“Many times we sent you requests for help by way of the enchanted pigeons.” He stopped for a moment, obviously perplexed. “Did the birds not arrive in Shadowood, as they should have? We stopped sending them out when the first ones did not return, since we began to fear for their safety and they are known to be very rare.”
Geldon’s heart sang. He had thought his beloved pigeons lost. How he had mourned them!
He had repeatedly risked his life to release them with messages to Faegan. When Kluge and his Minions had ransacked the Ghetto looking for any of the prince’s conspirators, the Minion commander had destroyed the aviary. To now discover that some of the birds had survived was news that the dwarf had never expected. The ones that had been sent to Shadowood must still be there, as the gnomes would not have known what to do with them or how to contact Faegan in the Redoubt. He could only hope they were being well cared for.
“The ones that remained here—where are they now?” he asked, trying to contain his glee.
“In the aviary, of course,” Rufus responded, still confused. “It was one of the first buildings we reconstructed upon the orders of our new lord.”
But before the dwarf could express his desire to see the new aviary, a cloud seemed to gather above, blotting out the sun. Geldon and Joshua heard a great rustling of wings and looked up to see several hundred Minion warriors flying overhead in pairs, each pair carrying between them some kind of litter. Geldon turned to the consul with questioning eyes, and then looked back up to the hundreds of flying Minions.
“What do they carry?” Joshua asked.
“These warriors are bringing us provisions,” Rufus answered. “Traax, the acting Minion commander, has regular shipments sent in from his base at the Recluse, just north of here.”
The consul and the dwarf watched in awe as the Minions wheeled and careened above them, then finally soared down. Flying very low to the ground they dropped their precious cargoes, then climbed back to the sky. When they were done, a giant mound of food and other supplies lay in the middle of the square.
The aviary would have to wait. It was Traax they most needed to see, and Geldon thought he had just found the fastest way to get there.
“Rufus,” he said, turning to the Minion officer, “can you command them to take us to our next destination?”
The Minion smiled. “Of course.” He immediately walked into the square beneath the circling warriors and motioned them down. Selecting two pairs of them and ordering them to stay, he sent the others back into the sky to wait.
“I wish them to take us to the Recluse,” Geldon said. He turned to the consul, seeing distinct horror on the younger man’s face. It was obvious that Joshua did not like this idea at all.
“Uh, er, isn’t there any other way to do this?” the consul stammered. “Can’t we just ride horses to the Recluse?”
“Look around you,” Geldon said impatiently, “and tell me how many horses you see here. Given the fact that they can fly, the Minions have very little use for them. Besides, it is a hard two-hour ride with horses. The other choice is a long four-day walk. So which do you prefer, eh? The walk of several days, or a free ride of only several moments?” Confident that his logic was inescapable, he stood defiantly before the apprehensive consul.
“There is another reason one should not travel across this land on foot,” Rufus said, a serious look darkening his face.
“And that would be?” Geldon asked.
“I think it better that you ask Commander Traax that question,” Rufus answered cryptically.
Geldon wondered what the Minion officer wasn’t telling him, but decided not to make an issue of it. Climbing aboard one of the empty litters, he beckoned the fearful consul to enter the other.
“Is there anything you would like me to tell Traax?” Geldon asked as he grasped the sides of the litter.
He heard Rufus let out a great belly laugh. Turning, Geldon saw that Joshua was only holding onto the litter with one hand, desperately covering both his eyes with the other.
“Just that it has been a most interesting morning,” Rufus shouted back.
That is something I can certainly agree with, Geldon thought as the litters began to ascend.
In mere moments, they were aloft.
CHAPTER
Fourteen
The rose-colored light from the three Eutracian moons shone down brightly on the riders as they made their way along the narrow, familiar trail. They were heading up into the hills of the Hartwick Woods. The night was cold. The dew upon the fallen leaves and grasses of the forest floor had crystallized; the horses’ hooves crunched quietly down into the twinkling, silver prisms of water and light. The pine-scent somehow cleansed everything in that strange, yet familiar way only it could. These woods seemed to be the catalyst for so much that had happened in his life, Tristan mused. There was magic here. He could always feel its presence in this place as he could in no other—except, perhaps, the Caves. He drew a breath, reminding himself that the peaceful scene before him clearly belied the sad state of his beleaguered nation.
The prince, Shannon, and the wizard had taken consuls’ robes with them to fend off the cold and to disguise themselves should they encounter anyone upon the same path. But the likelihood of such a thing was not great. Tristan had therefore, to the intense but blessedly silent scowling of Wigg, removed his robe and tied it to the back of his saddle. He had no intention of not being able to reach for either his dreggan or his dirks—especially in light of the terrible news he had received regarding his status as a wanted man.
The three of them had spoken little since their departure from the Redoubt. Except for Shannon, of course, who seemed even more talkative than usual. Tristan knew that this was because the little man was frightened, and he really couldn’t blame him. But he would have preferred that the gnome be quieter. Shannon occasionally drank from his ever-present ale jug, raising objections from Wigg, who had never approved of the gnomes.
Perhaps Wigg could be distracted. Tristan spurred Pilgrim a little to come up alongside the wizard’s mare, just out of earshot of the gnome.
Turning to look at the lead wizard’s craggy profile, Tristan asked, “Wigg, may I ask you a personal question?”
Wigg did not look at him, instead keeping his attention directed into the darkness that lay before them. Tristan knew that the wizard would be trying to stay alert for the presence of endowed blood, such as that of a stalker.
“Given your impulsive nature, the asking is guaranteed,” Wigg replied calmly. “The answering, however, is not. Especially when the question is of a personal nature.”
Tristan thought to himself for a moment.
“How was it that you first met Failee?” he asked courteously, half holding his breath as he wondered whether the old one would answer him. He had been shocked to his very core to learn that Failee, first mistress of the Coven, had at one time been Wigg’s wife. There had never been any inkling of this fact until finally reaching Parthalon and bringing back Shailiha and the Paragon. And Wigg had never spoken of it since.
Wigg took a very long stream of evening air in through his nostrils, finally letting it out slowly. Tristan could virtually feel the wizard’s consciousness flowing back through three hundred years of time as the old one sorted through the kaleidoscope of his memories.
“That was a long time ago,” Wigg began, “and things were much different then. Eutracia was not as she is now—or should I say, the way she was before the reappearance of the Coven. Magic was still in its infancy, for we had not yet found the Caves, the Paragon, or the Tome. Women were allowed to learn the craft. For the most part an equal, if not always harmonious relationship between the genders had been struck regarding the use of magic. Unfortunately, however, it did not last. The balance of power went briefly to the women, just as Failee started her revolution.”
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked.
“What I mean is there was no monarchy, no Royal Guard, and very few for
mal laws. Birth records were not kept. Marriages were often prearranged. As you can imagine, this often added to the resentment some of the people felt—especially the young endowed. I can’t say I blame them. Arranged marriages are a barbaric custom, one that was outlawed after the war.” He paused for a moment, shifting slightly in his saddle and gathering his thoughts.
“Anyway,” he continued, “as I said, the Paragon had yet to be discovered. Still, what magic there was ruled the land, not law. It was vitally important that no faction of endowed blood gain a stranglehold over any other. That is why the monarchy was created, and why the wizards eventually imposed the death enchantments upon themselves, to keep them from practicing the Vagaries. In this manner the sovereign would not need to concern himself that the hunger for total power would again erupt among the endowed. We could no longer take that chance after the sorceresses’ failed civil war.” Wigg pursed his lips in thought for a moment.
“However,” he added, “the newly formed Directorate, no matter how brilliant its members eventually proved to be, was not without its mistakes. I now believe that our prohibition against women being trained in the craft was an unnecessary, gender-driven overreaction to the agonies of the war. But, for right or wrong, the custom was ultimately accepted.”
Tristan thought for a moment. “That’s how you and Failee met, isn’t it?” he asked quietly. “Your marriage was arranged.”
“Yes.” The wizard sighed, smiling slightly. “Failee’s blood was very highly endowed, as is mine, of course. She was beautiful and brilliant. But then her madness set in, and she began to turn. She left me and founded the group of sorceresses who ultimately chose the Vagaries as their weapon, and would later lay such waste to the land.”
Tristan vividly remembered Failee. She truly had been a beauty, just as Wigg said, with an hourglass figure and deeply lustrous, hazel eyes. He could easily understand the attraction the young wizard of the time would have felt for her, arranged marriage or not.
“And there were no children,” Tristan said softly.
“No, there were not,” Wigg replied rather sadly. “We were not together very long. After the war, I often wondered if she had been purposely keeping herself barren. Perhaps it was the madness, or perhaps she had come to hate me so much that she couldn’t bear the thought of ever having my child. I suppose I will never truly know. Like so many things of those days, the dust now lies so deep upon my memories that it is difficult to see things for what they really were.”
Saying no more, Wigg altered their path a bit, and the prince realized that the wizard intended to make a detour to the grave sites. Tristan was pleased. Wigg had never visited the place since that fateful day he and Tristan had first buried the bodies, and the prince hoped that by going there, the wizard’s heart would be comforted as his had been. Perhaps it had been this talk of the past that had prompted his decision. Or perhaps Wigg had wanted to go there since the determination had been made to visit the Caves. But as far as the prince was concerned, Wigg’s personal reasons were just that.
Tristan turned around to check on the gnome and found him falling behind. Shannon’s robe was several sizes too large and his face peeked out from its depths as though he were hiding in a cave. The gnome was clearly quite tipsy. He slid around drunkenly in his saddle, which was far too big for his little bottom, trying to maintain his balance. He waved one hand at the prince, then almost fell off, grabbing the pommel and righting himself at the last moment. He hadn’t spilled a drop of the precious ale. Beaming proudly, he raised the jug in triumph.
“That’s enough!” Tristan hissed. “I can’t have you unable to find your way back! I want you to put the jug down now!”
Glowering at the prince from the depths of the hood, the irascible little man did as Tristan asked. He rather defiantly corked the jug, then awkwardly tied it to the back of his saddle. Wigg turned to smirk at the prince in obvious agreement. Then they approached the clearing that marked the area of the graves.
Wigg’s expression took on a sad darkness as he stopped his mare and dismounted. He took a deep breath, looking out into the clearing. Finally he walked slowly to stand by the graves, the rose-colored moonlight casting his larger-than-life shadow across the deep grass.
Tristan brought Pilgrim to a quiet stop at the clearing’s edge. I have already had my own quiet reflections in this place, he thought. He touched the medallion that lay round his neck. It is now time to let the wizard have his.
Shannon finally caught up and saw the robed figure of Wigg in the clearing. The wizard’s head was bent down, and his silent presence was surrounded by the silver prisms of frost that lay upon the forest floor like scattered, rose-colored diamonds. Shannon for once remained blessedly silent.
As Wigg stood there in the moonlight, Tristan could not help but again be reminded of the woman he had met here. The memory of the myrrh in her hair came back to him.
Who in the name of the Afterlife was she? he wondered. I cannot remember ever seeing a woman as beautiful. Not even Narissa, the Gallipolai of Parthalon.
He knew in his heart that he would never see the mysterious stranger again. She would no doubt find some other way to take her life before that could ever happen. Perhaps she was dead already. She had seemed so determined to end it all, her demeanor suggesting she had experienced a great deal of pain in her life. He shook his head a bit, thinking of what a waste her death would be.
Finally walking out of the clearing, Wigg remounted his mare. Without saying anything to each other the three of them again set upon their path for the Caves.
They had not gone much farther when the lead wizard suddenly stopped his mount and held up his arm, indicating that the others should stop and remain silent. Tristan watched him bow his head and close his eyes. After a brief moment, Wigg looked seriously at the prince.
“There is endowed blood ahead,” he said quietly. “It is a type I have never before encountered. We could go around it, but I feel we should investigate. It may have a great deal to do with our problems.”
“Can you tell who it is?” Tristan whispered.
“No,” said the wizard. “But the presence is strong. Follow me closely, and do not speak.” They started to move.
They had gone perhaps another half league when Wigg stopped again and dismounted, silently motioning for the other two to do the same.
At the top of a small rise, Wigg beckoned them to lie down on their stomachs. Crawling forward on the forest floor, they slowly approached the crest. The depression in the ground that lay below them was rather large, and what they saw within its borders staggered them all. The clearing was full of Joshua’s birds of prey.
Tristan’s jaw dropped at the sight. He had never before seen anything quite like this, and doubted he ever would again.
He quickly counted the birds, finding fifteen. Each was at least the size of a man, and their bodies and long wings were covered with leathery, reptilian skin instead of feathers. They had exceptionally long, dark claws. They stood upright upon what appeared to be very strong legs.
What fascinated him the most were their eyes. Each of the birds’ bright red orbs was located far to the side of its head and could rotate in virtually any direction, even opposite directions at once, probably giving them incredible eyesight. The overall effect was horrifying. Their movements both birdlike and incredibly fast, the things often tilted their heads quickly this way and that to enhance their view. Then Tristan took in the entire scene, and his breath caught in his lungs.
The birds were standing guard over about a dozen captive consuls of the Redoubt.
The men, each still in his blue robe, were in varying states of injury. Most of them simply lay upon the ground, terrorized by the great birds glowering over them. Occasionally one of the things would find a consul trying to edge his way out of the clearing, and with a great shriek would rush to him and strike him hard with the bony protuberance that ran down the center of its long, angular head, herding the hapless consul
back to the center.
The chilling scene made Tristan’s blood churn, summoning him to kill them all. He silently drew his dreggan, laying it in the grass by his side. He then looked over to Shannon, to see the gnome shaking uncontrollably with fear.
Wigg looked into Tristan’s darkened expression. “Under no circumstances do we interfere in this!” he hissed, as if reading the prince’s mind.
Tristan couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you mad?” he whispered back angrily. “In case you haven’t noticed, those are consuls down there! Do you really expect us to simply watch and do nothing?”
“That’s exactly what I expect us to do!” Wigg growled softly. He clearly meant to have the upper hand. “Don’t you think I would like to try to save them from whatever fate these creatures have in store? Of course I would! But there are fifteen of those beasts down there, and we don’t know their power. In addition, our mission to the Caves must take precedence! Nothing can jeopardize that! The very fate of both our nation and the craft hang upon us successfully retrieving the Tome. If we stop to interfere in this, all might be lost for the sake of a precious few. Besides, I believe if these creatures truly wanted our people dead, they already would be.” He paused for a moment, the pain of his difficult decision clearly registering on his craggy face. “No,” he whispered finally, his tone a bit softer. “We wait, and we watch.”
“And just what will that accomplish?” Tristan asked angrily.
“We will learn all we can, for I have no doubt we will encounter these things again. All that we can glean here will eventually prove useful, I assure you.” Wigg glanced down to Tristan’s dreggan as it glittered sharply in the light of the moons. “You will yet have your chance,” he added softly. “But not today.”
Tristan’s jaw tightened, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword in frustration.
It was just then that Shannon, still shaking with fear, accidentally brought his hand down upon a dry branch. As it broke beneath his weight, the snapping sound it made reached out through the night air and into the clearing. The awful birds suddenly came to attention, their grotesque heads turning this way and that.
The Gates of Dawn Page 13