Phae’s insides wrenched as the magic of the Tay al-Ard hurtled them through the span of woods, arriving in a moment in a different location. Queasiness mixed with the dizziness of the power, and she grasped Shion’s arm to keep from falling. What had been the subtle murmur of Dryad magic permeating the woods became a roar that flooded her with its presence. She sensed that she was standing on a vast web of interlocking roots that furrowed deep beneath the earth and whose tendrils expanded not just around the perimeter of a single tree, but seemed to connect in small and vast ways to every other tree throughout the impenetrable maze. It took no more than a single instant to realize they had arrived at the proper place. And it took less than an instant for the defenders of that lair to be aware of their presence.
Fire exploded from Annon’s hands as massive, frenzied Weir began to appear. Their fur and hide expelled that strange dustlike hoarfrost as they moved, powerful sinews bounding, claws tearing up the ground. The blast from the fireblood struck them full, scattering and destroying the creatures, but another wave was coming from behind.
Phae’s heart spasmed with terror at the immediate threat, knowing they had plunged into the center of the hive, that their survival against such a host of foes would be short-lived if she did not make it to the tree quickly.
The Bhikhu sprung like an arrow, his sword slashing through the nearest Weir, who came at him with savage ferocity. Shion grabbed her shoulders, ready to plunge into the thickest part when Annon caught her wrist. His eyes were blazing with intensity and despair. He thrust the Tay al-Ard into her hands. “To Mirrowen,” he urged her desperately. “Save us!”
One of the beasts landed on Annon’s back, its claws shredding through his previous injuries, and he screamed in pain. He raised his hands and seized the beast by the ruff, turning it into ash with a single burst of his magic. As he turned away from her, she saw the red stains on his shredded cloak and watched his face turn chalk white. She stuffed the Tay al-Ard into her belt.
Shion pulled her after him, but she saw a multitude of Weir bearing down on them. He could not stop such an onslaught himself, and she knew it. Hunching her shoulders, she dug her boots into the ground to stop and shoved her wrists forward, letting her own fireblood sear into the ranks of maddened creatures.
Come, child! I feel your presence. Come to me, lost daughter!
The voice in her mind was full of suffering and despair. A caged one, a victim, a being so thirsty for freedom she was desiccated. Wave after wave of emotion broke against Phae’s mind, a pleading and yearning deeper than the ocean. She looked past the charging Weir, past the other sentinels guarding it, then saw the tree.
She could sense its unfathomable age deep down into the core of herself, the part of herself that was aching and trembling and that had nearly expelled the innate magic that was a part of her since childhood. She felt her Dryad magic throbbing, causing a wave of painful wrenching that tore through her violently. Phae gasped at the swell of it, at the insurmountable agony of being so close to a tree that was already part of her very essence somehow.
The tree was thick and twisted, not majestic as she had imagined, not a towering thing but a stunted one. It seemed as if limbs had been broken off or cut down and other limbs grafted on. The trunk was full of gnarled bulges and scabs, grotesque and hunchbacked. The trunk was split in two, showing a small gap between and a shadowed crevice inside. No other tree grew directly around it, as if its leaves and mistletoe were poison to anything else living. The tree seemed to sway, the spear-like branches defying her, warning her that she’d be pierced through if she ventured near.
One of the Weir slashed through her cloak, ripping the skin on her side into grooves of blood. She turned and blasted it away along with four others charging her from that side. There was no time to think, only to act, to unleash the heat inside her and endure the pangs that tortured every breath. Shion slashed at the wall of Weir with his twin blades, bringing them down with brutal efficiency.
There was a whisper on the wind, a cry of warning from Paedrin. Phae watched Kiranrao materialize out of nothing but smoke and stab Prince Aran in the back with his malevolent blade. The Prince’s face went slack and he dropped like a stone. Phae nearly wept.
Paedrin roared with fury but the Romani vanished as quickly as he had appeared, his cold sneer fading with him.
Annon blasted where he had been standing with a stream of blue fire, spinning in an arc to cover the area. Paedrin’s grief was terrible, and Phae could not watch it. Too many beasts were coming at her, too many enemies, but suddenly the Bhikhu’s voice lifted in warning.