Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) (34 page)

“Look! Up there! There he goes!”

The soldiers let out a shout and started at a run, letting the dogs loose to begin the chase. One of them held a horn to his lips and blew hard on it, sending a strong sound into the morning air, but nothing compared to the clanging of the bells earlier.

Hettie still nestled in the brush with Paedrin. She took his hand, the one with the ring, and gently squeezed it. She gave him a wry look. “No insults yet? Why dark leathers don’t look so subtle at dawn? Why I look like I haven’t slept all night, since I haven’t? Do you need some help or is your mind truly gone?”

His other hand closed on top of hers. “It is difficult…for me…to speak. The Arch-Rike is controlling…trying to control…me.”

She looked him firmly in the eye. “You will have to do better than that, Paedrin. It wasn’t even funny.”

There was a sudden tic, a twitch in the corner of his mouth. “I thought I had you for a moment. What gave me away?”

She smirked. “Aside from the fact that Kiranrao brought you here alive? What kind of grease is it on your finger? I noticed it when you held up your hand. Is that tallow?”

Paedrin smiled and held up his hand again. “Linseed, I think. Smells like it, anyway. It helps disrupt the connection, apparently. Glad Kiranrao had some fat with him. You would never find any fat on me.”

Hettie nodded. “That’s a little better. You aren’t angry with me for hiring him to save you?”

Paedrin chuckled. “I offered to kiss his little toes in payment, but he said you had worked something out between the two of you. Your uncle will take it amiss for giving him the stones.”

“If there was ever a man who could outsmart Kiranrao…”

“Other than myself?” Paedrin added, offering her a cocked smile.

“Well, first we must outsmart the Arch-Rike. The ports all closed, as you know, when the bells tolled. But I also told you before that the Romani do not need the ports to get into the city. Follow me, outlaw.”

Hettie stayed low to keep the bushes as a screen and started off in the opposite direction than the one that Kiranrao took. Paedrin kept pace behind her. She was relieved to hear the sound of his breathing. Even though they were far from being out of danger, his presence soothed her worries. There was no doubt getting away from the island would require some conflict. She had seen him fight. She even respected him for it.

They reached the end of the wall before it turned, and the scrub ended abruptly. Leaving cover would be a problem, but
there were trees farther down that would hide them from anyone patrolling the upper walls. She waited, listening.

Paedrin’s breath was in her ear. “Why delay?”

“Hush. Listening for the sound of footfalls on the wall above us. Do you hear any?”

He paused, craning his neck. He shook his head. Together they started down the slope, staying low to the ground to keep from losing their footing. Hettie caught herself on exposed roots and used them as handholds to maneuver down the steep slope. When they were near the end, there was the sound of barking, and suddenly a black hound leaped from the woods and rushed at them, followed by several soldiers.

“The horn!” Hettie warned. “Don’t let them use it!”

Paedrin sprang from the edge of the slope and soared into the air. She flattened herself as he sailed over her gracefully, as if he were nothing more than a leaf suspended by the breeze. The Vaettir awed her with their innate ability to float and hover depending on how they controlled their breath. He went past the rushing hound and then suddenly came straight down, landing in a kneeling crouch. He looked up at the advancing soldiers and shot out at them like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Hettie brought up her weapon and sent an arrow into the dog’s flanks, piercing its rear leg. It yelped and howled with pain, spinning in the dirt as it struggled to free itself from the arrow.

As Hettie slid the rest of the way down the hillside, Paedrin was in the midst of the soldiers, his hands and feet moving everywhere at once. They all had weapons, but none of them came close to touching him. One man raised a horn to his mouth and Hettie pulled free another arrow to silence him.

Paedrin blocked her shot as he vaulted upward and landed with a foot to the man’s forehead. The horn tumbled to the ground, and Paedrin brought his heel down on it, crushing the
end. Dropping down, he landed his fist into the man’s temple, and he was out cold.

Six men were dispatched in moments.

Hettie approached, looking sidelong at the whimpering hound.

Paedrin cocked his head at her. “You didn’t kill the dog.”

She gave him a lazy smile. “Are you criticizing my aim?”

“Well, it would have been preferred if you had wrestled it into submission,” he answered. “Or bit its ear. But you probably aren’t an expert in wrestling beasts. Only skinning them.”

She gave him an arched look. “Bit its ear? Paedrin…” She shook her head.

He stood straight and tall, his Bhikhu tunic rumpled and stained from their long journey. His eyes were glittering with intensity. It made her pause a moment.

“I am only just getting back my sense of humor,” he said. “I have never felt so alive and free as I do at this moment. When you feel as if the rest of your life is going to be plunged into shadows, it makes you willing to risk it all over one thing. Let’s find your uncle. I want to go with him into the Scourgelands. I even think I know a way that I can help.”

With such a look of pure intensity and honesty on his face, Hettie nearly told him the truth. That moment of pure certainty was something she wanted for herself. He looked so convinced, so self-assured that she desperately wanted to believe in him. That he wanted to seek out her uncle as well, played right into Kiranrao’s hands.

She almost told him.

Instead, she reached out her hand and bid him take it. It was cruel. It would deceive his feelings. But she needed him, if only to remind herself that her freedom was worth anything.

“I abhor the Druidecht taboo of documenting their beliefs and practices. They are said to learn by heart a great number of verses; the course of training takes up to twenty years. They regard it as unlawful to commit these to writing. That practice they seem to me to have adopted for two reasons. First, because they do not desire their doctrines to be divulged among the mass of the people. Second, they suppose that a dependence on writing would relax their diligence in learning. I contradict them. It is quite possible that errors have been introduced into their learning and have been further expanded each generation. Let us tenderly and kindly cherish all means of knowledge. Let us dare to read, think, speak, and write.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

T
he woods of Silvandom were legendary, and Annon approached them with trepidation. Most forests began to increase in thickness at a distance, tree after tree clustering together until they formed a massive net of limbs and roots. As Annon and Erasmus approached Silvandom, they passed the fertile plains without seeing another tree until suddenly a wall of them emerged after the crest of a hill. They stared down at the massive expanse of forest, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. The guardian trees were enormous, with long, bare trunks that reached skyward and were crowned in huge green swaths of leaves and branches.

“Well,” Erasmus huffed, staring down at the vast woodlands. “By degrees the castles are built. I have never seen such a place in my life. All that straight wood is worth a fortune.”

Annon smirked at the comment, glancing at his companion. “Except the Vaettir do not sell it.”

Erasmus waved his hand. “Only makes it worth more.”

“Life is worth more than ducats, Erasmus.”

It was the Preachán’s turn to give him a shrewd smile. “I assure you, master Druidecht, that is not true. Many wars are hazarded on the arithmetic that a life is worth less than thirty ducats. Maybe twenty-five.”

Annon sighed and started down the slope.

Erasmus followed, mumbling softly to himself. “Considering the vastness of those woods, the likelihood of finding your friend Reeder will be considerably narrow. At a rate of two furlongs a day…”

“Do not strain your mind, Erasmus,” Annon said, slightly annoyed at his constant predictions. “I will find him or he will find me much faster than you think.”

“And how will that be achieved?”

“The same way I knew where the ford was in the river we crossed two days ago. The same way I have provided us with sufficient food. It is Druidecht lore. And while my uncle may think that a spirit only has value when it is trapped in a gem…” He trailed off, giving Erasmus a hard stare. “I do not.”

Before long, they had crossed the long grass. Annon let his palms glide over the feathery tips of grass and downy weeds. He inhaled the sweet scent in the air, watching the towering trees sway gently ahead. It was a vision of beauty and grace. Overhead a hawk swooped. Annon watched its seamless plunge.

As they approached the huge shroud of trees, Annon felt the spirits immediately. Their tiny voices chittered to him, recognizing his talisman and position, and came to him in a swarm. For a moment he was confused at the rush and chatter, coming from tiny butterflies and gnats that rushed and whirled around him. They were solicitous, anxious to seek his will and assist him. He was treated with high honor.

Welcome, Druidecht. May we serve you?

I saw him first. Be silent. I will guide and lead you, kind sir.

What good would you be to him? I am the fastest. Shall I carry a message for you?

Never had he encountered such a swarm of spirits in Wayland or the mountains of Alkire. They were friendly, eager, and nearly jostled each other to get this attention.

Be silent, foolish ones. He is weary from his journey.

At the rebuke, the tittering vanished away, cowed into respect by a being of greater power. Annon felt the presence immediately and a sense of thrill at being singled out. It approached him in the form of a mountain cat, lithe and sleek and sinuous. Its tail lashed lazily.

Erasmus clutched his arm. “Annon,” he hissed. “Do you see it?”

The creature approached on padded steps, a soft, purring growl in her throat.
You travel far, Druidecht.

Annon inclined his head as it approached. He saw Erasmus trembling.
What may I call you, wise spirit?
Annon entreated in his mind.

I am Nizeera. I am a guardian of Canton Vaud.

Annon smiled in pleasure. Canton Vaud was the seat of the Druidecht hierarchy. It was much like a king’s court and traveled from land to land, settling disputes and arbitrating between the spirits of Mirrowen and those in the mortal world.

I was unaware that Canton Vaud was in Silvandom. Is the matter truly as grave as that?

The huge cat purred and nuzzled against his arm. It slowly slinked around behind them, pausing to sniff disinterestedly at Erasmus, who stiffened and began twitching uncontrollably.

He is frightened. I like that. The matter is severe. Do you seek to aid in the matter?

Annon reached out to Nizeera in his mind.
I seek Reeder.