But Reeder was serious. “A warning twice given is a warning still. It does no harm to repeat it. I was bid to come south and find you quickly.”
Annon’s stomach lurched and his mouth went dry. He was quiet, so quiet he could hear the fire snapping inside the hovel and the occasional clang of pots and dishes. “Who bid you, Reeder?”
“I said I was recently in Kenatos. That should be your clue.”
Annon was stunned. For a moment, his ears started ringing and anger and hurt surged in his heart. Black, seething anger. The kind that made his jaw clench and his eyes squint. It was difficult to squelch it. But beneath that anger was pain. The pain of being abandoned. The pain of never measuring up. “My uncle?” he asked through a swallow.
Reeder nodded. “He is a powerful man in that powerful city. He is known by one and all. Tyrus of Kenatos. Tyrus Paracelsus. They say his power rivals the Arch-Rike’s. When he learned I was there, he sent word for me. I left his study not two days ago. We had tea together actually.”
Annon could feel the bitter feelings swirling inside him like black waters. His uncle. Tyrus. The blackness brought a feeling of loathing and defiance. It was a sore wound still, a wound that had never healed. He tried to speak but found himself hoarse. He coughed against his fist, trying to tame the wild surging in his heart. “And what did my uncle bid you tell me?”
Reeder was wise, and he looked at Annon with compassion. He knew of Annon’s festering feelings. His disappointment. He knew that Annon had waited years for an invitation to join his uncle at Kenatos and that it had never come.
“He wishes to see you,” Reeder said softly.
“Why?” Annon demanded, too hotly. Then he felt ashamed of himself. He stared down at the ground, resisting the impulse to pace and rant. Control—he needed to learn to control his resentment.
“He would not say. You know him better than that. He guards his thoughts like a Preachán guards his coins. He broods and plots and asks for no one’s counsel, and he accepts none but his own.” He reached out and rested his hand on Annon’s shoulder. “I know you once wished he would send for you, but I do not think he bids you to join him and learn his ways. I cannot even guess why he asked to see you. But I knew that you would want to know he called for you, so I did not delay. It is your choice, Annon. I am bound for Silvandom. You can go with me there if you choose. Or you can see your uncle first and make your decision later. A Druidecht builds his reputation by traveling far and wide. You are known in Wayland already. It may be time to move on.”
Reeder dropped his hand and stared at his empty bowl. He sighed heavily. The look he gave Annon next was piercing. “But if he bids you go north, tell him no.”
Annon stared, confused. “Why would he do that?”
“I am old enough to remember. I outlived the last Plague. You know that. There were whispers back then. Word that your uncle led men into the Scourgelands to their deaths. Only he survived. They say it started the Plague anew. Now I do not know what to believe, Annon. Men are false by nature. I have had experience with many who wished to deceive, but not one who wished to be deceived. Since they are unwilling to be deceived, they are unwilling to be convinced that they have been deceived. They are jealous and petty and suspicious, save for the Vaettir, who distrust no one and serve all. And so they are robbed and cheated and wronged and consider themselves blessed in the bargain.”
Reeder grinned and chuckled lightly. “But I have looked your uncle in the eye. I have seen the scars on his face and his hands. They have mostly healed and are tiny to the eye. But he has the look about him—of one who is well acquainted with death and all of its faces. He has no compassion for anyone. Even his own kin.”
Annon grunted. “I know.”
Reeder slapped his knees. “I have done my part. I have given you the message. Since I told these wonderful people that I can sing in three languages, they begged me to share a song from each of the kingdoms. You know I love to sing.” He stared up at the sky and yawned. “I’m getting old and perhaps had too much bread. I’ll depart in the morning for Silvandom. You decide what you will do, Annon.”