Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) (47 page)

Erasmus rubbed his mouth. “Along with our likely demise,” he muttered. He sighed heavily. “You could have warned us, Tyrus.”

The Paracelsus smiled smugly. “I did when we first met, old friend. But you wanted to make a difference in this world. You have ambitions of making it a more just and equitable place. Not to mention this would be the greatest political upset in a thousand years.”

Annon stared at the platter of food and realized how famished he was. Tyrus watched him begin to devour the meal. He looked calm and peaceful. The frantic edge in his eyes had been replaced by a look he could almost call tender.

“So what do I even call you?” Annon asked at last, unsure of his own feelings. “You are partly my uncle. Partly my father. Partly a total stranger to my family. What are you to me?”

“You may call me whatever you like. There is more to family than just blood. Is there anything else you would know of me?”

Annon thought a moment. “My mother. What became of her?”

Tyrus pursed his lips. “When I returned to the stone hovel later, I learned of her death. Her madness made her unleash the flames in their full power. The roof burned and collapsed. The fire could not harm her. A wooden beam did. The villagers were unnerved that her skin was not burned after the blaze ended. They realized she had the fireblood. When I came back, they tried to kill me.”

It sickened Annon to hear it. “You always warned me to tame my anger.”

Tyrus smiled weakly.

“What is your plan then? Where do we go from here?”

Erasmus stood and began pacing again, looking around the room. He quickly counted on his fingers. He held up his hand to preclude either of them from talking. “Silvandom,” he announced triumphantly. “You told Hettie to meet you in Silvandom at the prince’s manor. She was to fetch the blue stones from Kenatos that will find your daughter. Given how long it would take to walk there, fetch the stones, and return, she could be arriving as early as today.” He beamed triumphantly.

Tyrus nodded. “She arrived last night with Paedrin. They were brought under escort to the prince’s manor where they slept. As soon as you are both done eating, we will join them. I will tell them the truth as well. Paedrin’s master was one of my allies in Kenatos, but he never knew the whole truth. The Arch-Rike will be working against us. He will marshal all of his power to try and stop us.”

Erasmus looked thoughtful. “A formidable enemy.”

“So am I,” Tyrus replied, rising from the table.

“Men go abroad to gaze at the enormity of mountains, the huge waves of the sea, the long courses of the rivers, the vastness of the ocean, the circular motions of the stars, but they never stop to gaze at themselves. While this is true of most men, it is least true of the Vaettir. They examine their own hearts and motives as the Preachán examine the aspects of a trade.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

H
ettie walked between Paedrin and Kiranrao. She did this to keep them from killing each other. Her stomach was in knots, her feelings anxious and fretful. She had almost told him the truth around the fire. She had almost revealed her secret. That it had nearly bubbled out of her lips frightened her. How had he managed to get past her defenses? Kiranrao would poison her with monkshood if he knew.

They entered the monstrous woods of Silvandom early in the day. Hettie had known forests all her life, but these woods were different than anything she had seen. The trees had unnaturally slender trunks that shot straight up in the air with flowery green vegetation above. Tightly bound together, the trees formed a massive maze that met the travelers with an almost uniform consistency. With the sun shielded by the leaves, it was almost impossible to determine which direction they were going.

The foliage was lush and smelled sweet and fragrant. Small pools could be seen at various points along the way, with floating flowers and clouds of gnats. They marched in a northwesterly
direction, as best as she could tell. It was several leagues into the woods before they encountered anyone. A Bhikhu floated down from the upper regions of the trees and halted in front of them.

He was middle-aged, his dark skin chapped and his skull completely bald. A drooping mustache adorned his lip. His robes were similar to Paedrin’s but more weather-worn and fraying.

“An unusual greeting,” he said in a rich voice, sizing each of them up individually. “Two Vaettir and an Aeduan girl. Are you lost in the woods?”

Hettie did not wait for her companions to speak. “We are guests of Prince Aransetis of Silvandom. He is expecting us.”

The Bhikhu gave her a stern look as if she had done something to offend him. He looked at Paedrin and Kiranrao searchingly.

Paedrin nodded. “She speaks true.”

“I do not doubt her honesty,” the man replied. “Only you do not seem the kind who would be seeking the prince. Are you selling something?” He started to move, gliding around to their right, watching Kiranrao all the while.

It was the Uddhava, Hettie realized. He was distrustful of them. Whether it was their clothes and appearance, she could not tell. Kiranrao did not move, but she could sense him poised, ready to strike.

“No,” Hettie said, stepping forward. “We bear a gift to the prince from Kenatos. He will be expecting us.”

“Indeed,” the Bhikhu said warily. “Then I will escort you.

Hettie saw a sheen of sweat on Paedrin’s brow. He looked wary also, as taut as a rope.

“Thank you,” Hettie said. “We will follow the way.”

The Bhikhu directed them into the woods until they reached a dirt path carved into the trees. Once they reached it, the journey progressed much quicker. It was a well-worn path with no scrub or weeds disturbing the carefully tamped earth. The wind
caused the enormous trees to bend and wave, bringing out a shushing sound as the greenery embraced.

Their guide led them in silence. Occasionally Hettie saw the branches bend and drift as shadowy shapes bounded across their tops. She realized that the road was meant for visitors and that the Vaettir did not use it themselves. It amazed her. She wondered how long the Bhikhu had watched them before presenting himself.

The road began to climb and the journey became more difficult. The forest floor started to slope and dip with undulations, and large boulders began to appear in the forest. Some were carved with symbols. Others had faces. Occasionally there were small huts built off the road, made of thatch and the strange narrow trunks.

Hettie glanced at Paedrin. She expected him to be fascinated by his homeland. His people had come from Silvandom originally. She was surprised that he looked so tense, so ill at ease. Something was troubling him greatly. She could see it burning in his eyes. He caught her eye and looked away, ashamed.

With Kiranrao and the other Bhikhu there, she knew she would not have the means of talking to him privately. His obvious discomfort made her worry.

The road began a tortuous pace upward, weaving between large boulders and crevices. Her legs began to burn with the climb, but she did not want to seem weak. Birds chirped and watched them. Once she even heard the scree of a hawk, but she could not see it. The road ascended up the twisty path of a mountainside. They were climbing higher now, emerging from the green-hued stretch of forest. It was after midday and Hettie was starving. The Bhikhu offered them nothing. He just continued at a punishing pace, just hard enough to make her work at it. She knew she was holding them all back. The others would have been
able to make it to Silvandom by then if not for her. She resented the feeling.

As Hettie looked backward, she saw the clouds of green leaves behind her, creating the illusion of rich green grass, undulating in the breeze. From that vantage, she saw other Vaettir crossing the forest. They had not encountered another soul along the way. Now she could see why.

The road climbed mercilessly higher, and she found herself soaked in sweat, trying to keep up. She drank from her flask, but the water was starting to run out. Still she pressed on, angered by the enigmatic guide who refused to speak to them. Kiranrao said nothing as well. Some insects had taken a special interest in him, especially some rather large dragonflies. But he did not swat them away. It was against the Vaettir way to injure any creature unjustly. She had learned that from Paedrin.

The steep climb changed the scenery dramatically. The higher elevations did not allow the thin, pole-like trees to grow. She saw cedar and pine and even some redwoods. The road was no longer made of hard-packed dirt. The sun tilted in the sky, making her see spots. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Paedrin touched her arm, looking at her in concern. She jerked her elbow away from him, furious suddenly.

Ahead, the road began to widen and opened into a scene of transcendent beauty. A dazzling waterfall thundered from the crevice of a mountain on the left, sending tendrils of never-ending water cascading down the side. There were interconnecting bridges and gorges, mounted into chasms that defied belief. Then she noticed the peak-roofed buildings that sloped and pointed gracefully. They were made of stone and timber. Chimney smoke trickled into the air, giving it a faint musty scent. She was breathing hard, wiping the sweat from her lip on her arm. The view was breathtaking. The structures each looked unique and perhaps a
thousand years old. It felt as if the farther she walked, the more they had gone into the past.

“A little farther,” the Bhikhu said, looking at her with a shrewd smile. “I think you will make it.”

They crossed fourteen bridges and steps cut into the mountains. More and more homes and structures could be seen. Her stomach was ravenous with hunger. But she would not stop to eat if the men did not. Her pride demanded she keep up.

After the fifteenth bridge and an agonizingly painful set of steps going down, they passed another chasm that opened up into a valley.

Hettie stared at in shock and felt tears sting her eyes.

Never in her life had she imagined such a place of beauty could exist.

Silvandom.

It was nearly sunset when they reached the prince’s estate on the eastern outskirts of Silvandom. The Bhikhu who had guided them nodded in farewell and left without a word, floating into the air and off to another destination. A destination he would reach much faster this time.