There was stillness in the night after he spoke. Phae felt herself starting to shiver. Shion nudged closer to her, giving her a look of concern. She shook her head, biting her lip. Her father’s words conjured images of blood and death in her mind. How many of those joined around a smoldering fire would survive to the end? She did not know them, but she cared about the welfare of each of them. She believed some might die. The thought that most of them would was a price too horrific to consider.
“Taking into account that the last group you brought there met such a terrible fate,” Kiranrao said disdainfully, rising to his feet with the grace of a cat, “I supposed we cannot expect any better.”
Prince Aransetis rose as well. “If you are not up to the challenge, you are permitted to withdraw.”
Kiranrao looked over the Prince skeptically. “I do not fear you. I fear no one. There is nothing those haunted woods can send at me that I cannot handle. Know that.”
“Proudly spoken,” Paedrin quipped. “My master always accused me of arrogance.”
Kiranrao’s face contorted with anger. “Why do you waste our time, Tyrus?” he seethed. “If you do not trust giving me the Tay al-Ard, then let us go together. Just the two of us. I will get you to the center of that maze and then you can bring your daughter there in an instant. All this talk and worry is madness. None of these fools need die. I will bring you there myself. I swear it.”
Phae felt a shiver of fear go through her at the Romani’s words. She stared at her father with worry. Don’t trust him. He only wants the Tay al-Ard. If you go with him, he’ll kill you.
“We cannot succeed without you, Kiranrao,” Tyrus said softly. “I’ve known that from the beginning. You are impatient because of what is happening in Havenrook. Ending the Plague will do more to aid your people than anything else you do. We all go together. We will succeed if every person does his part. Including you.”
Kiranrao scowled and muttered something under his breath. He looked at Tyrus fiercely. “Are we going to wait around the coals all night? It will be dawn soon. What then?”
“We leave now. Hettie, conceal the traces of our camp. We go deep into Boeotia.”
There were no roads in the wastes of Boeotia. Annon had wandered through many valleys surrounding the kingdoms, but he had never entered such an inhospitable land before. There was no prairie grass, only dirt and rocks and stunted shrubs. The trees were gangly and full of thorns, with wispy leaves and pollen that drifted when the wind shook the branches. There were occasional pockets of denser vegetation clustering around tiny rivulets of water. Annon rubbed the sweat from his neck, craning his head to gaze up at the burning sun.
There were spirit creatures, however, in abundance.
As he walked, Annon reached out to the life populating the prickly shrubs and weed-choked hills. Most were in the form of brown-skinned lizards that concealed themselves and studied him from the shade, or grasshoppers that hopped and flew. He sensed spirits in the millions of tiny red ants that came from clods of cracked dirt. They greeted him warily but deferentially, recognizing him for who he was. They gave him conflicting sentiments.
Welcome, Druidecht. Beware this land. They will hunt you.
Beware, Druidecht. You will not be harmed.
Your friends will all be killed.
One of Nizeera’s ears twitched as she padded near him, sniffing the air and testing it for the scent of Boeotians. His heart was heavy as stones, and he walked with a feeling of ever-mounting dread. He glanced back at the others, watching the order that Tyrus had assembled for their march through the region. Tyrus was in the center with the Kishion and Phae. Aransetis covered one flank and Paedrin the other. Baylen walked with Khiara ahead of Tyrus. Kiranrao and Hettie came up the rear, with Hettie doing her best to cover their trail and watch for signs of pursuit. Tyrus had sent Annon and Nizeera to go out in front and survey the land and find the trail. Should trouble find them, all sides would pull in toward Tyrus and await his instructions.
You are grieving.
Annon glanced down at Nizeera, seeing her saucer-like eyes boring into his. I am.
I fear that you will be reckless because of it. Do not seek your own death, Druidecht.
He sighed deeply, feeling a strange mixture of guilt and denial at her intruding thoughts. Tyrus’s speech had not filled him with dread. If anything it brought a promise of respite from the terrible pain inside his damaged heart. He dreaded the thought of never seeing Neodesha the Dryad again. Was she in Mirrowen at that moment? Was she dead? Was there a way he could be reunited with her? Would death separate them forever? He did not know. Not knowing made the pain all the worse.