Paedrin’s face wrenched with pain. “There are too many to fight, for them or for us. I’ve been atop the promontory and seen the ruins. He has five hundred men up there if he has fifty.” Paedrin wiped his face. “The tree is ringed by creatures on every side, Weir mostly, but there are some brown-cloaked creatures too with bows as well. They shot at me the moment I came down, but if we had the Tay al-Ard, I could bring us right there in the middle. Some of them were trailing me and will be here shortly.” He screwed up his face and let out a Romani curse. “We are so close!”

Annon stared at Paedrin, believing he was who he said he was. He had just the right amount of frantic energy and bravado. There were no rings on his hands either and his impatience and desperation were common to everyone at the moment.

“Which way is the tree?” Shion asked, grabbing Paedrin’s arm. “Point it out.”

“That way,” Paedrin said, motioning the direction they were going. “But we’re outnumbered. You’re strong, Shion, but if enough Weir pounce on you, even you’ll get pinned down. Maybe if we go around and try to flank them? But they won’t go far from the tree, I don’t think. They know we’re coming for it. They just need to wait.”

Annon saw the awful dilemma. Maybe Tyrus had suspected it too. He stared down at his hand, at the invisible ring on his finger. With it, he could summon the Tay al-Ard. He could let Paedrin use it to bring them to the Mother Tree. But doing so would trap Tyrus and Hettie in the midst of the clearing without a way to escape.

There was a flash of movement in the trees coming from both sides. The Weir from the tree had joined the ones stalking them from behind. The forces were converging on each side.

“We’re surrounded,” Phae warned in fear.

The Weir rushed at them, howling with vengeance as they charged through the maze of trees. Annon stared at his hand, frozen with indecision. Tyrus had laid the burden on his shoulders. Somehow, he had known. Summoning the Tay al-Ard would have consequences. Without it, Tyrus would probably use the fireblood and go mad. Hettie might die. Staring at his hand, he wondered what fate he would unleash and what guilt he would suffer as a result of his decision. He did not have time to think it through. He did not have time to reason it out.

Closing his eyes, he invoked the power of the ring. The object he desired appeared in his outstretched hand, still warm from Tyrus’s own grip.

What have I done? he thought bleakly.

Paedrin stared at him in shock.

“Hasten,” Annon whispered, extending the Tay al-Ard out so all could reach it. He met Paedrin’s gaze, who seemed to be realizing the implications himself by the widening of his eyes. Annon nodded curtly, steeling his emotions. “Take us there, Paedrin.”

XXXIII

Phae’s insides wrenched as the magic of the Tay al-Ard hurtled them through the span of woods, arriving in a moment in a different location. Queasiness mixed with the dizziness of the power, and she grasped Shion’s arm to keep from falling. What had been the subtle murmur of Dryad magic permeating the woods became a roar that flooded her with its presence. She sensed that she was standing on a vast web of interlocking roots that furrowed deep beneath the earth and whose tendrils expanded not just around the perimeter of a single tree, but seemed to connect in small and vast ways to every other tree throughout the impenetrable maze. It took no more than a single instant to realize they had arrived at the proper place. And it took less than an instant for the defenders of that lair to be aware of their presence.

Fire exploded from Annon’s hands as massive, frenzied Weir began to appear. Their fur and hide expelled that strange dustlike hoarfrost as they moved, powerful sinews bounding, claws tearing up the ground. The blast from the fireblood struck them full, scattering and destroying the creatures, but another wave was coming from behind.

Phae’s heart spasmed with terror at the immediate threat, knowing they had plunged into the center of the hive, that their survival against such a host of foes would be short-lived if she did not make it to the tree quickly.

The Bhikhu sprung like an arrow, his sword slashing through the nearest Weir, who came at him with savage ferocity. Shion grabbed her shoulders, ready to plunge into the thickest part when Annon caught her wrist. His eyes were blazing with intensity and despair. He thrust the Tay al-Ard into her hands. “To Mirrowen,” he urged her desperately. “Save us!”

One of the beasts landed on Annon’s back, its claws shredding through his previous injuries, and he screamed in pain. He raised his hands and seized the beast by the ruff, turning it into ash with a single burst of his magic. As he turned away from her, she saw the red stains on his shredded cloak and watched his face turn chalk white. She stuffed the Tay al-Ard into her belt.