After carefully cutting the root away, he carried it over to the stream and washed it. Then he used his mortar and pestle to grind it up. He measured out just the right amount and put it into the cauldron. Then he banked the coals, removed the mixing staff, and placed a circular lid over the cauldron's top so that his creation might simmer overnight.
There was only one more thing to do before he left the glade. He lifted the corpse from the table, carried it to the edge of the cat's circle, and unceremoniously tossed it in.
She showed little interest in it, having just eaten the muscle he had given her. Still, the body he had just tossed to her was large, and he knew that he would not have to worry about feeding her for several more days.
Reznik gathered up his instruments and his journal and began to make his way out of the glade. After taking only a couple of steps he had a sudden thought. He stopped short and turned around.
Returning to the table, he picked up the gingercrinkle blossom and placed it in one of the buttonholes of his jerkin. Pretty, he thought.
As he walked out of the glade, he began to whistle.
CHAPTER III
Faegan's words echoed in tristan's ears as he ran down the hallways of the Redoubt. He skidded to a stop before the first of the several secret passageways leading to the palace above. Scrabbling at the special section of marble wall, he pulled hard, rotating it on its pivot. It opened to reveal a rough-hewn stone staircase. His weapons still in his hands, he charged up two steps at a time.
His chest was heaving when he reached the top of the steps and strapped on the baldric holding his dreggan and the quiver holding his throwing knives. Then he drew the sword, its unmistakable ring echoing in the confines of the stairway.
He held the point of the dreggan high and placed the cool, flat side of its blade against his forehead. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his mind in anticipation of whatever might await him on the other side of the door.
When he was ready, Tristan pushed hard on the section of wall. It swiveled open easily, and he charged through the open doorway. The room on the other side was empty.
He had come up into the Chamber of Supplication, one of the many elaborate halls his late father and the Directorate of Wizards had employed in their dealings with the citizenry. The elaborate room yawned back at the prince, as if mocking him for his foolishness. Then he heard an unfamiliar noise.
At first he couldn't make it out as it wafted eerily through stained glass windows. Tristan ran to one of the windows, pushed it open wide, and climbed through to the courtyard beyond.
Complete pandemonium reigned. The courtyard overflowed with a crushing mass of burned and wounded citizens, their cries soaring toward the heavens. Men, women, and children had already forced their way onto the palace grounds, and still more were massed in the streets beyond the drawbridge. Some of Tristan's Minion warriors were attempting to hold back the throng, but as gently as they could so as not to further harm the wounded. But the palace warriors were too few, and the crowd too large and too determined to reach sanctuary.
Tristan watched helplessly as his people died before his very eyes. Then two dark shadows crossed the grass, and the Minions Traax and Ox landed next to him.
Frantically, Tristan grabbed Traax by the shoulders. "Shailiha, Celeste, and Abbey!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the crowd. "Where are they? Are they safe?"
Nodding, Traax pointed to a far corner of the courtyard.
Tristan could just make out the three of them. Protected by a wide ring of Minion warriors, they were tearing bedsheets into strips and bandaging the victims as best they could.
"The warriors have strict orders to fly them to safety, should it come to that," Traax shouted to Tristan. "I tried to convince them of the danger, but none of them would leave."
Tristan looked over at Ox. He had rarely seen so much emotion upon a Minion warrior's face.
"It happen so fast!" the huge warrior said. "Wizard Faegan see first boy come through. He be burned bad. Faegan see him as he crawl across yard, and he lift chair and take him into palace. But he not see others come. Me now think neither wizard know how bad this be."
"Yes, we do," Tristan heard the familiar voice say.
Turning, the prince found Wigg standing beside him and Faegan sitting close by. Both wizards had tears in their eyes.
"The boy you tended to in the Redoubt?" Tristan asked.
All Wigg could do was shake his head.
Faegan raised his hands toward the burgeoning crowd. Tristan wondered what the crippled wizard was about to do.
Azure bolts shot from Faegan's hands toward the drawbridge, where they spread to create a glowing wall that sealed the castle entrance. When he lowered his hands, the bolts ceased. The crowd inside the palace grounds quieted. Many looked up in wonder, having beheld the majesty of the craft for the first time. Tristan turned back to Wigg.
"What has happened?" he asked.
His face dark with concern, Wigg looked at Tristan directly. "Faegan and I fear it is our greatest nightmare," he said softly. "If we're right, no power on earth may be able to stop it."
The wizard laid one hand gently upon Tristan's shoulder. "You and I must leave here immediately," he said.
Stunned, Tristan searched Wigg's face. "Are you mad?" he shot back. "Look at these people-can't you see they need our help? How can we possibly leave them?"
Faegan wheeled his chair a bit closer. His expression was as determined as Wigg's.
"Wigg is right," he said. "You and the First Wizard must depart now. There is no time to lose."
"But why?" Tristan asked.
"We have to know what we're dealing with," Wigg answered. "We must ascertain how much damage it has already done and where it is headed next. Faegan will stay behind to direct the aid efforts with the acolytes and Minion healers. But right now, you must call for a Minion litter, and a group of warriors to fly guard alongside!" The wizard's aquamarine eyes flashed.
"While we waste time arguing, I fear thousands more may be dying!" he added sternly. "Your nation needs you now as never before, and you must help her!"
Tristan looked across the courtyard toward Shailiha, Abbey, and Celeste. Blessedly, their situation seemed less dangerous now. The warriors were allowing more victims inside the circle, but only as the three women could accommodate them. Tristan reluctantly turned to Traax and nodded.
The Minion second in command was gone in a flash. In mere moments he returned with a litter borne by six warriors, as well as an additional fifty warriors to fly guard. Wigg quickly climbed aboard, anxiously gesturing to Tristan to join him.
With one last look at the horrible scene, Tristan stepped in and took the seat next to the First Wizard. He closed his eyes.
Traax barked out the order, and the litter rose into the sky.
CHAPTER IV
Wigg knew how to find whatever was attacking their people. All they would have to do was follow the trail of dead bodies.
As they soared over the courtyard, Wigg shouted as much to Traax, who immediately passed the wizard's orders on to the litter bearers and guards.
Below them, the streets of Tammerland overflowed with the wounded, the dying, and the dead. Some looked up at the flying warriors and shook their fists at them. Tristan had little doubt that if they had been flying lower, he would have been able to hear their curses, as well.
Apparently many of his subjects still considered the Minions their enemy. Tristan could hardly blame them. All they knew of the winged warriors was that they had destroyed much of Tammerland, butchering, torturing, and raping the citizens in the streets and in their homes. They didn't know that the Minions were under Tristan's firm control now, no longer a threat to Tammerland and, indeed, pledged to defend all of Tristan's people.
Most of the citizenry also had no idea that the Directorate of Wizards was no more. They deserved to know that, and also to know that Tristan loved them and wanted to be-needed to be-a strong leader for t
hem.
How can I possibly accomplish all this? he wondered. How does one inform an entire country of so many bizarre twists and turns behind the devastation that has beset it in its recent history? Even he scarcely believed all that had happened, and he had seen it firsthand.
Disheartened, he looked down at the medallion around his neck. Taking it in one hand, he slowly closed his fist around it. The gold medallion had been given to him by his parents, just before they had died at the hands of the Coven of Sorceresses. The medal showed the lion and broadsword, the twin symbols of the House of Galland. Shailiha wore an identical one.
"It's not your fault," Wigg said quietly. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. "It never has been. You must sense that. All you have ever done is protect both the citizens and the nation you care for so much. But they don't know that, Tristan. And that is because they are still without what they need the most."
Tristan did not look up. "And what is that?" he asked.
"What only you can provide," Wigg answered. "Their rightful king."
Tristan took a deep breath. For several long moments silence filled the space between him and the wizard.
"But to be king, I must wear the Paragon," he said at last. "And to do that, my blood must first revert to its natural state."
"Yes," Wigg answered heavily. "Despite whatever is causing all of this destruction, we must never lose sight of the fact that finding a way to alter your blood is paramount. If we do not figure out how to do that, then everything else we do-no matter how well-meaning-will be for naught. The Jin'Sai must eventually be trained, and then read the entire Tome of the Paragon. The future of our world depends upon it."
Tristan thought for a moment. "You still haven't told me what is causing all of this," he replied defensively.
Wigg took a deep breath. "If I am right, when we reach it, one look will tell us all. And if I am wrong, which is also entirely possible, then we will be seeing whatever it is for the first time. For now I would prefer to leave it at that."
As the litter continued west past Tammerland, the dark, slow-moving columns of people seemed to stretch on forever. But then he saw a break in the crowd, and for a moment his heart leapt-until the litter drew closer and he realized what he was seeing.
Directly below their flight path, a deep crevasse split the ground. It looked to be at least ten to fifteen meters deep and about one hundred meters across, a V-shaped, jagged scar that snaked its way west as far as the eye could see. Tristan guessed it was recently made: It still smoldered, gray plumes of soot and ash corkscrewing up into the air from its charred black bottom. It was a gruesome, unnatural thing, and it sent a chill down the prince's spine.
Aghast, Tristan looked at Wigg. The wizard's face was dark with worry.
Wigg stuck his head out of the litter and shouted to Traax that he wanted the warriors to change course and follow the smoldering crack wherever it might lead. Then he looked sadly down at his hands and said no more.
A great sense of foreboding rose in Tristan's chest. His gaze followed the strange, snaking catastrophe as the litter flew on toward the setting sun. "The oxen are thirsty, father," aaron said. "can't we all rest for a bit?"
The young man gave each of the two straining beasts a reassuring stroke on the head. The sun was going down. The day had been unusually hot, even for the Season of the Sun. They had been toiling since dawn, yet Aaron's father showed no sign of stopping. Finally Darius pulled hard on the reins that lay over his shoulders and slowed the oxen and plow to a halt.
Glad to rest, Aaron of the House of Rivenrider jumped down. Looking back, he saw the hard-won rows of rich soil that they had scratched into the earth. Before long those rows would be filled with the waving stalks of wheat and barley that he and his family would sell at the farmers' market in Tammerland.
It was late in the season to be planting. This year money had been short, and only now had they had gathered enough kisa to buy the last of their seed. Still, with a little bit of luck and a great deal of hard work, they might reap enough to see them through the coming winter-especially if this year's Season of Harvest proved to be a long one.
The ox nearest Aaron rubbed his face against the young man's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. Smiling, Aaron reached out and petted one of the great animal's ears. Darius dropped the leather reins and stretched his cramped muscles. Walking up to his son, he produced a rag from his trousers for what seemed the hundredth time that day and wiped the dripping sweat from his face.
Aaron's mother, Mary, and his sister Tatiana were still bent over in the field, sowing the seeds in the freshly overturned dirt. They wore broad, straw sunbonnets on their heads, and each carried a heavy bag of seed slung over one shoulder. Sowing the seed was backbreaking work, and by now their hands and nails would be black with soil.
Leaving the oxen with his father, Aaron walked over to the edge of the field, where he could see Brook Hollow, their small village, lying in the valley below. From up here it looked like a giant patchwork quilt spread out on the ground-a quilt with the Sippora River running through it. He could see their modest farmhouse at the eastern edge of town, and their small, river-powered gristmill with which his father ground their wheat. His mother's heavy bread was the best in the world. He imagined that he could smell a warm loaf cooling on the kitchen windowsill right now.
When Aaron returned to his father, his mother and Tatiana had arrived, and his father was busy unfastening the large oilskin bags of water that the oxen always carried over their backs when laboring in the fields. With the bags came two large buckets.
Dutifully, Aaron uncorked one of the bags, filled the two buckets with water, and placed them before the oxen. The massive animals drank greedily, and Aaron smiled as he watched them.
"Sometimes I think you take better care of those animals than you do yourself," Tatiana chided him. There was a definite hint of mischief in her eyes as she peered out from beneath her sunbonnet. She was tall, pretty, and possessed endless amounts of curly red hair. Her hands and shoes were far beyond filthy. Two years her senior, Aaron loved to tease her about being his little sister. But Tatiana was quickly growing into womanhood, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to get away with that sort of thing much longer.
He gave her a mock-condescending look and pointed at her hands.
"And just how many boys will want to come and call on you with paws like that, Miss Filthy?" he shot back. "You look like you live in a pig pen! If the boys at school could see you now, you'd end up an old maid forever!" He watched Tatiana's mouth pucker up.
"That's enough, you two," their mother began. Then she stopped. At the expression on her face, they all turned back toward the field-and that was when they saw the huge shadow.
Dark and ominous, the shadow grew until it covered all of the ground around them. Then came an earsplitting noise-a great screech combined with an intensely deep howl that chilled them. Aaron put his hands over his ears, but it did little to help to muffle the noise. Looking up, he saw the source of the shadow: an enormous ball of golden light. His jaw dropped in wonder. Then, to his horror, it veered in midair and headed straight at his family.
Aaron's first instinct was to save the oxen, and he turned to unbuckle their harnesses so they could run without the awkward mass of the plow behind them. The golden orb was so close that Aaron could feel its blazing heat at his back.
As he unfastened the first of the buckles, Darius' strong hands came down on his own. Bewildered and frightened, he looked up into his father's eyes.
"Stop!" Darius screamed. "It's too late for them now! Run!"
Grabbing Aaron by the collar, Darius pulled him away from the oxen. They ran across the field as fast as they could. Aaron ran and ran until he thought his lungs might burst. Only when Darius thought his family was out of danger did they slow. They all turned to look.
The two terrified oxen desperately tried to run from the noise and the searing heat, but they
were hindered by the plow, which had buried itself in the ground behind them as they ran. Aaron felt his heart shatter and steeled himself for the worst.
When the burning sphere closed on them, the two terrified animals vaporized instantly. As the fireball continued on its way, burning a deep swath of destruction down the field, all that remained of the oxen was a charred hole in the ground. Gray smoke rose into the late afternoon sky almost as an afterthought.
Running back to the crest of the hill, Aaron watched the sphere go. It was heading directly for Brook Hollow.
The rest of his stunned family came to stand beside him. They cried and held on to one another as they watched their world collapse.
Focused on the unfolding catastrophe, none of them saw the approaching litter with its phalanx of Minion warriors that flew guard alongside.
CHAPTER V
"Hold him!" she ordered the two minion warriors standing obediently by her side. Her voice could barely be heard amid the clamor all around her. "This must be done now, lest he die!"
Duvessa looked hard at the warriors and they grudgingly nodded back. She was well aware that they both outranked her, but as the leader of the Minion healers, she meant to have her way.
With both Traax and the Jin'Sai away, she had decided that the only two persons she would take orders from would be Faegan and Shailiha. Duvessa now knew them personally, and counted both as friends. If Traax wanted to punish her for her insolence to her Minion superiors when he returned, then so be it. But she doubted that would happen, because for the last several weeks she had been Traax's lover.
The man lying on the table writhed and screamed and struggled against the leather straps that held him down. Duvessa wished that either Faegan or one of the Acolytes of the Redoubt was available to employ the craft. That way, the man could be rendered unconscious before she began her work. But they were all busy elsewhere, dealing with other victims.
Savage Messiah dobas-1 Page 2