Shailiha rose to walk to the crib. She put down the baby and then turned back to the wizards. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.” She pursed her lips into a slight, mischievous smile.
This is the Shailiha I used to know, Wigg thought. “And what confession would that be?” he asked sternly, placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robes.
“I asked him to visit the graves for me,” she answered. “If he is not here in the Redoubt, then that is no doubt where you will find him.”
“The graves?” Faegan asked, looking up at Wigg. His jaw hardened a bit. It was clear by the look on his face that he had just realized that there were yet more secrets he didn’t know—and Faegan was the type who liked to tease others with mysteries, rather than the reverse. So much had happened in Eutracia without him, during his self-imposed exile in Shadowood—so much tragedy that he’d been unable to prevent, or even deal with. Since he had returned to Tammerland, it seemed as if he’d resolved to make up for lost time. “Whose graves?” he demanded sharply.
“Those of the wizards of the Directorate and the royal family,” Wigg answered softly. He rubbed his chin with one hand, remembering the night when the prince had sat on his heels before the fresh graves. Tristan had remained there a long time, motionless in both the darkness and the rain, and had finally used one of his dirks to cut an incision into each of his palms. Squeezing the blood down and out over the fresh, soft mounds of earth, he had sworn an oath to find and return his sister.
“We can only hope that he comes back soon,” Wigg said, worry showing on his craggy face. Looking back into the eyes of the princess, he said, “The truth is that we need you both very badly right now. Every moment he is away worsens the situation.”
Shailiha had always been able to discern when Wigg was worried. A short pang of guilt went through her—a result of having asked Tristan to do something that was apparently dangerous, coupled with the fact that there was obviously something the two wizards had not told her. “What happened?” she asked softly.
Faegan started to speak, but another knock came upon the door. Shannon appeared in the doorway, the consul Joshua standing obediently behind him. “I have brought the consul, as you requested,” the gnome said, blowing a whiff of smoke out the bowl of his corncob pipe.
“Thank you, Shannon,” Faegan answered. “You may go. Joshua, please come and join us.”
As Shannon retreated into the hallway, Joshua walked into the room. Upon seeing the princess, he was clearly taken aback. “Your Highness!” he exclaimed, bowing slightly.
“Princess Shailiha, may I present Joshua, of the House of Linton,” Wigg said. “He was one of the consuls I sent out to destroy the screaming harpies and blood stalkers, just before the attack by the Coven. He has returned to us by the skin of his teeth, and with an amazing tale to tell.”
Shailiha took in the tall, sandy-haired man in the dark blue robe, noticing his strong jaw and hazel eyes. He was a bit on the thin side, and his right arm was wrapped in a sling.
Joshua walked to her and bowed again, took one of her hands and kissed the back of it lightly. “Your Highness,” he repeated softly. “The pleasure is mine.” He straightened up, calmly looking into her eyes.
“And what is this story that so intrigues the wizards?” she asked him with real interest.
At a nod from Faegan, Joshua began to tell the princess of the loss of his squad, and of finding the other group of consuls. He explained being attacked by the giant birds of prey, and how the others had been taken away. Shailiha listened intently, her face darkening as the story progressed.
Despite the incredible tale, though, she surmised that this was not what the wizards had come to discuss with her. Shailiha sensed that whatever they wanted to tell her would be for her ears only. She decided not to be inquisitive in the presence of the consul unless Wigg or Faegan offered to speak of it first.
“I hope I have not frightened you with all of this,” Joshua said earnestly. “But the wizards and I believe the threat from these creatures to be very real, and I only hope that a way can be found to deal with them.”
Indeed, Shailiha thought. She could remember her father, the king, as he sat in his great chair in the Chamber of Supplication, where he met with citizens who had special concerns or favors to ask. Sometimes he had taken her with him to those meetings, allowing her to sit quietly by his side with the wizards as he dealt with the problems that were brought to him.
“Someday this responsibility, along with many others, shall belong to your brother,” he had said. “And there may be times when he will seek out your advice.” But the princess had not understood him then. Now her thoughts went to Tristan, and she bit her lower lip in concern.
“We have assigned Joshua to the Redoubt libraries, to research anything that might be useful in discovering more about these flying creatures,” Wigg told her. “But nothing has turned up yet. These beings remain a mystery, as do so many other things.
“There is much to tell you, Your Highness,” he continued rather sadly. “We not only have a great many challenges to face, but we also find that there is now a distinctly limited amount of time with which to deal with them. But to better explain our concerns to you, we would prefer to retire to another room. Due to your inexperience in the craft, this problem must be actually seen with your own two eyes for you to truly understand it.”
Seeing the concern in both of their faces, she immediately agreed. “Of course,” she said. Reaching to a nearby table, Shailiha picked up the sling that the gnome wives had made for her and donned it. Then she lifted Morganna from her crib, and gently placed her into the sling. The baby cooed softly.
Wigg went to door. Morganna cradled closely before her, the princess followed the two wizards and the consul down the great hallways of the Redoubt.
CHAPTER
Ten
Nicholas hovered several feet above the stone floor of the chamber, surrounded by the powerful glow radiating outward from his body. The simple, white robe he usually wore was gone, his muscular, perfect form naked and glistening in the light. Since he had last come here his smooth, black hair had grown slightly longer, his demeanor more mature. He was now the equivalent of approximately fourteen New Seasons of Life.
It was time for him to glean yet more power from the vein. Rising higher into the air, he closed his eyes fully. Lost in the ecstasy of the craft, he began to revolve slowly in the azure light. He shuddered slightly as he stretched his arms out in supplication, welcoming the dynamism he so badly needed. His parents of the Afterlife had called upon him to perform this act today, and he would not fail them.
His body began to shudder more violently with the power, his mouth turning up into a strange, constricted smile of both pleasure and pain. The vein in the walls pulsated more vigorously now with a deep, undulating presence. Very gradually, the glow reached blinding proportions. As its vibrancy increased, Nicholas turned faster and faster in the air, the light from the vein screaming all about the chamber.
And then the vein running through the walls began to bleed out onto the floor of the cave into pools of azure, glowing liquid.
The shimmering puddles undulated with the immense power of the craft. Then slowly, hauntingly, they slithered toward one another, gathering into a larger pool that seethed and writhed with a life of its own. Finally revolving into a whirlpool, it rose slowly into the air just below the boy.
The whirling maelstrom finally stopped turning. With a great cracking sound, it converted itself into bolts of pure energy, shooting upward toward the boy’s body, striking his naked skin over and over again.
Nicholas twirled frantically in midair, screaming aloud, as his body absorbed the ecstasy of the craft—both the Vigors and the Vagaries alike. On and on the azure bolts came, as if they would never end. And then, almost as suddenly as they had begun, they stopped, and the glow of the craft receded.
Immediately he fell to the floor, crashing hard. He stood slowly upo
n trembling legs, head lowered like an animal. His breathing was ragged and labored, his body bathed in sweat. Finally lifting his head up, he smiled and raised each of his hands, turning up his palms and curling his fingers. Waves of dynamism began coursing back and forth between his palms, and he laughed aloud, reveling in the increase of the pure, unadulterated power he now possessed and the fact that there was still so much more to come. Eventually he lowered his hands and began to speak aloud, even though there was no one in the chamber to hear him. His naked body continued to glisten in the glow of the light.
“Chosen One,” he whispered softly, “my father of this world, you of the azure blood, it will soon be time. Time for you to learn the true reasons for my coming. That day you shall be at my feet, begging for both your own life and the life of your nation.” He paused for a moment, gliding slowly across the short distance to where the vein, seemingly undiminished, ran through solid rock. Lovingly, he ran his hands across its surface, watching it undulate within the hewn stone that imprisoned it.
“You should not have freed me that day, my father,” he continued softly. “For you allowed me to escape both the womb of my sorceress mother and also eventually be released from the common, inferior trappings of this lower, lesser world. It was you, Chosen One, who allowed me to rise to the heights of the Afterlife, and discover my other parents in their omnipotence. Your tears will be great when you learn that the downfall of all you cherish and protect was your doing, and yours alone. Your nation is about to hear a cry such as it has never known, even with the coming of the sorceresses.”
He lay his feverish brow against the cool, pulsing vein. “Your consuls are quickly becoming mine, as is your craft of magic, Father. Soon they shall both join me in my struggle, as shall my hatchlings and yet others of my invention. Only near the end of your life, Chosen One, shall I grant you the true, undeniable knowledge of my existence—I, who embody the unexpected survival of your seed.”
Nicholas turned away from the pulsing vein and floated out of the chamber. The glow of the craft followed him, eventually vanishing from the room.
CHAPTER
Eleven
Tristan approached the hidden entrance to the tunnel slowly and carefully. The dead consul lay across his horse’s back; the bloody parchment and the poem it contained were tucked snugly beneath the prince’s black leather vest.
Finding the special boulder, he reached out and touched the spot on it that the wizards had specially infused with the craft. The giant piece of granite slowly rolled away, revealing the darkness of the tunnel beyond. He walked Pilgrim into the tunnel, then touched yet another spot on the inside wall and watched the massive stone roll back into place before touching one of the pale green stones lining the length of the tunnel roof. A soft, ephemeral sage glow immediately illuminated the entire way back to the Redoubt.
He dismounted and pulled the body off of Pilgrim. He removed the dark blue robe he was wearing, then dressed the dead consul in it to give the deceased man a modicum of decency. Both the neat, small hole and the ghastly, empty eye socket stared abjectly up at him.
With a great heave, he lifted the body back onto Pilgrim.
When he finally reached the tunnel’s end, he pulled the body down and left it by the door into the Redoubt. He wished to place the consul in what had once been his father’s private chamber, the room the king had reserved for meetings requiring the greatest secrecy. The odds of it being used at this hour of the day seemed slim. After taking Pilgrim to the underground stables and securing him there, Tristan went back to the body, hoisted it over his back, and walked to the room he had chosen.
Wigg, Faegan, Joshua, and Shailiha, Morganna in her arms, were sitting at his father’s long meeting table in midconversation when he walked in unannounced, the dead consul over his back. Upon seeing the dead man Shailiha immediately wrapped her arms tighter around her baby. The wizards were obviously surprised, but remained calm. They turned to look at each other’s reaction as the prince laid the body down on the couch along the wall.
Knowing he had a great deal of explaining to do, Tristan then turned back to the wizards. He started to speak, but Wigg quickly raised one of his hands, stopping him before he could start.
“We already know you were gone last night, and we also know the reason why,” he said in that casual, yet somehow all-knowing way of his. Shailiha set her jaw slightly in defiance. “But what we don’t know is why you have an obviously dead man in a consul’s robe with you.” Wigg stood and approached the body.
Faegan wheeled his chair closer, while Shailiha rose to join her brother. “Are you all right?” she whispered.
Tristan’s first reaction was to realize that his sister was finally free of her torment by the Coven. A new strength and sense of personality radiated from her. It was a look he had not seen since that awful day on the dais, when their whole world had collapsed. Tears started to form in his eyes, and he put his arms around her. Between them, Morganna wriggled slightly.
“They’ve finally done it, haven’t they, Shai?” he asked joyfully. Still holding her by the shoulders, he gently pushed her away from him so that he might look into her face. “You’re finally free?”
“Yes.” She smiled back. “The wizards have cured me.”
He kissed her cheek, bent to kiss Morganna’s downy head, and then turned back to where Faegan and Wigg were intently examining the wounds in the dead man’s head.
“Is this the way you found him?” Faegan asked him bluntly.
“Yes,” Tristan answered, walking over to the two wizards. “He was already dead. The wound in his forehead looks like one from an arrow, but it seems too small for that. As for the missing eye, there is a little more to the story.”
“Such as?” Wigg asked.
Tristan beckoned for everyone to sit down at the table. Then he removed the bloody parchment from his vest, unrolled it, and laid it out so that the others could read it at once. After they had finished, Shailiha looked a little green, and the two wizards became lost within their own respective thoughts. Joshua said nothing. For several moments the only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fireplace and the purring of Faegan’s ever-present cat. Finally, Wigg broke the silence.
“Joshua,” he asked the consul as he pointed to the body on the other side of the room, “did you know this man?”
“No,” Joshua answered sadly. “But he certainly seems to have come to a terrible end.”
Faegan studied the poem closely. “This is more than mere boasting,” he said softly. “This is also a challenge to Tristan to come and find whoever did this. It is clear that someone wants to confront him, and they have begun that process by killing the consuls. Or at least this particular one. This entire act was designed to taunt the prince.”
Tristan removed his dreggan and its baldric from over his right shoulder and hung them on the back of his chair. “And they succeeded,” he said angrily. His face had gone dark. “I do not plan to let this challenge go unheeded. Whoever has done this must pay.”
Shailiha stared at her brother intently, almost as if she were looking at him for the first time. She had never seen him so clearly determined. She had very little memory of her time with the Coven, and before that the brother she had known had been much more carefree and irresponsible. But the Tristan who sat before her now had become a much more focused, mature warrior, and the difference in him impressed her.
He truly is the Chosen One, she realized. But he is still impulsive. And with that, at least, I can be of help. She gently placed one of her hands upon his and said, “Before you do anything, Brother, you need to hear what it is the wizards have to say. Much has happened of which you are still unaware, and it may change your perception of things.”
Seeing the calming effect she had over Tristan, Wigg smiled to himself. He cleared his throat. “Before that,” he said, “I still have some questions. First of all, on a personal note, were the graves undisturbed?”
“Yes,” Tri
stan answered. He smiled sadly at Shailiha.
“And do you think,” Wigg asked, “that the death of this consul and the appearance of Joshua’s flying creatures are related?”
Tristan reached out to the large, silver pot of morning tea on the table, poured himself a cup, and took a deep draught. He narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment.
“That is impossible to say at this time,” he said at last. “Clearly neither of these acts was random, and both had to do with the consuls. But that does not necessarily mean that they are related.”
“Where did you find him?” Faegan asked.
“At the entrance to the palace,” Tristan answered. “Just in front of the drawbridge.”
Faegan looked at Wigg, the two of them apparently coming to the same conclusion. “Given the existence of the poem, does that tell you anything?” Faegan asked the prince.
Tristan knew they were testing him. “The answer to that is simple,” he said. “First, whoever wrote the poem knows I am back in Eutracia. That was a secret we tried very hard to keep, but it still seems to have leaked out somehow. And second, it is obvious that they believe we are hiding somewhere in the palace, for that is where they placed the dead consul.”
“Precisely,” said Wigg, his right index finger in the air.
“Is there anything else about your little trip to the outside world we should know?” Faegan asked, spearing the prince with his gray-green gaze.
Looking over to Shailiha, Tristan thought for a moment. He briefly considered telling the wizards of the woman he had rescued from suicide, but for reasons even he did not fully understand, he decided not to speak of it. “No,” he said simply. “Nothing of importance.” Shailiha wrinkled up her nose at him, tacitly telling him that she knew better.
She could always tell, he thought happily. She truly is back.
“Very well,” Wigg said, his eyebrow high in the air. He didn’t completely believe Tristan, but he was willing to let it go for the moment.
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