The ground beneath Annon rumbled. A sudden jolt from below knocked him flat. A crack—as if the earth had split in half—sounded, deafening them. The remaining columns toppled, causing shrieks of fright to come from the quivering soldiers of Kenatos. Annon rose to his feet quickly, rushing up the final length of the ramp to the upper heights. He had passed the field unchallenged, seeing dead Weir all around. In the mist, he thought he had seen larger beasts ghosting in the shroud of vapor, their bulk twice the size of the Weir. He had hurried across the field, passing the carcasses, until he reached the ramp.
As he stepped onto the top of the hill, he saw the shattered ruins up close. Some ancient fortress seemed to have once stood proudly, but it was toppled. As he stepped over a fallen buttress, he saw a shock of pale hair and recognized it. The dead eyes of Lukias stared absently, a trickle of blood coming from his ear. Annon stared at the corpse, feeling a twist of anguish mixed with relief. He realized in the image that the Order of the Rikes would fade into memory now. Would any remain to carry on their false traditions? What would be said of them in the future? That they were a mad religion that enslaved the races in a prison island known as Kenatos?
Annon stared at the face, shook his head, and then pressed toward the center of the destruction. He felt a strange exhilaration in his blood, a sense of giddiness instead of fear. As he walked, the lightness in his chest grew to euphoria. All around him was devastation and destruction, but he felt peaceful and calm. He heard a whisper coming from the center of the ruins. The whisper sizzled in his heart, making his eyes sting with tears. His pace broadened, his mouth burning with thirst. Was that the sound of water? Up at the heights? He could not understand it. Where was it coming from?
Spirits began to flit through the air. He saw them, dazzled by the streaks of color and intensity. A Shain spirit came up to him with enthusiasm.
Come, Druidecht. Come! The Seneschal is here. The Seneschal of Mirrowen! Come!
Annon felt a surge of relief and gratitude. He wiped his mouth, unable to contain the burst of enjoyment and thrill that surged inside his heart. Had they done it? Had they accomplished the task? As he stepped over the clutter of rubble, he came to a rift in the ground, the center of the hilltop. There were Hettie and Paedrin. To the side, he saw Baylen smirking as he arrived, the giant Cruithne nodding in welcome as they joined. Tyrus! Annon saw Tyrus talking to Phae and Shion, clutching a heavy black book to his chest and nodding. As Annon approached, he saw Tyrus turn and discovered a talisman around his neck.
Annon was dumbfounded.
Annon
He felt the whisper in his mind and saw that there was another standing among them whom he had not seen before. He was a lithe and towering figure, with long dark hair and an expression of humility and respect on his face. The feelings surging inside Annon’s heart stunned him. He recognized the man. Somehow, it felt like it did when he saw Reeder after a journey. Annon knelt before the Seneschal of Mirrowen, feeling the enormity of the moment, the thought that most Druidecht lived their entire lives without ever glimpsing Mirrowen.
Rise, Annon of Wayland—one of the Thirteen
His heart swelled even larger and he felt tears trickle down his cheeks. He rose, seeing the greeting on their faces, seeing the joy in their eyes. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he felt it would be wrong to speak. That to do so would intrude on a sacred moment.
The Seneschal faced Annon, who rose because he felt compelled to do so.
“Welcome,” the Seneschal said, smiling. “Welcome to Canton Vaud. Do you accept your position as one of the Thirteen? You join others, like Tyrus and your friend Drosta. You must restore the Druidecht order under the guidance of its original founder, Prince Isic Moussion of Stonehollow. There is much you will learn about your blood and who you are. Do you accept the responsibility?”
“I will,” Annon replied without a moment’s hesitation.
“Good,” the Seneschal said. He then withdrew a sheathed dagger, which Annon recognized as the blade Iddawc. “The binding on this weapon will last for a thousand years. It must be safeguarded. Return it to Drosta’s Lair, where it may continue to remain hidden. The Druidecht must be summoned to this place. The safe road leads from Basilides to cross the Scourgelands. Poisonwell has been opened at long last.”
“The way to Mirrowen?” Annon asked, his eyes gleaming with hope.
“When you have all completed your tasks, you will be allowed to enter. If you desire it with all your hearts.”
Annon saw the looks on their faces, saw the triumph in their eyes. The world would change forever. He dared not ask it, because he knew he did not need to. If he did what he was required, he would be allowed to enter Mirrowen. And there, he hoped, he would find Neodesha waiting for him.