When the sun once again kissed the treetops, the spy rose and pulled out some more of his rations. “You really don’t trust me, do you? You were awake all night. Under present circumstances, I guess I could understand.”
Taréz still didn’t respond, but shook the fuzziness out of his head. A few his own rations, and he felt ready for the day.
Well, almost. For a normal day, maybe, but not this day.
They put on their tree claws again, but while Taréz was ready to go down the outside of the tree, the spy sang a few notes. A hole formed in the bark, just as Taréz had seen him do a few days before.
But he wasn’t quite sure of being inside a tree alone with an enemy of the state. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll use the conventional route.”
“Oh, by the Great Master! Buy a clue! You’re much easier to kill going down than inside a tree! What am I going to do inside that I couldn’t have done already?”
“I don’t know, and that’s the problem.”
“You can’t follow me if you’re outside and I’m inside. Come on, don’t be stupid.”
“Very well.” Taréz followed the spy into the hole. They moved up, and crossed a number of branch nets, and finally moved inside a hole again to go back down. Carefully, the spy opened the hole, and, deciding it was safe, made it large enough to get out of. They dropped low to a branch net, and looked down.
Tents were less than practical in the dense forest, but camouflaged tarps were unbiquitous. Their pattern of leaf shapes just didn’t quite match the real-life pattern, and couldn’t obscure the sharp edge of the tarps themselves. Good enough to hide from third canopy eyes, but not second canopy. Still, it was impossible to tell the Chief’s tarp. “How do you know this is command central?”
“Watch.”
The watching lasted some moments. Just before Taréz ran out of patience, a dark Vle walked smartly up to the tarp below, and saluted before heading under it. “Ah. Troops wouldn’t salute at their own tent.”
“Details, details.”
“Is our Chief really that full of himself? He hammers on the details all the time.”
“If lack of attention to detail is an indication, then yes, I’d say he is.”
Then, to Taréz’s amazement, an Vle in a colorful robe stepped out. He raised his arms, and chanted in a language Taréz had never heard before. But it was haunting, beautiful, full of impure vowels and fricative consonants. He looked over at his ‘partner.’
“See...?” said the spy, eyes half-mast. His grip on their branch net loosened.
Taréz considered reaching out to grab him, but he couldn’t. Not in light of his decision the previous night. Instead, he just watched as the spy fell from their perch, the haunting chant like a narrative as he fell to the ground.
Only instinct told Taréz to hurry to the top canopy at top speed.
Away from that encampment.
Away from that illegal, immoral mage.
Away from the Vle he’d resolved to kill.