Kiranrao appeared suddenly, emerging from the smokelike magic imbued in his cloak. “Is Tyrus dead?”
Khiara did not look at him, her head bowed in concentration.
“Leave him alone,” Annon warned, his fingers burning blue with the fireblood.
Kiranrao snorted. “I don’t need to kill him, Druidecht. This place will do that by itself. We should flee while we still can. Khiara, you are important. I will make you very rich if you come with Hettie and me. You can come too, Druidecht. I have no bones with you. The Fear Liath will keep hunting, I assure you. Best to flee now while it’s distracted with the others. Come, Khiara. You’re wasting your energy trying to save them. They’re dead men.”
Tyrus began to choke and cough, his head lifting. “I’m well enough. Save another.”
Khiara nodded and rushed over to Paedrin, where Hettie was crouching, using her fireblood to join with Annon in keeping the Cockatrice away. The birdlike creatures scattered back to the treetops, cooing and rustling and escaping the devastating flames.
Hettie, panting, lowered her hands, though her fingers were smoking.
Kiranrao’s eyes burned into Tyrus’s. “You brought us here to die.”
Tyrus sat up, his face still showing a chalky complexion. “I never lied about that, Kiranrao. You came willingly.”
The Romani snorted. “I could kill you so easily. Your Prince fled into the mist to save your daughter, but what can he do? You’ve failed again, Tyrus.”
Annon watched Tyrus wince as he rose to his feet.
“Give me the Tay al-Ard,” Kiranrao demanded.
“You can’t kill me with the blade,” Tyrus said hotly. “I already warned you.”
“I can kill you just as easily with my bare hands.”
Annon straightened, facing the Romani, glowering at him.
Kiranrao smirked. “Boy, don’t even think of unleashing the fire on me.”
Annon knew that he was facing his own death. Deep down, he did not even care. Khiara was trying to heal Paedrin. It was as if they had walked into the deepest part of the Arch-Rike’s trap deliberately. If only Erasmus had survived Basilides. He was the smartest man Annon knew. He would have probably solved the problem already.
Because the solution is so obvious, sheep-brains.
Annon blinked, his stomach lurching. Erasmus’s voice was clear in his mind. The Fear Liath was invulnerable to blades. It was faster and stronger than a human . . . than all of them combined. But its weakness was sunlight. When he had encountered one in the Alkire, it had made its lair behind a waterfall so that there would be a perpetual mist. There was no waterfall here. So what was causing the mist?
Annon.
The voice in his mind came like a whisper, only it made his heart burn and tingle. It was a woman’s voice. A Dryad? It sounded . . . was it Neodesha?
Annon turned the direction he had heard the voice. Through the mist in the shadow of a burly oak tree, he saw a small cave made from the exposed roots of the tree. Inside that cave, he saw two burning eyes carved into stone. Eyes carved into stone? He remembered Basilides, having seen larger monuments placed there to warn away intruders, also with glowing eyes.
Tyrus gripped Annon’s arm. “Do you see her?”
Annon turned to look at him. “What?”
“What are you staring at?” Tyrus asked, his face awash with conflicting emotions. “Do you see her? The woman by the tree?”
Annon looked back at the tree, only seeing the glowing eyes.
Annon.
“Fools learn from experience. I prefer to learn from the experience of others.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXI
The pain in Paedrin’s middle was excruciating. Hettie had stuffed her cloak against the wound, but it was crimson and blood oozed from her fingers. He was so lightheaded that he collapsed in a swoon.
“No!” Hettie shrieked. “Paedrin, wake up. Wake up!”
He heard her voice and roused himself, opening his eyes. He felt Khiara’s fingers pressing into his shoulder.
“I’m awake,” he moaned through clenched teeth. “Hettie . . . I’m fading.” He felt he was out of breath. Each gasp was painful. His vision swam with colors, but the edges were fringed in black and seemed to close in. His body convulsed.
“No,” she said tremulously. “Stay with me. You can’t leave me here. Khiara, hurry!”
Another set of flapping wings came from above, claws slashing at Hettie’s shoulders and hair. She screamed in pain and rage and unleashed the fireblood like a shield above them, blasting the creatures to ash, keeping a steady stream of flame from her hands.
Khiara did not look at him, her head bowed in concentration.
“Leave him alone,” Annon warned, his fingers burning blue with the fireblood.
Kiranrao snorted. “I don’t need to kill him, Druidecht. This place will do that by itself. We should flee while we still can. Khiara, you are important. I will make you very rich if you come with Hettie and me. You can come too, Druidecht. I have no bones with you. The Fear Liath will keep hunting, I assure you. Best to flee now while it’s distracted with the others. Come, Khiara. You’re wasting your energy trying to save them. They’re dead men.”
Tyrus began to choke and cough, his head lifting. “I’m well enough. Save another.”
Khiara nodded and rushed over to Paedrin, where Hettie was crouching, using her fireblood to join with Annon in keeping the Cockatrice away. The birdlike creatures scattered back to the treetops, cooing and rustling and escaping the devastating flames.
Hettie, panting, lowered her hands, though her fingers were smoking.
Kiranrao’s eyes burned into Tyrus’s. “You brought us here to die.”
Tyrus sat up, his face still showing a chalky complexion. “I never lied about that, Kiranrao. You came willingly.”
The Romani snorted. “I could kill you so easily. Your Prince fled into the mist to save your daughter, but what can he do? You’ve failed again, Tyrus.”
Annon watched Tyrus wince as he rose to his feet.
“Give me the Tay al-Ard,” Kiranrao demanded.
“You can’t kill me with the blade,” Tyrus said hotly. “I already warned you.”
“I can kill you just as easily with my bare hands.”
Annon straightened, facing the Romani, glowering at him.
Kiranrao smirked. “Boy, don’t even think of unleashing the fire on me.”
Annon knew that he was facing his own death. Deep down, he did not even care. Khiara was trying to heal Paedrin. It was as if they had walked into the deepest part of the Arch-Rike’s trap deliberately. If only Erasmus had survived Basilides. He was the smartest man Annon knew. He would have probably solved the problem already.
Because the solution is so obvious, sheep-brains.
Annon blinked, his stomach lurching. Erasmus’s voice was clear in his mind. The Fear Liath was invulnerable to blades. It was faster and stronger than a human . . . than all of them combined. But its weakness was sunlight. When he had encountered one in the Alkire, it had made its lair behind a waterfall so that there would be a perpetual mist. There was no waterfall here. So what was causing the mist?
Annon.
The voice in his mind came like a whisper, only it made his heart burn and tingle. It was a woman’s voice. A Dryad? It sounded . . . was it Neodesha?
Annon turned the direction he had heard the voice. Through the mist in the shadow of a burly oak tree, he saw a small cave made from the exposed roots of the tree. Inside that cave, he saw two burning eyes carved into stone. Eyes carved into stone? He remembered Basilides, having seen larger monuments placed there to warn away intruders, also with glowing eyes.
Tyrus gripped Annon’s arm. “Do you see her?”
Annon turned to look at him. “What?”
“What are you staring at?” Tyrus asked, his face awash with conflicting emotions. “Do you see her? The woman by the tree?”
Annon looked back at the tree, only seeing the glowing eyes.
Annon.
“Fools learn from experience. I prefer to learn from the experience of others.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXI
The pain in Paedrin’s middle was excruciating. Hettie had stuffed her cloak against the wound, but it was crimson and blood oozed from her fingers. He was so lightheaded that he collapsed in a swoon.
“No!” Hettie shrieked. “Paedrin, wake up. Wake up!”
He heard her voice and roused himself, opening his eyes. He felt Khiara’s fingers pressing into his shoulder.
“I’m awake,” he moaned through clenched teeth. “Hettie . . . I’m fading.” He felt he was out of breath. Each gasp was painful. His vision swam with colors, but the edges were fringed in black and seemed to close in. His body convulsed.
“No,” she said tremulously. “Stay with me. You can’t leave me here. Khiara, hurry!”
Another set of flapping wings came from above, claws slashing at Hettie’s shoulders and hair. She screamed in pain and rage and unleashed the fireblood like a shield above them, blasting the creatures to ash, keeping a steady stream of flame from her hands.
