“Why is that?” Annon challenged. “What does the Arch-Rike say causes the Plague?”
Lukias looked at him with disdain. “It is obvious to anyone with a mind for research that the Plagues are caused by bad air. And it does not require an oracle to predict that Havenrook will be the next kingdom to succumb to it. You have traveled there yourself and can vouch that it reeks of corruption and insufficient means to drain away its own excrement. The Arch-Rike knows this and has begun making preparations to replace the trade routes. The Romani are part of the corruption and have long violated even the most basic laws of commerce. Yet I am certain you would say that the Arch-Rike is overseeing the fall of Havenrook. Wisdom often appears as evil to those who do not have it.”
Annon shook his head. “I see how powerful he is in persuading his own followers. Truly, your mind is imprisoned as much as the spirits.”
Lukias chuckled. “There are no spirits, boy. What you have been taught is a tradition, nothing more. Even your power over fire, in the end, will be understood after sufficient research is complete.”
Nizeera, Annon thought forcefully. You must help me persuade him.
With pleasure, came a soft, purring reply.
“You say that Mirrowen is a hoax,” Annon said. “You are convinced that there are no spirits being imprisoned by the Paracelsus of Kenatos. Not only did I learn this from my uncle, but I learned it from another Paracelsus who quit the order and became a Druidecht. I learned it from Drosta.”
Lukias’s eyes widened with concern. “He is dead.”
Annon approached him. “He and my uncle were friends. They were like-minded. Drosta forged a weapon for the Arch-Rike, a blade known as Iddawc. I have held it in my hand. I have heard its whispers through the talisman I wear. Believe me, Lukias, that the spirits of Mirrowen are real. There’s one in this very room with us.”
Lukias smiled sickly. His expression exuded doubt. “I will not fall for your superstitious tricks, Druidecht. I must have evidence. No one but the Druidecht can see these beings. That is the very nature of deception, is it not?”
“Not all spirits are invisible,” Annon replied. “Some take the form of birds or insects. Some are as tiny as pollen. But there are others more powerful. Nizeera, welcome our new companion. He travels with us to Basilides.”
The growl from Nizeera’s mouth caused Lukias to turn in fear. She padded up to the table, leapt on it in a single bound, and pressed her whiskered nose directly up to his forehead.
“It…is…a…cat. A trained…cat. You gave it a signal…I could not see.”
“Stubborn,” Annon said. “You require more proof. Whisper a name into Nizeera’s ear and I will hear it. Choose whatever word you wish. And to assure you that I cannot read lips, I will turn around.”
“It cannot…be…”
“Choose your word wisely. Choose a phrase. I can hear her thoughts and she can hear mine. Only a Druidecht can do this, Lukias. Say what you will, and I’ll hear it.”
Annon turned around, but not before noticing the subtle nod of approval from Erasmus and Khiara. He waited a moment before he heard the whisper.
I believe you. The ring on Annon’s finger confirmed it.
“A Rike once told me a wonderful proverb. A thing is not necessarily true because badly uttered, nor false because spoken magnificently. Men deceive and are often deceived in turn. I do not fully know the tradition of when the Rikes of Seithrall began wearing rings that divine the truth, but I do know that doing so made it possible for the city to complete its construction and to become a prosperous kingdom in its own right. I do not know if the rings actually work. What I do know is that just the thought of them working make men more honest. For once trust is broken within a group or amongst individuals, you can be sure that only evil will result.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
When Hettie and Paedrin emerged from the Dryad tree in the midst of the Paracelsus Towers in Kenatos, it was crowded with workers intent on rebuilding the broken edifice. The transfer from the Prince’s garden in Silvandom had been instantaneous and it was early in the day still, though crowded and full of dust. Scaffolding had been erected throughout the inner courtyard and workers of all types carted wheelbarrows, baskets of chisels, and fragments of stone. Dung from cart animals littered the way, bringing with them the buzzing of flies and the smell of manure.
Paedrin stood gawking at the commotion in the inner courtyard and Hettie grabbed his sleeve and tugged at him impatiently. He had no idea how to blend in with a crowd or make himself unseen.