“There is much to tell and much to explain,” Annon said. “I came seeking your advice, Reeder.”
Palmanter gave them both a quizzical look. “I will leave you then.” To Reeder he said, “You will depart in the morning then?”
“Yes. A fair night of sleep will help these old bones. Not that I object to sleeping in the woods, but I am not as young as I used to be. I will depart on the morrow.”
Palmanter nodded. “Well enough. Seek me out before you leave. The Thirteen take counsel tonight.”
Reeder perked up. “Regarding the Boeotian matter?”
He shook his head. “No.” He gave Annon a probing look. “Regarding Tyrus Paracelsus. He arrived days ago seeking asylum at Canton Vaud.”
Annon swallowed, unable to control the sudden urge of emotion that rose in him after hearing his uncle’s name.
Reeder knew Annon well, especially his expressions. His face softened, and he patted Annon on the shoulder. “You need some wine. And bread. The soup is not as tasty as Dame Nestra’s, but it will give you a moment to silence your seething.” He motioned Annon to the rug and then beckoned for Erasmus to enter. “Come in. You have the look of a Preachán, if ever I saw one. A little tall. You could almost pass for Aeduan except for the nose and the queer eye.”
Erasmus entered the tent and Reeder offered him the chair where Palmanter had sat. In short order, food was arranged, and they set about eating as the sun sank beyond the towering trees and blanketed the woods in darkness. An oil lamp was lit by Reeder before he took again his cushioned seat and started back in on his dinner.
“My uncle is here?” Annon asked softly, thinking himself the world’s greatest fool. Tyrus had told them to seek him in Silvandom, but he had misled them deliberately regarding his destination. Annon was angry with himself for not seeing it sooner. The counsel to seek his friend Reeder for advice had allowed him to play right into his uncle’s hands. It was the Uddhava all over again, and he was sick with fury because of it.
Reeder shrugged complacently. “The Thirteen do not typically discuss their business with me directly. I think your presence startled Palmanter, and so he let it drop to see what impact it had on you. I am as certain as wheat that you will shortly become a topic of conversation among them. That can be good or bad, depending on how feelings go.”
Annon took a bite from a slice of bread. He chewed it absently, not even tasting it. Erasmus dipped his into the bowl of soup and ravenously ate. He glanced around for more and Reeder motioned toward the bread plate.
The older Druidecht looked at Annon thoughtfully as he ate. “So you came here seeking me and wound up finding your uncle as well. You did go to Kenatos?”
Annon nodded, wondering how much he should say. Should he tell Reeder about the blade Iddawc? About the Arch-Rike? About the Kishion who had come? Should he say anything about Drosta and his warning? How much did Reeder already know? Be wise, he warned himself. Do not reveal too much, even to your friend.
“You are pensive,” Reeder said softly.
“Much has happened since I left Wayland,” Annon replied. “Tell me of your troubles, though. What is happening in Silvandom that you came to help? Troubles with the Boeotians?”
Reeder nodded. “You could say that. And I do. They began encroaching on the woods of Silvandom. They are killing trees.”
Annon frowned. “For profit?”
“No, they do not seek to trade the wood, or to build with it. They seek to burn it.”
“For fuel then?”
Reeder shook his head. “What do you know of the Boeotians, Annon?”
“Very little. The other kingdoms consider them barbarians. They have no seat of power. No cities. They roam the north just below the fringes of the Scourgelands. They rarely settle but for hunting. They share an enmity with Kenatos and routinely wage war with her. I did not know they liked to burn wood. But are there not many trees in their country?”
Reeder nodded pensively. “You are mostly right. The Boeotians have a leader who they call the Empress. She does not treat with anyone and they guard and protect her. But the various tribes are fractious, and they do enjoy warring amongst themselves when they are not warring against Kenatos. But let us go to the crux of the matter.” He glanced over at Erasmus, who was nodding off with sleepiness. “There are blankets over there. Sleep, friend.”
Erasmus yawned uncontrollably and set down his cup. He went over to the pile of blankets and lay down. Reeder stared at him. A spirit full of gossamer threads flittered into the tent and delicately kissed Erasmus’s eyes. His breath came in and out heavily. He was asleep.
Annon looked at Reeder in confusion.
“What I have to tell you is Druidecht lore,” Reeder said. His eyes were deadly serious. “It should not be spoken of, even to your uncle. Do you swear it?”