There was a ripple of murmurs from the crest of the promontory.
Hettie saw the Weir emerge from the ring of trees, at least forty, if not more, stalking toward them, hides bristling. She felt a shiver go through her. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
“We surrender!” Tyrus yelled. “Is there a healer? My daughter is injured!”
Hettie felt her mouth go hot, watching the baleful glares of the Weir as they padded forward, their hides vanishing before reappearing moments later, much closer. Strange dust glittered from them as they moved, paused, moved again, bearing down on them and increasing speed.
From the cluster of soldiers emerged a black-garbed Rike with pale hair. “I am Lukias,” he shouted down at them from the top of the promontory. “And I am ordered to watch you both die.”
Annon’s muscles burned as they ran. As each oak tree whipped by, he stared at it, trying to find the telltale description the Dryad had given him. With the storm clouds, it seemed that night was falling even earlier and he was afraid they would run right past it in the twilight. He was worried sick about Hettie and felt the danger and threat rise in a suffocating tide. Even though she was with Tyrus, he feared for her. He had pushed himself beyond his normal limits, and each step made his joints ache and brought a numbing fatigue.
Snarls from the Weir came from behind as the first of the beasts overtook them.
Annon whirled and raised his fists, repeating the Vaettir words in his mind and unleashing a blast of fire, turning the beast into ash. His heart went giddy with excitement at the power, and he felt the desire to let it loose throughout the woods, to consume the ancient forest in a blaze of triumphant glory. Another Weir launched at him from the left and he managed to sidestep it. Shion stabbed the beast as soon as it landed, plunging his daggers into its neck with perfect accuracy.
A third hissed in fury and raced toward them, bounding at Prince Aran, who met its charge as an immovable stone. The two collided and the Prince was scored by the Weir’s claws but managed to strike its eyes himself, viciously blinding the feline with his hooked fingers. The beast wailed in pain and attacked in a frenzy but was put to death by Shion’s blades in an instant.
“Go on!” Shion ordered, beckoning them to keep moving, for undoubtedly there were other Weir coming after them still. With hands still burning with unspent flames, Annon resumed the sprint, dodging past trees and keeping his wits as sharp as he could despite the thickening fog inside his head.
“Wait!”
The voice came from above, startling them.
The branches overhead were snapping as something battled through the foliage high above. Shion grabbed Phae’s arm and pulled her after him, trying to flee the voice, but she dug in her heels. “It’s Paedrin!” she shouted.
Annon had also recognized the voice. The branches broke loose and the Bhikhu came soaring down from the heights of the trees, his eyes wide with excitement and desperation. He plummeted to the ground, landing in a Bhikhu stance, one hand forward with several fingers up, the Sword of Winds tucked back behind him deferentially.
“Paedrin!” Annon shouted, rushing toward him, but Aransetis blocked the way.
“Hold, we don’t know it’s him!” Aran warned.
The Bhikhu straightened, searching their faces. “Of course you suspect me, with all we’ve been through together. You’re still here. Phae, you’re alive!” He laughed with surprise. “I thought you were . . . of course not . . . a trick of Tyrus. I know where the Dryad tree is!” His eyes were so thrilled with excitement, he almost looked deranged. “I know where it is! I’ve just come from there. It’s surrounded by guardians, but I’ve been there . . . my feet have touched the ground by it. I can take you there, right this moment. Tyrus?” He seemed to have noticed finally that Tyrus was not among them. “Where’s Hettie?”
“How can you confirm our trust in you?” Prince Aran warned.
“Look at me!” Paedrin said, impatient. “I’m bleeding, exhausted, and half-mad with delirium, but it is me. If I had leprosaria would you think I was Mathon? If I called you sheep-brains, would you think I was Erasmus? I’m Paedrin Bhikhu,” he said, beginning to float, bringing his feet straight up into the air and balancing himself on the sword pommel with one finger. “I can take you to the tree right now with the Tay al-Ard.” He came down suddenly, his eyes fierce. “Now I ask again—where are Tyrus and Hettie?”
“They’re at the base of the promontory,” Annon said. “Trying to buy us time to find the tree. He has the Tay al-Ard.”
Hettie saw the Weir emerge from the ring of trees, at least forty, if not more, stalking toward them, hides bristling. She felt a shiver go through her. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
“We surrender!” Tyrus yelled. “Is there a healer? My daughter is injured!”
Hettie felt her mouth go hot, watching the baleful glares of the Weir as they padded forward, their hides vanishing before reappearing moments later, much closer. Strange dust glittered from them as they moved, paused, moved again, bearing down on them and increasing speed.
From the cluster of soldiers emerged a black-garbed Rike with pale hair. “I am Lukias,” he shouted down at them from the top of the promontory. “And I am ordered to watch you both die.”
Annon’s muscles burned as they ran. As each oak tree whipped by, he stared at it, trying to find the telltale description the Dryad had given him. With the storm clouds, it seemed that night was falling even earlier and he was afraid they would run right past it in the twilight. He was worried sick about Hettie and felt the danger and threat rise in a suffocating tide. Even though she was with Tyrus, he feared for her. He had pushed himself beyond his normal limits, and each step made his joints ache and brought a numbing fatigue.
Snarls from the Weir came from behind as the first of the beasts overtook them.
Annon whirled and raised his fists, repeating the Vaettir words in his mind and unleashing a blast of fire, turning the beast into ash. His heart went giddy with excitement at the power, and he felt the desire to let it loose throughout the woods, to consume the ancient forest in a blaze of triumphant glory. Another Weir launched at him from the left and he managed to sidestep it. Shion stabbed the beast as soon as it landed, plunging his daggers into its neck with perfect accuracy.
A third hissed in fury and raced toward them, bounding at Prince Aran, who met its charge as an immovable stone. The two collided and the Prince was scored by the Weir’s claws but managed to strike its eyes himself, viciously blinding the feline with his hooked fingers. The beast wailed in pain and attacked in a frenzy but was put to death by Shion’s blades in an instant.
“Go on!” Shion ordered, beckoning them to keep moving, for undoubtedly there were other Weir coming after them still. With hands still burning with unspent flames, Annon resumed the sprint, dodging past trees and keeping his wits as sharp as he could despite the thickening fog inside his head.
“Wait!”
The voice came from above, startling them.
The branches overhead were snapping as something battled through the foliage high above. Shion grabbed Phae’s arm and pulled her after him, trying to flee the voice, but she dug in her heels. “It’s Paedrin!” she shouted.
Annon had also recognized the voice. The branches broke loose and the Bhikhu came soaring down from the heights of the trees, his eyes wide with excitement and desperation. He plummeted to the ground, landing in a Bhikhu stance, one hand forward with several fingers up, the Sword of Winds tucked back behind him deferentially.
“Paedrin!” Annon shouted, rushing toward him, but Aransetis blocked the way.
“Hold, we don’t know it’s him!” Aran warned.
The Bhikhu straightened, searching their faces. “Of course you suspect me, with all we’ve been through together. You’re still here. Phae, you’re alive!” He laughed with surprise. “I thought you were . . . of course not . . . a trick of Tyrus. I know where the Dryad tree is!” His eyes were so thrilled with excitement, he almost looked deranged. “I know where it is! I’ve just come from there. It’s surrounded by guardians, but I’ve been there . . . my feet have touched the ground by it. I can take you there, right this moment. Tyrus?” He seemed to have noticed finally that Tyrus was not among them. “Where’s Hettie?”
“How can you confirm our trust in you?” Prince Aran warned.
“Look at me!” Paedrin said, impatient. “I’m bleeding, exhausted, and half-mad with delirium, but it is me. If I had leprosaria would you think I was Mathon? If I called you sheep-brains, would you think I was Erasmus? I’m Paedrin Bhikhu,” he said, beginning to float, bringing his feet straight up into the air and balancing himself on the sword pommel with one finger. “I can take you to the tree right now with the Tay al-Ard.” He came down suddenly, his eyes fierce. “Now I ask again—where are Tyrus and Hettie?”
“They’re at the base of the promontory,” Annon said. “Trying to buy us time to find the tree. He has the Tay al-Ard.”
