It was a disappointing sight. The fabled forest was not large, verdant, or even mysterious. In fact, it looked like a spot where one might stop for relief.

            “This is the Eld Forest? Ha!” Rand the Rash laughed derisively. “Sacred to Jah because no one else wants it!”

            “Precisely,” agreed Lord Fulcruchen. “The tale of the sacred forest, as well as this sikestra business, was no doubt invented by a shrewd group of robbers who sought to keep their hiding place secure. It’s long been my opinion that most of our treasured beliefs spring from practical necessity or, in this case, simple avarice and greed.” 

            The men received this in nervous silence but for Anjhest, who gave a laugh. Even so, their mood lightened and that night much wine was consumed; they fell asleep listening to Gerlatch’s misadventures with a scrub bull. They awoke bleary eyed and thirsty. Perri was sent to fetch water while the men relieved themselves. The Eld Forest was now plainly in view. The morning light did nothing to heighten its appearance. In fact, it looked worse than the day before.

            “I’ve heard of the Eld Forest since I was a child,” commented Gerlatch. “Are you sure this is it?”

            “Well, there is the rock,” said Garrion, pointing. 

            A large white rock stood out clearly against the tree line, indicating the sacred spot. Each sikestra was marked by one. After the garden was defiled, it was said that Jah would not be robbed of more land and so he chose twelve locations, placing a white stone on the borderline of each. Those who’d seen the stones at close range reported marks of rivulets coursing over the surface, rumored to be stains of Tianne’s tears.

            “The forest appears to be comprised mainly of sycamores and scrub pines,” observed Fulcruchen. “The only remaining mystery is why the bandits would choose such a hiding place.”

            The King frowned. As usual, Fulcruchen was right, but dammit, his head hurt. The forest before him was a paltry thing, hardly more than a thicket. A light broke through the trees and he fancied he could see through to the other side. Rand coughed bile from his throat and squinted. The men about him were cowards save for Fulcruchen, whose worth he couldn’t determine. Last night’s profundities were now a buzz in his ears. The bird too seemed negotiable. Rand remembered its slightness, the loud, undignified squawks. Suddenly, the sun was too bright, the wine sour, the matter trifling. He spoke sharply to his falconer. “Do you have the nets ready?”

            ‘Yes, Highness,” Garrion replied.