He is dead, Druidecht. He is already dead. The wound was mortal.
A quivering sob threatened to ruin him. Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Reeder. His friend. A blinding rage enveloped him. He had always heard that the Druidecht were welcome in any land, even Boeotia. How could they have slain him so mercilessly? The anger gave him strength and helped steal the tears from his eyes. He would mourn Reeder later. He would mourn him the rest of his life.
Glancing over, Annon saw his friend still lying where he had fallen. Reeder’s face was waxy and pale.
Annon turned away, breathed deeply, trying to calm his pounding heart, to focus on the task at hand. He could not face Reeder’s death yet. It would undo him. He felt the healing touch of the sylph as it restored him, binding the wound at his shoulder and restoring his strength. Other spirits came and blessed him as well, kissing his forehead to give him clear thoughts. One touched his heart to bolster courage. They swarmed him with magic, and he realized that once the other Boeotians arrived with their sticks and smoke, he would be on his own.
It did not take them long to arrive.
Annon heard them before he saw them. Battle screams filled the air, a strange singsong mesh of voices set at discordant rhythms that made his courage shrivel. How many were there? A hundred? The wails grew louder, and soon the first of the Boeotians appeared, rushing through the woods with spears and axes, holding smoking sticks in their hands, the vapors warding off the spirits.
As soon as he was visible to them, their fervor and pitch increased even more, and he saw the wild look of rage in their eyes as they converged on him. His hands went cold with terror and his stomach lurched. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to run. He struggled to master himself. One spear thrust was all it would take to end his life. Annon realized he was going to die. He would never see Hettie again. Her face flashed in his mind, spurring pangs of sadness.
The spirits of the woods seemed to recognize his faltering feelings. They surged into the midst of the Boeotians, exploding with puffs of magic as they tried to stall the advance, to protect the ancient Dryad tree at all costs. He watched them vanish out of existence, popping with dazzling colors. Why was his own life any more significant than theirs? Should he not also give his best, even if it meant his life?
Reeder had.
Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
Annon fed his anger as his hands turned blue, wreathed in flames. He saw a Boeotian rear back with a spear and hurl it straight at him. Everything seemed to slow around him. He could sense every breath, every flash of his eyelids, the prickle of gooseflesh on his arms. The blessing of the spirits heightened every sense. He twisted sideways and leaned, feeling the spear streak by him. Annon countered, raising his hands. Fire swirled from his palms in spheres and struck the Boeotian, slamming into him and engulfing him only, not the trees near him.
Nizeera screamed and launched herself at the oncoming mass of men. She was all teeth and claws, ripping and savaging into their midst like some whirlwind. Annon let loose a curtain of flames to try and block the advance. The trees around the area caught fire, mixing gold with the blue. Branches shattered. A windstorm swept into the woods, fanning the flames and causing smoke to billow and blind them. He made it far enough back, hopefully creating a break between the trees to preserve the Dryad’s oak.
Annon saw them flanking him on both sides, trying to get near him and the tree. Gritting his teeth, he lashed out at them with the fireblood, drawing a circle of fire around his position. Spears whistled at him, but he felt them coming and ducked. Several struck the massive oak, burying into her craggy bark. Each one caused a spurt of anger and hatred inside him. He unleashed fire in return, blasting away the intruders one by one.
Giddiness. The overwhelming feeling of giddiness made him nearly start laughing. Was he in control of himself? Had he loosed the madness his uncle had warned him of? Pain struck his leg as a spear glanced him. He felt the skin rip and blood begin flowing down his leg. A hulking Boeotian charged him with an ax. Annon joined his hands together and sent a mass of fire into him, turning him into ash.
He could not see Nizeera through all the smoke, but he could hear her screams and the sound of dying. There was a chunking sound as an ax bit into the tree again. A Boeotian had managed to breach the circle of fire and had struck again at the tree. Annon turned abruptly and destroyed him. How many were there? How long would he last before exhaustion consumed him?