With such a look of pure intensity and honesty on his face, Hettie nearly told him the truth. That moment of pure certainty was something she wanted for herself. He looked so convinced, so self-assured that she desperately wanted to believe in him. That he wanted to seek out her uncle as well, played right into Kiranrao’s hands.

She almost told him.

Instead, she reached out her hand and bid him take it. It was cruel. It would deceive his feelings. But she needed him, if only to remind herself that her freedom was worth anything.

“I abhor the Druidecht taboo of documenting their beliefs and practices. They are said to learn by heart a great number of verses; the course of training takes up to twenty years. They regard it as unlawful to commit these to writing. That practice they seem to me to have adopted for two reasons. First, because they do not desire their doctrines to be divulged among the mass of the people. Second, they suppose that a dependence on writing would relax their diligence in learning. I contradict them. It is quite possible that errors have been introduced into their learning and have been further expanded each generation. Let us tenderly and kindly cherish all means of knowledge. Let us dare to read, think, speak, and write.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

The woods of Silvandom were legendary, and Annon approached them with trepidation. Most forests began to increase in thickness at a distance, tree after tree clustering together until they formed a massive net of limbs and roots. As Annon and Erasmus approached Silvandom, they passed the fertile plains without seeing another tree until suddenly a wall of them emerged after the crest of a hill. They stared down at the massive expanse of forest, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. The guardian trees were enormous, with long, bare trunks that reached skyward and were crowned in huge green swaths of leaves and branches.

“Well,” Erasmus huffed, staring down at the vast woodlands. “By degrees the castles are built. I have never seen such a place in my life. All that straight wood is worth a fortune.”

Annon smirked at the comment, glancing at his companion. “Except the Vaettir do not sell it.”

Erasmus waved his hand. “Only makes it worth more.”

“Life is worth more than ducats, Erasmus.”

It was the Preachán’s turn to give him a shrewd smile. “I assure you, master Druidecht, that is not true. Many wars are hazarded on the arithmetic that a life is worth less than thirty ducats. Maybe twenty-five.”

Annon sighed and started down the slope.

Erasmus followed, mumbling softly to himself. “Considering the vastness of those woods, the likelihood of finding your friend Reeder will be considerably narrow. At a rate of two furlongs a day…”

“Do not strain your mind, Erasmus,” Annon said, slightly annoyed at his constant predictions. “I will find him or he will find me much faster than you think.”

“And how will that be achieved?”

“The same way I knew where the ford was in the river we crossed two days ago. The same way I have provided us with sufficient food. It is Druidecht lore. And while my uncle may think that a spirit only has value when it is trapped in a gem…” He trailed off, giving Erasmus a hard stare. “I do not.”

Before long, they had crossed the long grass. Annon let his palms glide over the feathery tips of grass and downy weeds. He inhaled the sweet scent in the air, watching the towering trees sway gently ahead. It was a vision of beauty and grace. Overhead a hawk swooped. Annon watched its seamless plunge.

As they approached the huge shroud of trees, Annon felt the spirits immediately. Their tiny voices chittered to him, recognizing his talisman and position, and came to him in a swarm. For a moment he was confused at the rush and chatter, coming from tiny butterflies and gnats that rushed and whirled around him. They were solicitous, anxious to seek his will and assist him. He was treated with high honor.

Welcome, Druidecht. May we serve you?

I saw him first. Be silent. I will guide and lead you, kind sir.

What good would you be to him? I am the fastest. Shall I carry a message for you?

Never had he encountered such a swarm of spirits in Wayland or the mountains of Alkire. They were friendly, eager, and nearly jostled each other to get this attention.

Be silent, foolish ones. He is weary from his journey.

At the rebuke, the tittering vanished away, cowed into respect by a being of greater power. Annon felt the presence immediately and a sense of thrill at being singled out. It approached him in the form of a mountain cat, lithe and sleek and sinuous. Its tail lashed lazily.