“Wise decision,” Tyrus said. “Aran. Show him what you’ve been training to do.”
The Prince hauled Kiranrao to his feet, but he did not release his grip. Then suddenly, he torqued Kiranrao’s arm the other way and flipped him onto his back. He stepped in, turning again, and the Romani’s back arched with agony, his fingers splayed. The edge of Aran’s hand swept down against the side of Kiranrao’s neck but stopped short of the blow. Then with hooked fingers, he mimicked digging into Kiranrao’s eyes to blind him. With his mouth wide in an unfulfilled scream, the Prince grabbed his bottom teeth and mimicked jerking downward, as if to break his jaw. He swiveled Kiranrao’s wrist again and brought him chest-down on the ground. The Prince landed two soft blows to his kidneys and then stepped on Kiranrao’s back, grabbing the Romani under the chin and pulling backward until the thief’s spine arched dangerously.
Aran then released the grip on Kiranrao and stepped back, folding his arms, looking imperiously down at the fallen man. “That is what I will do to you if you betray Tyrus.”
Annon stared at them in fearful amazement, seeing the cold ruthlessness in the Vaettir’s eyes. He had trained his whole life to injure and kill. He was not like a Bhikhu at all.
The look on Paedrin’s face was a mixture of revulsion and respect. All of the maneuvers that the Prince had put Kiranrao through lasted only brief moments.
Tyrus’s voice was full of warning. “Prince Aran has trained almost exclusively to disarm bladed weapons. I have seen him fight many times, wrestling his opponents in moments and flinging their weapons away. Even you, Baylen, would find it difficult to use your size advantage against him.”
“I don’t intend to,” the Cruithne said with a gruff voice.
“I didn’t think so,” Tyrus replied. He stared down at Kiranrao and then bid him stand. “Pain is a teacher, Kiranrao. Learn from it. I promised you a reward if you were faithful to me. You will earn it. But I humiliate you deliberately to prove that I can and that I have the upper hand in this situation. Think twice before crossing me or challenging me. Now follow. All of you.”
Tyrus turned and approached the wall of boulders. Annon thought he recognized the spot from when they had reached it earlier that day.
He wondered why Tyrus had not chosen to cross the barrier then.
“There is a wise Cruithne proverb that says thus: I need not fear my enemies because the most they can do is attack me. I need not fear my friends because the most they can do is betray me. But I have much to fear from people who are indifferent. Their other kingdoms have not yet risen to our aid. Their indifference to our plight most troubles me.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XIX
A deep fog settled on the Scourgelands just before dawn. It blocked the first rays of day and wreathed the gorged oak trees in voluminous folds. All night they had walked, save a little while to rest, and Phae felt the chill settle deep into her bones. The mist left dew on her face and hair, and she wiped the trickling beads away from her lip, hunched over with fatigue. Only her fear went deeper than the cold.
Her father’s sudden alteration in personality had unsettled everyone. They had trudged in the darkness, stumbling against twisting roots and uneven ground. There were no stars to guide them and for all Phae knew, they had walked in indeterminable circles all night long. The humbling of Kiranrao had altered the mood even more. The Romani was like a shade, aloof and silent, sulking beneath his dark cloak and cowl, his eyes burning with hatred. There was a palpable dread in the air, a silent vow of revenge.
Phae stumbled again on a wretched root and Shion caught her, keeping her from crashing into the gorse. The mist gave the woods a ghostly menace and brought out strange smells, dead leaves and bracken mixed with the ever-present stench of decay. She wrinkled her nose, reviling the scent. Deeper than the cold—even deeper than the fear—a slowly twisting pain had begun to grow inside her bowels. It was as if she had some rough stone deep inside her that was trying to pass its way out.
Sister.
Phae shuddered as the thought brushed against her mind. The woods had been speaking to her since they had entered the Scourgelands, but always it was a distant shushing sound, whispers too low to be heard.
She ground her teeth and ignored the voice.
Sister—come to me.
Phae swallowed, hugging her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Mud and dirt were caked into the seams and cracks of her skin. She glanced at Shion, seeing nothing but iron determination. He seemed to sense her look and turned his gaze questioningly at her.
She shook her head.
Sister—you must join us soon. I sense the change coming over you. If you do not bond with a tree, the magic will pass outside of you and you will lose all your gifts.
At that moment, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.