Being in the Dryad grove brought memories to Annon both pleasant and painful. It was this place where his friend and mentor Reeder had been murdered. Though the body had been taken to Canton Vaud, Annon recognized the spot and it was where he had summoned them to through the magic of the Tay al-Ard. The forest of Silvandom was awash in colors and scents, the air alive with the presence of myriad spirits. Their thoughts brushed against his panicking mind, for his heart was still racing from their flight from Basilides. The narrow escape had cost them dear. Poor Erasmus was added to the dead in Tyrus’s quest.
There are others here, Nizeera said, her tail lashing. I sense them near the tree. It could be a trap.
Annon raised his hand, stopping Khiara and Lukias.
“What is it?” the Vaettir girl whispered, drawing near him.
“We are not alone,” Annon answered, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He prepared to tame the fireblood. “Be ready.”
Who are they? Boeotians or Bhikhu? he thought to Nizeera.
I cannot smell them yet. I heard movement in the trees, over there, in the shadows.
Annon marched forward, preparing to defend the tree again. As they approached the inner ring of oaks, he saw the jagged gash in the trunk of the Dryad tree, the raw skin now blistered with sap. He observed motion through the screen of trees on his left and turned to face it. Someone was approaching, quickly, a man by his shape and size.
“There,” Lukias warned, stepping forward, pointing.
The intruder emerged from the cover. It was the Quiet Kishion.
Annon’s heart quailed at the sight of him. His bowels turned to water. There was no Tay al-Ard to rescue them this time. How was it possible that he had found the Dryad tree? Annon stared at him in shock and dread, Nizeera lowering on her haunches, preparing to spring and defend him.
Khiara reacted first. With a vault forward, she swung her staff around to try to clip the side of his head. He easily ducked the blow and moved like a pool of quicksilver. She twirled the staff over her head and brought it down a second time. He caught the pole, jerked it from her grip, and tossed it away. She did not back down, but launched herself at the Kishion, her eyes focused and determined. There was a flurry of arms, strike and block, grunts and the clack of limbs, and then suddenly she bowled over, clutching her stomach, and dropped to the forest floor, writhing.
The Kishion’s eyes were blue and fierce as he surveyed the other two. Annon knew his flames were useless. He called for aid from the spirit realm, begging for power that might defeat the Arch-Rike’s champion.
Nizeera growled and hissed, clawing the earth. Back, Annon warned her. He will kill you.
The Kishion stepped forward, then shifted like a serpent and struck at Lukias next. He stepped behind the Rike’s heel, grabbing his arm, and jerked, levering the man so that he fell backward over the Kishion’s leg and tumbled to the mat of leaves. Lukias shrieked with surprise as his arm was torqued and wrist bent. He did not resist, his face grimacing.
“He will kill us,” Lukias moaned with dread.
He heard the whisper from Neodesha’s tree in his mind. He is not your enemy, Annon. Be still.
Fly, Druidecht! Nizeera warned, letting out a keening growl of challenge.
Annon was racked with indecision. He recognized Neodesha’s voice in his mind. It conflicted with the panic and fear from Nizeera. The Kishion dropped to one knee, keeping Lukias’s arm at a terrible angle, one that caused immeasurable pain. Lukias gasped.
Trust me, the Dryad whispered.
Annon stared at the Kishion, the realization beginning to dawn on him. Why had he attacked the Rike? As a servant of the Arch-Rike himself, would he not have gone for Annon instead? He was deliberately subduing the other man, not trying to strangle him as he had with Hettie.
“Wait,” Annon said, holding out his hand calmingly. His mind and heart were aflutter with conflicting reactions. What was the right course to take? “He is on our side. He is one of us.”
The Quiet Kishion raised his gaze to Annon, his expression hard but not cruel. “This is Lukias, a Provost-Rike of Kenatos. I know this man. He is not your ally.”
The spasm of fear that had constricted in Annon’s chest began to unclench. “And are you?” he asked. “The last time we met, you vanished with my uncle and killed him.”
The Kishion’s eyes narrowed. “Tyrus is alive.”
The revelation made Annon’s hands drop to his side. “What did you say?”
“You heard me well enough, Druidecht. I will go into the Scourgelands with you. But this man cannot be trusted.”