“Are you telling me that right now-out there, somewhere-an army of the Ones is advancing on the Heretics?” Tristan asked.
Xanthus nodded. “There can be no other reason, save for one.”
“What might that be?” Tristan asked.
Again refusing to answer, Xanthus shook his head. Even so, Tristan was starting to understand-if only a little.
“When the Ones draw near, the Heretics summon the Borderlands,” Tristan mused. “Suddenly engulfed, the Ones are without their magic, and they perish from the elements.” He looked curiously at the Darkling. “If that is always the case, why do they continue to try?”
Xanthus shook his head. “You speak about such things like they were an everyday occurrence,” he said. “Remember, over tens of thousands of years, until now the Borderlands have been conjured only twice. Perhaps the Ones have discovered what they believe is a way to overcome the Borderlands. In any event, the timing bodes badly for us. It seems that we have arrived during another great campaign.”
“A place where magic exists, but its use is impossible,” Tristan said to himself. Suddenly understanding something else, he looked into Xanthus’ human face.
“That is why your human half shows, isn’t it?” he asked. “Here in the Borderlands, you can’t sustain your Darkling persona.” Tristan gave the Darkling a deadly looking smile. “If I chose to, I could kill you right now.”
“Yes, you could,” Xanthus answered calmly. “But you won’t, and we know why.”
Just then the wind picked up. Howling loudly, it sent more red dust into the cave, reminding them of what waited outside.
“Do the dust storms ever abate?” Tristan asked. “If so we would stand a far better chance.”
“I do not know,” Xanthus answered. “Like you, this is my first experience here.”
Thinking for a moment, Tristan became curious about something. “If no army of the Ones has ever successfully crossed the Borderlands, then how can we?” he asked. “Surely they would come far better prepared.”
“True,” Xanthus answered. “But we have an unexpected advantage that they never enjoyed.”
“What is that?”
“Remember what I said about our being propelled vast distances in the space of a single heartbeat?” Xanthus asked. “We moved through the azure fog for some time-too long, in fact. The Heretics granted me a unique Forestallment. It is designed to take me through the pass to the Eutracian side and also bring us back to them again-each action occurring in the twinkle of an eye. Instead, the azure fog imploded and we ended up here. I believe that was attributable to the Borderlands being summoned simultaneously to our journey. In effect, it blocked our way. We traveled an amazing distance-but not far enough. Through a quirk of fate, I believe that when we exited the fog we were already far across the Borderlands. If that is true, we may have already come much farther than the Ones’ armies ever have.”
“What caused us to exit the fog when we did?” Tristan asked.
“As the Borderlands formed, magic became increasingly ineffective. When the craft ceased to matter, my powers became inert. The result was that we had no more momentum. The azure fog imploded, leaving us somewhere in the Borderlands and short of our true destination.”
Disheartened, Tristan looked at the ground. Even during his darkest days fighting the Coven he had never felt so defeated. He was stranded in a nightmarish wasteland with a Heretical servant who possessed the Paragon. Worse, things would be building to a climax in Eutracia. He hoped that Shailiha had set sail for the Citadel by now. Whatevernow meant in this place, for it was clear that nothing could be taken for granted here in this monstrous construct. He looked back at the Darkling.
“Is time the same here?” he asked. “Is a day still a day, a year still a year?”
“I do not know,” Xanthus answered. “It is said that there is no day or night in the Borderlands. The Heretics designed it that way, to confuse and tire the enemy. If that is true then time cannot be measured, and has no meaning.”
Xanthus handed the canteen to the prince. “Take a small sip,” he said. “I will do the same.” Despite their grave circumstances, the Darkling managed a slight smile. “In this place where I cannot call on magic, we are finally on equal terms.”
Opening the canteen, Tristan drank. The life-giving water momentarily soothed his parched throat. He handed the canteen back to the Darkling so that Xanthus could do the same.
“We should sleep before journeying onward,” Xanthus said. “Then we will see.”
Tristan was forced to agree. Removing his weapons, he lay them on the ground within easy reach. He stretched out on the cave floor. Closing his eyes, he did his best to relax. Even so, because of the howling wind and the many questions worrying his mind, sleep was a long time in coming.
Once Tristan slumbered, Xanthus walked around the bend and stared out the cave entrance. To his dismay everything about the raging Borderlands was the same. Sighing, he looked to the ground.
My masters did not foresee this, he thought. Why would they, when the last Borderlands appearance was more than two thousand centuries ago? But now, all might be lost because of one unforeseen coincidence in time. I must get the Jin’Saito safety! The craft’s future depends on it! But if the Ones are on the march, it could change everything.
Xanthus turned away from the Borderlands and walked back into the cave.
CHAPTER XXV
“I NEED THOSE SHIPS READY TO SAIL!” SHAILIHA SAID. Scowling, she stared across the table.
“Every day we wait, Serena grows stronger!” the princess added. “If the spell granting Forestallments to endowed blood can be found in the Scroll of the Vagaries, our mission to the Citadel is even more urgent than before!”
Calming herself, Shailiha took another sip of tea. It was strong and hot-just the way she liked it. She was sitting in her private quarters. Before retiring the night before, she had asked Wigg, Faegan, Abbey, and Adrian to join her for breakfast. There were things she wanted to discuss without conducting a full-blown Conclave meeting.
Hearing Morganna call her, she looked down. Her daughter had started walking, her pudgy legs taking her across the floor faster than the princess ever thought possible. Shailiha watched as the child turned to waddle back toward her. Like her mother, Morganna was bright and inquisitive, her eyes always drinking in the world’s wonders. With a nod from the princess, Shawna the Short scooped up the toddler, then took her from the room.
It was early morning. The dawn had broken clear and bright, its golden rays streaming in through the open balcony doors. Despite the lovely day, a sense of gloom seemed to dishearten everyone, and the magnificent breakfast Shawna had brought remained largely untouched.
Shailiha looked across the table at Adrian. Because of the princess’s outburst, an apologetic look commanded the First Sister’s face. Shailiha reached out to touch the acolyte’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you that way. I suppose it’s because I’m so worried about Tristan. I feel powerless as we wait to sail, and it’s driving me mad. I believe theJin’Sai was right-Serena has much to do with his disappearance. The Citadel must be taken soon.”
“I understand, Your Highness,” Adrian answered. “Rest assured that the acolytes I have chosen are nearly trained. The delay is my fault. I know we should be ready, but I realized that we would need more than six sisters. Just give me two more days, and the others will be trained.”
Wigg put down his fork and wiped his mouth, then looked across the table at Adrian. The First Wizard respected her immensely, but this was the first time he had heard about needing extra acolytes to empower the Black Ships.
“There are only six vessels,” he said. “Why have you decided that we will need more than six acolytes?”
“There are two reasons,” Adrian answered. “First, we must cross the sea without using Faegan’s portal. The ships are too large. The last time he tried, Faegan could barely tr
ansport Tyranny’s lesser frigates. When I explained my concerns to him, he agreed. We concluded that the Black Ships must sail part of the way to the Citadel atop the waves because the sisters will tire. It will mean a slower trip, but there it is.”
“What is the other reason?” Shailiha asked.
Picking up her teacup, Adrian thoughtfully cupped it in one palm. “Attrition,” she answered grimly. “I understand that Wigg and Jessamay will be accompanying us. Even so, if we lose more than two acolytes in battle, I will need other craft practitioners to take up the slack. The last thing we want is to leave Black Ships behind for Serena to capture and turn against us.”
Shailiha was impressed. Looking at the others, she saw that they were equally glad to have the young acolyte in their midst. Smiling, Abbey leaned over to place her lips near Wigg’s ear.
“That little scenario escaped you, didn’t it, old man?” she asked chidingly. “It’s a good thing there are some intelligent women around to advise you two wizards! Only the Afterlife knows how an all-male Directorate managed to operate for so long!”
Abbey’s words had not escaped Faegan. He cackled a bit, then winced from his burns. Pushing his tongue against an inner cheek, Wigg sighed.
“Except for training the extra acolytes, are the ships ready to sail?” Shailiha asked.
“Yes,” Adrian answered. “As you already know, Tyranny’s crewmembers have returned to their civilian lives.”
Shailiha understood. Several days before the Darkling’s appearance, at Tyranny’s suggestion Tristan had issued an order. Tyranny’s crewmembers had been released from service, then replaced with Minion troops.
Because so many warriors had been lost in past campaigns, Tristan had at first rejected the privateer’s suggestion. But then she’d reminded him that her crewmembers were volunteers, who could quit at any time. Their ranks were already thinning. Besides, Tyranny added, the Minions handled the Black Ships equally well if not better than her men-not to mention that they had vastly superior fighting skills. Tristan had finally agreed.
During the last few days, Tyranny had not only been overseeing the ships’ provisioning, but had also been selecting the warriors who would crew the vessels. Scars, her loyal first mate, would remain by his captain’s side. Before bidding her crew good-bye, Tyranny had given each one a handsome bonus. The ceremony had been tearful.
It had also been decided that while at sea Tyranny would command the vessels-provided Shailiha concurred with her orders. The attack on the Citadel would fall under Shailiha’s direction. Every Conclave member save for Tristan, Abbey, and Faegan would be sailing with them.
“What about the Necrophagians?” Shailiha asked the table at large. “We will surely pass through their territory. When we meet them they will demand the usual forty dead bodies before we can cross. I simply refuse to ask the Minions to train to the death to provide payment, as we have done before.”
“I am hoping that we acolytes will be able to fly the Back Ships high enough so that the Necrophagians will not be able to reach us,” Adrian answered. “But that theory remains untested. We will know once we arrive.”
Two more days, the princess thought. Then we go to the Citadel. It is such a secret, foreboding place. I pray that this time we will find the answers we seek. After taking another sip of tea, she looked at Faegan.
“Have you learned anything more about your new Forestallment?” she asked.
His expression thoughtful, the crippled wizard placed his palms flat on the tabletop. “Yes and no,” he answered. “Although I can use the index easily, as you know, the scroll does not mention the formula needed to install the spells into endowed blood. I employed my Consummate Recollection to discover whether the Tome mentions it. It does not. With each passing day I become more convinced that the formula was written on the scroll section that was burned away. Having all these Forestallment formulas at my fingertips but being unable to use them is maddening! If we are right about the other scroll and you can bring it home, our abilities will be enhanced beyond description.”
A thought came to the princess. Her expression suddenly keen, she leaned across the table.
“Xanthus commands the craft,” she mused. “He said that if Tristan agreed to accompany him through the pass, they would travel great distances in the space of a single heartbeat. It’s entirely possible that his Heretic masters granted him the ability to safely cross over and back by Forestallment, is it not?” Suddenly realizing her logic’s full ramifications, she gazed hard at the wizard.
“Does the Vigors scroll index refer to such a spell?” she asked.
Smiling broadly, Faegan laced his fingers. “I thought you’d never ask,” he answered softly. “It does indeed.”
For several moments no one spoke. Wigg found his voice first. “Do you mean to say that-”
“That’sexactly what I mean,” Faegan interjected. “If you can bring me the spell making Forestallments usable, we might be able to safely enter the pass, then follow Xanthus, should he lead Tristan into its depths. Moreover, we might finally conquer the Tolenka Mountains-provided the Vigors orb cut its way through to the other side before returning to Eutracia. But the truly intriguing question is why a Heretic servant would provide us with the Vigors scroll index. It simply makes no sense.”
Insistent pounding suddenly came on the door. Shailiha turned.
“Enter!” she called out.
The doors parted to show two Minions. Between them they supported a stricken warrior. It was Traax. He appeared to be unconscious. Shailiha quickly beckoned the warriors to bring him into the room.
Traax seemed near death. His body was soaked with sweat and his wings drooped so weakly that they dragged across the floor. Traax’s eyes were closed and his head lolled uselessly on his chest.
“Put him on the bed!” Wigg shouted.
The warriors quickly obeyed. Hurrying over, Shailiha looked down at the unconscious warrior. For the first time she saw the ruby pin attached to his body armor. Like her brother, she understood its meaning.
“How did this happen?” she demanded of the two warriors.
“We watched him tumble from the sky to the palace courtyard,” one warrior answered. “He struck the ground with such force that I find it hard to believe he still lives. Even so, we could find no broken bones. We immediately sought out your guidance.”
“Bring Duvessa here at once!” Shailiha ordered the warriors. After clicking their heels, the Minions ran from the room.
Everyone crowded around the bed. Wigg placed a palm on Traax’s forehead. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the First Wizard seemed encouraged.
“He will live,” Wigg said. “But he suffers from extreme exhaustion and dehydration. We need to bring him back to consciousness quickly. If he remains this way much longer he might never return.”
Wigg turned to Abbey. “Do you have anything that might help?” he asked. “I would prefer to use the craft only as a last resort.”
Hurrying back to the table, Abbey took up her herbmistress’s satchel. After rummaging through the bag she produced a vial, then hurried back. Reaching out, Faegan took it from her, then held it to the light. There were several bright green leaves imprisoned inside. He looked up at Abbey.
“Fresh nosegay?” he asked. Abbey nodded. “A good choice,” Faegan said.
He handed the vial to Wigg. “This should work,” he said. “If not, you will need to summon the craft.”
Holding the vial at arm’s length, Wigg unscrewed its top. The First Wizard coughed. Even at that distance the leaves’ odor was potent. He gently held it under Traax’s nose.
With a great start, the warrior coughed loudly then gasped for air. After thrashing about a bit he finally calmed. “I live to serve…,” he said absently then collapsed again.
“Once more,” Faegan said.
Wigg returned the bottle to Traax’s nostrils. Groaning, the warrior sat up and angrily waved the bottle away. His eyes opened. Wig
g smiled.
“Welcome back,” he said. “For several moments you had us worried.”
“Water…,” Traax said weakly.
Abbey went to the table, then returned with a glass. Snatching it from her hands, Traax started drinking greedily. After finishing he lay down on the bed.
“TheJin’Sai, ” he said softly. “I saw him.”
“Where?” Shailiha asked urgently. “Was it at the pass?”
Traax nodded. “Xanthus was still with him. They materialized out of nowhere. Tristan ordered us to surrender. He said that he had no choice but to go with Xanthus through the pass or more citizens would die. I watched them disappear into the azure wall.”
Her heart breaking, Shailiha looked away. After a time she looked back at Traax. “What else can you tell us?” she asked.
“The first warrior group sent to guard the pass was killed by Xanthus,” Traax answered. “We found their bodies scattered everywhere. I’m sure they died like the heroes they were.”
“Is there anything else?” Wigg asked.
Traax nodded. “Tristan said he would do everything in his power to return to us, but that we must attack the Citadel soon-with or without him. He said to tell the princess that he loves her. Should Shailiha die, command over the Minions and the Conclave goes to the wizards. I returned alone. The remaining warriors continue to watch the pass.”
The room went quiet again. As Wigg thought about Tristan being taken to the Heretics, he momentarily closed his eyes.
“There’s something else,” Traax added. Reaching beneath his body armor, he produced Tristan’s black ball mask. Shailiha recognized it immediately. The warrior handed it to her.
“Tristan wanted you to have that,” Traax said. “He said that Xanthus forced him to wear it while the Darkling committed his atrocities.”
Tears started running down Shailiha’s cheeks. Turning away, she held the mask to her breast and walked onto the balcony. Abbey started to go to her, but Wigg stopped her with a shake of his head.
“I know that one better than you ever will,” he said softly. “Give her a moment alone.” Abbey nodded.
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