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Yes, came the thought to her mind. The hands folded on hers squeezed. Go, Daughter. Tell the Seneschal I am sorry. I betrayed my oath. I am banished from Mirrowen forever. I grieve for all I have lost.
The grip tightened on her hands.
Never forsake your oaths, child. Never. Now go!
Phae turned and looked back, seeing Shion backing toward the tree, daggers back in his hands. Three brown-cloaked archers were advancing, the hoods shielding their faces, gliding through the smoke of the fires Annon had started. A sense of dread and desolation exuded from their presence. Their tattered brown robes were full of decay. They were deathless beings. Phae could sense that from the tree.
Go!
“Where can I go?” Phae pleaded. “I cannot walk.”
Through the portal in the trunk. A Dryad may enter Mirrowen this way. You must go there before you seek Pontfadog. You must swear your oaths. Go, Daughter. I cannot hold off his will much longer.
The hands clasping hers were trembling. Phae raised them to her lips and kissed them. “I will free you at last, Mother.”
Phae took all the pain, all the suffering, all the hopelessness and stuffed them in a cocoon inside her heart. She released the Dryad’s hands and pulled the Tay al-Ard Annon had given her from her belt and clutched it to her bosom. With her leg throbbing, she stumbled between the gap in the trunk and found herself in another world.
XXXIV
Hettie and Tyrus backed away from the bounding Weir, drawing closer to the rugged wall of the promontory. Lukias and the Arch-Rike’s soldiers were up on the promontory above them. Both ways led to death.
“It wasn’t much of a chance,” Tyrus muttered darkly. “Grab my arm. The closer they are to us before we vanish, the longer it will take for them to find our—”
He stopped speaking, his eyes widening with shock as the Tay al-Ard disappeared from his hand.
A rumble of thunder sounded overhead.
Hettie’s stomach twisted with the realization that they were stranded. What had happened? She saw the fury in the eyes of the Weir, their teeth bared and ready to shred.
As one, they both unleashed the fireblood on the charging beasts. Hettie’s heart nearly exploded with fear and desperation. She let the whirl of emotions sweep her up in the temporary euphoria that always accompanied the power. Gushes of blue flames came out as a vortex, blackening the churned earth, igniting the mass of desiccated leaves within, and tearing through the Weir. The thrill almost surpassed her terror, but not quite. They stood shoulder to shoulder, spreading the net of flames through the ground in front of them, trying to create a barrier of flames to hold back their enemies.
Where dozens fell, dozens more came out.
Plumes of smoke stained the air with a brown haze, and the flames began to spread across the ground. The Weir darted through the pockets, snarling and howling for their blood.
There were too many to stop. The next wave was already nearing them.
“We are defeated!” Tyrus shouted with panic in his voice. “Spare my daughter at least. Let me die, but save her!”
Hettie’s insides churned as she watched the malevolent looks from the Weir. Their sinews and muscles were bunching, their stride increasing as they loped forward. The wind tousled her hair and she felt another moment of pure panic.
“Lukias!” Tyrus bellowed in desperation.
“You murdered her when you chose to bring her here,” Lukias said coldly. “It’s a trick, Tyrus. We both know it.”
One of the Weir vaulted through the ring of flames and tackled Tyrus, its teeth snapping viciously into his shoulder. He wrestled it around, sending fire into its belly, dissolving it into ash. Hettie ducked as one hurtled over her, dropping into a low Bhikhu stance. With one hand, she sent flames surging into the next row. With her other, she destroyed the one that had gotten past her. Movement surged from every side as Tyrus made it back to his feet. His fingers were like claws themselves as jets of blue flame erupted from his hands, catching several of the Weir.
Hettie stayed near Tyrus, her face damp with sweat. A hopeless feeling swelled with the panic and she realized they were both going to die or go mad with the fireblood. Already she had used so much of it in the Scourgelands that she was giddy with the notion of unleashing the power fully. Annon had always been more self-controlled than she with the flame. She remembered using it alongside her brother on the road to Havenrook. This was not even a shade in comparison. The guilty relish filled her heart, demanding she push the limits further. What was the point? With the Tay al-Ard gone, they were both doomed. The Arch-Rike suspected a trick. The trick was on them.
