Nizeera growled softly. They are running now. I hear their approach.

Annon’s throat constricted. He licked his lips. “They are gaining on us,” he said softly to the others. “They know we’re here and they’ll likely try to kill us.”

“How do you know this?” Lukias demanded. He cast around vigorously. “I hear nothing.”

“What should we do, Annon?” Khiara asked. “Do we stand and fight them? I will not kill but I can harm them.”

“Foolish to face them in the open like this,” Erasmus said. “They are trained hunters and survivors. How many are there?”

Annon sent out a mental thought to one of the spirits, who zigzagged away like a moth trailing green motes of dust. He shook his head. “We slept too long. It was not safe resting so near their territory.”

“How many?” Erasmus pressed anxiously, probably wanting to comment on the odds of their surviving the night. There was a flash of light in the distance behind them. Annon felt a sick queasiness. The moth-spirit would not be returning.

“I don’t know. To the trees over there,” Annon said, pointing. “They are a scraggly bunch but at least it will provide some cover. Khiara, you float to the upper branches and wait there, ready to come down. I will try to startle them away.”

“How?” Lukias asked. “The fireblood?”

Annon nodded. “Erasmus. You stay hidden and look for opportunities to strike. Nizeera and I will face them as we have before.” He glanced at Lukias. “You seem proficient with a blade. Are you?”

“I know all of a man’s vulnerable spots,” he replied confidently. “I will stand with you. I have warred against Boeotians before. They are fearsome but they can be killed.”

“Hurry then,” Annon said, breaking into a run toward the copse of ash trees. His heart shuddered inside his chest, swelling with emotion. He remembered perfectly the battle where he had faced them before. Every part of it was burned into his mind, every word that had been spoken. Would any of those memories benefit him now? Reeder had died facing the Boeotians at the Dryad tree in Silvandom. Annon did not want any of his companions to meet their fate here.

They reached the ash trees quickly and entered the copse silently, moving through the skeletal limbs. Annon searched for a defensive position, quickly surveying the ground. His search was interrupted by the sound of running men, panting in the darkness behind them.

Nizeera growled again and Annon stroked her head, summoning his courage. He motioned for Khiara to float up into the trees, which she promptly did after taking in a deep breath. Lukias unsheathed his dagger and stood at Annon’s left, arms folded, his face impassive but not fearful. Erasmus vanished behind them into the thicket. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas. Annon’s hands began to glow.

The Boeotians slowed and entered the grove at a prowl, spears held low. There were no battle cries or warning. Their shapes flitted through the gaps of the trees, advancing on them in a wave. Annon tried to count the number of shapes and quickly abandoned it. There were at least twenty. He remembered how aggressive and cruel they were. Perhaps fire would frighten them. If not, he knew they’d be unleashing spears quickly. There was no reasoning with such men.

He recalled words that the other Boeotians had spoken. His memory was perfect now and he could summon the images by only thinking about them. Perhaps challenging them in their own tongue would surprise them.

“Atu! Atu vast!” Annon roared. Then he ran at them, bringing up his hands and unleashing his magic. The Boeotians were fighters. Annon did not think for a moment he could reason with them or talk his way out of a fight. The best thing to do was do something unexpected. Attack them first, make them feel that they had been drawn into a trap. Paedrin had called it the Uddhava.

Flames blasted through the woods, sending blooms of light to expose those he was attacking. He recognized the tattooed skin, the muscled arms and spears. His sudden attack caught them completely by surprise. Lukias shouted in fury and ran after him and Nizeera let out a feline scream that made even Annon quail.

Several Boeotians were caught in the initial blast of flame and went down, skin burning. Annon summoned a gob of fire in his hand and hurled it at another group. It streaked through the woods, blinding them with its brilliance and exploded into a tree, showering sparks as it struck. Boeotians dived away from him, unable to bring their spears up to throw. Nizeera vaulted into the nearest cluster of men, claws raking and teeth snapping viciously. Annon continued to charge, sending another sheet of flames into the next group. Fire began to lick the dried scrub at the base of the trees. Emotions swirled inside of Annon, feeding him with power and anger. Euphoria replaced the fear. At the fringe of the euphoria was madness.