“Drop us at the outside of the Recluse, near the moat!” Geldon shouted to him. “And then go on ahead without us! Please tell Traax that we will join him shortly!”
Baktar nodded. “As you wish!” he shouted back. With that he indicated to the warriors flying the litters of the consul and the dwarf that they should descend.
After a gentle landing, the dwarf and consul climbed out of their litters and, on rather shaky legs, watched the four warriors fly back up to join their brothers. The entire group wheeled around to fly over the broken walls and down into the midst of the Recluse.
“Why are we here, outside of the palace walls?” Joshua asked as he rearranged his robes. “I thought you wanted to meet with Traax.”
“I do. That’s what we ultimately came here for. But there is something I feel should be done first.” Geldon’s dark eyes searched the ground around the moat. “Walk with me,” he said to the consul.
The walk around the perimeter of the island took some time. Finally the dwarf saw what he was looking for. He began walking toward it, the flood of memories from that day coming back to him in a strangely reassuring torrent of both grief and joy.
The little grave lay undisturbed. The many stones still lay peacefully atop it, and a crudely carved marker of wood overlooked the spot. It was the grave of Nicholas, the unborn son of Tristan and Succiu.
Geldon looked down to the rough-hewn wooden marker, reading the words Tristan had carved there.
NICHOLAS II OF THE HOUSE OF GALLAND
You will not be forgotten
Not far from here, according to Tristan, Succiu had jumped from the castle walls, killing herself and the unborn child she carried. Tristan had excised the corpse from her womb to bury it, and Wigg had burned the second mistress’ body, to ash. Geldon’s hands went automatically to his neck, where he had worn the second mistress’s collar for over three centuries. Nothing whatsoever of her was left now, and the thought did not sadden him in the least. Finally, he turned to the consul.
“I have a thought,” he said tentatively. “It might be rather extreme, but—”
“To unearth the child and return his body with us to Eutracia for a proper burial with the royals and the Directorate,” Joshua said softly, finishing his sentence for him. “That is what you were thinking, is it not?”
“Yes,” Geldon answered, returning his gaze sadly back to the little grave. “How did you know?”
“Because it has been in my mind also, ever since the Chosen One asked us to come here,” Joshua answered. “Wigg told me the story, and he also believes it to be Tristan’s wish to eventually bury his son in Eutracia.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “But I have my misgivings,” he finally added.
“And they are?” Geldon asked.
“This child was Tristan’s, not yours or mine. The decision to do such a thing, and also the timing of it, should therefore be his and his alone.” Joshua looked into the dwarf’s eyes with a candor and simplicity of purpose that Geldon found hard to contradict.
“I suppose you’re right,” the dwarf finally said. He took a deep, resigned breath. “We should be getting to the Recluse. Traax will be waiting.”
Joshua peered around, as if looking for something. “Just a moment,” he said cryptically. He spied some orange and yellow flowers on a nearby bank and pointed his right hand at them. The stems obediently pulled their roots from the ground. Narrowing his eyes, Joshua caused the roots to be cut away. The colorful blossoms floated over to the grave, hovered there for a moment, and finally dropped gently down on the cairn.
“Thank you,” Geldon said, finding it difficult to speak.
Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe, Joshua nodded. “Tristan is now my friend too,” he said quietly.
Turning away from the grave, the dwarf and the consul began walking toward the massive wood and iron drawbridge that would carry them over the moat and onto the island, into the scarred, broken castle known as the Recluse.
They have done well here, Geldon thought. They had traversed the great drawbridge, passed through the first portcullis, and were approaching the second. The partial rebuild of the castle could be seen rising within the center of the spacious courtyard.
Every sign of the Pentangle, the five-pointed star of the Coven, had been dutifully eradicated. The Minions had completely cleared away much of the original structure, though light blue marble had again been chosen as the Recluse’s color. The first floor was almost completed, and the circular towers at each of the corners were starting to take shape. The arched windows that would eventually hold heavy, leaded glass could be seen here and there in the walls.
Walking up the marble steps and into the open, still roofless expanses of the first floor, Geldon and Joshua were amazed at the level of activity here. The Minions were swarming over the place like a giant gathering of committed worker bees.
Seemingly thousands of them came and went, many of them shouting orders. The officers, Geldon presumed. Some of them gathered to huddle over drawings laid on crude wooden tables. Others carefully cut and fashioned marble, the dust from their labors flying into the air and occasionally choking off their breath. Still others had the tedious job of using pulleys and ropes to lift and place the magnificent stones into position. Light blue marble dust, noise, sweat, and the groans of physical labor filled the evening air. Some of the workers were lighting torches, to allow the work to continue throughout the night.
The warriors took little notice of Geldon and Joshua. The dwarf was unbothered by this. He realized that of the hundreds of thousands of their total population, many of them here would not know him. Then, he finally saw the Minion women.
He was greatly surprised to see Minion women among the workers. He had never seen one before. Until Tristan had commanded that the brothels be opened, and the women be allowed to take an equal place in Minion society, the females had been strictly relegated to the services of the males. Now they worked alongside the men, seeming quite sure of themselves in their new tasks. Only their awkward gaits—due to the deformities caused by foot binding—remained as a legacy of their previous cruel treatment. Geldon was pleased to see that, according to the prince’s orders, none of their feet were bound.
Continuing up another flight of steps to what would eventually become the great foyer, the dwarf and the consul finally saw Baktar and Traax in huddled conversation, bent over a series of drawings.
Baktar saw them first and immediately went down on one knee. “I live to serve,” he said solemnly. Quickly turning, Traax looked hard at the dwarf and the consul, wariness in his expression. For a torturous moment the dwarf felt an acidic sense of panic rise in his chest, as he wondered whether the younger, more aggressive second in command would honor the representatives of the Chosen One. Finally Traax also went to his knee. “I live to serve,” his deep voice said with authority.
Trying to regain his composure, Geldon silently let out a long breath. So far so good, he thought. “You may rise,” he commanded. As Traax stood, Geldon examined him. After Tristan had beheaded the previous commander of the Minions, Traax had been first to fly to the prince and lay down his sword, thereby retaining his position as second in command.
Unlike most of the warriors here, Traax was clean-shaven. He was approximately thirty Seasons of New Life—the same age as Tristan—and was tall and strong, even for a Minion warrior, with serious green eyes and an intensely commanding presence. Geldon knew him to be of very high intelligence. The dwarf would only get one chance to do this right; he must choose his words carefully.
“The Chosen One has sent me and this other emissary to secure your report.” He indicated the consul. “This is Joshua, Prince Tristan’s representative of the craft. Is there somewhere we might sit?”
“Of course,” Traax answered perfunctorily. He led them to a tent with chairs and a table beneath it. “Would you like food and drink?” he asked, removing his dreggan from his side and laying it on the table. Baktar, Gel
don, and Joshua all sat down.
“Yes,” Geldon answered, the mention of food making him realize his hunger.
Traax waved one of his hands, and a Minion woman came over to the table and stood, waiting for Traax to speak. Neither her posture nor her attitude seemed subservient.
“Bring us food and wine,” Traax said abruptly. He glanced at Geldon and then turned his face up more courteously to the woman. “Please,” he added quietly. Despite the importance of this meeting, Geldon found it difficult to contain a smile.
The changes must be so hard for them, he realized. A Minion warrior would never have been required to say please to anyone other than the Coven, and now the sorceresses were all dead. The Minions’ entire world had been turned upside down, and he would do well to remember that.
He had a job to do, though. “Your report?” he asked Traax.
“As you can see, the rebuilding of the Recluse goes well,” Traax began. “I estimate that the entire structure should be finished in approximately one year’s time. In addition the brothels have been closed and the Minion women freed. As the Chosen One gave us permission to marry, there have already been many unions. Birth records are now being kept. The Gallipolai have also been freed. Neither the Minion females nor the Gallipolai will ever have their wings clipped again. Foot binding also no longer occurs.” He stopped for a moment, smiling. “It will be interesting trying to teach them to fly when their wings recover from the clipping,” he added drily. Then his face became more serious. “There are, however, other concerns in the land that do not fare as well.”
You already know what those are, Geldon reminded himself. But do not make this easy for him. You are now his superior.
“And those are?” Geldon asked, placing a critical expression upon his face, as if suddenly disappointed.
“Since the death of the Coven, strange things have happened,” Traax answered. “We have been plagued by the sudden, unexplained appearance of the swamp shrews. They raid the land constantly, taking refuge in the depths of the many lakes and ponds that have so mysteriously appeared. I have formed groups of shrew slayers to try to kill as many of them as we can.”
Geldon looked up to see that the food had come. Two Minions, a man and a woman, began to put it on the table. It looked to be wild Parthalonian boar served on a great rotating spit, with fresh vegetables and dark brown bread from the Minion hearths. He inhaled the aromas with anticipation.
The Minion woman, a particularly beautiful and statuesque being, was smiled at Joshua. As she placed some of the food on the table, her long, dark hair brushed the young consul’s face. Geldon was sure that it had been no accident. Joshua turned beet red, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Both Baktar and Traax broke out into raucous laughter.
“Beware!” Traax said. “The fact that they now have their freedom has emboldened them. It has become their custom to—how should I put this?—make sure a man is ‘capable,’ before considering him as a husband. And by the look of you, I’m not sure that you could stand the strain—craft or no craft!” The two Minion warriors guffawed again as the woman walked away. Baktar actually went so far as to heartily slap the hapless consul upon the back, making him cough. Geldon considered rebuking Traax for his comments but finally decided not to push his luck.
Besides, Geldon thought, watching the stately, commanding woman walk away, he’s probably right.
In a moment she was gone. Joshua turned his wide eyes to the dwarf, sighed, and then began to eat. After several bites of the excellent food, Geldon returned his attention to the Minion second in command.
“Tell me about the state of the civilian population,” Geldon said, taking a sip of deep, rich wine. “I have seen few of the locals since I arrived. I assume it is because of the shrews.”
Traax’s face darkened again, and Geldon could see that the news would not be good. “The people are terrified of the shrews, and are afraid to venture far from home. But also, the population has yet to trust us,” he said, “despite the death of the Coven. And I cannot say that I blame them. We have done all we can to try to earn both their trust and respect. But with the task of rebuilding the Recluse and hunting the shrews taking so much of our time, it has been difficult.”
Swamp shrews and an untrusting citizenry, Geldon thought sadly. Tristan and the wizards need to come to Parthalon for themselves.
As if reading the dwarf’s mind, Traax asked, “Is there anything our new lord can do to help? I feel that the presence of the Chosen One and his wizards, no matter how brief, would go far. Especially where the civilians are concerned. The Minions are strong and brave. But we are not accustomed to practicing politics, or solving national concerns. In these matters we need help.”
Geldon found himself actually beginning to like Traax. “We will convey your needs to the prince,” he said compassionately. “But you must understand that there is a great deal in his own nation that needs attention just now. Your legions did much to destroy Eutracia, and his first concern must lie there.”
He decided to change the subject. “I have been told by Rufus, your commander at the Ghetto, that the armada you used to invade Eutracia still lies intact at Eyrie Point. Is this true?”
“Yes,” Baktar replied in between bites of the delicious pig. “The fleet is sound, and its captains have been given other duties. Does the Chosen One have need of it?”
“I do not know,” Geldon replied. “Nor is it for me to say. But I believe both he and the wizards will be glad to hear it.”
“There is an issue of which I would now like to speak,” Joshua said suddenly. Traax and Baktar turned quizzical eyes on him, waiting. “You are familiar with the Minion warrior named Ox?” the consul asked.
Traax smiled. “Yes. Although not quick of wit, he is one of the most loyal of us.”
“I would like to take him back to Eutracia with us,” Joshua said. The sudden, unexpected words hung over the table like a cloud, and everything went silent.
Geldon tried not to show surprise. I hope he knows what he’s doing, he thought nervously.
Traax scowled. “May we be made aware of your reasons for this request?” he asked darkly.
“He was wounded during the capture of the shrew,” Joshua answered.
“That is your reason?” Traax asked with a snort. “Because of a simple wound? The Minions have seen many wounds, and we have always dealt with them ourselves. Fighting, dying, and being wounded are the very reasons for our existence!” Then he glanced over at Geldon, wondering if he had misspoken. “Or at least that used to be our mission,” he added.
“But his is not a simple wound,” Joshua answered. “The entire foot is severed. I enchanted both the foot and the end of the leg immediately after the attack to preserve them. If we return Ox to Eutracia, the Chosen One’s wizards may be able to reattach the foot.”
Traax’s mouth opened slightly in awe. “You can do such a thing?” he asked softly.
“No,” Joshua answered simply. “My powers do not extend to such realms. But there are others of the craft across the sea who may be able to accomplish it.”
Traax waved a hand in the air. A Minion officer promptly appeared, clicking the heels of his boots together. “Send for the one called Ox,” Traax ordered.
“I live to serve,” came the quick reply. The warrior ran off.
Ox appeared several minutes later, limping along on a crudely made crutch. The strange, azure glow of the craft continued to surround the base of his footless leg.
“I live to serve,” he said, trying to go down on the knee of his good leg and causing himself obvious pain.
Geldon winced as he watched the warrior try to assume the traditional Minion position of servitude, and he temporarily considered commanding him to desist. But Traax stepped in at that point.
“That will not be necessary,” he said. Ox straightened to a standing position, leaning heavily on his crutch, and Geldon realized the devoted Minion would have stood there that way all night if order
ed to.
“These emissaries of our new lord wish to take you with them back to Eutracia. It is possible they may be able to heal your foot. Would you like to do that?” Traax asked.
Geldon could see Ox struggling with the concept of healing a severed limb, but the Minion finally responded. “If you send, I go,” he said crudely, his deep, resonant voice matching the power so evident in his body.
“Very well.” Traax nodded, turning his attention to the consul. “But I have a request.”
Joshua put down his goblet as if annoyed, then looked Traax squarely in the eyes. “That depends,” he said. “The Chosen One is not used to demands.”
Geldon froze, watching the unexpected test of wills. The consul is perhaps far more brave than I gave him credit for, he realized. He learns quickly, just as Wigg said.
Joshua rather rudely took his eyes from Traax and returned to eating. “What is it?” he asked, fork poised before his mouth.
“That should Ox die in your land he be given the right of any Minion warrior. That his body be burned, his ashes scattered.”
Joshua looked up for a moment, considering the request. “Done,” he said.
“Very well, then,” Geldon interjected, wanting to regain control of the conversation. “It is decided. We will stay here for several more days. I wish to watch the reconstruction of the Recluse unfold further.” Smiling, he turned to look at the young consul. “And perhaps Joshua would like to become better acquainted with the young woman who just served us,” he added coyly. While everyone else at the table laughed, Joshua only scowled, and turned bright red.
Geldon looked at Ox and wondered what the wizards would say when out of the portal came not only a consul and hunchbacked dwarf, but also a wounded Minion warrior. He smiled slightly to himself.
May the Afterlife have a sense of humor, he thought.
CHAPTER
Twenty-two
Ragnar turned over luxuriously in his bed to gaze into the eyes of the woman he had just brutally taken—the one who had for so long been his favorite. He had brought a great many females here over the centuries and continued to do so, usually letting them go after he had taken his pleasure from them. Sometimes he held them for days, sometimes for years, depending upon how much they pleased him. But none of them had been the quality of the one he now regarded.
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