“I swear it,” Annon replied promptly. He took Erasmus’s chair and pulled it closer to Reeder’s stool. “Tell me.”
Reeder glanced at the tent door as Nizeera slowly padded inside, eyes wide and glassy. She stroked against Annon’s leg before settling down on the blankets near him, tail flicking this way and that.
“How well do you know your forest lore?” Reeder asked. “You know of sylphlings. You know of hamadrods and cepints. You know all the spirit life in Wayland. It varies depending on the location. Depending on the menace, you might say. As you can see, there is much spirit life in Silvandom. This is their last bastion of safety.
“In the mountains of Alkire, they are caught and trapped and bound into service. In the forests of Wayland, where you and I are from, they struggle against the local woodcutters and hunters who do not bother to understand their ways. It leads the poor folk to some harm at times. Of all the spirit life you have learned about, have you ever heard of the spirits that guard the trees? Tell me what you know of the Dryads.”
Annon stared at him in confusion. “I know nothing. I do not even know that name.”
Reeder nodded, smiling as if he had not expected Annon to know the secret. “Good. It is not usually part of the Druidecht lore we teach at your age. For good reason, for which you must trust me, young as you are. As I said, they are spirits. They are very rare, Annon. Hidden. Even for spirits, they are quite vulnerable. Dryads are only female. They live inside the trees that they protect, but not in a way that you would understand. Their trees hold the knowledge of the portals to Mirrowen.
“There is very little that is known about the Dryads, the guardians of the Ways. There is a reason for that. You see, it is their defense. They protect the knowledge stored in their trees in a special way. When someone approaches, they appear before the intruder suddenly. They are said to be very beautiful. But no one can remember what they look like, for they steal your memories. Look at them once, and you forget what it is you came to do. There is no magic that can prevent this from happening. That is why it is only said that they are beautiful. They do not allow those who have seen them to remember, so they can protect their trees from harm. A Dryad can preserve a tree and live for a thousand years. There are a lot of memories in their trees, many secrets.”
Reeder licked his lips, keeping his voice low, “Now for the Boeotians’ purpose. The Boeotians are not coming into Silvandom to harvest firewood. They hunt the Dryads and destroy their trees. How do they know of them? How do they know which trees to cut down?” He gave a big shrug. “This is Druidecht lore, and we do not share it. But they have a way to know which tree belongs to a Dryad. And they come to hew it down with axes and then burn it.”
A chill went down Annon’s spine. As Reeder spoke, a memory stirred to life in his mind. A twisted, aging oak in the courtyard within the Paracelsus Towers. An old, desiccated tree. Unusually placed in such a vast throng of humanity.
Annon swallowed, his stomach fluttering with the memory and its implications. “Is there a certain kind of tree the Dryads choose, Reeder?” He felt he already knew the answer. But it was confirmed from Reeder’s lips.
“The oak, my boy. The mighty oak is their home.”
The hour was late, and Erasmus continued to quietly snore on the stack of blankets in the corner of the pavilion. Annon waved away another offer to fill his cup with wine. His head throbbed dully and his stomach was queasy with information and the lateness of the hour. Reeder finished off his cup with a mighty swallow and wiped his mouth with his arm.
“Thank you for trusting me with all that has happened to you,” Reeder said, for Annon had changed his mind about revealing all to his mentor. He shook his head in disbelief. “You are caught in a snare, to be sure. The more you wriggle, the tighter the noose.”
“But what should I do?” Annon said, trying to quell the evil feeling. “Should I believe what Drosta told me? What my uncle told me? What the Arch-Rike believes? What the order has trained me to believe? My mind is tangled in knots right now! I do not know which to unravel first.”