The beckoning was seductive. It made his insides throb with excitement. What would it be like to experience that? What power would be unleashed?
Annon steeled himself, aware of the danger he was to himself and his companions. He remembered the Black Druidecht he had faced at Neodesha’s tree. The man was already mad. Annon clenched his fists and walked away from the fire, back toward where Erasmus was skulking, examining the tattoos of a Boeotian corpse. Nizeera chased a few of the Boeotians even farther, but even she returned and sauntered up to his side as he emerged from the blaze. He released the control of the fireblood, letting the emotions fade and pass. Sweat trickled down his face. He had come close that time—dangerously close. He could remember the burning hut where his mother had died, lost in the furnace of flames. Tears threatened to choke him. He stood still, trembling. It took long moments to master his emotions.
Lukias approached and gripped Annon’s shoulder, his face expressive with admiration. His eyes glittered and a wolfish smile appeared. “You are powerful, Druidecht. I can see why they hunt those with the fireblood. Truly, you frighten me.”
Annon swallowed, glancing at the Rike with unease. The mixture of awe and fear in his voice was significant. Lukias was a man not easily impressed.
“I do not think they will hunt us now,” he said huskily.
Lukias nodded in agreement. “I see why the Arch-Rike fears you as well. You see, he has the fireblood too. He fears you will usurp his place.”
Annon stared at him coldly. “I do not seek his throne. But I do seek his downfall.”
“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The sprawling mountain range north of Kenatos was jagged, brooding, and capped with dazzling white snow at the upper peaks. Below lay cracked foothills littered with boulders, as if some colossus with a hammer had repeatedly struck the mountains. There were no trees in the upper peaks, only slabs of blue-gray rock that provided a barrier to the twisted lands beyond—the place known as the Scourgelands. Passes led in and out of the maze-like range, but there were no trails or roads.
Annon and Lukias walked side by side, heads bent low against strong winds blowing down from the mountains. Erasmus and Khiara followed behind, and Annon heard the Preachán struggling to maintain his footing on the loose gravel. The vegetation was sparse, the prairie grass stiff and crackled as they trampled it. Nizeera padded a distance ahead, hunting for signs of spirit life.
“You said that you knew the Arch-Rike had the fireblood,” Annon said, brushing dust from his eyes. “How did you learn this?”
Lukias craned his neck, staring up at the mountains with a grim look. “Many of the great men of this world have it. Some suggest it is merely an ample surplus of ambition. If you look through the histories, as I have, you will see its evidence. Band-Imas is one of the greatest Arch-Rikes who has ever lived. But to answer your question, I was warned of it when I was younger. It was said that the Arch-Rike is a calm man, but possesses a fiery temper. When angry, his hands begin to glow. That is one of the marks of the fireblood, is it not?”
“It is. But have you seen it yourself in him?”
Lukias nodded. “Yes, but only rarely. The last time was when Tyrus Paracelsus escaped the city, destroying the tower in his wake. I was in the room when the news was brought. His face went black, his eyes glittered, and then I saw his hands. The hunt began immediately.”
Annon was curious to know more about their enemy. “How did the Arch-Rike come to power?”
“He was one of the many orphans raised in the city with a great mind for philosophy. Rather than joining the ranks of the Paracelsus, he devoted himself to the Rikes and rose quickly. He was wise for one so young and earned respect for his natural abilities as a leader. Men twice his age deferred to him for his unique wisdom. When there were problems, he solved them. I myself knew him as a younger man. He was the greatest among us. When the last Arch-Rike died, he was chosen despite his youth.”
Annon rubbed his chin. “How did the previous one die?”
Lukias glanced at him, brow furrowing. “He was old, Annon. His heart gave out. You cannot understand the pressures that come with the position. When Band-Imas was younger, his hair was like yours. Now it is white.”
“What I do not understand is why he stands in the way. Surely he has seen the destruction caused by the Plague. He has lived through it twice in his life, at least. Maybe three times. Is it merely ambition? He seeks to preserve his power?”
Lukias shook his head. “He and Tyrus were once very close. I think, at one time, he even considered Tyrus as a potential successor.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Something happened between them. Something regarding Tyrus’s older sister. I do not know what it was. Both men are very private.”