For the first time in months, Tristan laughed out loud. It felt good-as if the dense fog surrounding his heart was finally starting to lift.
“Yes!” he said, amid his own laughter. “I suppose you’re right!”
Tristan took a moment to look around. Then he smiled and laughed a bit more. Wheeling Tyranny leftward so that she could take a better look, he motioned with his chin. She also grinned at what she saw.
The two wizards had levitated themselves and their partners high into the air. At first the two women accompanying them seemed terrified. Realizing they had nothing to fear, they soon settled down. Then Wigg’s partner suddenly blushed, and she urgently whispered something into the wizard’s ear. After whispering back to her, Wigg smiled and he called a spell that effectively prevented the guests on the ballroom floor from sneaking looks under the ladies’ dresses.
Tristan realized that it was much like watching all four dancers slide and twirl atop an invisible glass floor that was suspended high in the air. Having left his chair behind, Faegan dutifully held his delighted partner in his arms as his useless legs dangled below him.
Waving one arm, Tristan caught Faegan’s eye, then winked. Understanding, the old wizard nodded. Tristan and Tyranny were promptly lifted into the air to join them. Soon all six were the center of attention.
Amazing, the prince thought as he looked into Tyranny’s delighted face. He had been right about the invisible floor. It provided just enough support to twirl Tyranny about, but also gave a feeling of being lighter than air.
Smiling, Tyranny leaned closer. “This is definitely worth one thousand kisa!” she exclaimed.
Smiling broadly, Tristan looked back down at the swirling dancers to notice the heavyset woman whom Tyranny had so easily outbid. With her arms crossed atop her plentiful breasts and her face beet red, she was fuming. Looking farther across the room, he saw young Brent. Despite his recent trauma, the boy seemed mesmerized by the spectacle. That gave the prince an idea.
He decided to ask the wizards to test Brent’s blood. Odds were that it would not be endowed. But if it was, and his mother consented, perhaps Wigg would consider allowing him to join the consuls’ sons being taught the craft in the Redoubt Nursery. It seemed the least they could do. After all, the boy had just lost his father.
Just then Tristan heard Brent scream, the young boy’s shrieked so loud that they easily rose above the music. As he stopped dancing, Tristan quickly looked around, but he could find nothing amiss.
Looking back at Tyranny, Tristan saw the blood drain from her face. She clearly understood-but he still hadn’t grasped it. He looked down again to see that the dancing had stopped. The orchestra slowly stilled, its final strains waning away into nothingness.
Tristan was about to demand an answer from Tyranny when Brent screamed again, then pointed to the variegated columns lining the room’s walls. As Tristan looked, the breath caught in his lungs. All the decorative ginger lily wound around the columns was dying before his eyes.
Tristan snapped his head around to look at a buffet table lying against the nearest wall. All the brightly colored flowers and decorative plants atop it were dying as well. Turning brown, their stems slowly slumped over in awkward death postures.
Then Tristan remembered what Brent had told the Conclave about his capture. Suddenly things became clear. Tristan frantically turned to look at Wigg.
From their vantage point high above the floor, the wizards urgently searched the room. But even they could detect no alien presence. The still-unknowing guests were happily murmuring among themselves as they wondered what was going on. “Another clever parlor trick by our wondrous wizards,” Tristan heard one man say. But Tristan knew that this was no illusion. The stakes had just become deadly serious.
Just then all six dancers were lowered to the floor, and Faegan returned to his chair. Faegan urgently shook his head, telling the prince that it had not been his or Wigg’s doing. Hearing Wigg cry out, Tristan looked back over to him.
To everyone’s horror, the Paragon was being lifted from around the First Wizard’s neck. Wigg quickly raised one hand to employ the craft. But try as he might, stopping the stone’s ascent was impossible-even for him. Faegan and Jessamay tried to help augment Wigg’s powers with their own, but to no avail.
Everyone could only watch as the Paragon glided to an empty spot above the checkerboard floor. Many gasped as the golden chain disappeared link by link, and was followed by the stone. The wizards looked aghast at the prince, who then cast his eyes back toward the dais. Those Conclave members still seated seemed as stunned as everyone else.
Drawing their swords, Traax, Ox, and several more male and female warriors started cautiously making for the floor’s center. Tristan raised one arm, ordering them to stop where they were.
An irregular, shimmering shape started to form in the air. It slowly grew until its outer edges were about two meters wide. Then the shimmering vanished to slowly show an intruder. As he materialized, Brent screamed again and ran to his mother.
A mounted figure had brazenly invaded the room. The intruder’s black stallion stood stock-still as white vapor streamed from its nostrils. The rider wore a soft black robe with its hood pulled up over his head. A black leather duster covered the robe and reached down past his saddle stirrups. He seemed to have no face, and the depths of his hood seemed limitless. Even the previously unsuspecting partyers had quieted as they realized that this dark being was not a welcome guest.
Tristan detected a slow movement by his side. Looking over, he saw Tyranny surreptitiously slip one hand beneath the folds of her gown. Understanding that she was reaching for a weapon, he locked his eyes on hers and shook his head.
Tristan started to approach the rider. In response, the intruder gently spurred his horse forward several steps. Tristan didn’t reach for the weapons lying across his back. His wary eyes went to the axe and shield that were tied to the being’s saddle. Despite the ominous circumstances, he found them magnificent. When Tristan looked into the rider’s face, he was shocked by what he saw.
The deep space inside the hood was dark as night-with two eerie exceptions. The being’s eyes glowed azure, as they stared back calmly. No skull held the orbs-they simply floated there in the hood’s dark recesses. Tristan had never seen anything like them. Then the being smiled, exposing his equally grotesque, glowing teeth. The effect was chilling.
Xanthus, Tristan thought.
Suddenly he heard Wigg’s familiar heel strikes, followed by the squeaky wheels of Faegan’s chair. Turning around, Tristan looked them both in the eyes and shook his head. They reluctantly stopped approaching.
When Tristan turned back to look at Xanthus, his blood ran cold. Xanthus was wearing the stolen vial around his neck.
Tristan could only hope that the stone was safely inside the pewter vial, and that the vial was filled with red water from the Caves of the Paragon. When the stone was removed from its human host, only the red, thick water could sustain its life-but not indefinitely. He forced himself to look back into the macabre eyes.
“Xanthus,” he said, trying to control his anger. He looked over at Brent, then back at the Darkling. “We got your message,” he added nastily.
“And also the branch and the scroll, I hope?” Xanthus asked. His voice was hollow, dead-sounding. Tristan nodded.
“Then you understand aboutK’Shari?”
“Yes.”
Xanthus nodded his approval. “Good-that simplifies my task.”
Tristan stood his ground, waiting.
“Then you also know why I have come,” Xanthus said.
“You have come for me,” the prince answered, “and you have stolen the Paragon. What I don’t know is why. And why did those innocent people in Charningham have to die? Surely they meant you no harm.”
Xanthus didn’t respond. His jaw set, Tristan arrogantly looked into Xanthus’ eerie eyes.
“Who sent you?” he asked softly.
The Dar
kling’s bizarre smile surfaced again. He spurred his horse another two steps closer, then leaned one arm down on his saddle pommel.
“My masters are the Heretics of the Guild,” he answered softly. “Unless I’m mistaken, you have heard of them. They request the pleasure of your company, Jin’Sai. ”
Tristan took a quick breath. He didn’t know why the Heretics had sent this abominable creature to him. But his heart told him that if he went with this being he would never return.
He turned to look at Shailiha. Her face was a mixture of fear and rage. She slowly shook her head, telling him not to go. Tristan looked back at Xanthus.
“Why do they want me?” he asked.
“All in good time,” Xanthus answered.
Wigg and Faegan approached to stand on either side of the prince. “Why have you taken the Paragon?” Wigg asked. His voice was shaking with rage. “Do you truly understand the significance of what lies around your neck?”
“Yes, wizard,” Xanthus answered. “I too can employ the craft.”
“And if theJin’Sai does not follow you?” Faegan asked.
“Then I will commit even greater atrocities,” he said, “making those in Charningham seem like mere child’s play. TheJin’Sai will accompany me. I could take him by force, but the Heretics have willed it otherwise. Unless he accompanies me this night, the horrors will grow. As a start, killing the revelers in this room will do nicely. Make no mistake, wizards-my gifts are of the Heretics. No one on the Tolenkas’ eastern side has the power to stop me. Trying to do so would only result in your deaths, and the deaths of many others. Is that what you want?” Xanthus paused for a moment.
“There is something else you have failed to consider,” he added softly.
“And that is?” Faegan asked.
“I possess the stone. I can vanish, cloaking my blood so well that your modest gifts will never find me. If I leave here without theJin’Sai, not only will the atrocities recommence, but whatever hope you might have of recovering the Paragon will vanish with me. You see, I am to take theJin’Sai to a place that your simple minds would find unimaginable. Allow theJin’Sai to accompany me, and you might see your prince and your precious Paragon again. Do not, and the Heretics won’t be so generous with their mercy.”
Faegan wheeled his chair a bit closer. “What guarantee do we have that you’ll keep your word?” he demanded.
Like he was lecturing some dullard schoolboy, Xanthus shook his head. “Fools,” he said. “I have given no word to keep.”
“Is it true that you have attainedK’Shari?” Tristan asked. “Before I believe you I want a demonstration of your presumed gift. But I demand that you leave the guests alone. They have done you no harm.”
“If you insist,” the Darkling said.
Xanthus pointed to the battle axe tied to his saddle. The leather straps securing it untied themselves. He opened his palm, and the axe flew into his hand. He looked back at the prince.
“My ears hear no begging,” he said. “My eyes see no pain. My heart feels no remorse.” Then his glowing eyes bored straight into Tristan’s. “The bluish green one, I think,” he said.
Without taking his gaze from Tristan, Xanthus launched his axe into the air. Suddenly realizing his mistake, Tristan could do nothing but watch.
The axe caught a blue-and-green flier in midflight, slicing its body in two as though it had been tissue paper. The axe flew on, its blade crashing into a marble column lining one wall, its impact so great that it nearly cracked the gigantic support in half. For a moment Tristan wondered whether the massive column might give way. Stunned by what they had just seen, guests scurried away from it.
Its wings still beating pitifully, what remained of the flier tumbled to the floor. Faegan cried out; Shailiha screamed. As the broken butterfly convulsed, violet blood ran from her severed innards. Then her two halves stopped moving and died. The Great Hall became quiet as a tomb.
Again without looking up, Xanthus raised one hand. The axe hauntingly levered free from the cracked column and flew back to him. Xanthus calmly caught it in his palm. Violet flier blood ran down the axe’s handle, onto his hand.
“You bastard!” Faegan screamed. His eyes were bulging, and his face was red. He wheeled his chair closer. “How dare you! Why did it have to be a flier? Are you insane?”
His mind raging past rational thought, Faegan pushed his chair closer yet. The old wizard loved the fliers with all his heart. Now one had died unnecessarily at the hands of some endowed madman. For that Xanthus would pay.
“A moving target is the only true test of my skill,” Xanthus answered casually. “Cutting something in half as it travels through the air commands a certain degree of respect.” He looked back at the prince. “Youunderstand, don’t you, Jin’Sai?”
Faegan had reached the breaking point, and he impulsively raised his arms. Twin azure bolts left his hands to go screaming across the room toward Xanthus. Tristan felt the bolts’ searing heat as they narrowly missed him and continued on toward their target.
The twin strikes passed harmlessly through Xanthus’ body. Tristan watched in horror as they continued, unfettered.
Before the unsuspecting guests at the hall’s rear could react, Faegan’s bolts tore into them and they were blown off their feet, their bodies literally torn to shreds. Five died instantly. Many nearby cried out in agony from scalding burns. Other guests started to scream; some fainted away. Blood trails crawled their way across the black-and-white checkerboard floor.
Some guests instinctively tried to flee the room, but they found that the doors wouldn’t open. Tristan could only imagine that the Darkling had used the craft to lock them. Alarmed by the strange noises coming from the Great Hall, Minion sentries on the doors’ opposite sides called out in concern and started pounding on them. But Tristan understood that it didn’t matter how many warriors might barge into the room. If they threatened Xanthus, he would kill them all.
Without warning, the Darkling raised a skeletal hand. An azure bolt streaked from his palm to go flying straight toward Faegan.
The crippled wizard raised his arms in a try to ward it off, but he was too late. Xanthus’ bolt blew Faegan’s chair apart, throwing the wizard three meters into the air. Thrown rearward, Faegan crashed hard against Tristan’s empty chair, then finally landed atop the dais floor and didn’t move.
Wigg ran across the floor to his friend. Wasting no time, Jessamay, Abbey, Adrian, and Duvessa all hurried to the room’s other end, to see what might be done for the wounded guests.
His rage nearly overtaking him, Tristan glared angrily at the monster seated atop the black horse. He desperately wanted to go for his throwing knives, but he knew better than to try. Many surviving guests were cowering in the room’s corners. The air was smoky from Xanthus’ and Faegan’s bolts, and its charred scent harassed his senses. Pieces of Faegan’s chair lay scattered across the floor, some of them lying in pools of blood.
Looking up, Tristan saw that the remaining fliers had attached themselves to the ceiling corners in an attempt to keep from harm. His jaw hardened as he saw the blood from the dead guests’ mangled bodies approaching his boots.
Tristan removed his mask and dropped it to the floor. He looked back at Xanthus. The Darkling slowly lowered his arm. His glowing eyes confident, he smiled again.
“It is time for us to leave, Jin’Sai, ” he said. “Unless you want to see more of these puny humans die.”
“Is the crippled wizard dead?” Tristan demanded.
“I don’t know,” Xanthus answered. “Nor do I care. Your welfare is my only concern.”
Tristan looked back at Wigg. The First Wizard paused in his examination of Faegan to look at the prince and gravely shook his head.
“Give me a moment to consult with my Conclave,” he demanded.
“Very well,” Xanthus answered. “I grant you five of your world’s minutes.”
Taking Tyranny by the hand, Tristan walked her to the dais. Wigg was k
neeling over Faegan’s body. The First Wizard’s eyes were closed. His ten fingertips lay on either side of Faegan’s head. The lower half of Faegan’s robe was burned away, showing his hideously mangled legs.
Everyone knew better than to speak during Wigg’s examination, so they stayed silent. Finally Wigg removed his fingers from Faegan’s skull and opened his eyes. Desperately anxious for an answer, the others huddled nearer.
Tristan looked frantically into the First Wizard’s eyes. “Is he-”
“No,” Wigg whispered, hoping that Xanthus wouldn’t hear him. “Faegan lives, but barely. Xanthus’ bolt struck Faegan’s chair, but part of the bolt’s energy was transferred to Faegan’s body. His brain and nervous system are severely shocked, and his heartbeat is wildly irregular. If I can get him to the Redoubt, Jessamay and I might be able to save him. If not, he will die.”
Tristan turned to glare at Xanthus, then looked back at Wigg. “Something doesn’t make sense,” he said.
“What is that?” Shailiha asked.
“It’s obvious that Xanthus has attainedK’Shari, ” Tristan answered. “It is said that those possessing that discipline never miss. And yet, his bolt struck Faegan’s chair, so-”
“Xanthus never intended to kill him,” Tyranny interrupted. “But if he really was sent here by the Heretics, why didn’t they order him to destroy us all, right here and now?”
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered back. “There is far more to this than meets the eye. If Xanthus or the Heretics wanted me dead, I would be.” He looked into Shailiha’s face.
“It seems that there is only one way to find out,” he added gravely.
Shailiha vehemently shook her head. “No!” she exclaimed. “You mustn’t! I won’t let you! No one knows what that monstrosity has planned for you!”
“The princess is right, my lord!” Traax insisted. “There are at least one hundred male and female warriors in this room, most still carrying their dreggans! With one word from you, they will all attack Xanthus at once!”
A March into Darkness dobas-2 Page 9