The Bhikhu waved his hand impatiently. “Not on your part. But it is clear to me, and I am no fool, that there is much your uncle should have told you and did not.”
“Such as?” Hettie challenged.
Paedrin turned to her. “Let’s start with your story. You are a Romani girl near the age to earn a second earring. That is a pretty significant custom among your people, as I understand things. I cannot say I know many Romani, but that is nothing to complain about. You were told of a location where a great treasure is buried that you might use to free yourself without implicating your uncle. Clearly…and I hope you are not as dense as Erasmus is…your uncle knew full well that Kiranrao has been looking for Drosta’s lair. Maybe it is not the treasure we need but something that Kiranrao can provide.”
Annon frowned and shook his head. “What are you saying, Paedrin?”
“It was no coincidence that we ended up in that place. We just disrupted trade on an enormous scale and made several thousand enemies, one of which is a man who can outbid Tyrus to determine your future.” He looked pointedly at Hettie. “Maybe your uncle was intending you to buy your freedom with Kiranrao’s coin?”
Hettie flushed darkly. “I do not want that man’s help,” she said venomously. “I am even regretting my uncle’s interference in my problem. He told us nothing about what we would face. He sent us into the middle of Havenrook with very little information.”
“Exactly my point!” Paedrin said, rounding. “What is truly going on here?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Hettie shot back. “I went asking for help, to find a way to earn my freedom. Part of me just wishes to march back to Kenatos, spit in my uncle’s face, and have done with all this.”
“Not a wise course of action,” Erasmus offered with a smirk. “You have no idea how many ill things are caused by spittle.”
“You are not in the least curious about what Drosta’s treasure is and why Kiranrao wants it?”
“No, not really,” Hettie answered petulantly. “I do not like being used.”
“I do not fancy it either, but quitting now seems hardly the right approach.”
Annon chewed on his thoughts, struggling with the dangling pieces. “Hold a moment,” he said, raising his hand. He tapped his chin, struggling to remember. It was only a few nights ago, but so much had changed that he had nearly forgotten it.
Hettie’s arms were folded defiantly, and Paedrin looked as if he were ready to continue arguing until dawn. Annon looked from one to the other.
“Please, sit down. I need your help to think this through.”
Hettie came down next to him. “What is it? Do you remember something?”
Paedrin cocked his head curiously.
“My mentor came and saw me recently. He is a Druidecht, of course, and he gave me a warning. He warned me about visiting my uncle. He said that my uncle might try and persuade me to go north. Into the Scourgelands.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence and the snap and hiss of the fire.
Annon stared into the darkened woods. “He warned me about trusting my uncle. That he has no care or feeling for anyone, even his own kin.”
Paedrin stared at him hard. “That would have been helpful to know before leaving Kenatos.”
Annon bit his lip, shaking his head slowly. “I was so startled to learn that I had a sister that I forgot all about the warning. Reeder told me that years ago Tyrus led a group into the Scourgelands. None of them survived. He was the only one who did.” Annon tapped his palm. “I think that perhaps he did not tell us everything about his intentions for us.”
Erasmus’s voice floated toward them. “Tyrus Paracelsus takes counsel from no man or woman. He keeps his own counsel. As do I. From what you have said tonight, I think he is like a spider, catching many flies in the same web.”
Hettie grabbed a stick and jammed it into the fire. “I hate this.”
“Hate what? That we are being manipulated?” Annon asked, half smiling.
“But to what purpose?” Paedrin said. “What is there to fear in the Scourgelands?”
Erasmus sat up, the firelight playing off the grooves in his face. “That is just the thing, sheep-brains. The only man known to have ever survived that place is the one who has brought us all here by this fire tonight.”
“It is not recorded when the Plague began. Every kingdom was ravaged and their populations decimated. Some races have ceased to exist. The remaining few banded together, united in a single cause—to preserve knowledge. Thus was the formation of Kenatos. It was created as the last bastion of knowledge. No one kingdom would rule it. All contributed to its survival by donating books and provisions and wealth. We do have records dating back to the founding of Kenatos. None describes when the Plague began. If we have learned anything, we have learned this: it is not the strongest of the races that survives, or the most intelligent. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change. Thus only the Aeduan race will survive the Plague. All others races will succumb to it.”
“Such as?” Hettie challenged.
Paedrin turned to her. “Let’s start with your story. You are a Romani girl near the age to earn a second earring. That is a pretty significant custom among your people, as I understand things. I cannot say I know many Romani, but that is nothing to complain about. You were told of a location where a great treasure is buried that you might use to free yourself without implicating your uncle. Clearly…and I hope you are not as dense as Erasmus is…your uncle knew full well that Kiranrao has been looking for Drosta’s lair. Maybe it is not the treasure we need but something that Kiranrao can provide.”
Annon frowned and shook his head. “What are you saying, Paedrin?”
“It was no coincidence that we ended up in that place. We just disrupted trade on an enormous scale and made several thousand enemies, one of which is a man who can outbid Tyrus to determine your future.” He looked pointedly at Hettie. “Maybe your uncle was intending you to buy your freedom with Kiranrao’s coin?”
Hettie flushed darkly. “I do not want that man’s help,” she said venomously. “I am even regretting my uncle’s interference in my problem. He told us nothing about what we would face. He sent us into the middle of Havenrook with very little information.”
“Exactly my point!” Paedrin said, rounding. “What is truly going on here?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Hettie shot back. “I went asking for help, to find a way to earn my freedom. Part of me just wishes to march back to Kenatos, spit in my uncle’s face, and have done with all this.”
“Not a wise course of action,” Erasmus offered with a smirk. “You have no idea how many ill things are caused by spittle.”
“You are not in the least curious about what Drosta’s treasure is and why Kiranrao wants it?”
“No, not really,” Hettie answered petulantly. “I do not like being used.”
“I do not fancy it either, but quitting now seems hardly the right approach.”
Annon chewed on his thoughts, struggling with the dangling pieces. “Hold a moment,” he said, raising his hand. He tapped his chin, struggling to remember. It was only a few nights ago, but so much had changed that he had nearly forgotten it.
Hettie’s arms were folded defiantly, and Paedrin looked as if he were ready to continue arguing until dawn. Annon looked from one to the other.
“Please, sit down. I need your help to think this through.”
Hettie came down next to him. “What is it? Do you remember something?”
Paedrin cocked his head curiously.
“My mentor came and saw me recently. He is a Druidecht, of course, and he gave me a warning. He warned me about visiting my uncle. He said that my uncle might try and persuade me to go north. Into the Scourgelands.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence and the snap and hiss of the fire.
Annon stared into the darkened woods. “He warned me about trusting my uncle. That he has no care or feeling for anyone, even his own kin.”
Paedrin stared at him hard. “That would have been helpful to know before leaving Kenatos.”
Annon bit his lip, shaking his head slowly. “I was so startled to learn that I had a sister that I forgot all about the warning. Reeder told me that years ago Tyrus led a group into the Scourgelands. None of them survived. He was the only one who did.” Annon tapped his palm. “I think that perhaps he did not tell us everything about his intentions for us.”
Erasmus’s voice floated toward them. “Tyrus Paracelsus takes counsel from no man or woman. He keeps his own counsel. As do I. From what you have said tonight, I think he is like a spider, catching many flies in the same web.”
Hettie grabbed a stick and jammed it into the fire. “I hate this.”
“Hate what? That we are being manipulated?” Annon asked, half smiling.
“But to what purpose?” Paedrin said. “What is there to fear in the Scourgelands?”
Erasmus sat up, the firelight playing off the grooves in his face. “That is just the thing, sheep-brains. The only man known to have ever survived that place is the one who has brought us all here by this fire tonight.”
“It is not recorded when the Plague began. Every kingdom was ravaged and their populations decimated. Some races have ceased to exist. The remaining few banded together, united in a single cause—to preserve knowledge. Thus was the formation of Kenatos. It was created as the last bastion of knowledge. No one kingdom would rule it. All contributed to its survival by donating books and provisions and wealth. We do have records dating back to the founding of Kenatos. None describes when the Plague began. If we have learned anything, we have learned this: it is not the strongest of the races that survives, or the most intelligent. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change. Thus only the Aeduan race will survive the Plague. All others races will succumb to it.”
