Annon nodded.
“I used the Tay al-Ard to bring us to the waterfall where the Fear Liath keeps its lair. Because of the water and the pressure, I dropped it into the churn and swam free of the waters. I let Shion think I was dead so that the Arch-Rike would not feel the urgency to kill all of you. But I used that ring to summon the Tay al-Ard back into my hand from the bottom of the waterfall. I’m giving it to you.”
Annon swallowed, his eyes widening. Again he was struck by the amount of trust that Tyrus had placed in him—a boy. He breathed slowly, trying to understand what was going on.
“You would only give it to me if you felt you were in danger of losing it,” Annon whispered. His throat tightened with fear.
Looking into his eyes, Tyrus nodded. “It is important that you know about the ring and what it can do.” He bowed his head, his expression very grave, his teeth clenched with suppressed emotion. “Merinda went mad in the Scourgelands, Annon. She used the fireblood to save my life and keep me from dying. In return, she asked me to save your life. Yours and Hettie’s, it turns out.” He paused, building up his words. “If I must, I will do the same for you. Do you understand why I do this now? Kiranrao may kill me for the Tay al-Ard. If he does and slips away, you can bring it back to your hand with a thought. Be sure he is far away, though. And if I go mad in the woods—” He coughed, covering his mouth on his forearm. His steeled himself again. “If that happens to me and I’m holding the Tay al-Ard, then I will be too dangerous to confront. I must not keep the Tay al-Ard if that happens to me. The damage that I could do . . . I shudder to think on it. But if it happens, Annon, if I lose myself in there, I want you to send Shion after me. He is the only one of you who could do it without being destroyed himself. And I don’t want to burden any of the rest of you with such an awful task. Let him be the one. I don’t want to be left in the madness, Annon. Not like my sister.”
Tyrus dropped his arm, his shoulders sagging. He hugged his cloak tightly about his bulky frame, shivering in the dark. Annon stared at Tyrus, shaking at the revelations given. His insides roiled with pain and sorrow. How could Tyrus expect him to do these things? To face such heavy burdens?
“I need you, Annon,” Tyrus whispered hoarsely. “Promise me.”
Annon wanted to weep. He wiped his mouth, trying to master his emotions. “If there is another way—” he started to say, but Tyrus brooked no refusal.
“There is none. The madness is irreversible. Even Tasvir Virk. His memories were taken away fully, but he’s a babbling lunatic still. I do not wish that for myself, Annon. I saw what it did to my sister. I saw what it did to your mother. You must have Shion do it. It isn’t murder. It’s my will. Promise me.”
Annon knew he could not escape Tyrus’s implacable will. He felt the other’s strength of mind bearing down on him. Annon could see he had already given this great thought, that he had delayed burdening Annon with the task until the last possible moment.
He sat shuddering under the starry sky, overwhelmed by the thought of ordering Tyrus’s death. His own mother had faced that madness to save his and Hettie’s life. Tyrus promised to do the same. Perhaps he had realized already that he would not return to Kenatos to seek fame for what he had done. Annon wished he had thought of this earlier.
“Promise me,” Tyrus insisted, gripping his shoulder once more.
Annon stared down at his lap, looking at the round eye of the ring. He scooped it up and slid it on his finger.
“It pains me,” Annon said, his voice choking, “but I will.”
The look of relief on Tyrus’s face made it hurt all the worse. He stared at Tyrus—a man who he thought was his uncle most of his life—and realized he could never be like him. A man of secrets. A man plotting to overthrow the strongest power throughout the kingdoms. He looked across the sheltered campsite, the kneeling camels and sleeping bundles. They were amidst a vast plain full of scrub and stones. The air smelled of dust and camel scat. Shion was also awake on the other side of the camp, staring up at the vast, starlit sky. What a pitiful few straining at the lever to overturn such a huge boulder. Would it even be enough?
“Thank you,” Tyrus whispered. He squeezed Annon’s shoulder and rose, slipping away into the shadows.
Annon stared down at his hand. The ring was gone, though he felt it still.
“One of the ancients once said that the face is the mirror of the mind, and the eyes—without speaking—confess the secrets of the heart. I think this is true of most people. But there are some who so carefully guard themselves and their emotions that you cannot imagine the deep inner workings of their souls, let alone feel justified in characterizing it in some shallow way. The Arch-Rike of Kenatos is such a man. The occasional sparkle of temper may casually reveal itself at times. But those times are rare.”