than a standard semi-automatic pistol, but its selective fire of three-round bursts or 1,100 rounds per minute full automatic made it a superior defensive weapon. She had never seen Vlad use one, the 465's being more powerful.
Did he put it there on purpose, in case of an emergency like now?
Regardless, had he been there she would have kissed him.
She took out the pistol and drum, and loaded and cocked it. She kicked the drawer closed and hurried out of the room, slapping the lock button on the keypad to close the door. She rushed through the dungeon corridors, but headed for the south stairwell instead of the north. She flew up the stairs into the servants' hall, then turned left into the entry hall. She paused long enough to collect a jacket and torch from the cloak room before crossing the gallery into the great hall and out the rear glass doors into the north portico.
She stopped and looked north. The glow was still visible, perhaps a bit stronger with no armoured glass to obscure it.
She ran out onto the terrace, down the steps to the patio, and across to the graveled paths between the flower beds. She wondered if the gardener and his family had disappeared, but she didn't want to waste time to find out. If they had, they would be with the rest of the staff; if not, they were in no danger but couldn't otherwise help her.
As she approached the north gatehouse she was disappointed but not surprised to find it deserted. That meant whatever happened had affected at least the whole grounds around the manor house inside the security fence. Both entrances stood open, such that anyone could just walk right through, but that also suggested the staff had been taken out through there. She quickened her pace and sprinted through the building up to the cart shed. The estate guards had some gasoline powered vehicles, but she and the staff used either horses or electric carts to tour the estate grounds. She used her passcard to open the double doors and felt relieved to find the vehicles intact. She unplugged one and maneuvered it out onto the path before jumping in and taking off.
The glow was ahead of her, on the other side of the stables, but she still couldn't see what might be producing it. She stopped at the stables and checked inside. There were supposed to be two hands who slept there, but she didn't see them. It looked like the effect was more widespread, probably covering the entire estate
"Hello?" There was no answer, except for snorts from the horses and meows from the cats. That they were still present told her that whatever had happened had only affected the Humans.
But, why hadn't I been affected?!
She ran back out to the cart and rode off; the source of the glow seemed to be just ahead. As she got closer her anxiety mounted, and in her imagination she saw all sorts of horrendous possibilities, each worse than the one before. What she finally did see, however, mystified her as she slowed the cart to a halt.
In the space of the park between the stables and the lake, on either side of the path, were trees, dozens of them, maybe even a hundred or more.
"There aren't supposed to be trees here." But they were the source of the glow. Each one emitted only a feeble light, but together they lit up the night sky, if only dimly.
She got out of the cart and walked among them, examining each with the torch. She realized they weren't actually trees, just trunks sunk into the ground, all between five and six feet tall, with two boughs raised into the air, but with no branches, and curiously no leaves. That early in autumn there should still have been some, even if they had turned color. Another puzzling feature: each had a strange, knobby growth, like a giant gall, at the top of the trunk between the boughs.
Aelfraed hadn't told her about any landscaping being done, and she had been out riding just a couple of days before and hadn't seen anything in that area. It would take longer than that to plant that many trees. On top of which, it would have been faster and more efficient to plant seedlings, but no gardener worth his salt would plant mature trees just before winter. And why cut off the boughs, or leave just two?
It doesn't make sense.
As she shined the torch around, she spotted a small reflection in the middle of one of the galls. She kept the beam steady on it as she approached.
What is that?
When she reached the foot of the trunk, she found something embedded into the wood. She studied it in an intent manner, trying to divine what it was. When she finally recognized it, her heart seized as her blood ran cold, and she backed away from the tree.
"Oh my Holy God!"
It was a pair of pince-nez spectacles.
She played the light over the gall. The pattern of the bark was identical to the facial features of Aelfraed, except they were twisted into an expression of terror. She shined the light on another tree; that one had the features of Mrs. Widget, with her granny glasses embedded in the wood. Beside her was a squat tree that looked like Holt, and beside him one that resembled Phillipa Trumbo, the pastry chef. Another reminded her of Doc LeClerc. She ran around the grove; all the trees had human faces on them, most of which she recognized as members of her staff.
In her growing panic she accidently ran into one of them. As she stepped back, she illuminated the gall-face and felt a jolt: Vlad's countenance stared back at her in a blank manner. Despair washed over her and she reached out to lay a hand on the bark. She wouldn't have believed he would end like that.
{Neither would I, My Master, but I am not finished yet.}
At first startled, she broke out into a relieved grin. You're alive?!
{In a manner of speaking.}
What of the others? Aelfread, Mrs. Widget, Holt--
{They are more alive than I. They are just encased in prisons of wood, as I.}
She felt her irritation flare. Why didn't you reply back at the house!?
{I could not. My prison prevented me. Only through this physical contact are we able to converse, yet just barely. Soon even this will become impossible.}
Oh. My apologies.
{You need never apologize to me, Master. Do you beg forgiveness of a pistol or a sword? I am only a weapon, albeit a broken one at present.}
Never mind that now! Tell me what happened.
{I cannot be certain; I have never felt anything like this before. It was a summons that took control of my body. I was like a passenger riding a vehicle. I recognized what was happening, but I could not stop it. Nor was I alone. I could sense that everyone on the estate was under its influence. Once we had gathered in this place, we were encased in bark, as you see.}
But why?
{I can feel this spell, whatever its origin, changing my flesh, my organs, the very bones of my body, to wood, as my feet become roots and my fingers branches.}
You're turning into a tree?!
{So it would seem.}
Why wasn't I affected?
{I do not know. I have no knowledge of this magic. You felt nothing?}
Something woke me up, but after that, no.
{When was this?}
I'm not sure; maybe a half-hour ago. It was just before eleven.
{That was about when I came under its influence.}
Do you know who or what is behind it?
{I...yes. The Spirit of the Oaks.}
I beg your pardon?
{An ancient--Master! Beware, you are in danger!}
She caught movement out of the corner of her right eye. Turning, she pulled the Beretta out of her jacket pocket, thumbed off the safety, and set it to semi-automatic as she scanned the area with the torch. She caught a glimpse of something slipping out of the cone of light. She sprinted towards it and pointed the torch into its path.
It was just another of the trunks. Disappointed and puzzled, she stopped and started to swing the light away, when she spotted its leafy crown.
No, it's a willow, like those on the shore of the lake. But how did it get there--
It turned and "faced" her.
"Bloody hell!"
It walked towards her, striding on its massive roots. She imagined it wore an angry expression in the wrinkled and gnarled
bark, and it seemed to make some kind of noise...she could almost believe it was muttering!
She raised the Beretta and fired. The three slugs slammed into the trunk, chipping bark and splintering wood, but it didn't stop or even slow down.
"Well, that was useless." But she couldn't do anything else. She fired again and retreated; she had to get out in the open, away from her people, so she didn't accidentally shoot them. If what Vlad said was true, they were flesh and blood under the bark, vulnerable to firearms. The willow followed her, though unable to keep pace.
Once clear of the grove she ran for the cart. She figured she could use it to outmaneuver the walking tree. However, she pulled up short when she saw a second willow in front of it. It came at her as well; she fired and made for the house. She could pick up another cart--
A third willow appeared on the path, blocking her way. She fired again and retreated, dodging between the other two as she headed for the boathouse. If she could get a boat launched, she could paddle out onto the lake then down the river and get off at the Roman villa. From there she could cut across the estate to the military compound. The troops Penbryn would send would probably rendezvous there first--
A fourth willow emerged from the shadow of the house by the lake.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" She fired at it, spun around, and ran for the woods. She had nowhere else to go.
When no new willow appeared to cut her off, she understood what they were doing. She slowed, turned, and ran backwards. The four were still following, spread apart but closing in as they approached. They were herding her, pushing her towards the woods.
They want me to go that way!
She realized the sensible course of action would have been to change direction and rush past them before they could cut her off again, but Mr. Holt was fond of saying that the best defense was a strong offense. Machiavelli and Sun Tzu had said much the same in The Prince and The Art of War. She glanced back at the woods.
Maybe it's time I started putting their lessons into action.
She fired off four more shots, then turned and bolted for the trees. Whatever was waiting for her, at least the willows wouldn't be able to follow. She smashed through the underbrush and didn't slow down until she was a good dozen yards inside.
When she decided she had lost them, she stopped to catch her breath. She looked back, but couldn't see anything except the near-solid wall of the forest. Facing front again, she headed deeper into the woods. She figured one of two things would happen: she would wander aimlessly until the troops arrived or something would confront her, for good or ill.
She considered the latter more likely, but while apprehensive, she was afraid for her people, not herself. She couldn't be, because she had loved the woods for as long as she could remember. They encircled the park and the lake at the center of the estate, and were anchored to the manor at their southernmost point. Aunt Mandy frequently took her picnicking in their depths and taught her all about forest lore, and as she got older she went exploring on her own. The woods contained over a dozen different varieties of trees, including elms, chestnuts, beeches, ashes, and rowans, but mostly oaks. There weren't any deer or other large animals, but she had seen foxes, badgers, and weasels, and plenty of squirrels and rabbits, as well many species of birds. And once she thought she saw a wildcat, though she couldn't be sure it wasn't a feral tabby. Her father had told her that the woods were over 300 years old. The trees had been planted by Sir Sebastian Churchill, one of her ancestors, who wanted to recreate an ancient woodland on the estate. He had acquired saplings from old growth forests all over England and Scotland, including Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire and Foxley Wood right there in Norfolk, and except for pruning to keep the forest from taking over the whole estate and occasional coppicing for building material and firewood, her extended family had pretty much left it to grow