Erasmus saw the serpent’s hood flare as it rose toward him. His eyes widened with utter terror and he twisted to flee.
Annon cried out in warning.
The serpent struck Erasmus from behind, sinking its fangs into his leg. The Preachán let out a howl of pain and fell to the ground, writhing and twisting in agony as the venom coursed through him. The twitching lasted for only seconds. Then he was still. Then he was dead.
The hissing serpents surged at Annon and Khiara.
“War is indeed upon us. Reports arrived of an attack in the woods of Alkire by the Preachán and Romani from Havenrook. A great fire engulfed the woods and burned for days. You can see the smoke from Kenatos. It is absurd that the Romani attacked the Cruithne if their quarrel is against Wayland. They will be trapped between two opposing kingdoms now. Fortunately the King of Wayland has mustered a large force and is preparing to march on Havenrook.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The burning pitch on Evritt’s arm caused him to wail in unceasing pain. Phae winced as she watched him thrash, his face a mottled twist of veins and suffering. Tyrus knelt by him, grabbed his shoulder, and waved his hands over the tongues of flame. When the fire died, Phae saw the blackened skin and had to turn away or risk vomiting. Dizziness from the magic that had transported them away mingled with her revulsion at seeing Evritt’s injury.
“Be still, be still,” Tyrus soothed.
“Where are we?” Prince Aran asked, crouching near.
“Silvandom, near the border. Let me try to summon a spirit.”
The Kishion put his hand on Phae’s shoulder, steadying her as she started to wobble.
Evritt moaned. Tyrus offered soothing words. “They won’t heed me. Aran, we must get him to a healer quickly. The Arch-Rike will trace us here and let loose others to hunt us.”
“We should divide then,” the Prince said. “If we stay together, it will drain the Tay al-Ard. We stayed at the cabin too long, allowing the Arch-Rike time to put forces in place to bombard us.”
“We should keep moving.” Tyrus agreed and stood. He came to Phae and Kishion. “The Arch-Rike has tools to sense magic when it is used. It will take him time to locate this place. Take Phae and hide her in the woods. Canton Vaud is in Silvandom right now. They may shelter you.”
The Kishion snorted with ill humor. “The Arch-Rike has a spy in Canton Vaud. We knew you were hiding there. He was unwilling to risk an open confrontation with the Thirteen at that point.”
Tyrus’s expression hardened. “Do you know who the spy is?”
The Kishion shook his head.
“Fair warning then. We must avoid Canton Vaud while concealing our presence in Silvandom. The Prince told me that Annon and the others will assemble at a Dryad tree in the woods, somewhere to the north and west. This forest will provide ample places to hide. Here, Phae—” he reached into his pouch and pulled out the necklace with the blue stone she had left behind at the Winemillers—“Take this. With it, we will be able to find you again, wherever you are.”
“How did you…find it?” she asked, staring.
“Prince Aransetis took it when he went after you and gave it back to me. He has the stones that will find it.”
Phae took the necklace, examining it with relish. She had grown up wearing it and was grateful to have it again, especially if it would always help them find her. “Thank you.”
Prince Aran helped Evritt to his feet and then supported him. The old man’s face was blanched white from clenching his jaw. He smelled of cinders and brimstone.
Tyrus sighed deeply. He reached out and cupped Phae’s cheek. “I hate to be parted from you. But you are safer with him than you are with me.”
She nodded awkwardly, not sure what she should do. “I have decided, Father.” She let out her breath. “I will help you, if I can.”
The ghost of a smile drifted across his mouth and was gone. He swallowed suddenly, his eyes intense and almost fearful. Unable to speak, he patted her shoulder. Phae was an affectionate person, so she embraced him, pressing her cheek against his broad chest. She felt his beard against her hair. He squeezed her once and then departed, assisting Evritt.
The Kishion looked at her, gazing at her curiously, and then nodded in approval. They both started into the woods, heading northwest.
Phae and the Kishion walked in silence, crossing the forest in broad strides to put as much distance as they could from the place where they had entered Silvandom. The forest was a maze of moss-covered evergreens, with slanting descents and rugged climbs, full of fern sprays and fragrant juniper shrubs. Insects buzzed and clicked throughout the lush woods, interrupted occasionally by a woodpecker or a jackdaw. Fallen trees lay rotting across their path at regular intervals. There were no paths or roads, just the unlimited expanse of ancient trees and furrowed hills.
Annon cried out in warning.
The serpent struck Erasmus from behind, sinking its fangs into his leg. The Preachán let out a howl of pain and fell to the ground, writhing and twisting in agony as the venom coursed through him. The twitching lasted for only seconds. Then he was still. Then he was dead.
The hissing serpents surged at Annon and Khiara.
“War is indeed upon us. Reports arrived of an attack in the woods of Alkire by the Preachán and Romani from Havenrook. A great fire engulfed the woods and burned for days. You can see the smoke from Kenatos. It is absurd that the Romani attacked the Cruithne if their quarrel is against Wayland. They will be trapped between two opposing kingdoms now. Fortunately the King of Wayland has mustered a large force and is preparing to march on Havenrook.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The burning pitch on Evritt’s arm caused him to wail in unceasing pain. Phae winced as she watched him thrash, his face a mottled twist of veins and suffering. Tyrus knelt by him, grabbed his shoulder, and waved his hands over the tongues of flame. When the fire died, Phae saw the blackened skin and had to turn away or risk vomiting. Dizziness from the magic that had transported them away mingled with her revulsion at seeing Evritt’s injury.
“Be still, be still,” Tyrus soothed.
“Where are we?” Prince Aran asked, crouching near.
“Silvandom, near the border. Let me try to summon a spirit.”
The Kishion put his hand on Phae’s shoulder, steadying her as she started to wobble.
Evritt moaned. Tyrus offered soothing words. “They won’t heed me. Aran, we must get him to a healer quickly. The Arch-Rike will trace us here and let loose others to hunt us.”
“We should divide then,” the Prince said. “If we stay together, it will drain the Tay al-Ard. We stayed at the cabin too long, allowing the Arch-Rike time to put forces in place to bombard us.”
“We should keep moving.” Tyrus agreed and stood. He came to Phae and Kishion. “The Arch-Rike has tools to sense magic when it is used. It will take him time to locate this place. Take Phae and hide her in the woods. Canton Vaud is in Silvandom right now. They may shelter you.”
The Kishion snorted with ill humor. “The Arch-Rike has a spy in Canton Vaud. We knew you were hiding there. He was unwilling to risk an open confrontation with the Thirteen at that point.”
Tyrus’s expression hardened. “Do you know who the spy is?”
The Kishion shook his head.
“Fair warning then. We must avoid Canton Vaud while concealing our presence in Silvandom. The Prince told me that Annon and the others will assemble at a Dryad tree in the woods, somewhere to the north and west. This forest will provide ample places to hide. Here, Phae—” he reached into his pouch and pulled out the necklace with the blue stone she had left behind at the Winemillers—“Take this. With it, we will be able to find you again, wherever you are.”
“How did you…find it?” she asked, staring.
“Prince Aransetis took it when he went after you and gave it back to me. He has the stones that will find it.”
Phae took the necklace, examining it with relish. She had grown up wearing it and was grateful to have it again, especially if it would always help them find her. “Thank you.”
Prince Aran helped Evritt to his feet and then supported him. The old man’s face was blanched white from clenching his jaw. He smelled of cinders and brimstone.
Tyrus sighed deeply. He reached out and cupped Phae’s cheek. “I hate to be parted from you. But you are safer with him than you are with me.”
She nodded awkwardly, not sure what she should do. “I have decided, Father.” She let out her breath. “I will help you, if I can.”
The ghost of a smile drifted across his mouth and was gone. He swallowed suddenly, his eyes intense and almost fearful. Unable to speak, he patted her shoulder. Phae was an affectionate person, so she embraced him, pressing her cheek against his broad chest. She felt his beard against her hair. He squeezed her once and then departed, assisting Evritt.
The Kishion looked at her, gazing at her curiously, and then nodded in approval. They both started into the woods, heading northwest.
Phae and the Kishion walked in silence, crossing the forest in broad strides to put as much distance as they could from the place where they had entered Silvandom. The forest was a maze of moss-covered evergreens, with slanting descents and rugged climbs, full of fern sprays and fragrant juniper shrubs. Insects buzzed and clicked throughout the lush woods, interrupted occasionally by a woodpecker or a jackdaw. Fallen trees lay rotting across their path at regular intervals. There were no paths or roads, just the unlimited expanse of ancient trees and furrowed hills.
