by Jeff Wheeler
He watched Kiranrao plummeting toward the forest floor before vanishing into a gasp of smoke.
XXXII
It was Annon who spotted the riderless horse first, and he hissed for the others in warning. The mount was lathered and plodded through the grove, its reins dragging on the turf. The nostrils flared and it shook its mane. The group hid behind oak trees, each one claiming his or her own, except for Shion and Phae. The steed huffed past them, oblivious to their presence, skulking deeper into the woods. Annon looked at Tyrus, saw the baffled expression, and knew he could not make anything of it either.
From the wilderness where they had come, the howl of the Weir picked up again, causing repeat cries from several sides. They were getting closer and Annon felt the worry gnawing at him. He was tired beyond imagining, aching for rest and sleep, but there was no stopping now, nothing but the fear of being hunted, realizing that if night fell again before they had found the tree, it would be too late. He had the numbing premonition that they wouldn’t live to see the dawn if that happened.
“There wasn’t a rider,” Prince Aran said. “What do you make of it?”
“I have no idea,” Tyrus replied. “Shirikant must be pulling in all of his defenses.” He gazed through the trees at the dwindling sunlight. The shadows grew darker with each passing moment. “Hurry. This way.” He pointed.
Annon swallowed hard and they traversed the twisting woods. Hettie stayed close to him, her breath ragged from the long and tortuous walk. Her face was ashen with fatigue, but she managed a quick smile to him and patted his shoulder.
The woods broke away not far ahead, and Tyrus raised his hand. He picked out the widest oak, the most imposing barrier, and directed them all to cluster behind it.
“Hettie, what do you make of the ground?” Tyrus asked her.
She came forward, crouching low, and studied the land in front of them. The earth was churned and trees had been pulled up by their roots and dragged away. It was haphazard, disorderly, but it created a wide space between them and the base of the massive promontory jutting ahead. Annon craned his neck, seeing the ribs of craggy stone rising like arches into the sky. At the top, he saw the ruined battlement walls of some fallen citadel. The sky to the north was roiling with clouds and he saw the vivid flash of lightning coming from the distance. A rumble of thunder followed it shortly.
“We made it this far,” Annon said, gazing up at the fallen fortress. Part of him didn’t believe it was possible. Would he snap awake and realize it was only a vision? The bark of the oak was rough against his palm and he stroked it, wondering if the tree had been there when the foundation stones of the ruins had first been laid.
Tyrus breathed heavily. He stared at the gap between the woods and the ruins, a gap that would open them to the view of anyone on top of the cleft. “We will be seen advancing,” he muttered darkly. “And who knows what pits and traps are waiting there. There is a reason the trees have been broken down, though I cannot figure what it is.” He wiped his eyes, shaking his head with weariness. He passed over to another tree, examining the view from another angle. “What do you make out, Hettie?”
She stayed within the protective brush of the woods. “The ground has been churned recently. Possibly today. I see hoofprints, but I need to get closer to see anything.” She craned her neck, staring up at the promontory. “Soldiers patrol the top.”
Tyrus sighed. “He’ll keep beasts below to hunt us and intelligent men above to shoot arrows or catapults from above. I think he razed the trees to help them see us coming. We have to go around then.” He turned to Annon. “Remind me what the Dryad told you. Where is the Mother Tree?”
“It’s not on the promontory, but somewhere here around it. Do you think Shirikant razed her tree?”
“He may want us to believe so. I think if he were going to raze it, he would have long ago. There is no benefit to delay. What about the bridge to Mirrowen? Remind me of that.”
Annon cleared his throat. “She said it was in the center of the promontory, in the midst of the ruins.”
“Heavily guarded,” Tyrus observed. “The Mother Tree gives us the word, I believe. The word needed to pass the worlds. Did you not say that?”
“Yes, Tyrus.”
“Forgive my memory. I’m dreadfully tired. We can’t stay here or the Weir will catch us.” He stroked his chin, pondering deeply. “We don’t have the men or the means to fight off a garrison. But we can confuse them. We don’t know where Shirikant is, but I would guess he is closer to the tree. If only we knew.” He rubbed his forehead briskly. “Time for another deception. We should divide our numbers. Here is my plan, but we don’t have long to argue it.” The keening of the Weir sounded much closer. “Time eludes us. Hettie will use her charm and disguise herself as Phae. She will come with me into the clearing. We will draw their attention to us, providing time for you to slip through the woods. I’ll announce we’re surrendering and see if I can draw some of them off the ridge to arrest us. If they come, we’ll use our fireblood to make smoke and confusion. When I start, you do the same, start setting fire to the woods around us, just enough to cause some smoke and add to the confusion. If they charge at Hettie and me, we’ll use the Tay al-Ard to come back to this spot and then circumnavigate the promontory the opposite direction as you . . . or track you if that seems more appropriate. Whichever of us finds the tree first, we’ll wait for the others there and then attack the promontory together after Phae has gotten the name.” He looked quickly at each of their faces. “Any suggestions or improvements? Speak them quickly.”
“Will they be deceived by the surrender?” Aran asked.
“Not Shirikant. But if I can confuse the guards posted on the promontory, that will be well enough. Shirikant can’t be everywhere at once. He has set his forces in motion and they will respond without him. He’s dependent on living beings doing his bidding. Any other thoughts? Quickly!”
Shion frowned. “Once we separate, it will be difficult finding each other.”
“True. More difficult to find us as well. We know our goal and must act with the best knowledge that we have.” Tyrus looked deep into Annon’s eyes, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “We are truly a mastermind. You know my goal. Get Phae to the Mother Tree at all costs. That tree has the knowledge we need. If dividing will improve our odds of success, even slightly, we must do what must be done.” His hand gave a subtle squeeze on Annon’s shoulder, unseen by the others.
Annon stared into his eyes, realizing what Tyrus intended. If he had to, Tyrus was prepared to unleash the full power of the fireblood and invoke his own madness to save them. He had given Annon a ring that would summon the Tay al-Ard into his hand, to stop Tyrus from using it while enraged. A sickening feeling crept into Annon’s stomach.
Hettie approached, only she looked exactly like Phae now, her magic providing an exact duplicate of the Dryad-born’s appearance. “Let’s go, Tyrus. Before my courage melts.”
Annon looked at her, feeling the urge to hug her. His pulse quickened with dread. “Watch yourself,” he said hoarsely.
She gave him a quick hug, planting a kiss on his cheek followed by a pat.
Tyrus looked at the real Phae, his expression heartbreakingly tender. He seemed unable to speak, nodding to her in farewell. Phae shook her head, unwilling to accept that, and gave him a fierce hug, burying her face in his chest. His expression shifted from pain to sadness to ferocious determination.
As the Weir howled again, even closer, Annon watched the two leave the shelter of the trees and approach the promontory.
“I think I should limp,” Hettie murmured, suddenly clutching Tyrus’s arm and feigning injury. Her heart was pounding with fear at their exposed position. The calls from the Weir were drawing closer and she knew it would not be long before they bounded after them from the screen of trees.
“Good thinking,” Tyrus said, fidgeting w
ith his collar. She noticed a small strand of leather around his neck and he freed it, withdrawing a small leather pouch, very small and slender, as if it contained a single leaf.
“What is that pouch?” she asked, seeing him free it but letting it dangle over his shirt. “More Paracelsus magic?”
The sky seemed to be boiling, the clouds coming down like a blacksmith’s hammer on an awaiting anvil. How fitting a storm was threatening to break on such a moment as this. The wind whipped up, blowing her hair in front of her face, and she brushed it back.
“Not magic,” Tyrus replied.
“What is it then?” she asked, always curious, not willing to let him be evasive in such a moment. She saw the Tay al-Ard in his left hand, gripped tightly. The veins on his fingers were pronounced. He exuded a calm self-assurance, but she could see the tension in the crinkled skin around his eyes. He stared up at the massive bulwark with defiance.
“Romani poison. Monkshood.”
Her heart went cold at the words. “Why?” she gasped.
He refused to look at her. “If this ends badly, Hettie, I’m determined it will end. I told Annon earlier that I was willing to sacrifice my mind to succeed. What I did not tell him was that I had no intention of spending the rest of my days insane. I picked a poison that would kill me relatively quickly, but allow me to do some damage to them first. I make this sacrifice willingly, Hettie. Your mother spared my life so that I could save you. Allow me, after all these years, to do what I can to save yours.”
Her throat became thick. “Do you think we’ll fail?”
He stared ahead at the promontory. “I didn’t come here to succeed. I came here so that Phae would.”
They were halfway to the promontory, two figures in the midst of a broken clearing. Hettie’s heart raced with dread and anticipation. She looked up again, seeing the small figures of soldiers lined up along the fragments of the battlement walls. Some held spears and others had long bows. A few carried torches.
Tyrus put his arm around Hettie’s shoulder and stopped, staring up. Were they in range of the archers? Probably. None of them had raised their bows to fire yet and no one had shouted a challenge down at them either.
Tyrus stooped slightly, and then lifted up his chin. He called out in a clear, firm voice. “I am Tyrus of Kenatos and this is my daughter. We surrender!”
There was a ripple of murmurs from the crest of the promontory.
Hettie saw the Weir emerge from the ring of trees, at least forty, if not more, stalking toward them, hides bristling. She felt a shiver go through her. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
“We surrender!” Tyrus yelled. “Is there a healer? My daughter is injured!”
Hettie felt her mouth go hot, watching the baleful glares of the Weir as they padded forward, their hides vanishing before reappearing moments later, much closer. Strange dust glittered from them as they moved, paused, moved again, bearing down on them and increasing speed.
From the cluster of soldiers emerged a black-garbed Rike with pale hair. “I am Lukias,” he shouted down at them from the top of the promontory. “And I am ordered to watch you both die.”
Annon’s muscles burned as they ran. As each oak tree whipped by, he stared at it, trying to find the telltale description the Dryad had given him. With the storm clouds, it seemed that night was falling even earlier and he was afraid they would run right past it in the twilight. He was worried sick about Hettie and felt the danger and threat rise in a suffocating tide. Even though she was with Tyrus, he feared for her. He had pushed himself beyond his normal limits, and each step made his joints ache and brought a numbing fatigue.
Snarls from the Weir came from behind as the first of the beasts overtook them.
Annon whirled and raised his fists, repeating the Vaettir words in his mind and unleashing a blast of fire, turning the beast into ash. His heart went giddy with excitement at the power, and he felt the desire to let it loose throughout the woods, to consume the ancient forest in a blaze of triumphant glory. Another Weir launched at him from the left and he managed to sidestep it. Shion stabbed the beast as soon as it landed, plunging his daggers into its neck with perfect accuracy.
A third hissed in fury and raced toward them, bounding at Prince Aran, who met its charge as an immovable stone. The two collided and the Prince was scored by the Weir’s claws but managed to strike its eyes himself, viciously blinding the feline with his hooked fingers. The beast wailed in pain and attacked in a frenzy but was put to death by Shion’s blades in an instant.
“Go on!” Shion ordered, beckoning them to keep moving, for undoubtedly there were other Weir coming after them still. With hands still burning with unspent flames, Annon resumed the sprint, dodging past trees and keeping his wits as sharp as he could despite the thickening fog inside his head.
“Wait!”
The voice came from above, startling them.
The branches overhead were snapping as something battled through the foliage high above. Shion grabbed Phae’s arm and pulled her after him, trying to flee the voice, but she dug in her heels. “It’s Paedrin!” she shouted.
Annon had also recognized the voice. The branches broke loose and the Bhikhu came soaring down from the heights of the trees, his eyes wide with excitement and desperation. He plummeted to the ground, landing in a Bhikhu stance, one hand forward with several fingers up, the Sword of Winds tucked back behind him deferentially.
“Paedrin!” Annon shouted, rushing toward him, but Aransetis blocked the way.
“Hold, we don’t know it’s him!” Aran warned.
The Bhikhu straightened, searching their faces. “Of course you suspect me, with all we’ve been through together. You’re still here. Phae, you’re alive!” He laughed with surprise. “I thought you were . . . of course not . . . a trick of Tyrus. I know where the Dryad tree is!” His eyes were so thrilled with excitement, he almost looked deranged. “I know where it is! I’ve just come from there. It’s surrounded by guardians, but I’ve been there . . . my feet have touched the ground by it. I can take you there, right this moment. Tyrus?” He seemed to have noticed finally that Tyrus was not among them. “Where’s Hettie?”
“How can you confirm our trust in you?” Prince Aran warned.
“Look at me!” Paedrin said, impatient. “I’m bleeding, exhausted, and half-mad with delirium, but it is me. If I had leprosaria would you think I was Mathon? If I called you sheep-brains, would you think I was Erasmus? I’m Paedrin Bhikhu,” he said, beginning to float, bringing his feet straight up into the air and balancing himself on the sword pommel with one finger. “I can take you to the tree right now with the Tay al-Ard.” He came down suddenly, his eyes fierce. “Now I ask again—where are Tyrus and Hettie?”
“They’re at the base of the promontory,” Annon said. “Trying to buy us time to find the tree. He has the Tay al-Ard.”
Paedrin’s face wrenched with pain. “There are too many to fight, for them or for us. I’ve been atop the promontory and seen the ruins. He has five hundred men up there if he has fifty.” Paedrin wiped his face. “The tree is ringed by creatures on every side, Weir mostly, but there are some brown-cloaked creatures too with bows as well. They shot at me the moment I came down, but if we had the Tay al-Ard, I could bring us right there in the middle. Some of them were trailing me and will be here shortly.” He screwed up his face and let out a Romani curse. “We are so close!”
Annon stared at Paedrin, believing he was who he said he was. He had just the right amount of frantic energy and bravado. There were no rings on his hands either and his impatience and desperation were common to everyone at the moment.
“Which way is the tree?” Shion asked, grabbing Paedrin’s arm. “Point it out.”
“That way,” Paedrin said, motioning the direction they were going. “But we’re outnumbered. You’re strong, Shion, but if enough Weir pounce on you, even you�
�ll get pinned down. Maybe if we go around and try to flank them? But they won’t go far from the tree, I don’t think. They know we’re coming for it. They just need to wait.”
Annon saw the awful dilemma. Maybe Tyrus had suspected it too. He stared down at his hand, at the invisible ring on his finger. With it, he could summon the Tay al-Ard. He could let Paedrin use it to bring them to the Mother Tree. But doing so would trap Tyrus and Hettie in the midst of the clearing without a way to escape.
There was a flash of movement in the trees coming from both sides. The Weir from the tree had joined the ones stalking them from behind. The forces were converging on each side.
“We’re surrounded,” Phae warned in fear.
The Weir rushed at them, howling with vengeance as they charged through the maze of trees. Annon stared at his hand, frozen with indecision. Tyrus had laid the burden on his shoulders. Somehow, he had known. Summoning the Tay al-Ard would have consequences. Without it, Tyrus would probably use the fireblood and go mad. Hettie might die. Staring at his hand, he wondered what fate he would unleash and what guilt he would suffer as a result of his decision. He did not have time to think it through. He did not have time to reason it out.
Closing his eyes, he invoked the power of the ring. The object he desired appeared in his outstretched hand, still warm from Tyrus’s own grip.
What have I done? he thought bleakly.
Paedrin stared at him in shock.
“Hasten,” Annon whispered, extending the Tay al-Ard out so all could reach it. He met Paedrin’s gaze, who seemed to be realizing the implications himself by the widening of his eyes. Annon nodded curtly, steeling his emotions. “Take us there, Paedrin.”
XXXIII
Phae’s insides wrenched as the magic of the Tay al-Ard hurtled them through the span of woods, arriving in a moment in a different location. Queasiness mixed with the dizziness of the power, and she grasped Shion’s arm to keep from falling. What had been the subtle murmur of Dryad magic permeating the woods became a roar that flooded her with its presence. She sensed that she was standing on a vast web of interlocking roots that furrowed deep beneath the earth and whose tendrils expanded not just around the perimeter of a single tree, but seemed to connect in small and vast ways to every other tree throughout the impenetrable maze. It took no more than a single instant to realize they had arrived at the proper place. And it took less than an instant for the defenders of that lair to be aware of their presence.