisper of his young companion interrupted the Templar's observations. Harry, who a moment ago had seemed asleep, now vigorously tugged at his wiry arms, trying to free his hands. "I don't have time," he panted, "to explain who I am. Don't ask, sir, about this now... We have one chance to escape from here while they're busy with something else!"

Harry's appearance suddenly changed. His figure suddenly grew massive. His arms transformed into gnarled branches, and his torso tore through thick ropes. Harry literally turned to stone. Isaac didn't need to ask him anything. Simply put, Harry was a weretree. The Templar felt his bonds snap under the incredible force of the changeling's treelike hands. One thing was certain at that moment: they were free!

"This way, sir!" the weretree shouted in a deep voice, dragging Isaac into the nearby bushes.

They didn't hear the sounds of pursuit for long. The soldiers preferred not to venture into unfamiliar territory, and besides, several of them had seen Harry's transformation, and they halted their pursuit.

Nevertheless, they ran through the forest, traversing the terrain with strange ease. Harry remained in his new form, now making a sort of path through the thicket, which Isaac could run along without tripping over obstacles. They were stopped only by a large boulder, its sharp point thrusting into the dark blue sky. Isaac, panting heavily, leaned against it, and Harry, who had once again become a shaggy youth, waited for his companion to pant.

"The battle continues, my lord!" he said finally, pointing in the direction from which the sounds of fighting were indeed coming.

Isaac nodded.

"It's not my priority!

" "I know, my lord!" the weretree quickly confirmed. "We're beyond the last circle. That boulder belongs to him." Harry extended his hand with a small codpiece. "My lord, the time has come to use the 'luminous earth.' But remember, my lord, it only lasts a limited time!"

"Don't you think there's not enough of it for the two of us?" the knight remarked.

"Were-trees can't disappear!" Harry replied sadly. "But I don't have to hide. I have a right to be in the Grail Circle. I come from Brain's clan!"

Invisibility proved to be quite bothersome for Isaac. He couldn't get used to not being able to see his own body parts.

"Do you not see me as well?" the were-tree asked with a laugh.

"No, my lord!" A smile appeared on Harry's face for the first time since last night. "Only the eyes of a druid can pierce the crust of the 'luminous earth.' Let's go, my lord!" he added quickly. "Let's not waste time!"

They walked silently through a well-tended grove, from which all the dead wood had been removed. To Isaac, it reminded him more of an orchard than the heart of the ancient forest where he had spent the last few days. Every now and then, they encountered massive menhirs, forming an outer circle. On some of them, Hayes saw strange runic markings, shapes he had never encountered before. He also remembered the stone altars where, in ancient times, pagan priests had offered bloody sacrifices. The menhirs drew closer together, a clear sign that they were approaching the Holy Circle of the Grail. Then they saw the first people. Two tall servants leaned on thick spears.

"Fear not, my lord!" Harry whispered reassuringly. "They are not Druids! I know them!"

Despite this assurance, Isaac walked toward the Celtic guards on somewhat unsteady feet. As they passed the Celts, the Templar felt as if one of them was watching him with rapt attention. Hayes shuddered, practically feeling his breath, but despite his fears, the thick spears didn't move. Harry greeted them with an open-handed gesture.

"I'm looking for Bruno! I have news!"

The guards let them pass without a word, and one of them pointed in the direction with the tip of his spear. They were already in the inner circle. The old oaks that dominated here probably dated back to the days of Emperor Claudius's invasion. The closer they got to the center of the circle, the more people they encountered. There were more and more massive warriors, grimly brandishing spears and powerful axes. There were also women who raised their hands heartbreakingly to the enormous oaks as if seeking help and protection from them. In front of the stone gate, Isaac spotted a black-bearded man in a long, star-spangled robe shouting loudly to the gathered crowd. Harry headed towards him.

"Brothers of the trees!" the bearded man's shouts finally reached the Templar's ears. "Our sons and brothers are fighting the cursed destroyers of life. The noble Brain is already tipping the scales of battle in our favor.

" "It's Brun!" the weretree whispered to Isaac. "Beware, sir, his eyes see everything.

" "Brothers!" Brun raised his arms high. "The Lord of the Trees has awakened. He will avenge all who have so far groaned under the lash. He will devour all who have wronged our sisters and mothers, who have murdered trees, who have humiliated our holy priests. But we must give him the strength to do so. This young lad"—the druid indicated the body lying before him—"will give his life force to the Lord of the Trees!"

At that moment, Isaac's heart sank. He recognized his squire—Nabil, whom he had sent a few days ago deep into the Dark Forest to search for the Key of Valor.

"His blood," Brun's voice began to vibrate, "will water the roots of the sacred trees. The god who died will live again, and his wrath will be terrible!" Brothers, bow your heads before the One who is coming! Be faithful!

The crowd before the druid began to surge; men raised their hands high, women fell to their faces, groaning horribly and tearing their garments. Everyone began to shout the name of the One-Eyed Balor as if possessed. Some rolled on the crushed moss, foam spewing from their maddened mouths. It seemed that at any moment a terrible madness would erupt with overwhelming force, but Brun held everything in check. He raised his hands, and as if by magic, the crowd fell silent.

"Brothers!" thundered the druid. "I am he whose coming the great Merlin foretold! I am he who will tame the Beast! I am he who will take the Sword of the King! I am the wielder of Excalibur!

" "Aren't you too quick to declare yourself king, priest?"

Startled, Isaac realized the question was coming from Harry, who stepped forward a bit and, head raised proudly, stared at the star-shaped druid.

"Is that you, weretree?" Brun roared. "Have you come to plot again? Who have you brought with you?" The druid's finger pointed directly at Isaac.

So he had seen him after all!

"This is the true wielder of Excalibur!" Harry's voice rose above the ensuing hubbub.

The confused Celts, who hadn't seen Isaac, looked questioningly from their leader to the weretree, who continued:

"It was about him, not you, lying druid, that Merlin's prophecy spoke. So said the oldest ghostcatcher in this forest.

" "So you consort with the accursed soulcatchers!" Brun laughed ominously, who—as the Templar noticed with concern—was gesturing to a nearby Celt holding a longbow, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

"These soul catchers are best at discovering a person's true intentions. It's not for nothing that old Tom has warned me about you several times." The weretree raised his hands to draw everyone's attention to himself. "Celtic brothers! This druid wants to bring Evil back to Earth! The same Evil from which our great Merlin once freed the world. Do not help him in the name of vengeance! Who will protect you from Balor when he finishes with the Norsemen? That lying priest never spoke of this, and..." Harry was cut off by the terrifying wail of a feathered arrow, which almost entirely penetrated the weretree's chest with tremendous force.

He staggered and fell backward, foaming bloody foam. From that moment on, events unfolded with incredible speed. Isaac immediately rushed to Harry's side, but Bruno's muscular acolyte fell on his back. His powerful hands gripped the knight's neck, stealing his breath, but it only lasted a moment. The Templar's extraordinary strength allowed him to slip from the murderous grip. The Grand Druid himself hid in a stone gateway, as a violent fight broke out among the Celts. The confusion was compounded by a detachment of mounted knights, who suddenly emerged from behind the outer circle and began mercilessly slashing every Celt they encountered. At the head of the detachment, in a flowing black cloak, rode Abbot Winkelried, heading straight for the stone gateway. Isaac, who had meanwhile dealt with Bruno's lackey and left him with a dagger in his throat, quickly moved in the same direction. He tried to avoid fighting anyone, which came easily to him, as the "luminous earth" spell was still in effect. But Nabil was no longer on the makeshift altar. His slender, almost boyish body flashed, carried by a powerful druid, pursued by the abbot, his cloak flapping, who had jumped from his steed just before the stone menhirs.

The Templar quickly looked around. He found himself in the Holy Circle of the Grail. It seemed to him that he was in a rocky corridor where, instead of trees, granite monoliths rose from the ground. Great sacrificial altars suggested that life must have once teemed here. Two mighty oaks had acted as living guardians, and now they were performing their task. The long laps of the abbot's cloak were entangled in their spreading branches. Isaac then saw with horror the true face of Abbot Winkelried. From beneath the tangle of branches, a horribly twisted, scaly face peeked out, and a forked tongue flicked out repeatedly in his direction. Abbot Winkelried was an apostate, belonging to an ancient tribe of apostates from the human race. However, at that moment, the apostate posed no threat, and the Templar passed him without even stopping. In the distance, he could see the shadow of a druid, Nabil's body darkening in his hands. The Templar quickened his pace, though further progress was becoming increasingly difficult. The air was heavy, saturated with a scent reminiscent of decaying plant remains. And then suddenly Isaac saw Balor. From a distance, it seemed a large tomcat lay curled up among the stone obelisks. But that was only a first impression. As he approached, the cat's form transformed into a slightly reptilian mass with large shields of scales and a triangular head with a distinctive square eye, currently obscured by an eyelid. The fact that the monster was not sleeping after all was evidenced by the fleshy tail that rhythmically thrashed against the granite slab. Just before the monster's body, Nabil lay motionless, already conscious and staring—hypnotized—at the gleaming blade hanging above him. Brun had already begun an incantation, and words from a long-forgotten language echoed through the inner circle. Isaac paused to pull a mace from his belt, snatched along the way, when the abbot, now transformed into a serpentine apostate, leaped from behind him. He had apparently managed to break free from the oak's grip. A blow from the scaly arm knocked the templar unconscious for a moment. Fortunately, he wasn't the apostate's primary concern. Regaining consciousness, Isaac heard:

"Have you forgotten, Black Priest, who deserves the sword of valor? You promised it to the Dark Lord, didn't you?" the abbot thundered, spraying venomous saliva.

"Who he promised it to is none of your business, Serpent!" the druid roared, seizing the silver sword embedded in the living stone at the base of the altar. "Excalibur is mine alone! With it, I will avenge all the generations of my ancestors who were forced to lick the feet of men like you, Serpent! I will also crush your Dark Lord into dust!" – with this cry Brun gave a powerful tug on the sword and slowly began to pull it out of the stone.

With a final thrust, Balor's triangular head lifted, and a terrifying roar rent the air. But neither the abbot nor the druid seemed to pay the slightest attention. With a supreme effort of will and muscle, until thick veins like ropes bulged on their foreheads, they grappled, trying to wrest the silver sword from each other's hands. Drops of venom leaped from the apostate's mouth, but the druid was unaffected. Meanwhile, Isaac, who had recovered from the abbot's blow, crawled to his squire and cut his bonds with his dagger.

"Lord!" Nabil groaned through bloody lips. "They fell upon me as soon as we entered the forest. They knew who I was from the start!

" "Later, boy!" the Templar interrupted, dragging the weakened squire away from the sacrificial altar, over which the Beast's shadow loomed dangerously.

Balor roared again and, with incredible slowness, opened his bloody eye, which aimed directly at the fighting men. The impact of the Eye of Balor reduced them to a bloody pulp. Where they had stood moments before, only a heap of steaming flesh and shattered bones remained. Excalibur leaped from Bruno's lifeless hand and rolled at the Templar's feet.

"Pick it up, Isaac!" the knight saw Harry's face with utter surprise as he slowly crawled toward them.

Instinctively, he obeyed the order. Despite its appearance, the sword was literally as light as a feather. The Templar raised it, saving his life as the impact of the Eye of Balor ricocheted off its silver blade. The monster roared in rage.

"Open the Gate of the World!" Harry shouted from behind. "Strike the altar!"

The Templar raised his arms and struck with all his might against the altar's stone slab, which split in two, revealing the seething interior in brilliant flashes. Geysers of boiling lava nearly rained down on the knight. At that moment, Balor charged, intending to crush his opponent with his massive bulk. Then Isaac did something completely unexpected. Without even aiming, as if his hand were being guided, he threw his sword directly at the Eye of Balor, which extinguished like a blown-out candle. The monster literally collapsed into the fire-breathing crater, which closed behind him instantly.

Isaac, panting heavily, sat down on the ground and felt its refreshing coolness.

"My mission is over!" he said, as if to himself. "But I will not bring the Key of Valor to the Great Initiate!

" "Isn't he more important?" the weretree asked quietly, pointing at the semi-conscious Nabil. "And them?" he added, turning his head toward the gate, where the sounds of the battle were coming from.

The Templar looked up at the cloudless sky, and a sad smile of understanding appeared on his face.