It was Hettie. She had risen where she had lain, pretending to be asleep. Her eyes were dark with concern. Her arms were folded defiantly across her chest. “How can we help you?”
He looked at her in surprise. “You are fledglings. All of you. The last group I brought into the Scourgelands were tested and trained. They were the best of their generation. They perished in the nightmares that roam inside.”
“Answer my question, Uncle,” Hettie demanded.
Annon struggled to control his anger. He did not want to help his uncle. He wanted to lash out at him with hateful words and erase the memory of him from his mind. But he could not. Tyrus’s words buzzed inside his head like a hive of angry bees. He remembered Reeder’s warning about the Scourgelands. He could almost imagine his friend’s worried expression.
Annon’s voice was raw. “Do you seek us to join you?”
Tyrus shook his head angrily. “Yours was a good question, Hettie. They typically are. Annon, you are too concerned about trying to understand my motives. You miss something obvious. If I am capable of deceiving the Rikes of Kenatos and their beetle-black rings, then I can surely dupe someone as foolish as you. Annon, you will never understand my motives until you understand me. You will not understand me until you understand what motivates me. And you will not understand that without seeking to do my will. In other words, you must trust me. Remember, I told you that in my tower.”
“Did Kiranrao speak the truth?” Hettie asked. “Was there an explosion?”
Tyrus nodded. “One of my latest projects for the Arch-Rike was inventing ways of releasing power in a blast. They are volatile spirits and they are bound for one reason and one purpose. You saw them on my desk when you both visited me. They were designed to help the masons of Stonehollow crack boulders. I am sure the Arch-Rike plans to use them to destroy castle walls. When he sent his man to kill me, I used a device I made to travel far away and triggered the room to explode, hoping it would kill him. It did not, but it destroyed my tower. I am still being hunted.”
Annon stared at him. “Did my arrival to the city cause this?”
Tyrus smiled grimly. “Yes, but you did it unwittingly. I protected you both the best I could.”
“I have no love of Kenatos or the Arch-Rike,” Hettie said. “How can I help?”
“I applaud your question. Was it sincerely given?”
She nodded, arms folded. Her shoulders seemed to scrunch, as if she were tightening into knots inside, awaiting a blow.
“There is a prince in Silvandom. A Vaettir-lord named Prince Aransetis. He has agreed to journey with me into the Scourgelands. There was something he had commissioned from me that will help him survive. I did not have time to retrieve it before the explosion in my tower. You must go to Kenatos and find it. Bring it to Prince Aran. That is how you can help me.”
“What is it?” Hettie asked.
“A small leather pouch. A sturdy pouch. There are three jewels inside. They are uncut stones, not polished gems. Raw stones. There are spirits trapped in each one, bound to serve the Vaettir. Only a Vaettir can handle them and use them.”
Hettie swallowed. “Where is the bag?”
Tyrus smiled grimly. “I wish that I knew. It was in my study when it exploded. It would not have been destroyed; the magic is too powerful, and those gems were fashioned inside a volcano. It may be in the rubble. I do not know. But if you could find the stones and bring them to Silvandom, that would help me.”
Annon glanced and noticed that Paedrin was standing next to Hettie, watching them carefully. “What of me, Tyrus? Are you still in need of my service?”
Tyrus shook his head. “A Bhikhu is always very useful. But you would need to seek your master’s approval to serve me further. Your obligation to me is fulfilled. I am an outlaw now in Kenatos. You are sworn to uphold its laws.”
Paedrin nodded. He was silent for a moment. “Is that how Aboujaoude died? In the Scourgelands? He was a very famous Bhikhu, but he died before I was born.”
Tyrus stared hard at the young Vaettir. “He did indeed. What you do not understand is that you have been protecting his twins. Hettie and Annon are his offspring.” A look shadowed Tyrus’s face. The emotion vanished as fast as it appeared. “He believed in my cause, Paedrin. He gave his life for it. He knew all my motives, and he did it anyway.”
Annon swallowed hard, suddenly parched and desperate for a drink, as if water would somehow slake his fury. What was this? His father had been a Bhikhu? Then why had Annon not been raised in the temple orphanage like Paedrin? Why had he been sent to the woods in Wayland?
“What of me, Uncle?” Annon asked.
“You seek to help me as well? Or to challenge me further?”