“You misunderstand me. I do not seek to stop you. There are memories there, Annon. There are memories lost to the world. Reclaim them for us. It is your fate. The dangers of the Scourgelands are equally great. I will worry about you. And I will wait upon your safe return.” Her hand lifted timidly and brushed aside of lock of his hair.
Her touch caused a jolt of heat throughout his body. “Neodesha, I…” he whispered.
She put her fingers on his mouth, covering his lips. “Say not my name,” she said. “There are too many nearby. I would hate to be bound to anyone else…but you.”
He gently took her wrist and then kissed her fingertips. She smiled shyly.
“I will return when it is done,” he promised. “Nothing will prevent me. Not even death.”
She hesitated a moment and then stepped into his arms, burying her face against his chest. She trembled as he wrapped his arms around her like a blanket, holding her close, feeling the warmth from her body seep into his. The terror of Basilides was tamped. Smelling her hair brought a measure of peace and shards of pain.
Her face lifted, her eyes full of conflicting emotions. “I will wait for you,” she promised. One moment he was holding her. Then she was gone, vanished again into the tree.
Annon was suddenly cold, bereft of her comforting presence. Pain consumed his heart. He gazed around for her, bewildered at the suddenness of her departure. Turning, he saw Tyrus standing in the grove behind him, the Tay al-Ard in his hand.
The look in Tyrus’s eyes was full of hostility.
“What do you think you are doing, lad?” Tyrus said hoarsely.
Annon stared in surprise. “How did you find us?” he demanded, his emotions caught in a wrenching vice. “You are alive?”
Tyrus walked closer, motioning for Phae to approach. He loomed larger than a giant, though with a slight limp in his step. “You are fooling with emotions you know little about,” he said with clenched teeth.
“What?” Annon said, staring in confusion.
“The Dryad,” Tyrus said with a hoarse whisper. “There is a reason why the Druidecht do not teach this lore to the young ones. You are too young for this, Annon.”
“Too young for what?”
“To be trifling with such powerful feelings. You know where we are going. You know the task at hand. I need your mind sharp as a dagger’s blade. I need your heart as hard as stone. You will not survive the terrors of the Scourgelands if you are feeling desolate about a pretty young girl. When this is over, if we survive, that is the time to court such feelings. They will only distract you from the purpose at hand.”
A hot flush of shame came across Annon’s cheeks at the scolding. He saw Phae wince for him, her eyes full of anger at her father’s words. His body shook with suppressed feelings.
“I am not a stripling from Wayland,” Annon said, grinding his teeth. “I am a Druidecht.”
“Then act like one,” Tyrus replied. “Master yourself. You must clear your head of misty-eyed thoughts. We have a duty at hand. I do not know how many of us will even survive it. It is for your good that I speak plainly.”
Annon took a shuddering deep breath. In the past, he would have bristled at such a reproach. But he knew Tyrus had sacrificed so much himself. He could respect that, despite the sting of the accusation. “I will do as you say. How did you find us?”
“The same way Prince Aran found her to begin with. The necklace she wears brought me straight here. Were you successful? Did you find Basilides?”
Though Annon’s heart was still chafing, he was determined to keep his composure. “We did, though Erasmus perished. There is a chamber in the center of Basilides, a doorway to the Scourgelands. This torc I wear will help keep beasts away from me when I activate it.”
A pleased smile came over Tyrus’s mouth. “That will be very helpful. It may save your life more than once against the enemies we face. What of the secret lair? What was it like? Was there an oracle?”
“Not as I was expecting,” Annon replied. “There were tombs—sarcophagi—one for each kingdom. Erasmus noticed a pattern. He deduced something inherent about the format, but the room was infested with serpents and he was bitten and died before he could reveal what he knew. I can tell you what he said, though. I remember it perfectly.”
Tyrus held up his hand. “Hold that knowledge.” He glanced suspiciously at the woods around them. “You survived the ordeal. I’m proud of you. Nizeera and Khiara made it as well? Without Khiara, we cannot succeed. We need a Shaliah to heal us.”
“They are both over there.” He looked at Phae. “They are with the Kishion you converted to our cause. And a Rike of Kenatos named Lukias who has also joined us.”
The look on Tyrus’s face filled with dread. “Who?”
“He is a Provost-Rike…”
“I know who he is,” Tyrus said. “What I cannot understand is how he is with you. He is here, now?”
“Over there. The Kishion does not trust him either.”