Nessalir had taken the first watch, and now Iarius sat alone in the dark, accompanied only by the glow of embers, the gentle snoring of the barbarian woman, and the occasional snort from the horses.

  His eyes stung, and his head ached. He was unaccustomed to such little sleep, and unaccustomed as well to the exhaustion which came with this sort of travel. It was all he could do to remain awake, to keep his eyes focused on the woodlands around him, to search the shadows for any signs of danger.

  Nothing. Insects buzzed somewhere in the forest. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves above him. Iarius felt his eyelids grow heavy, and as they drifted shut, he realized, languidly and somewhat belatedly, that he was nodding off.

  Somebody started to sing.

  At first he believed he dreamed it. But soon enough Iarius' eyes were opened, and he could still plainly hear a woman's voice, singing without words to some melody that was familiar yet alien. His ears strained to hear it, to pinpoint the source of that beautiful voice, but it seemed to come from all around him.

  He closed his eyes again, and focused. The song was one of longing, of promised joy. It reached out to him, beckoned him forward, but to where he could not say. The more he focused on the song, the more sense it seemed to make, and the more he felt as though he could understand from where it was originating.

  Iarius opened his eyes again, and some distant part of him was mildly surprised to realize that he had stood up. He turned to what he was now confident was the direction of the song, and without pausing to think, the scholar began walking.

  He left the embers of the campfire, left the horses, left Nessalir behind. He stepped over roots, tripped in the darkness, caught himself against the trunk of a tree. Twigs snapped beneath his boots, yet the song seemed to increase in volume, to drown out the noise of his approach.

  For how long he walked, Iarius could not even begin to guess. Time meant nothing to him, for there was only the song, and only his single-minded desire—no, need—to uncover its source.

  Something stirred in his lower regions, and all at once Iarius found himself stepping out of the trees and into a grand meadow. Wild flowers danced in the wind beneath the moonlight, and standing in their center was the nude form of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open in song. Her skin, dark and smooth, seemed to shine in the silver light. Her hair was black as night, with flowers woven among her locks. She opened her eyes, looked at him, smiled. Still singing, she reached out a slender and graceful hand, and beckoned Iarius closer.

  He did not need to be beckoned again.

  Iarius strode forward, his eyes locked upon the perfect form of the strange woman. His gaze traced the curves of her body, took in the plump softness of her breasts and thighs. He felt desire take him, and as he approached, he reached out to caress her.

  At no point did her song stop. At no point did it falter. If anything, her mouth seemed to widen as she ever-so-gently grasped his wrists and pulled her closer. He found himself fallen upon her, though she remained upright, surprisingly sturdy despite her petite form. His mouth trailed kisses down her flesh. His lips latched onto her nipple, and his tongue found it, and a strange numbness began to spread over his mouth and face as he suckled on her.

  The singing stopped. His mind felt cloudy, confused. Through it all, he thought he could make out a sharp, vegetable-like taste. Far away, thin tendrils began wrapping themselves around his limbs.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  "Iarius!"

  He blinked, shuddered, opened his mouth. He felt numb, and his thoughts were jumbled and disoriented. There was a small yellow flower before him. Why had he been suckling on a flower?

  The scholar's eyes rose from the flower, and he beheld looking down on him a grinning, skull-like face, formed of a knot of vines and roots, pulsating and red-tinged. His limbs twitched, and he realized that vines had wrapped their way around his arms and legs.

  As the grogginess fled, awareness came rushing back, and Iarius screamed.

  Something red flashed beside him, and the plant-creature let out an inhuman howl of pain as a sword cut into it. The vines around Iarius jerked him to the side, and he was flung across the meadow.

  He landed, rolling, among the flowers. His head pounded with agony. Panicked, Iarius scrambled to his hands and knees, then froze at the sight before him.

  Nessalir stood, sword in one hand and a small ax in the other, and faced off against a ghastly creature of roots and vines twisted into a vaguely humanoid form. The monster howled again, this time in what sounded like anger, and flung a whip-like arm at the virem draconem.

  But the barbarian seemed to expect this. She danced to the side, raised her ax and chopped down into the arm of twisted vines. It failed to sever the entire limb, but the head of the weapon cut far enough that the monster shrieked, and its arm flailed limply at its side.

  Refusing to allow her momentum to go to waste, Nessalir spun forward, and her sword severed the skull-like head from the creature's shoulders. The vines which made up its body began to untwist themselves. It shuddered and hissed, and Nessalir stepped back, took a deep breath, and let loose from her lips a torrent of flame.

  In an instant the silver light of the moon was replaced with the orange glow of the half-dragon's fire. The flames enveloped the plant monster, and its hissing became a garbled, discordant mess of a noise. The vines and roots danced in pain, and then as the fires began to die down, they collapsed in a smoldering heap.

  "What… in the stars' names… was that?" Iarius demanded.

  Nessalir took a moment to catch her breath. She prodded the thing's charred remains with her boot, then sheathed her weapons. Only then did she turn to acknowledge him. "That was a dryad," she told him. "They are rare in the Northern Lands, though a slight more common in these southern forests. I'd thought I'd heard one when we first entered the woods, and so I remained alert."

  "A dryad?" Iarius asked. "Those… those are real?"

  The virem draconem frowned as she approached him. "Of course they are," she said. "And that one nearly had you. What in the world were you thinking, letting its song into your head?"

  She offered him a hand, and Iarius took it. As he stood, he shook his head. "It sounded so beautiful," he said. "And I was so tired. I thought I was dreaming. And that thing, it was… it was a woman…"

  "It was an illusion," Nessalir corrected him. "Their songs can twist your perceptions of the world; a trick they use to draw in their prey. My apologies—I had assumed you would be familiar with these creatures, and know to guard your mind against them."

  "And why would you assume that?"

  Nessalir looked confused. "Is it not common knowledge in Remura, to be wary of all songs you hear in the woods?"

  Iarius shook his head. "We do not have such creatures in Remura," he told her. Perhaps once there had been, but the army had cleared out such threats to the people.

  "I see."

  They stood in silence for a moment, before Nessalir turned and began walking back toward the trees. "Come," she said. "We should return to our horses."

  He hesitated, then followed. He felt as though he now at last understood how truly savage these Northern Lands were.