Skogen had not spoken much, but he did now. “I will not attempt to dissuade you, Tyrus. You have your own mind. But remember that the last group you brought were much older, better equipped. This is a bold force, I’ll grant you that. But they are untested.”
“Enough words,” Tyrus said. “I do not seek your permission. Solve the problems as you see best. We are going. Lukias?”
Annon noticed that the Rike had not closed the circle with them. His eyes were shifting back and forth, from the Thirteen and back to Tyrus, as if trying to decide something.
Something passed between their eyes.
An explosion ripped through the pavilion.
To Phae, it felt like daggers had jammed inside her ears. The noise was so loud and so close, she felt excruciating pain from both her ears. Shards of glass sliced through her skin and clothes, stinging sharply, but it was insignificant compared to the thrumming ache in her ears. For several moments, she was too stunned to even think. In her mind, she was back in Stonehollow, her ear ripped by a thorn after Shion had chased her down. Panic and fear rose inside of her and she felt herself buried alive. She fought and kicked, trying to free herself from the smothering cocoon only to realize it was Shion, his body pressed on top of hers, shielding her from the worst damage of the explosion.
He rose, staring into her face in concern, his eyes searching hers for signs of life. He touched her throat, feeling her heart pounding, then dropped his head in relief. Then he rose and whirled, daggers in his hands, and went after Lukias.
Only it was no longer Lukias.
The man standing amidst the debris of the tattered pavilion was no man she had ever seen before. His stubbly hair was ash gray, but he was not old. His eyes were so pale they were nearly white, except for the piercing black pupils. He stood triumphantly, holding a Tay al-Ard in his own hand, mirroring the one in Tyrus’s, his expression full of delight.
“Please, Kishion,” he muttered. “I will be gone before you can touch me. I have an offer to make all of you. You must decide now whether to accept it.”
Phae tried to push herself up, but her limbs were quivering from the immensity of the blast. Annon was limp, his face ashen, Nizeera snuffling against his cheek. Was he dead? The Bhikhu were already on their feet, but each of them had sustained terrible wounds, of gashes and burn marks. Khiara ran to Annon, touching his head with her hand and summoning her magic to save him. His eyes flashed open, blinking rapidly.
“I knew you were somewhere in the room,” Tyrus said menacingly, grimacing in pain. “I felt…your voice coming from many mouths, Band-Imas.” He looked around the debris of the room, the shattered furniture. The lumps of ash. Phae’s stomach sickened. “You…you killed them. All of them!”
“And you will suffer the blame of it,” the Arch-Rike replied evenly. “Those exploding orbs you invented are so useful, aren’t they? This is my final offer, Tyrus. There will be no safe haven for you after this. No kingdom will ever trust you again. Assume you survive the Scourgelands. Assume you prevail. Who will you tell? You see, Tyrus, I know your heart. You crave the glory of defeating the Plague. That is your deepest desire. Only I can give it to you now. I will not unleash it this generation. We will invent a sickness, a pox maybe, and you will cure it. Everyone will know it was you who stopped the pox from spreading. It will even be written in the Archives. Why, I’ll have Possidius scribe it himself. There—you will have it. Everything you have desired. Another generation from now and no one will remember what was done. Nor will they care. But you will have what you have always craved most. The glory of it.” His mouth spread into a sickening smile. “This is my final offer, Tyrus. You will have a chance to live out your life.”
His attention turned to Phae and she shrank, recoiling from his gaze. “You have a daughter. She can remain with you. If she does not bond with a Dryad tree soon, she won’t be able to. The magic will pass and she will be just an ordinary girl.” He looked at her with that same lurid smile. “Or perhaps she would prefer to go back to Stonehollow. Would you like that lass? With Trasen, hmmm?” Then his eyes sought out the others. “One by one, I will restore what you have lost. Think, Annon. After what was done here, you are now a Black Druidecht. You murdered the Thirteen of Canton Vaud! All of you did!” He smiled savagely. “You thought you could outmaneuver me. Many have tried over the years. All have failed. There is no place you will find refuge. There is no place that will be your home. But I can protect you from even this in Kenatos.”
Tyrus was on his feet now, swaying slightly, a rivulet of blood going down from a cut in his temple. His voice was raw with emotion. “We must be very close to success if you would risk such a scene as this. Kishion, take him!”
“Enough words,” Tyrus said. “I do not seek your permission. Solve the problems as you see best. We are going. Lukias?”
Annon noticed that the Rike had not closed the circle with them. His eyes were shifting back and forth, from the Thirteen and back to Tyrus, as if trying to decide something.
Something passed between their eyes.
An explosion ripped through the pavilion.
To Phae, it felt like daggers had jammed inside her ears. The noise was so loud and so close, she felt excruciating pain from both her ears. Shards of glass sliced through her skin and clothes, stinging sharply, but it was insignificant compared to the thrumming ache in her ears. For several moments, she was too stunned to even think. In her mind, she was back in Stonehollow, her ear ripped by a thorn after Shion had chased her down. Panic and fear rose inside of her and she felt herself buried alive. She fought and kicked, trying to free herself from the smothering cocoon only to realize it was Shion, his body pressed on top of hers, shielding her from the worst damage of the explosion.
He rose, staring into her face in concern, his eyes searching hers for signs of life. He touched her throat, feeling her heart pounding, then dropped his head in relief. Then he rose and whirled, daggers in his hands, and went after Lukias.
Only it was no longer Lukias.
The man standing amidst the debris of the tattered pavilion was no man she had ever seen before. His stubbly hair was ash gray, but he was not old. His eyes were so pale they were nearly white, except for the piercing black pupils. He stood triumphantly, holding a Tay al-Ard in his own hand, mirroring the one in Tyrus’s, his expression full of delight.
“Please, Kishion,” he muttered. “I will be gone before you can touch me. I have an offer to make all of you. You must decide now whether to accept it.”
Phae tried to push herself up, but her limbs were quivering from the immensity of the blast. Annon was limp, his face ashen, Nizeera snuffling against his cheek. Was he dead? The Bhikhu were already on their feet, but each of them had sustained terrible wounds, of gashes and burn marks. Khiara ran to Annon, touching his head with her hand and summoning her magic to save him. His eyes flashed open, blinking rapidly.
“I knew you were somewhere in the room,” Tyrus said menacingly, grimacing in pain. “I felt…your voice coming from many mouths, Band-Imas.” He looked around the debris of the room, the shattered furniture. The lumps of ash. Phae’s stomach sickened. “You…you killed them. All of them!”
“And you will suffer the blame of it,” the Arch-Rike replied evenly. “Those exploding orbs you invented are so useful, aren’t they? This is my final offer, Tyrus. There will be no safe haven for you after this. No kingdom will ever trust you again. Assume you survive the Scourgelands. Assume you prevail. Who will you tell? You see, Tyrus, I know your heart. You crave the glory of defeating the Plague. That is your deepest desire. Only I can give it to you now. I will not unleash it this generation. We will invent a sickness, a pox maybe, and you will cure it. Everyone will know it was you who stopped the pox from spreading. It will even be written in the Archives. Why, I’ll have Possidius scribe it himself. There—you will have it. Everything you have desired. Another generation from now and no one will remember what was done. Nor will they care. But you will have what you have always craved most. The glory of it.” His mouth spread into a sickening smile. “This is my final offer, Tyrus. You will have a chance to live out your life.”
His attention turned to Phae and she shrank, recoiling from his gaze. “You have a daughter. She can remain with you. If she does not bond with a Dryad tree soon, she won’t be able to. The magic will pass and she will be just an ordinary girl.” He looked at her with that same lurid smile. “Or perhaps she would prefer to go back to Stonehollow. Would you like that lass? With Trasen, hmmm?” Then his eyes sought out the others. “One by one, I will restore what you have lost. Think, Annon. After what was done here, you are now a Black Druidecht. You murdered the Thirteen of Canton Vaud! All of you did!” He smiled savagely. “You thought you could outmaneuver me. Many have tried over the years. All have failed. There is no place you will find refuge. There is no place that will be your home. But I can protect you from even this in Kenatos.”
Tyrus was on his feet now, swaying slightly, a rivulet of blood going down from a cut in his temple. His voice was raw with emotion. “We must be very close to success if you would risk such a scene as this. Kishion, take him!”
