“Up to three days,” Khiara replied. “I will seek my mentor.”
Annon nodded. “I will stay by the tree for a while. There is something I must do here. It is Druidecht magic, so I must do it alone.”
Khiara nodded in deference to his desire. “Join us by the gate when you are finished.”
As the two of them left, Annon turned back to the great oak, staring at it in wonder, and stroked Nizeera’s fur. It was impossibly old. Was it as ancient as the oaks in the Scourgelands? The oaks they needed to penetrate to unravel the riddle of the Plague? He was awash in feelings in that moment, the terrible weight of the task. He was grateful for Erasmus’s sharp thinking and Khiara’s skills. They would both be so helpful on the journey.
Annon approached the tree humbly, bowing his head so as not to look at her. He knelt before the tree, feeling as insignificant as one of the many thousand ants scrabbling up her bark. He reached out and touched the tree.
“I do not know you,” he whispered, keeping his voice low. “I am a stranger to you. But I would ask a boon. I would speak with Neodesha. I need her help. Or yours. Please.”
Annon clasped his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes shut deliberately. Waiting. Breathing.
“I am here, Annon,” she answered.
He looked up in surprise, his heart trembling with emotions. She smiled at him, that curious smile. It was a secret smile, one she only gave him. At least he hoped it was that way.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “Thank you for your aid during the fight with the Arch-Rike’s people. I heard the spirits bring your message. I did not know they could travel so fast.”
She smiled and sat down in the turf near him, her dress a different color but the same style. “Of course I would help you, Annon. I did not want you to die.”
He flushed, trying to control his feelings. “Thank you for saving my friend. I would not have risked removing the Kishion ring without that message you sent me.”
“You will find that most prisons are forged in someone’s own mind. And they invariably possess the key to their release if they could but think to use it. But some prisons are forged by others and it requires another intervening on our behalf to open the lock. Such is the case with the Kishion magic. It would not have worked if he had shed someone’s blood. The ring would have exploded and killed you. What did you wish to ask me? Why did you summon me here?”
“I was not certain you would come,” Annon answered.
“I cannot leave my tree for long. What would you ask me?”
“Two questions.”
“Name them.”
He nodded quickly. “I need your advice. I am not a leader of men. I am not a manipulator like Tyrus, who pretended to be my uncle. It is pretty certain that I’m young and inexperienced, yet Tyrus seemed to place the burden of leadership on me. You know the ways of mortals. Give me your counsel on how I may lead them.”
She gave him an appraising look. “My kiss has certainly improved your thinking. A very good question. Will you hearken to my counsel, if I give it to you?”
“I will. I promise.”
She nodded, satisfied. “Being a leader is not about rank or power. It is not even about skill or cunning. The best leaders, Annon, serve those they lead. You are united to a common goal. They will not follow you because Tyrus said so. They will follow you if they believe in their hearts that you care about them. That you sincerely desire their good regard. That you treat them with honor and respect and humility. The more of yourself you give away, the more they will flock to you. They will heed you. They will sacrifice for you. They will suffer with you.” She smiled and touched his arm. “That is how to lead men. That is how to earn the respect of Mirrowen.”
He nodded, remembering every word. “I must serve them. Be sure their needs are met. Show them that I care. I can do that, I think. A Druidecht believes in serving others.”
“I know,” she replied.
“I’m frightened,” he confessed. “The Arch-Rike will send everything he can to stop us. I do not understand why, but I will do what I can to stop him. Without my uncle…I mean, without Tyrus, I do not know how much of a chance we stand.”
She nodded sympathetically but said nothing.
“Thank you for your help,” he said. “I do not think you would know where Basilides is, since it is within the Arch-Rike’s sphere of control, and he does not control the woods west of Silvandom.”
“You are right,” she answered. “I cannot help you. Was that your second question?”