The Traitors Revealed

A terrified silence passed between the five of them. The river thundered around the base of their rocky perch, a maelstrom of white water that made the distant shore seem a world away. Elrin scrambled to the highest point of the slippery stone, his boots struggling for purchase, and motioned for the others to join him. From their new vantage point fifteen feet above the deluge, the severity of their predicament was starkly clear. Across the water, Isena and Aria watched, helpless.

“What do we do?” Sairin’s voice was tight with anxiety.

“I don’t know,” Cirus answered, his own voice strained. “I have an excruciating headache… I can’t think.”

Wells craned his neck. A few hundred feet ahead, the river snaked through the Centaur’s Passage. Beyond it, Holtwood ended abruptly, giving way to a vast, open plain. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Wells saw the sky—a wild, magnificent canvas of blue stretching to the horizon.

Aria launched herself from the bank, her powerful wings beating against the wind. She landed on Wells’s shoulder, talons finding a secure grip. “Isena has gone for aid,” she reported immediately. “There is a small centaur settlement about twenty miles south. They may be able to help.”

“Tell her… that’s good,” Cirus managed, sinking to a sitting position and clutching his head. “Oh, my head…”

“Is he all right?” Aria asked Wells, her sharp eyes fixed on the ailing wizard.

Cirus looked up at her, forcing a faint smile. “I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“Very well.” A feathered streak against the churning water, Aria left Wells’s shoulder and soared back to Isena. Wells could just make out her voice over the river’s roar. Isena bowed solemnly to the five stranded on the rock before turning and galloping south, her form quickly swallowed by the trees.

Wells sat cross-legged on the cold stone. Aria returned and settled gently in his lap. “I am not crossing that water again,” she shivered, giving his finger a light, harmless nip when he stroked her head.

“Can’t we use magic to get across?” Wells asked, his eyes on the swirling current.

Still rubbing his temples, Cirus shook his head. “I doubt I could concentrate long enough for such a feat right now, Wells,” he said, his lips twisting into a pained smile.

Wells turned to Anais. “Can’t you do something?”

“No,” Anais stated flatly. “My training is incomplete.”

A frustrated groan escaped Wells. He retreated into a stew of silent anger, irritated by Anais’s blunt refusal. An hour crawled by. Cirus’s headache showed no sign of abating. Elrin and Soren conversed in low, somber tones, while Anais stood apart, his gaze lost in the rushing river.

Finally, Wells’s patience snapped. “If no one else is going to do anything, I will,” he declared, standing so abruptly that Aria flapped up to his shoulder in surprise. “Aria, help me.”

“What are you planning?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“This,” Wells said and closed his eyes. He focused his entire will on a single command, chanting it in his mind: Cure Cirus’s headache. He had only attempted personal myran once before, with Cirus guiding him every step of the way. As he concentrated, he felt Aria’s presence nudge his own, her focus merging with his.

A familiar, icy chill seeped into his bones as the myran flooded his body. His eyes snapped open, and he pointed his ring at Cirus. At that exact moment, Cirus looked up, and Anais’s eyes widened in alarm. All three of their rings flashed simultaneously. A bolt of pale blue light shot from Wells’s hand, striking Cirus squarely in the head.

A dreadful, spine-chilling scream tore through the air. Cirus collapsed onto his side, his fists clawing at his skull. Elrin and Soren could only stare in horror. Wells stood frozen, his arm still outstretched in shock.

“Wells, you idiot, do something!” Aria shrieked, leaping onto his arm and pulling it down with all her might. The flow of magic broke, but Cirus’s awful screams continued.

“No, no, it was supposed to help!” Wells sobbed over the noise.

Anais’s reaction was startlingly swift. He bounded past Wells and knelt beside the writhing wizard, placing one hand on his forehead and the other on his chest to still his thrashing. Anais closed his eyes and began muttering in a language Wells had never heard. As he spoke, Anais’s ring radiated a steady, topaz glow, and Cirus’s violent convulsions gradually subsided.

“Oh my God,” Wells whispered, his voice trembling. “Oh my God, I—Cirus, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—oh my God…” He sank to his knees, hot tears welling in his eyes. He scrubbed at them furiously with the back of his hand, not wanting anyone to see him cry.

He crept to Cirus’s side. The wizard’s face was a ghostly, pallid mask, and his breath came in ragged rattles. His eyes were closed. After several deep, shuddering breaths, his eyelids fluttered open. His breathing slowed, and he gulped, as if breaking the surface after nearly drowning.

“You’re okay,” Wells exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He knelt and hugged his mentor tightly. “I’m so sorry, Cirus, I didn’t know—”

“It’s all right,” Cirus said, patting Wells on the back. “You didn’t know about… something I have kept from you all.” He coughed and tried to sit up. Seeing the worried looks on Wells’s and Aria’s faces, he added, “I’ll be fine. But before that—we need to get off this rock. There is something important I must tell you.”

Elrin and Soren rushed to help Cirus to his feet. He nearly lost his balance, but Elrin caught his arm and steadied him. “Thank you, old friend,” Cirus said.

Cirus raised a hand toward the nearest shore. For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then, his ring began to glow, and a low rumble vibrated up through the stone. As the light from his ring intensified, a solid strip of earth rose from the churning water, forming a bridge that stretched directly to the bank.

“Thank God,” Wells muttered. They all scrambled across the land bridge. As they reached the safety of the shore, Cirus glanced back. With another rumble, the bridge sank back into the river’s depths and vanished. Cirus leaned against a sapling, sweating from the exertion.

“I always forget how difficult magic is after a curse takes hold,” he panted.

“A curse?” Soren asked. “Was that a curse Wells just used on you?”

“No,” Cirus shook his head. “Wells is neither powerful nor malicious enough for such a thing. No, this curse was the work of a warlock.”

Aria let out a deep, guttural growl, a strange sound for a sparrowhawk. “Warlocks,” she spat, her voice venomous. “Scum. Faithless beasts who betray their oaths. Where are they?”

A tremor ran through Cirus, his face contorting in pain as his head began to shake uncontrollably. He clenched his teeth and began to pry the ring from his own hand. “No,” he rasped, his words forced and deliberate. “Leave my body!”

The ring flashed, and Cirus’s struggles ceased. He looked back toward the great expanse of Holtwood. “There is something I should have told you all,” he said, his voice thick as he started walking into the trees. “It is regrettable that I did not, and more regrettable still that I have reason to be ashamed of it.”

They exchanged uncertain glances and followed him into the woods. He stopped before a large oak tree, and they hung back. “But I should think,” Cirus’s voice turned to ice, “that you should be more ashamed of your betrayal.” He reached behind the tree and seized a dark-featured woman by the arm. “Don’t you agree, Helena?”

Wells gasped. In a single, fluid motion, Elrin and Soren drew their swords. Aria’s eyes narrowed to fiery slits. “You,” she growled.

“Father,” Helena replied curtly.

“Father?” Wells repeated in confusion. “Cirus, she’s your—”

“Yes,” Cirus said, his grip tightening on her arm. “Helena is my daughter. And she has been following us for days. Haven’t you?”

“Very clever,” Helena sneered. “Nothing ever did get past you.”

“My only oversight was not watching you more closely,” Cirus retorted. “You have fallen far.”

“Judgments of right and wrong are for fools,” Helena said with a sigh.

“Then I am a fool,” Cirus replied calmly, “if it is foolish to believe that attacking one’s own father is wrong.”

When she smiled, Wells finally got a clear look at her. She was a ruin of the person he remembered. Her once-beautiful hair was a tangled mess, her clothes were ripped and caked with mud. Only her amber brooch remained unchanged, glittering malevolently in the dim light.

“You’ll find it wasn’t I who attacked you, Father,” Helena said. “I merely took control of your body.” She paused for dramatic effect, but Cirus remained impassive. “No, it was not I who possessed you. It was the Warlock, Anais of Pelara!”

Elrin whirled to face his brother. Soren looked utterly thunderstruck. For a fraction of a second, Cirus’s grip loosened, and Helena tried to wrench free, but he tightened it again, his eyes shifting to Anais. Aria and Wells were stunned into silence.

“Is it true?” Elrin asked, his voice weak with disbelief.

Anais said nothing.

“Is what Lady Helena says true?” Elrin demanded, his voice rising. “Is my brother in service to the Masters of the Grove?”

“Yes,” Anais breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “I am afraid it is.”

“Traitor!” Soren roared. “All this time, we thought you had simply failed to complete your wizard’s training—and you were secretly being trained as a warlock?”

“I was never trained as a wizard,” Anais admitted, his gaze fixed on the forest floor. He looked up, his expression unreadable. “I have always been a warlock. And I always will be.”

He raised his ring, pointing it toward Cirus. A brilliant flash of light erupted, and Cirus cried out, releasing Helena as if his hands had been severely burned. Soren charged forward, his sword ready. Anais drew his own blade with blinding speed, and they clashed. Elrin, his face a mask of rage and betrayal, stormed into the fray.

Helena turned on Wells, a blade appearing in her hand. She was on him in an instant. Wells staggered backward, tripping over a gnarled root. As she raised the blade for a killing blow, Aria shrieked from his shoulder and flew at her face, a whirlwind of talons and righteous fury. The attack gave Wells just enough time to roll away. Cirus raced forward, his ring flashing, and walls of earth erupted around Helena, trapping her.

She screamed, and the earth shattered. A whip of amber flame sprang from her ring. Cirus shook his head sadly. “You poor fool,” he said, extinguishing the blaze with a casual wave of his hand.

“Fight me, old man!” Helena growled.

“No.”

Wells was paralyzed. Aria had returned to his shoulder, a fierce, protective weight. He was too terrified to move. To his right, Helena continued her assault on Cirus, who steadfastly refused to engage. To his left, Elrin and Soren battled Anais, who expertly parried their attacks with a seamless blend of magic and swordplay.

“Aria,” Wells stammered, “what do I do?”

“You fight,” she chirped sharply. “You fight for your friends. That is your purpose.”

Wells nodded, trembling. He forced himself to his feet, his stomach churning. “Right,” he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Let’s do this.”

He sprinted toward Helena. She was hurling spears of ice at Cirus, who dissolved them with almost lazy blasts of fire. Wells tapped into his own power. A chilling sensation washed over him as he froze Helena’s feet to the ground. Her head snapped around to face him.

“You!” she shrieked. She melted the ice in an instant and lashed out at Wells with her fire whip. Wells dodged and began throwing the same ice darts she had been using against Cirus. The whip slashed across his face; he cried out in pain and intensified his assault.