by Jeff Wheeler
Kiranrao stepped closer, smelling the other man’s scent for the hint of fear. He was so close. One thrust from Iddawc would end him. It would end all of his tricks and mischief. What toys and trinkets did he hide within those robes?
“And you can bring down the Arch-Rike?” Kiranrao asked with silk in his voice.
“When the Plague is conquered, the Arch-Rike’s power will fail. With no more threat of death, do you think people will willingly submit to living in that pus-pool of a city? It is truly a prison, Kiranrao, as you well know. Only those confined there are confined voluntarily. Fear keeps them inside its walls, nothing more. Remove the fear and you remove the prison. When the Arch-Rike falls, his power falls. And so does his grip on the King of Wayland’s leash.”
Kiranrao rubbed his finger on the edge of the wooden wall. “You know as well as I do that the Arch-Rike will still hold power even if the Plague ends. Men like us do not yield power. It must be forced.”
“How does it feel, Kiranrao?”
“You grow tiresome, Tyrus. Perhaps I will kill you now.”
“Your weakness is your lack of imagination,” Tyrus replied with a hint of arrogance in his expression. “You think that I am trapped here, come to barter with you for your aid but defenseless against you should you turn on me. I assure you I am not. My knowledge of the Paracelsus ways is invaluable to you. I know how to breach their defenses. More importantly, I know what the Arch-Rike secretly fears. I have a weapon against him.”
Kiranrao arched his eyebrows. “Another weapon?”
“This weapon is a person. You know of the Quiet Kishion. You abandoned us to him back in Silvandom.”
“What else did you expect me to do? Keep my word?”
Tyrus shook his head. “You did exactly what I did expect you to do. You took the blade far away. The Arch-Rike fears the Quiet Kishion. He fashioned that blade to defend himself against him. And I have turned that Kishion to my side. He aids in the quest.”
“You lie!” Kiranrao said, disbelieving Tyrus though the ring on his finger did not warn of any falsehood.
Tyrus leaned forward. “This is how it ends, Kiranrao. I have the Quiet Kishion on my side. He will dispatch the Arch-Rike when this is through. I have left nothing to chance. The last time I led a group into the Scourgelands, I was defeated by my own ignorance. I’ve learned much since that failure. I have everything I need to succeed except one thing.” His eyes narrowed. “You.”
“What?” Kiranrao looked at him in annoyance.
“You heard me, Kiranrao. I truly believe that we cannot defeat the Scourgelands without you. Every piece is important. But yours is crucial. You will not do it for the cause. You will not do it to save the world. You will do it because you stand to gain more wealth than anyone else should the Arch-Rike fall.”
There was a trick hidden inside the words. Kiranrao knew there was. He was determined to pry it loose.
“Back in Silvandom, you said that there was another to join the quest. You refused to tell me before who it was. Was it the Arch-Rike’s minion then? Was it the Quiet Kishion?”
Tyrus smiled in chagrin. “I see it is very difficult to hide the truth from you. I cannot succeed without your help. You cannot succeed without mine. We are bound together, you and I. If one of us stumbles, both of us falls.”
Kiranrao stared at the Paracelsus, feeling the sweet urge to kill him, to prove him wrong. Somehow their destinies had been entwined together. It was time to sever that tie.
“You are the only man I know of who has been inside the Scourgelands,” Kiranrao whispered. “What can you possibly have that can defeat it?”
There was a glint in Tyrus’s eye. From the folds of his robe, he raised the strange scepter he had been concealing. There were gems fastened inside it, scroll work and fluting that made the Vaettir’s eyes bulge. It was truly a rare specimen.
“I have this. It is called a Tay al-Ard. With it, I can travel to any place I have ever been. You arrive there instantly. Imagine having a magic such as this. There are only two in existence. The other one is held by the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. When he falls, his will be yours.”
There was a deep ache that started in Kiranrao’s belly. He stared at it, transfixed.
“I am going back to Silvandom now. Come with me.”
“Sometimes even the wisest of scholars and archivists are fools. They think much learning gives wisdom. They are doubtful of every person and argue over trifles. I have found the opposite to be the better approach. Stineo said it best: Seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Being in the Dryad grove brought memories to Annon both pleasant and painful. It was this place where his friend and mentor Reeder had been murdered. Though the body had been taken to Canton Vaud, Annon recognized the spot and it was where he had summoned them to through the magic of the Tay al-Ard. The forest of Silvandom was awash in colors and scents, the air alive with the presence of myriad spirits. Their thoughts brushed against his panicking mind, for his heart was still racing from their flight from Basilides. The narrow escape had cost them dear. Poor Erasmus was added to the dead in Tyrus’s quest.
There are others here, Nizeera said, her tail lashing. I sense them near the tree. It could be a trap.
Annon raised his hand, stopping Khiara and Lukias.
“What is it?” the Vaettir girl whispered, drawing near him.
“We are not alone,” Annon answered, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He prepared to tame the fireblood. “Be ready.”
Who are they? Boeotians or Bhikhu? he thought to Nizeera.
I cannot smell them yet. I heard movement in the trees, over there, in the shadows.
Annon marched forward, preparing to defend the tree again. As they approached the inner ring of oaks, he saw the jagged gash in the trunk of the Dryad tree, the raw skin now blistered with sap. He observed motion through the screen of trees on his left and turned to face it. Someone was approaching, quickly, a man by his shape and size.
“There,” Lukias warned, stepping forward, pointing.
The intruder emerged from the cover. It was the Quiet Kishion.
Annon’s heart quailed at the sight of him. His bowels turned to water. There was no Tay al-Ard to rescue them this time. How was it possible that he had found the Dryad tree? Annon stared at him in shock and dread, Nizeera lowering on her haunches, preparing to spring and defend him.
Khiara reacted first. With a vault forward, she swung her staff around to try to clip the side of his head. He easily ducked the blow and moved like a pool of quicksilver. She twirled the staff over her head and brought it down a second time. He caught the pole, jerked it from her grip, and tossed it away. She did not back down, but launched herself at the Kishion, her eyes focused and determined. There was a flurry of arms, strike and block, grunts and the clack of limbs, and then suddenly she bowled over, clutching her stomach, and dropped to the forest floor, writhing.
The Kishion’s eyes were blue and fierce as he surveyed the other two. Annon knew his flames were useless. He called for aid from the spirit realm, begging for power that might defeat the Arch-Rike’s champion.
Nizeera growled and hissed, clawing the earth. Back, Annon warned her. He will kill you.
The Kishion stepped forward, then shifted like a serpent and struck at Lukias next. He stepped behind the Rike’s heel, grabbing his arm, and jerked, levering the man so that he fell backward over the Kishion’s leg and tumbled to the mat of leaves. Lukias shrieked with surprise as his arm was torqued and wrist bent. He did not resist, his face grimacing.
“He will kill us,” Lukias moaned with dread.
He heard the whisper from Neodesha’s tree in his mind. He is not your enemy, Annon. Be still.
Fly, Druidecht! Nizeera warned, letting out a keening growl of challenge.
Annon was racked with indecision. He recognized Neodesha’s voice in his mind. It conflicted
with the panic and fear from Nizeera. The Kishion dropped to one knee, keeping Lukias’s arm at a terrible angle, one that caused immeasurable pain. Lukias gasped.
Trust me, the Dryad whispered.
Annon stared at the Kishion, the realization beginning to dawn on him. Why had he attacked the Rike? As a servant of the Arch-Rike himself, would he not have gone for Annon instead? He was deliberately subduing the other man, not trying to strangle him as he had with Hettie.
“Wait,” Annon said, holding out his hand calmingly. His mind and heart were aflutter with conflicting reactions. What was the right course to take? “He is on our side. He is one of us.”
The Quiet Kishion raised his gaze to Annon, his expression hard but not cruel. “This is Lukias, a Provost-Rike of Kenatos. I know this man. He is not your ally.”
The spasm of fear that had constricted in Annon’s chest began to unclench. “And are you?” he asked. “The last time we met, you vanished with my uncle and killed him.”
The Kishion’s eyes narrowed. “Tyrus is alive.”
The revelation made Annon’s hands drop to his side. “What did you say?”
“You heard me well enough, Druidecht. I will go into the Scourgelands with you. But this man cannot be trusted.”
“You?” Lukias said through clenched teeth. “You say that about me? A fine jest, Kishion. He wears a ring on his hand. The Arch-Rike controls him through it. Do not believe him.”
The Kishion snorted, exchanging his grip on Lukias’s wrist with his other hand. He held up his fingers and showed them to Annon. “The Arch-Rike tried to destroy me with that ring. It was left in Stonehollow. I am free of his influence now. This man helped lead the raid into Silvandom against you.”
“I know,” Annon said. “Please. Stop twisting his arm. Let him sit and I will explain. Khiara, are you feeling any better?” He noticed the Vaettir girl struggling to rise and helped her straighten. She stared at the Kishion with fear and confusion and then nodded slowly to Annon.
The Kishion watched her warily, his blue eyes alert for any motion. He kept them all within his sight, shifting around to the other side of Lukias, and then untwisted his arm. The Rike massaged his wrist, his face twisted into a frown of pain.
“I will warn you all right now,” said the Kishion. “Do not try my patience. If you attack me in any way or try to flee, I will not be merciful. Now you, Druidecht. Explain how this wretch is among you.”
Lukias shook his head, his face contorting with anger. “You question him about me? You are the Arch-Rike’s killer. If you are not here to execute us, then I cannot imagine why you are here.”
“Silence,” the Kishion warned. “Not a word more, Lukias. I don’t trust you. Speak, Druidecht. Quickly.”
Annon stared at the man, amazed at the turn of events. “There are questions I would also ask you.”
The Kishion shook his head no. “Answer mine.”
Annon was still amazed at the revelations and he struggled to master his thoughts. What could he tell the Kishion? Would anything he said be safe to reveal? Was this some trick? If Tyrus was still alive, why had he not contacted them? Maybe he had but could not track where Annon and the others were going. Too much confusion.
“Speak!”
Annon sighed deeply. “Tyrus sent us to find Basilides. Do you know of it?”
The Kishion nodded.
“Lukias was persuaded to help us find it. He attempted to convince us along the journey that we would be better served surrendering to the Arch-Rike. He led us there, but refused to grant us any knowledge that would bypass the defenses. He bargained for his life, as any man would. We were attacked by Boeotians along the way, and he assisted us. He was even…ingested by one of the defenders along the outer pass and cut his way out with a long knife. Our truce has been tentative, I assure you. But Erasmus perished inside that horrible place and Khiara and I would have probably perished as well if he had not freed us and led us to the Tay al-Ard that provided the escape. The Arch-Rike himself was leading the hunt for us. We only just escaped.”
The Kishion’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Khiara warily. “What is your role in this, Vaettir?”
“I am a Shaliah. My skills are needed to heal.”
He then gazed down at the prone man. “I will not bother asking you for your motives, Lukias. Surely you can lie well enough to deceive even a black ring.”
“True enough,” Lukias replied evenly. “How did you survive the detonation of the ring?”
The Kishion frowned. “My immunity protects me still.”
Lukias shook his head slowly. “No. What truly protects you, Kishion, is the veil over your memories.” He grunted with pain and slowly stood. “Have you recovered them yet? When the ring burst, did they flood back?”
The Kishion gestured that they had not.
Lukias nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “In every kingdom, there is a man chosen and sent to do the vilest of duties. We all know the King of Wayland is a cunning and ambitious man. He has many rivals. There are many who attempt to topple his power. To preserve it, he thrusts his knife into the vulnerable parts of his enemies. He threatens their kin. Especially their children. Do you even know, Kishion, how many children you have killed? I thought you always wore gloves because you could not bear to see the red on your hands.”
Revulsion and horror swept through Annon. He tried to control his composure, but he could feel the twitching of his cheek muscles, and bile rose into this throat. The Kishion stared at Lukias solemnly. He did not deny it.
“So why would you have joined this quest?” Lukias challenged. “My motives are clear and rather obvious. I believe Tyrus will win. With you to aid him? Even the Preachán would have said the odds improved enormously. If the Arch-Rike falls, another power will step into his place. The King of Wayland is the one to watch. Or Tyrus of Kenatos. I lay my wager with the Paracelsus over the cunning king. I know that I will not earn Tyrus’s trust until his quest is successful. Why are you here, Kishion? What does Tyrus trust you to do?”
There was a snapping of twigs and another shape visible through the trees. “He is my protector.”
Phae stepped through the ring of trees, watching those who had come, and approached the Kishion from behind, standing beside him, but slightly behind him. She rested her hand on his arm, trying to reassure him with her presence. She saw the clenched jaw, the distrust so clearly etched in his expression. She wrestled with her fear of him, but she was determined. She pushed a strand of hair from her face and stared at them all dispassionately.
“My name is Phae,” she said, looking at each of them. “I am Tyrus’s daughter.”
They were each very different. The Vaettir girl was naturally quiet, reserved. She was dressed as a Rike herself, which was odd. But then, the appearance of Prince Aransetis was the same as he had worn the tunic too. She had long black hair, a bruise on her cheek, and a scrape slashing the end of her chin. The middle one, the Druidecht, looked young. He was handsome, but his expression was haunted. The news he had experienced was causing a churn of emotion inside of him and he was wrestling with it still. He wore something around his neck, a piece of jewelry of some kind with glittering stones at the ends. There was a creature just behind him, some strange mountain cat with a beautiful pelt. The final man was a Rike, silver-haired, and his look made Phae distrust him completely. He was goading Shion, trying to unhinge him with secrets from the past. Was Shion a child-killer? Was that why his memories were veiled? She was the one who had encouraged him to seek his past. What if that past was truly too horrible to relive?
While she had waited in the seclusion of the grove, she had listened to the conversation and decided to reveal herself at last. She was alarmed at their presence, but she understood why and how they had come.
“I’m staring, I’m sorry,” she said, offering a weak smile. “We were attacked by the Arch-Rike’s forces and had to flee. Tyrus brought us to Silvandom, but we split up because one of us was wound
ed—”
“The Prince?” Khiara interrupted, her face drawn with worry.
Phae shook her head. “No, he is safe. There was a man we met in the mountains of Alkire who sheltered us. Evritt is his name. He was injured in the Arch-Rike’s attack and they took him to the city for a healer. The two of us have been evading the Arch-Rike’s minions. We found our way here. I think you all know…what I am.”
Annon stared at her in awe. “You are Dryad-born.”
Phae nodded. “I am. There is something I must do here though. I do not know how much time we have before Tyrus finds us again. Or the Arch-Rike for that matter. Annon, would you join me? The others must wait outside the rim of trees. Shion…will you keep the others away?”
He glanced at her in concern and hesitated, his fists clenching.
“I will be safe with Annon,” she whispered, squeezing his arm. “The Dryad will keep me so.”
He nodded finally and then gestured for Khiara and Lukias to retreat the way they had come. They obeyed, vanishing into the woods. Phae studied the young man, who was barely older than her. He stared at her in return.
“You look like Tyrus,” Annon told her, shaking his head. She wore a ribbed shirt and trousers with a thick leather belt. It was not the look or the fashion of Wayland, but he had seen those from Stonehollow wear such clothes before. It was a dusty place, thick with stones. Her hair was lighter than his, but still bore the telltale sign of their fireblood. She looked fit and hale, her hair clean and slightly damp. Her clothes were a bit tattered and frayed.
“Is that a compliment?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.
He approached her and took her hand with both of his. “You’ve seen your father, then?”
“I have.”
He closed his eyes, relieved beyond words. “I thought he was dead.”
“He was dead, Annon. Shion killed him with a dagger. Well, if there is one thing my father knows how to do better than being a Paracelsus, it’s to survive. Prince Aran found me in Stonehollow, but I snuck away not trusting him. I wish now that I had. I was found by Shion and he took me captive and was bringing me to the Arch-Rike when Tyrus and Aran discovered us. This has all come about very fast. But I know who I am. I know what my father intends for me.” She swallowed, her look nervous. “I have accepted my fate. I believe you are the only one he told everything to. Which is why I wanted to speak to you alone, and not in front of the others.”
