by Jeff Wheeler
As the new arrivals appeared, consisting of two Druidecht and several Vaettir protectors, Phae noticed Shion step next to her. It was as if an invisible chain appeared between them, binding them together. She watched Annon stare at the newcomers, his face mixed with different emotions.
Annon looked back at Tyrus. “Palmanter,” he whispered. “He’s one of the Thirteen.”
“I know him,” Tyrus responded distrustfully. “Let me speak first.”
Tyrus stood at the head of the group. Phae watched his hand slip into a pocket. She stared at the arrivals and blinked quickly. She had never seen so many Vaettir before and wondered if the rumors were true, that they could fly. Their Bhikhu robes were plain and gray and many walked with polished staves. Of the two Druidecht, one was a man and the other a woman. The man had a thick mane of gray hair. He was tall, as tall as her father, and built strongly. His eyes were keen and appraising, glancing quickly across each of their faces. The woman looked more frail, with a pinched nose and auburn hair cut short. She looked like a form of a bird, but her expression was serious and probing.
“Greetings again, Tyrus,” the gray-haired Druidecht said. His expression was decidedly nervous. “It has been many weeks since you sought refuge in Canton Vaud.”
Tyrus replied with a measured voice. “Which you refused to grant, if I recall.”
“Do you have enmity now against Canton Vaud?” the woman asked pointedly.
Tyrus gazed at her. “I do not, Stoern. How did you find me?”
Palmanter held up his hand to prevent her answering. “Annon—it is good to see you as well. You wear the cassock of the Rikes now. Has your allegiance shifted? I see your talisman still?”
Annon folded his arms. “I am a Druidecht. These clothes do not change that.”
“Why are you here?” Tyrus pressed, stepped forward.
His step caused Palmanter to flinch. Great beads of sweat appeared on his brow. He was clearly nervous.
“Why do you fear me?” Tyrus asked. “I am no threat to you.”
“Truly?” Palmanter asked, his voice thick with distrust.
“You did not grant me sanctuary, but I do not resent it. The Thirteen have a truce with Kenatos, but we are not enemies. I respect Canton Vaud.”
“Your actions in Silvandom would say otherwise,” the woman, Stoern, said archly.
“What actions do you speak of?” Tyrus pressed.
Palmanter held up one of his meaty hands. “We wish you to come to Canton Vaud, Tyrus. To answer…some questions.”
Phae felt Shion’s arm brush against hers. His eyes were pointed like daggers at the two arrivals, his jaw set in a scowl. He seemed ready to attack them. Something was not right. This was not an introduction of allies.
“This conversation does not inspire trust,” Tyrus said. “What actions do you mean? Speak plainly.”
Phae noticed that the Bhikhu were slowly detaching from the two Druidecht, slowly positioning themselves on each flank, their weapons ready. Her throat went dry. She could feel the tension bubbling up.
“It would be better if we spoke at Canton Vaud,” Palmanter said evasively. “Will you come with us?”
Tyrus chuckled darkly, his visage grim. “I am harried on all sides it seems.”
Annon stepped forward, Nizeera at his heels. “The spirits say what you refuse to. Speak it openly, Palmanter. We are not your enemies as you fear.”
Palmanter looked at Annon coldly. “You owe your obedience to Canton Vaud, Annon. If this comes to blows, you will not intervene. Your participation in this requires an inquest.”
“You may command me,” Annon said. “That is your right. But we must speak openly. Your words and actions make this feel as if we’re walking into a trap if we come with you.”
“It is for our own safety that we do this,” Stoern said. “After what happened to the Arch-Rike’s emissaries. Your attire only confirms suspicion.”
Annon stared with composure. “I know how this must appear. But we should not dissemble, not with each other. I am a loyal Druidecht. I will speak openly if you will not. What I have come to learn is that the Arch-Rike has been imprisoning spirits from Mirrowen to harness their powers. It is the craft of the Paracelsus.” He put his hand on Tyrus’s shoulder. “They are conflicted because of the Arch-Rike’s explanation of the confrontation in Prince Aran’s manor. It contradicts ours rather decisively.”
Stoern’s expression contorted with anger. “You were told to be silent!” she snapped at Annon. Her face was mottled with fury. “Will you come peacefully, Tyrus? Or must we compel you? There is much you must answer for.”
Phae swallowed, shrinking from the hostility in Stoern’s voice. She did not want to go anywhere with that woman.
“Your meaning is clear, Madame,” Tyrus said. “You have been given reports that concern the Thirteen. Naturally you wish us to submit to your questions to ascertain the truth of the matter. But you are predisposed to find me guilty. What would you do if you were in my place?”
“If I were innocent,” Stoern said, “I would come to Canton Vaud and seek to clear my name. If I were guilty, I would slay the ones who knew the truth.”
“Your thinking is limited,” Tyrus replied. “But I see your intentions now. Let me speak plainly, since you will not. We were attacked by the Arch-Rike’s minions in Prince Aransetis’s manor in Silvandom. We fought for our lives and we prevailed.”
“So you say,” Palmanter said. “Allow us the opportunity to challenge your version of the events.”
“Or confirm it?” Tyrus asked mockingly.
“We have witnesses,” Stoern said.
“As do I. Believe me, nothing I say will satisfy you. You have witnesses right here. Annon was there. Khiara Shaliah was there. Prince Aransetis was there. So were these two—Lukias is a Provost-Rike and helped lead the assault against us.”
“And that man over there,” Stoern said, pointing to Kishion. “His presence here is highly suspect. We all know who he is. Will you turn him loose on us, Tyrus?”
A cold smile came to her father’s mouth. “You were brave to face me, fearing me as you do. We will come with you peacefully. I have nothing to hide. I will plead my cause before the Thirteen. But first, you must answer my question. How did you find me?”
Palmanter looked relieved. “We did not know you were here, Tyrus. There are Bhikhu monitoring this portion of the woods to protect the Dryad tree. We were alerted when the Quiet Kishion arrived.”
“And you brought something you could capture him with,” Tyrus said shrewdly, nodding. “Some magic from Mirrowen, no doubt. I advise you not to attempt it. He is impervious to spirit magic. If you do not harm us, you will not be harmed. Not even the Bhikhu you brought will be enough. Trust me on that.”
Stoern glowered. “Now that our motives are laid bare, will you come with us?”
“We will,” Tyrus answered. “I have no quarrel with Canton Vaud.”
Phae felt dread in her heart. She remembered Shion’s warning that the Arch-Rike had a spy in Canton Vaud.
It was good being back in his old Druidecht clothes again. Annon had gratefully discarded the black cassock and returned to his pack for his old attire. He kept the torc around his neck. Canton Vaud no longer held the allure it once had. He had visited it before and had found his friend Reeder camped there in a small pavilion. He knew Palmanter was one of the Thirteen and he wanted to trust him, but the reception they had received had troubled him greatly and Stoern’s rebuke had rattled him. He was used to the respect afforded his position as a Druidecht. The thought of losing his talisman and being cast off from the order filled him with dread. He believed the order was fair. If he could persuade them of the dangers they faced, that the Arch-Rike was a mutual enemy, he hoped to get them on their side and win their trust.
After crossing the woods of Silvandom back to Canton Vaud, they were brought to an expansive pavilion to rest, eat, and change before being summoned to the presence of the Thirteen. T
he long walk had not afforded the privilege of private conversation, so he had not spoken to Tyrus at all along the way.
After changing his clothes, he approached the man cautiously, noticing Khiara had already changed as well and sat in a meditation position, head bowed. Tyrus picked from a platter of food, tasting an assortment of nuts and cheeses. Phae was resting on a small pallet, speaking in low tones to the Kishion. Lukias brooded and paced, his eyes traveling across the pavilion, taking in every detail.
“What is it?” Tyrus asked, motioning Annon over. “You have questions.”
“I was a little surprised you chose to come willingly,” Annon said. He nestled down on a cushion and took some fruit from the tray. “Do you think we are safe here?”
A wry smile flickered across his mouth. “Of course we are not safe here.” His voice dropped very low. “The Arch-Rike has a spy in Canton Vaud.”
“What?” Annon asked, leaning forward. His stomach clenched. “Who?”
“I am trying to figure it out. Probably one of the Thirteen. I have been trying to reason it out myself.”
“Do you think it is Stoern?” Annon whispered.
Tyrus shook his head. “No, she is too easily ruffled. Someone more subtle. What do you know of Palmanter?”
Annon’s anxiety went into a full raging panic. “Reeder was friends with him. He is the one who told me some of the Dryad lore. He revealed the boon and counseled me to stay by the tree.”
Tyrus stroked his beard. “You look unsettled.”
“Shouldn’t I be?” Annon said with a gasp. “We are in the middle of Canton Vaud, surrounded by the most powerful Druidecht in the lands. There are spirits here, powers we cannot understand.”
Tyrus met his gaze, listening intently.
Annon edged closer to him. “Which is why I was surprised you would bring us here.” He grabbed a handful of nuts and began eating them. They were heavily salted and tasted delicious. Nizeera was coiled near the door, head on her paws, watching them closely.
Tyrus leaned forward. “You must trust me, Annon. Trust that I know something about the spirits of Mirrowen. Trust that I know every possible way of taming them. The situation has changed since we were last here. The Arch-Rike attempted to murder us in Silvandom. There were corpses left behind. He has also lost one of his most valuable allies. He has invented a story to lay the blame on me. You saw how they treated me. I am not afraid of the truth. Whether or not they choose to help us, we will continue. The pieces are starting to come together.”
Annon hated cryptic comments like that. “What do you mean?”
“All in good time, my boy.” Tyrus smiled knowingly.
Phae was drowsy and the blankets were very soft and comfortable. She blinked slowly. She shook her head and sat up. “I fell asleep, didn’t I?”
Shion nodded, sitting on the floor next to the pallet. “You should rest. The others are, except for Tyrus.”
Brushing hair around her ear, Phae looked across the dimly-lit pavilion. Annon was curled up next to Nizeera, his expression showing possible nightmares. Khiara was still in her trance, head down, black hair veiling her face. Lukias was spread out on another pallet, breathing softly.
“There is a smell here that reminds me of Stonehollow.” She looked around and then noticed the cask of wine and the pewter cups. “Ah.”
He glanced where she was looking and then looked down at his hands. She could see him wrestling with himself.
“What is it?” she whispered, touching his sleeve.
“I’m conflicted,” he murmured softly. “Something Lukias said gnaws at me.”
She remembered the comment perfectly. She tightened her grip on his arm. “Promise me, Shion. When this is through, you will confront your memories. You will face your past.”
“Do I dare?” His voice was just the ghost of a whisper.
She lowered her face closer to his. “You must. I feel your anguish. Not knowing is certainly worse than any deeds you have done. You did not do those things on your own. If other men paid for the deeds, they are the ones who bear an equal share of the blame.” She frowned, angry at the men who had dominated his life. “There is some hope. If the truth is so unbearable…I can take it away.” She looked him in the eyes pointedly.
He shook his head. “I would not want you to carry my burdens. You least of all.”
“I’m not sure how it works. I learned much visiting the Dryad tree. But if I can help you, I will.”
He met her gaze. “Something tugs at me when I look at you. A memory buried away.” He sighed deeply.
She patted his arm. “I trust you, Shion. You will not let anyone hurt me.”
He nodded gravely, his expression suddenly concealed by a shadow as Tyrus stood. Her father approached and settled down on a cushion next to the pallet.
“Did you learn what you need to know at the tree?” Tyrus asked her.
“I believe so,” she replied. She paused. “I do not think I am meant to share it.”
He held up his hand, smiling inwardly, and made a motion to forestall her. “I would not ask it of you. If you need to return and visit the tree, you can later.”
“Why don’t you sleep, Father?” she asked him. “Shion can guard us.”
He nodded sagely, glancing from his daughter to her protector. “They will call for us soon. There is something about midnight that strengthens a Druidecht’s power. They seek every advantage in this confrontation.” He brushed something from his pants. He looked at Shion shrewdly. “We may have to fight our way out of Canton Vaud. I would ask you to spare their lives. I hate to bind you, and you will need to use your own judgment. But I would prefer not confirming their worst opinions about me.”
Shion shrugged noncommittally then motioned for the pillow. “Sleep,” he bid her.
Phae shook her head. “I’m not tired.”
A dark scowl came across Tyrus’s face. “You will be,” he said softly. “We must be well rested when we enter the Scourgelands. We will get little or no sleep once we do.” She saw his expression harden and felt the sparks of memory exploding in his mind.
“What will we face?” Shion asked.
“I will tell you all later,” he replied. “I would not brook fears until we are ready to face them. It is a dark place. It is a terrible place. Fire seemed to work the best. I hope it will still.” He reached out and took Phae’s hand. “You will need to fight as well, Phae. Not even your friend here will be able to protect you from all dangers. You must use the fireblood to protect yourself.”
Phae felt a shiver of fear go down to her boots. “I’m frightened of it,” she whispered.
“If you weren’t, I would worry even more. Use it. Do not overuse it. That way leads to madness.”
The look in his eyes showed her that he knew what he was talking about. He was haunted by his memories. Slowly, he turned and stared at Annon’s sleeping form. Nizeera’s head popped up, her whiskers twitching, her ears alert.
“They’ve come for us,” Tyrus said, his voice black with dread.
“The Vaettir have a saying that is ripe with wisdom: The gods judged it better to bring good out of evil than to suffer no evil to exist. They will not willingly take a life for fear of destroying that potential inside us. We all have tendencies toward evil, some more than others. Each of us must constantly root away those evil tendencies lest they prevail into our character. We each carry within us the bud of true goodness as well as evil. Which we nourish determines our destiny.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
As they were escorted into the grand pavilion of the Thirteen, Annon swallowed hard, not certain what to expect but fearing the outcome. It was just past midnight, according to the stars peeking from amidst the tree branches, but there was still a general buzz about the camp. He noticed streamers of magic lingering in the air, and the flames of several of the torches fastened to iron poles sticking around the perimeter of the pavilion burned a strange blue color and chased aw
ay shadows. There were several Bhikhu guarding the main entryway.
Annon ducked slightly as he entered and found the pavilion full of bodies. The Thirteen were a mix of the races and his eyes jumbled at the sight of all of them and his pulse quickened with worry. Each wore an ornate talisman over their clothing, which were varied depending on the country they hailed from. As soon as Annon straightened, he felt several sets of eyes on him, staring at him shrewdly, judging him. They were all much older, several well silvered, but none of them were very old, as he had been expecting. They all had accoutrements of some kind—chokers around the neck, some with bracers or rings. Some even had torcs, similar to the one he wore, but without the glowing gems fastened to the ends. It was an intimidating group and Annon felt himself shrivel being in their presence and under their intense scrutiny.
The others assembled into the pavilion with him, Tyrus taking the lead and striding to the front of the council, his bearing confident. He had stood before them previously seeking asylum that had not been granted.
Palmanter spoke first. “Welcome to Canton Vaud. You are safe here. Be at ease.” He sat on a comfortably padded chair, his arms folded, one hand tapping his cheek. “Introductions, before we begin.” He motioned to Tyrus.
Tyrus nodded in acceptance. “You are quite aware of who I am. Let me introduce the rest. This is Annon of Wayland, son of Merinda Druidecht.” He paused deliberately, his hand cupped toward Annon.
