Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

Annon stared at him in surprise. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere I have been, specifically. Anywhere that I can imagine in my mind. I think of the place and the Tay al-Ard take me there. Anyone touching it or me will go with me. We go to the prince’s estate. Hold it.”

Erasmus stretched out his hand and grasped the cylinder. Annon hesitated. “Why can’t I hear the spirit voices? Through my talisman, I should be able to.”

“One of the properties of gemcraft, Annon, is to amplify power…to increase the effectiveness of their magic. It also results in silencing them. Some spirits, like the lights in the city of Kenatos, are bound by force and wish to be freed. Some serve us because of obligations they have made to our race.” He glanced at Nizeera. “Her, for example. A talisman helps you begin to hear their voices. You must learn to hear them without it. That is when you will truly understand what they are saying.”

Annon shook his head. “That made no sense to me, but I trust that it will someday.”

Tyrus nodded and extended the cylinder. Annon clasped it.

The feeling was a jolt, a searing spasm of movement. There was an instant of nausea and dizziness. Annon found himself standing with Nizeera, Tyrus, and Erasmus in a strange room with a low table and cushions. The air was pungent with the smell of incense. He glanced around quickly, noticing the others in the room as well. There were Hettie and Paedrin. His heart leapt when he saw them and then sank when he saw Kiranrao brooding nearby, watching them. He remembered his insight from earlier—recognizing fully that Kiranrao was the one directing Hettie’s actions. He knew the girl Khiara, who had healed him by Neodesha’s tree. There was another Vaettir as well—Prince Aran—who looked like a Rike of Kenatos. The images blurred in his mind for a moment as he struggled with his thoughts and feelings. He needed to warn his uncle.

“Tyrus, wait,” Annon said, but his uncle put away the Tay al-Ard cylinder and brushed him off.

“We do not have much time,” Tyrus began. “The Arch-Rike will realize that I have moved again. He will try and locate me, but I must share what I know. It is critical.”

“Uncle,” Annon insisted, feeling his stomach bloom with panic. He saw Hettie’s expression. She looked desperate. Paedrin looked ill. His mouth was twitching, as if he were trying to control his expression. Kiranrao said nothing, but his gaze was penetrating.

Tyrus looked at him, his expression hardening. “Trust me, Annon. Let me say what I need to say.”

He stared at his uncle’s eyes, his armpits stinging with sweat. The prince stood slowly, his expression turning into a scowl of distrust. The room filled with tension as everyone began looking warily at one another.

“My friends,” Tyrus said, holding up his hands. “We are very different. We each have different goals. We have different motives.” His eyes flickered to Kiranrao. “We even pray to different gods. But there is one cause which unites us, which binds us together.” He strode forward into the room, his voice throbbing with emotion.

Nizeera stood proud by Annon’s side, so near he could feel her fur brushing against his leg. She too was wary.

“Years ago, I took a band into the Scourgelands to defeat the Plague. We were killed. Destroyed. Murdered almost to the last one. I did not understand it then, but I do now. I know why we failed. We failed because we were betrayed by one man. There is a Romani saying. It is no secret that is known to three. Sadly, one of the three that I trusted with the full truth was the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. He has minions within the Scourgelands. He set them on us to defeat us. I think he was rather surprised that I survived. For years I have deceived him, hiding my knowledge of his betrayal. I was his prisoner in Kenatos, but now I am free. Now I am free to complete what I began.”

He pointed a finger at Hettie. “I know why you came to Kenatos, Hettie. I know that Kiranrao sent you to deceive me.”

Paedrin’s breath came in sharply. The steely look on his face showed his anger.

Tyrus looked fiercely at Kiranrao, who was as tense as a bowstring. “I allowed her to bring you here. To get you here. Yes, Kiranrao. I need you. And you need me. The Arch-Rike plots to exterminate the Romani. He is using your people for his own ends, and they will be the next people to fall. He has his eye on Havenrook. It will collapse when the next Plague comes. He has a treaty with the King of Wayland to take over the shipping routes. Your people will be destroyed by the Plague he unleashes. I know this. I have seen the documents and know the signatures on the treaties. I know his plans. Your ring affirms that I speak the truth, so I will not waste more words trying to convince you.”