“It already has,” Tyrus said.
She nodded. “That is your greatest danger. Those memories will attempt to unman you. They will rob your courage. They will wilt your resolve.” Her eyes burned with fiery determination. “Take with you my blessing. Take with you my strength. I know you can do this, Tyrus. I know that you can defeat the evils that roam that land. For all our sakes, you must. There has not been a man . . . not in a thousand years, who can do what you must do. Death will hunt you. Defy it. Hunger will threaten you. Defeat it. I have seen a man waste away for forty days without food and still not perish. When you are past the need for hunger, your mind will open to new truths. Expect it. Heed those truths. You are facing a horrible task. But you do not face it alone. My blessing goes with you. Should you need to regroup and heal, return here immediately. These caves will shelter you. What else can I do for you?”
Tyrus stared at her, his eyes shining with renewed determination. “Your faith in my cause was what I needed most to hear.”
“It is all that I have to give you,” she replied. “Bend your head. Let me give you my blessing.”
Tyrus obeyed, dipping his chin. The Empress stood on the tips of her boots and kissed the crown of his head. “Fare you well, Tyrus Paracelsus. When next you come to Kenatos, all the spirits your kind have trapped will be set free. Think of it, Tyrus.” She gripped his hands with both of hers. “Think of what that freedom will mean to the people. I long to loosen the bonds around the minds of my own people, to set them free of enmity and hate. In the end, that is the best we can do for one another. We set each other free.”
Tyrus looked at her, his expression almost startled. “My friend Drosta shared such a conviction. He saw the imprisonment of the spirits of Mirrowen as a great evil.”
“So it is,” she added, nodding. “There is nothing we crave so much as truth. And what did the ancients always say? The truth shall set you free.”
“Farewell, Dame Larei,” Tyrus said, bowing deeply. “You are the wisest of women. You have earned my trust.”
“You did not need to say it for me to know it,” she replied gravely. “Thank you, Master Tyrus, for saving my life. I hoped . . . we hoped . . . that you would choose to do so.” She took Mathon’s hand, her smile dazzling.
With that, Tyrus mounted the stirrups of the great beast and swung up onto the huge leather saddle. Four Boeotian drovers had been sent to assist them in caring for the camels and bringing them toward the Scourgelands.
Annon’s heart was afire with emotions and he stood staring at the Empress, unwilling to break the spell she had cast on him. Tyrus had won over his loyalty and trust. But the Empress had captured Annon’s devotion. He stared at her until she looked at him, her eyes curious and thoughtful as she read the expression on his face. It only took a moment. Nodding to the Druidecht with a look of respect and honor, she hooked arms with Mathon and turned away.
Stars twinkled in the vast, cloudless sky, a garment made of countless tiny jewels. A small fire crackled amidst the camp they had set up. Annon stared at the broad expanse above, his mind lost in the magnitude of it. He wondered what those pinpricks of light really were—distant candles? The shroud obscuring Mirrowen from view? He breathed in the cool night air, unable to sleep. Nizeera nestled against him, her eyes open and glinting with the reflections. They had traveled by camel for several days and he knew they were nearing the dreaded forest.
You are restless.
I am, he answered with his thoughts. We face death.
I will protect you. With my last breath.
He scrubbed his fingers into her deep fur. I should hate to lose you, Nizeera. Tell me of Mirrowen.
She was silent, luminous eyes blinking slowly. You would not understand it. When you were Dryad-kissed, you may have endured a glimpse of it. It is too much for a mortal mind to comprehend.
Annon sighed, continuing to stroke her fur softly. A faint purring noise came from her throat. Every Druidecht dreams someday of being welcomed there. I am young still, so I have not expected it. But we travel to the bridge between our worlds. What if we succeed? Would I be able to enter Mirrowen from Poisonwell?
If you survive.
A knot formed in Annon’s stomach. Survive the Scourgelands . . . or survive entering Mirrowen?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that.
Nizeera was thoughtful, her ears lying flat. No more questions, Druidecht. You must earn the privilege of entering Mirrowen on your own merits. A king may not be able to enter, yet a peasant might. Few wealthy men can shrink small enough to enter.
Annon shook his head, baffled. I should have no problem with that. I have nothing.
Her head lifted, her muzzle turning to face him. Possessions matter not. What you bring matters. You bring who you are. Are you worthy to enter Mirrowen? Are you willing to die to test that worthiness?