Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) (37 page)

They ran as best they could. Annon was younger and more healthy, but he stayed near his friend and followed the disappearing trail left in the spirit’s wake. Annon’s heart pounded with the exertion of their pace, but the creature’s emotions compelled them forward. It was a warning of the imminent death of another creature, another spirit.

“Do you see that?” Annon asked, pointing ahead. A flurry of activity was going on up ahead in the trees. Spirits dashed this way and that, leaving streamers of magic as they raced and circled the scene. Sparks exploded in small puffs as spirit magic attacked violently. There were noises, voices thick with a guttural
language. And then there was the unmistakable sound of an ax biting into bark.

“Boeotians!” Reeder gasped, both from surprise and lack of air. He staggered to rest, catching himself on a tree. “How can they be this far into the woods?”

Annon realized that the shape of the woods had suddenly changed, going from tall proud red maples to twisted oaks. It was the dense array of knotted branches that blocked the full scene, but Annon could see enough as a giant of a man stood next to an ancient oak; his muscles rippled. He took another hard swing, blasting away fragments of wood.

There were others present as well, waving smoky torches in the air. The smell of smoke had not drifted far before another attack of spirits came amidst it and exploded in little puffs. Annon realized that the spirits were dying from the smoke.

“No!” Reeder said, staring at the scene in bafflement. Then his face flooded with anger and he charged forward. “No! Noooo!”

Save us, Druidecht! Save the tree!

Annon stared at the intruders in horror. They were a race he had never seen before. Tall and corded with muscles, yet their skin was mottled with protruding veins, giving them an almost purplish cast. They wore only loincloths and high hide boots. Each man carried a weapon in one hand and a cluster of burning sticks in the other. Annon did not know what kind of wood they held, but the smoke was obviously anathema to the spirits of Mirrowen, who fell as soon as they came in contact with the haze.

The giant man had a huge double-sided ax, and he took another powerful swing, spraying the glen with fragments of wooden splinters.

“No!” Reeder roared. “This is forbidden! These are not your woods! You must go!”

Reeder clutched his talisman in one hand and sucked in his breath. Annon felt the strength of his summoning. He could feel it jet past him, a wash of feelings that went into the surrounding woods for leagues. He was summoning the woodland animals to help. Foxes and wolves, bears and serpents. Hawks and falcons. All who felt the summons would be called to the Druidecht’s service. But he needed time. It would take time for the allies to arrive.

“Be gone, Druidecht!” The man with the ax had a hoarse, gravelly voice. “We will burn this tree! Atu! Banvenek!” He brought the ax back for another mighty swing.

Reeder’s face twisted with rage. “You do not know what you do!” he sputtered. There was a frenzy as the spirits redoubled their attacks, plunging at the tight cluster of men with determination, despite their falling numbers. A fierce wind began to rake through the woods. The air was suddenly full of howling and commotion.

“Atu!”

Annon saw the spear too late.

It struck Reeder full in the chest. He was a big man himself. The blow would have toppled another. Reeder stood, staring in shock at the huge shaft protruding from his skin. The jettison of magic imploded. His knees buckled. Reeder collapsed onto the forest floor, toppled like a tree himself. A mesh of scrub cushioned him.

The pain and rage that blasted inside of Annon was nothing he had experienced before. There was no way to describe it, even to himself. Part of him literally exploded. His friend. His mentor. Someone who was more a father to him than anyone else in all the kingdoms lay dead or dying.

There was a smirk on the leader’s face. A ruthless smirk. The death of a man meant nothing to him. It was a face hardened
and callused by death. His eyes passed over Annon, barely giving him another look or thought. He hefted the ax back for another swing.

Never in Annon’s life had he been so tempted. His instincts did not tell him to run. That would have been the wise thing to do. Instead, he promised himself he would kill every single one of them or die trying.

Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.

Flames gushed from his fingertips, racing across the gap of woods until they smashed into the man with the ax. The Boeotian. The murderer. Annon watched his skin blacken but not blister. For a moment it seemed as if he were protected even from fire. He turned in shock and surprise, face wild with pain and panic. The flames suddenly engulfed him and he disappeared in a plume of ash. The heavy ax blade thumped to the forest floor, the handle consumed.

Annon did not wait a single moment. He charged into the grove of oaks, heading straight for the other Boeotians. His rage was insurmountable. He doubted if he would ever be calm for the rest of his life. The injustice and cruelty of these men defied his reason. There were more, and he sent the flames rushing into them, sending it streaking into their midst. Cries of terror sounded in the grove as they struggled to dodge the deadly fire.

Nizeera screamed and charged into the glen, teeth and claws savagely raking the men holding spears and axes.
We fight together, Druidecht. We must save the tree.

A spear ripped into his arm, lancing his skin as it went past him. He did not feel the pain. Another one hefted a spear, bringing it back to throw; Annon extended his palm and a spray of flames blasted him into dust. He did not know how many there were.

Movement to his left.

He ducked around a tree and listened as the spear struck the trunk. It would have killed him had he not moved a fraction faster. He emerged from the other side of the tree and sent flames into three men at once. The feelings sapped all sense of will and restraint. The bubbling emotions they caused were euphoric and delightful. He was giddy inside, with his friend dead nearby. How could that be? How was it even possible to be consumed with such happiness when he should be crying?

How many men were left? How many killers?

More over here.
He heard Nizeera’s shrieking warning and saw her dart between trees, swiping and clawing at them.

Annon shoved away from the protection of the trunk and came after them again, seeing several trying to hide from him behind stunted oaks. Flames spewed from his hands, engulfing the trees with crackling flames. This was dangerous. He did not want to burn down the entire forest. But he could not stop himself. He did not want to stop himself. Something had seized control of his mind. Some dark vapor prevented him from thinking. It commanded him to lash out at those who had desecrated the woods.

Cries of pain came from those he caught. He heard the crunch of boots to his right and turned just as the ax edge whistled toward his head. Annon ducked reflexively, feeling no fear, and brought up his hands to the man’s face. Suddenly a knee connected with his stomach and he felt his air vanish. The Boeotian continued the swoop of the ax and brought it up and around, coming down to split open Annon’s skull.

Nizeera launched at him, leaping over Annon’s crumpling body, and caught the Boeotian with claws in his face and chest as her weight slammed him down. The catlike scream made Annon shudder.

Scrambling back to his feet, struggling to maintain the fire pulsing in his fingertips, Annon stared as the other Boeotians ran off into the woods.

He gulped in air, trying to breathe. Nizeera finished off the man and turned to look at him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

They are coming
.

Annon nodded, unable to speak.
How many?

She cocked her head.

Spirits thronged him, coming from all sides at once. Many were cheering and grateful, but others were frantic as well.

They come, Druidecht! More mortals come! Do not abandon us! Do not abandon her!

He breathed heavily, glancing back at the sinewy form of the oak tree, split wide with fleshy bark. The broken ax lay at its base. The tree was defenseless. The tree would be butchered and killed. A Dryad tree. He knew it was so. He could feel memories emanating from its ancient hull.

Stand strong. Do not fear them.
Nizeera’s eyes bored into his.
We will take them together. You and I. We fight together.

Gritting his teeth, Annon straightened. He was just beginning to feel the razor of pain in his shoulder. The emotions of elation began to crumble. He needed to tame the fireblood. He could not let it run wild again. He would control it better; he would burn the men and not destroy the woods.
I fear nothing,
he thought to Nizeera.

The hummingbird spirit zoomed into the grove, flittering in front of his face.
He comes before them! He comes to challenge you!

Annon’s mind raced.
Who comes? Who is it?

The spirit wailed with terror.
One of the Black.

“When Kenatos was founded on the island in the lake, all races and peoples were invited to send representatives of their culture, traditions, and knowledge to dwell in harmony and thus preserve their way of life. Too many races had been decimated. Too many crafts and knowledge had been lost. Of all who remained, only the Boeotians refused. In fact, when they learned of the founding of Kenatos, they vowed to destroy it. For centuries, they attacked the island by boat. Some tried to make an earthen bridge to connect to the city. Each attack was repelled. Each ambassador sent to negotiate with the Boeotians was killed. Only the Druidecht can safely pass into their borders unharmed. They are a wild and savage race. It is said that they are ruled by an Empress, much as a beehive has a single queen. Their savagery and violence know no bounds. Kenatos would have failed if the races had not banded together to protect her infancy. A common danger unites even the bitterest enemies.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

T
he very mention of the Black Druidecht made Annon shudder. As with all creatures, so it was with the spirits of Mirrowen. There were helpful spirits who cooperated with the races or mostly just left them alone. But there were other spirits, the dark and the foul, that frightened and sought to destroy. Beings like the Iddawc. They looked at the world as a plaything. The Druidecht opposed such and had learned from the spirits ways to protect against them. But some Druidecht—only a few—joined forces with them.

Sweat beaded on Annon’s brow. He glanced back at the scarred oak tree, wondering whether the damage caused to the trunk was enough to kill it. His fingers tingled with heat and anticipation from using the fireblood again. He had almost lost himself in it.

Courage
, Nizeera whispered to him.

Annon steeled himself, swallowing his fears, and drew deep within himself. This was his charge as a Druidecht—to protect the denizens of Mirrowen who were helpless. And as Reeder had told him the night before, no creature was more helpless than a Dryad.

A sylph flitted to him.
You are injured. Let me heal you.