“Good,” he said gruffly. “We go. Gather around.”
There was no time to rest. Annon felt refreshed, however, his strength restored by Khiara’s miraculous touch. He could not bear to meet Tyrus’s eyes, but he stood firmly and waited for the words that would come.
“I see where you brought us,” Kiranrao said blandly. “It’s too dark to see far, but there are the boulders over there. It’s the wall. You brought us back to the beginning.”
“Yes, we will follow it a ways. Then we will plunge deeper into the woods. We need to reach the center.”
“How do you know that what we seek is in the center?”
“You’ll have to trust me,” Tyrus replied, his voice suddenly gaining an edge of hostility.
“Ah,” Kiranrao said. “Back to that concept again. I don’t think you have any idea what we’re looking for or where it is.”
A cool wind rustled the trees, spilling decayed leaves. Tyrus stood firm, his face directly toward the Romani.
“Think what you will, Kiranrao.”
“I do,” he replied. “You’ve managed to bring us in circles so far. Forgive me if I find trusting you a little difficult right now.”
“A good beginning is half the work?” Tyrus taunted.
Kiranrao scowled at the use of a Romani proverb. “Be wary, Tyrus. I may grow weary of you.”
“Everyone who came here serves a purpose,” Tyrus said icily. “I chose everyone with great care. Even you.”
Kiranrao stiffened. “I serve no man.”
“I didn’t say that you did. You serve a purpose. You are greedy and you’ve lost your fortune. I helped arrange that, Kiranrao. I wanted you to be very desperate. After losing in gambling, the mind becomes twisted with regret and one cannot see things as they really are. You know this, having been master in Havenrook for so long. You count on it, the ability to trick a man away from his treasure because he’s already lost so much. You’ve played right into my hands.”
Annon stared at Tyrus, feeling his mouth go dry at the brutal words coming from his mouth. This was not like Tyrus. He had always been so calm and diplomatic. Now that they were inside the lair of the Scourgelands, it was as if he were taking off a mask and revealing his true self—a manipulative, ruthless man seeking power.
“You chose poorly, revealing yourself at last,” Kiranrao said slyly.
Tyrus gave a curt nod to Prince Aran.
The Prince grabbed Kiranrao by the wrist and forced him face-first into the scraggy dirt. The awkward angle of the Romani’s arm, the suddenness of the move, startled everyone. It was a Chin-Na technique and Annon watched in surprise at how quickly Kiranrao was subdued.
“Have I?” Tyrus said coldly after Kiranrao stiffened in pain, totally unable to move. “You’re discovering that your magic obeys me and not you. I was the one who taught the Paracelsus who crafted it. I know the nature of the spirits trapped inside the sword and they will obey me. You also have a very dangerous blade, the Iddawc. I warn you right now that if you attempt to use it against me, you will fail. Everyone is here for a reason. Prince Aransetis is here to guard me from you. Trust me when I say that I’ve thought out all of your moves, all of your options. You can’t flit away like smoke unless I let you. You cannot draw the blade Iddawc unless I permit it. And while you think you may be fast and can throw the dagger at me, I wear a charm that will send it hurtling back at you with the same force. I cannot be harmed by that blade, Kiranrao. But you can.”
Tyrus stepped closer to the cringing Romani, his voice full of disdain. He loomed over the Romani like a hawk ready to pounce. “You think the boulders over there are the wall surrounding the perimeter. I’ve told you before, this place is like a maze. There are walls inside as well. If you think you can skulk away into the woods and then flee us, you are quite mistaken. Now that I have you here, you’ll see this through to the end. You see, I need you here. There are some demons here that only you can kill. But we do this on my terms.”
Annon stared at the unfolding scene with shock as well as frightened appreciation for how well Tyrus had mastered the scene. He stared at the man he once thought was his uncle.
“Are you agreed?” Tyrus asked thickly, his cheek muscle twitching with barely controlled contempt. His eyes glittered.
They all stared at the subdued Romani, seeing the murder flash in his eyes. His face was twisted with rage as well as cunning.
There was the distant cry of a Weir, a piercing whine that deepened the darkness around them. Annon felt a chill and brushed his arms.
“Yes,” Kiranrao spat.