More over here. He heard Nizeera’s shrieking warning and saw her dart between trees, swiping and clawing at them.
Annon shoved away from the protection of the trunk and came after them again, seeing several trying to hide from him behind stunted oaks. Flames spewed from his hands, engulfing the trees with crackling flames. This was dangerous. He did not want to burn down the entire forest. But he could not stop himself. He did not want to stop himself. Something had seized control of his mind. Some dark vapor prevented him from thinking. It commanded him to lash out at those who had desecrated the woods.
Cries of pain came from those he caught. He heard the crunch of boots to his right and turned just as the ax edge whistled toward his head. Annon ducked reflexively, feeling no fear, and brought up his hands to the man’s face. Suddenly a knee connected with his stomach and he felt his air vanish. The Boeotian continued the swoop of the ax and brought it up and around, coming down to split open Annon’s skull.
Nizeera launched at him, leaping over Annon’s crumpling body, and caught the Boeotian with claws in his face and chest as her weight slammed him down. The catlike scream made Annon shudder.
Scrambling back to his feet, struggling to maintain the fire pulsing in his fingertips, Annon stared as the other Boeotians ran off into the woods.
He gulped in air, trying to breathe. Nizeera finished off the man and turned to look at him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
They are coming.
Annon nodded, unable to speak. How many?
She cocked her head.
Spirits thronged him, coming from all sides at once. Many were cheering and grateful, but others were frantic as well.
They come, Druidecht! More mortals come! Do not abandon us! Do not abandon her!
He breathed heavily, glancing back at the sinewy form of the oak tree, split wide with fleshy bark. The broken ax lay at its base. The tree was defenseless. The tree would be butchered and killed. A Dryad tree. He knew it was so. He could feel memories emanating from its ancient hull.
Stand strong. Do not fear them. Nizeera’s eyes bored into his. We will take them together. You and I. We fight together.
Gritting his teeth, Annon straightened. He was just beginning to feel the razor of pain in his shoulder. The emotions of elation began to crumble. He needed to tame the fireblood. He could not let it run wild again. He would control it better; he would burn the men and not destroy the woods. I fear nothing, he thought to Nizeera.
The hummingbird spirit zoomed into the grove, flittering in front of his face. He comes before them! He comes to challenge you!
Annon’s mind raced. Who comes? Who is it?
The spirit wailed with terror. One of the Black.
“When Kenatos was founded on the island in the lake, all races and peoples were invited to send representatives of their culture, traditions, and knowledge to dwell in harmony and thus preserve their way of life. Too many races had been decimated. Too many crafts and knowledge had been lost. Of all who remained, only the Boeotians refused. In fact, when they learned of the founding of Kenatos, they vowed to destroy it. For centuries, they attacked the island by boat. Some tried to make an earthen bridge to connect to the city. Each attack was repelled. Each ambassador sent to negotiate with the Boeotians was killed. Only the Druidecht can safely pass into their borders unharmed. They are a wild and savage race. It is said that they are ruled by an Empress, much as a beehive has a single queen. Their savagery and violence know no bounds. Kenatos would have failed if the races had not banded together to protect her infancy. A common danger unites even the bitterest enemies.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The very mention of the Black Druidecht made Annon shudder. As with all creatures, so it was with the spirits of Mirrowen. There were helpful spirits who cooperated with the races or mostly just left them alone. But there were other spirits, the dark and the foul, that frightened and sought to destroy. Beings like the Iddawc. They looked at the world as a plaything. The Druidecht opposed such and had learned from the spirits ways to protect against them. But some Druidecht—only a few—joined forces with them.
Sweat beaded on Annon’s brow. He glanced back at the scarred oak tree, wondering whether the damage caused to the trunk was enough to kill it. His fingers tingled with heat and anticipation from using the fireblood again. He had almost lost himself in it.
Courage, Nizeera whispered to him.
Annon steeled himself, swallowing his fears, and drew deep within himself. This was his charge as a Druidecht—to protect the denizens of Mirrowen who were helpless. And as Reeder had told him the night before, no creature was more helpless than a Dryad.
A sylph flitted to him. You are injured. Let me heal you.
Heal my friend, if he lives, Annon pleaded.