Tyrus took a meaningful step forward. “It may not have escaped your notice that there are twelve of us. Had Erasmus been here, it would have been an even thirteen. Threaten us again and you will find that your talismans will not save you from me. I have not come this far to be thwarted by Canton Vaud.”

Palmanter held up his hands. “Easy, my friend. Do not be hasty.”

“Am I your friend?” Tyrus asked coldly. “I have told you the truth. The ring worn by the Arch-Rike’s spy confirms it. We can ask one by one if we must to prove this. But let us hasten the game. Name her, Lukias.”

Paedrin glanced at the Rike who stared at Tyrus with a mixture of awe and respect on his face. “Well done, Tyrus,” the Rike said with a half-chuckle. There was a clap of shocked silence.

“The spy?” one of the Druidecht muttered nervously.

“Who do you mean?” a Preachán asked pointedly to Tyrus.

Tyrus turned to the Rike nearby and gestured for him to disclose it.

“It is Rajas,” the man said simply. “The ring is on her right hand and is disguised in a gold filigree design of a scarab. She is your spy. The Arch-Rike told me himself.”

All eyes turned suddenly to a corpulent Cruithne with an imperious and completely bewildered look. The shock was so sudden and evident on her face that for a moment she could only splutter.

Tyrus tapped his mouth. “I do see a ring on her hand. It bears a startling resemblance to a scarab.”

The shocked expressions, the utter bewilderment thrilled Paedrin. Their entire shared minds were fumbling over themselves, reacting to the news.

“How…dare…you!” Rajas uttered lividly. Her cheeks went chalky white and she fixed a finger at Lukias.

“Do you deny it, Madame?” Tyrus said simply. Then his voice pitched low and throbbed with warning. “Do you dare deny it?” He glowered at Palmanter. “You invited me here to answer questions. Instead, you intended all along to turn me over to the Arch-Rike.”

“No, Tyrus,” Palmanter said gravely. “The Vaettir are wise and honorable. Cunning, too, it would seem. They are investigating what happened at the manor house. Surely, if what you have told us is true, there is ample evidence of your innocence.” He looked over at Rajas with disgust. “You have also done us a great service, Tyrus. We will deal with her immediately.”

“Hold a moment,” one of the other Druidecht said, standing up. “We aren’t letting him leave…”

It was Zannich. Annon saw the wariness in his face and instantly distrusted him. There were possibly more in league with the Cruithne woman. His heart was overjoyed at Tyrus’s duplicity, grateful for once that he was a man who guarded his secrets so well. He recognized Paedrin and Prince Aran. He would never forget a man like Kiranrao. And the girl Tyrus had claimed to be Hettie did not look familiar at all, but he trusted that it was magic disguising her. The Cruithne who had entered with his other friends was not a stranger to him either. He looked at the man and instantly recalled having seen him before, at the Paracelsus Towers.

“Hold a moment, Zannich. We must consider what he has told us,” Mitrisin said gravely. “Rajas might not be the only one of us who has betrayed the Druidecht. Are there more traitors among us, Tyrus?”

Tyrus gave her a probing look. “We must go. Our journey will be difficult. We will leave you. Gather around me,” he said urgently. “All of you.”

“You cannot leave!” Zannich said fiercely. “You’ve leveled accusations against the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. You must stand behind those accusations. We will summon him to Canton Vaud. If he refuses to come, then it proves the validity of your words. If you leave now, it puts everything you said before in doubt.”

“You and Stoern already doubt every word I have uttered,” Tyrus said. “My intention is not to topple the Arch-Rike. It is what I declared it to be in the beginning. I will stop this Plague from ravaging the lands. We cannot delay.”

“You must delay,” Kepniss said. “There is a war raging between Wayland and Havenrook. The whole world is in turmoil. Only delay a fortnight, that is all that we ask.”

“We will not,” Tyrus said flatly. The others began to gather around him. Annon saw the Tay al-Ard in his hand, clutched just out of sight of the Thirteen. Annon stood by him, staring down the Druidecht, those to whom he owed his allegiance.

“Annon of Wayland,” Psowen said thickly. “You will not go! You are not strong enough to face the dangers.”

“I choose it willingly,” Annon replied simply. “My mother followed him. So do I.”