“Go on!” Shion ordered, beckoning them to keep moving, for undoubtedly there were other Weir coming after them still. With hands still burning with unspent flames, Annon resumed the sprint, dodging past trees and keeping his wits as sharp as he could despite the thickening fog inside his head.
“Wait!”
The voice came from above, startling them.
The branches overhead were snapping as something battled through the foliage high above. Shion grabbed Phae’s arm and pulled her after him, trying to flee the voice, but she dug in her heels. “It’s Paedrin!” she shouted.
Annon had also recognized the voice. The branches broke loose and the Bhikhu came soaring down from the heights of the trees, his eyes wide with excitement and desperation. He plummeted to the ground, landing in a Bhikhu stance, one hand forward with several fingers up, the Sword of Winds tucked back behind him deferentially.
“Paedrin!” Annon shouted, rushing toward him, but Aransetis blocked the way.
“Hold, we don’t know it’s him!” Aran warned.
The Bhikhu straightened, searching their faces. “Of course you suspect me, with all we’ve been through together. You’re still here. Phae, you’re alive!” He laughed with surprise. “I thought you were . . . of course not . . . a trick of Tyrus. I know where the Dryad tree is!” His eyes were so thrilled with excitement, he almost looked deranged. “I know where it is! I’ve just come from there. It’s surrounded by guardians, but I’ve been there . . . my feet have touched the ground by it. I can take you there, right this moment. Tyrus?” He seemed to have noticed finally that Tyrus was not among them. “Where’s Hettie?”
“How can you confirm our trust in you?” Prince Aran warned.
“Look at me!” Paedrin said, impatient. “I’m bleeding, exhausted, and half-mad with delirium, but it is me. If I had leprosaria would you think I was Mathon? If I called you sheep-brains, would you think I was Erasmus? I’m Paedrin Bhikhu,” he said, beginning to float, bringing his feet straight up into the air and balancing himself on the sword pommel with one finger. “I can take you to the tree right now with the Tay al-Ard.” He came down suddenly, his eyes fierce. “Now I ask again—where are Tyrus and Hettie?”
“They’re at the base of the promontory,” Annon said. “Trying to buy us time to find the tree. He has the Tay al-Ard.”
Paedrin’s face wrenched with pain. “There are too many to fight, for them or for us. I’ve been atop the promontory and seen the ruins. He has five hundred men up there if he has fifty.” Paedrin wiped his face. “The tree is ringed by creatures on every side, Weir mostly, but there are some brown-cloaked creatures too with bows as well. They shot at me the moment I came down, but if we had the Tay al-Ard, I could bring us right there in the middle. Some of them were trailing me and will be here shortly.” He screwed up his face and let out a Romani curse. “We are so close!”
Annon stared at Paedrin, believing he was who he said he was. He had just the right amount of frantic energy and bravado. There were no rings on his hands either and his impatience and desperation were common to everyone at the moment.
“Which way is the tree?” Shion asked, grabbing Paedrin’s arm. “Point it out.”
“That way,” Paedrin said, motioning the direction they were going. “But we’re outnumbered. You’re strong, Shion, but if enough Weir pounce on you, even you’ll get pinned down. Maybe if we go around and try to flank them? But they won’t go far from the tree, I don’t think. They know we’re coming for it. They just need to wait.”
Annon saw the awful dilemma. Maybe Tyrus had suspected it too. He stared down at his hand, at the invisible ring on his finger. With it, he could summon the Tay al-Ard. He could let Paedrin use it to bring them to the Mother Tree. But doing so would trap Tyrus and Hettie in the midst of the clearing without a way to escape.
There was a flash of movement in the trees coming from both sides. The Weir from the tree had joined the ones stalking them from behind. The forces were converging on each side.
“We’re surrounded,” Phae warned in fear.
The Weir rushed at them, howling with vengeance as they charged through the maze of trees. Annon stared at his hand, frozen with indecision. Tyrus had laid the burden on his shoulders. Somehow, he had known. Summoning the Tay al-Ard would have consequences. Without it, Tyrus would probably use the fireblood and go mad. Hettie might die. Staring at his hand, he wondered what fate he would unleash and what guilt he would suffer as a result of his decision. He did not have time to think it through. He did not have time to reason it out.
Closing his eyes, he invoked the power of the ring. The object he desired appeared in his outstretched hand, still warm from Tyrus’s own grip.
What have I done? he thought bleakly.
Paedrin stared at him in shock.
“Hasten,” Annon whispered, extending the Tay al-Ard out so all could reach it. He met Paedrin’s gaze, who seemed to be realizing the implications himself by the widening of his eyes. Annon nodded curtly, steeling his emotions. “Take us there, Paedrin.”
XXXIII