“You realize this is incredible,” Tyrus said softly, his lip quivering with revulsion and surprise. His emotions were rattled and he continued to gaze at his old friend with shock and distrust. “I am still amazed you are even alive. But I cannot recognize you. Even your voice is not familiar to me. This feels like a trap, Mathon. If that is who you are.”

“Of course it does. That’s because it is a trap, in a way. The Empress is wise. She knows the nature of men. She is very skilled at persuasion and manipulation. As are you, my friend. She reminds me of you in many ways. Now to the point. I remained in the colony for several years, the disease beginning to ravage my body slowly. I used every cunning and device the Arch-Rike planted in my mind to win her trust. It did not happen easily or quickly because she knew I was a Rike of Kenatos. But eventually, in time, she began to trust me. I felt the Arch-Rike’s triumph.” He gritted his teeth. “He was forcing me to betray someone I respected and admired, much as he had forced me to do with you inside the Scourgelands. It is torture. I could not remove the ring because I knew that it would destroy me. I lacked the courage and the will to surrender to death after having survived that far. I began to learn one of the consequences of my disease. The flesh deadens. The rash spreads. The victims, ultimately, begin to lose various parts of their bodies. Some lose their noses. Some a foot.” He slowly began unwrapping the rags around his arm, exposing a diseased stump. “I lost my hand. And the ring with it.”

Paedrin let out a whistle, his face a mixture of horror and delight. “That would do it,” he said with a grin. “I believe him, Tyrus. He’s telling the truth.”

“As do I,” Aransetis said.

Tyrus held up his hand to silence any others before they could add their voices. “What did you do when you became free of the Arch-Rike’s influence?”

Mathon lifted his jaw. “I told the Empress everything. I confessed my treachery and the knowledge I had gathered, designed to destroy her kingdom. I told her the Arch-Rike already had the knowledge she had shared with me. I told her that I did not need to speak with him in order to share it with him.” He shook his head, his eyes filling with tears.

“What did she do to you?” Tyrus asked.

The head lifted again, his lip quivering with emotion. Annon felt his own throat thicken. He stared at the afflicted man.

“She asked me . . .” he said hoarsely, “if I would agree to be her consort for life. She is my wife, Tyrus.”

Hettie gasped with surprise, her expression showing disbelief that the Empress forgave him. Annon was amazed himself and wondered what sort of woman would do that, especially considering Mathon’s disease.

“She trusts me completely. There is knowledge that she has about the Arch-Rike and who he really is. She will not allow me to divulge it and I will not. All I will say is that it is worth knowing. It will benefit your quest to end the Plague. You will not expect or be able to deduce this information, Tyrus. It is an ancient secret. She sent me here, her own husband, knowing that you all might kill me because of my ravaged face. But it is vital that you know what she knows. It is crucial to you to understand the nature of our mutual enemy. When you vanished from the plains, she suspected you had a Tay al-Ard. Her Druidecht spies in Canton Vaud revealed as much. With a Tay al-Ard, and with my memory of the location, I can take you to her right now. She wishes to speak to you, Tyrus. You will not succeed without her knowledge.”

Tyrus frowned, his expression solemn. “You could take us anywhere you chose, Mathon. Including right into the Arch-Rike’s clutches.”

“I know,” Mathon replied. “So you will have to trust me.”

The pained look in Tyrus’s eyes made Annon hurt for him.

Mathon sat slumped against the side of the camel, resting, his arms folded. Tyrus’s band huddled inside one of the abandoned structures, pulling close together in a tight circle. They were all seated on the ground, heads lowered.

“I seek your counsel,” Tyrus said, looking at each of them. Annon felt the huge weight of responsibility and wondered what the decision would ultimately be.

“From all of us?” Baylen asked.

“Of course. I think I know Kiranrao’s verdict already. Has it changed?”

The Romani snorted and said nothing.

“Aran and Khiara. I think you are like-minded on this issue. But tell me your opinion.”

Prince Aransetis sat calmly. “Sometimes the simplest answer is the most obvious. The man is clearly infected with a disease. His story rings true. There is an element of fate in this situation. As if a greater good drove us here.”