Faegan shook his head slowly. “But we do have something else for you,” Faegan added. “A surprise! Something that I believe will cheer you up.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked skeptically.
“For the answer, you must follow us to the upper levels,” Faegan answered cryptically. Without waiting for Tristan’s response he began wheeling toward the door. “Shall we go?”
Tristan dutifully followed the two wizards and his sister out of the Redoubt and up into the broken, looted palace rooms above. He eventually found himself standing before the doors that once barred entrance to his mother’s private chambers.
“And just what is it that you all think is so interesting here?” he asked. One corner of his mouth came up.
“Why don’t you open the door and see for yourself?” Wigg asked him. The smile was one of the few Tristan had seen on the lead wizard’s face in weeks, and it only added to the deepening mystery. The prince took a breath and then turned the doorknob, walking purposefully into the once-sumptuous room.
Considering the fact that the wizards were involved, he could have witnessed any number of bizarre things in these rooms, and he knew it. But what stood before him now was the last thing he had ever expected. Especially here, in his mother’s chambers.
The hatchling he and Ox had captured stood in the center of the room on its strong rear legs. Seeing the bird was for some reason free of its wizard’s cage, Tristan began to reach for his dreggan. But then he saw that the bird was calm, and was regarding him with only mild interest.
Faegan cackled. “You won’t be needing your sword. I suggest you take another look.”
Tristan carefully examined the beast. Something about it was clearly different. And then, recognizing why, he immediately understood what was going on.
They’ve broken it, or trained it somehow! he realized.
The bird made no move to escape out the open balcony doors behind it. Tristan’s eyes immediately went to the odd-looking saddle and stirrup combination that had been cinched to the hatchling’s back, and then to the bridle and reins. His eyes widened with sudden realization.
They actually expect me to ride it! Ride through the sky!
He turned back to the three of them, his jaw slack, to see that they were all smiling from ear to ear. “Please tell me you’re joking,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Not at all,” Wigg replied. “But in all fairness we have some explaining to do.”
“An understatement, I’m sure,” Tristan muttered. He turned to his sister. “I assume you knew about this,” he added.
As she rocked the baby slightly, Shailiha could not keep from biting her lip. “I knew, but I really didn’t have anything to do with it,” she lied convincingly. “It was all the wizards’ idea.”
He regarded her narrowly for a moment, finally accepting her answer. “Can this thing talk?” he asked the wizards.
“Unfortunately not,” Wigg lied. “Even though it has human arms. There were apparently three generations of these birds. We believe this one to be second generation, rather than third.”
“Did you ever learn how it came to be separated from the others?” Tristan asked skeptically. “Could this be a trick of some kind? How do I know it won’t simply fly me back to the enemy?”
Understandable questions, especially given the fact that we are not being truthful with him, Faegan thought. “We considered that possibility, eventually dismissing it as illogical,” he replied. “You were just with Nicholas in the Caves, and he willingly set you free. Why would he send a single bird out, simply to take you back to him? If he had wished to keep you there, he could have easily done so. Besides,” he added, “the bird fought with all of its strength to keep from being captured, did it not?”
“Yes,” Tristan answered. He rubbed his sore arm, thinking. “But that still doesn’t explain how it came to be wandering around on its own.”
“Faegan and I believe that this bird was one of those that ransacked Ilendium,” Wigg suggested. “In the darkness and chaos that must have ensued, it is easy enough to imagine how one or more of them might have become lost.” He raised the usual eyebrow. “I suggest you start being more positive about all this, and stop looking a gift bird in the mouth, so to speak.”
Tristan turned back to the creature, beginning to think that this might be a blessing in disguise after all. “Where did the strange saddle and bridle come from?” he asked.
“You have Geldon to thank for those,” Wigg answered. “He took them from the palace stables, and modified them for use on the hatchling. As it turns out, among his many other talents he is quite a good leatherworker, as well.”
Being careful not to make any sudden moves, Tristan walked closer to the bird. He closely examined the saddle. The pommel had been enlarged, presumably to provide a better grip. The leather bands leading down to the stirrups had been widened. Leather belts, complete with buckles, had been stitched into them, three on either side.
“What are these extra belts for?” Tristan asked quizzically.
Shailiha smiled. “To keep you from falling off, of course. They go around your legs and buckle in the front, holding you in the saddle.” In truth she had been particularly worried about this, despite the fact that Tristan had always been one of the finest horsemen in the kingdom. Nonetheless, he fell from the bird at any significant altitude, death would be certain—Chosen One or not. It had therefore been she who had insisted on the additional straps.
Tristan simply stood there, not sure of what to say. It seems they have thought of everything. “But none of this explains how you were able to turn the hatchling to our side, or do it so quickly,” he insisted.
Faegan cleared his throat. “It seems that the bird’s ties to Nicholas were not so strong, after all. I reasoned that with so many hatchlings, even he surely cannot keep perfect control over them all, every second of every day. Assuming this to be true, I invoked a spell that allowed me to sense when his control was at its lowest point. That’s when I broke the bond, turning it to our side.” He made a nonchalant, throwaway gesture with one hand. “But all of that is wizards’ business, and you needn’t concern yourself with the whys or the hows of it all.” Watching the prince’s reaction carefully, he sensed that his lies had worked.
“And you really expect me to ride it?” Tristan asked. “What’s wrong with using Pilgrim, just as I always have?”
“You are about to lead the Minions into battle,” Wigg said sternly. “Have you somehow forgotten that they fly? Or that every single lord they have ever had has always been able to join them in the air? This shall be a new kind of battle for you, Tristan. One that takes place primarily in the air, just as Faegan’s prophecy decreed. In addition, this creature can give you greater speed, and the ability to see what is happening on the ground over great distances. Besides, it is our belief that the hatchlings can run as fast across the ground as any horse that ever lived. So what are you going to do, eh? Ride your hatchling into the skies to command the Minions properly, or plod around on the snowy, slippery ground atop Pilgrim, wondering what in the name of the Afterlife is really going on above you?”
Tristan glared at the wizard, finally understanding that Wigg was right. In truth the prince was thrilled at the prospect of riding a hatchling. But there were questions he wanted answered first. The wizards had been acting strangely lately, and he wanted to know why.
But it was clear by the imperious look on Wigg’s face that no more questions were going to be answered at the moment. Tristan turned to his sister. She had a curiously mischievous look in her eyes.
Grasping his medallion, she pulled his face close to hers and raised her eyebrows at him mockingly. “What’s the matter, little brother?” she teased. “Afraid Scrounge can do something you can’t? I hear he doesn’t even need a saddle.”
That was all it took. Taking the medallion from her grasp, Tristan walked to the hatchling. As if the bird knew his wishe
s, it kneeled down, allowing Tristan easier access to the stirrup. When he climbed aboard, the saddle felt good beneath him, almost as familiar as the one he always used on Pilgrim. He carefully cinched the straps around his thighs, buckling them tight, and finally took the reins. As if he had been doing it all his life, he expertly wheeled the bird around to face the others in the room.
“We’ll see about that,” he said softly. Shailiha held her breath.
Tristan turned the muscular bird toward the balcony, and the hatchling launched itself into the air.
Shailiha, Wigg, and Faegan went to the railing. The princess strained her eyes for as long as she could, as the strange bird carrying her twin brother became little more than a dark speck against the sky, finally vanishing altogether.
“Do you think he believed us?” she asked tentatively.
“That is hard to say,” Wigg answered, pursing his lips. “Tristan is both highly intelligent and very stubborn. But the important thing is that he is finally on the bird.” He turned his unseeing eyes toward the princess. “Your comment about Scrounge was the turning point. Well done. As to whether he believes us—well, who knows? But he must ride none other than that particular monstrosity of the craft into battle if we are to have any hope of succeeding in all of this.”
The three of them finally turned away from the balcony, retreating to the depths of the Redoubt.
CHAPTER
Forty-three
You have done well, Nicholas, the young adept heard the Guild of the Heretics say. Their many voices came to him as one—both male and female, both strong and soft. It was as if a choir sang the most beautiful songs imaginable within the depths of his consciousness. His very blood was alive with their sound. And as he hovered in the depths of the Caves, taking in their words, he closed his eyes in ecstasy.
The Gates of Dawn shall soon be complete, they said. The Chosen One continues to grow more ill, and will soon come to you on bended knee. Complete the Gates as soon as possible, our son. At that time the Vagaries, the truly sublime side, will reign continually and without contest. And the Ones, our enemies of the craft, shall be locked within the firmament forever.
I shall, my parents, Nicholas told them. I shall.
“Nicholas soared through the cold, clear sky and quickly approached the construction site. He hovered near the magnificent black-and-azure Gates.
The three massive structures had climbed even higher, and their graceful, more artistic aspects would soon be in evidence. Nicholas was pleased. In only two more weeks they would be finished, and he could then activate them, bringing his parents of above back to the earth.
He had just come from yet another blood-drawing session in the special room at Fledgling House. That was the slowest part of the process: He could only take a bit at a time from the children without killing them.
But he still had time. The Chosen One’s Minions were not yet here, and his wizards were already drastically weakened. His father of this earth was therefore in no position to challenge his hatchlings, much less stop the construction of the Gates. Soon, very soon now, the Chosen One would see the awesome power of his son’s creations for himself.
Nicholas flew higher to examine the new construction.
The blood of the children ran freshly from the seams between the great stones, dripping lazily down the sides of the stunning black-and-azure pillars and forming little endowed ponds around each of the legs.
Satisfied, Nicholas backed away, and closed his eyes.
Almost immediately the blood of the children began to turn azure. Steaming with heat and glowing brightly, it began to pull the massive stones closer together, their surfaces grating against one another as the joints slowly, agonizingly fused.
Excess blood ran down the sides of the Gates, leaving macabre, winding trails down the smooth edifices, adding crazily patterned streaks to those already shot deep throughout the stone.
Smiling, Nicholas flew down to hover near the base of one of the legs.
Ragnar stood there waiting, dressed in his fur robes, Wigg’s ceremonial dagger at his side. He bowed, then pulled the robe closer, warding off the cold.
“The bond between the most recently erected stones is now complete,” Nicholas said quietly. “Later this night I will harvest yet more of the children’s blood. I shall return with it at midnight to repeat the incantation for the pieces the consuls shall erect between now and then. In less than a fortnight, we shall be victorious.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ragnar answered obediently. He placed two fingers into his ever-present vial of yellow fluid, then sucked on them. Almost immediately he felt warmer.
“Keep the consuls working,” Nicholas ordered quietly. “I will brook no slackness in this.”
Again Ragnar bowed, smiling.
Nicholas soared into the sky, his white robe and dark hair billowing about him, and disappeared.
CHAPTER
Forty-four
The next two days passed in relative calm for Tristan. At first learning to control the movements of the bird and trying to stay in the saddle at the same time had been a challenge.
It was much like riding Pilgrim, he soon discovered, but more unpredictable. And far more dangerous. However, as time went on, he was becoming more and more used to the experience, finding it mesmerizing.
Not only could the bird climb swiftly, but it could also, given the proper commands, hover, seemingly indefinitely, or fold its wings to dive with great speed toward the ground. Tristan dove the bird often, from increasingly greater and greater heights. He would pull up at the last second, only to do it again. He came to love soaring through the white, humid fog of the clouds, only to emerge suddenly out the other side. He quickly came to realize what a wonderful place these clouds—or even the branches of a tree, for that matter—could be to hide from an enemy. And seeing Eutracia from this far up gave him a unique, awe-inspiring perspective on his nation that before he had only dreamed about.
He had also purposely landed the hatchling on a large, bare, snow-covered field to test the wizards’ other belief regarding the creature’s abilities. Sure enough, when finally made to understand, the bird ran across the snowy ground as fast and as surefooted as Pilgrim ever could have.
When he finally landed on the balcony of his late mother’s rooms on the afternoon of the second day, Geldon was there waiting. Tristan walked the bird into the chamber, then dismounted and began removing the saddle and bridle. Geldon closed the balcony doors.
“You have become very good in such a short time,” the hunchbacked dwarf said with a smile. “But there is now business to attend to. The wizards ask for us.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Did they say what it was about?”
“No,” the dwarf answered. “Only that it was important. We are both to go to the antechamber that lies outside the Well of the Redoubt. Now.”
Tristan took a deep breath, shaking off the cold. Then he removed his gray fox coat and slung it over one shoulder. “Very well,” he said matter-of-factly. “Let’s go.”
Inside the chamber, Wigg, Faegan, Shailiha, and Celeste were seated at the ornate table. Behind them, a fire danced merrily in the familiar, light blue fireplace. The prince and Geldon took seats. As always, Tristan found himself acutely aware of Celeste’s presence and the way the fire showed off the highlights in her long, red hair. She smiled at him. Shailiha, on the other hand, looked anxious. Morganna was not with her. But before he could ask her what was going on, the door opened again.
Joshua walked into the room, looked around briefly, and then took a seat at the far end of the table. His hazel eyes took in the group gathered there, then settled on the princess. He smiled.
Faegan cleared his throat. “Now that we are all present, there is something of importance to discuss,” he said sternly. Abruptly he raised one arm, and azure flashed from the ends of his fingers. A wizard’s cage immediately formed about the young consul.
Joshua looked up first in horror, then in fu
ry. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked angrily. “Have you lost your mind?”
Faegan pursed his lips. “No, I think not,” he replied softly. He leveled his gray-green eyes at the younger man. “Tell us, if you would, how it is that you were able to circumvent the death enchantments, considering the fact that you have been practicing the Vagaries?”
Faegan’s question hit Tristan like a thunderbolt. What in the world is the wizard talking about?
Joshua turned to look at Wigg. “What is the meaning of this, Lead Wizard? Surely you cannot be a part of this madness! Tell Faegan that you know me well, and that I have done nothing wrong!”
Wigg sighed long and hard. “You know I cannot do that, Joshua,” he answered. “For you also know that it is not the truth. I may be blind, but there are still some things I am able to see clearly.” He paused for a moment. “And my eyes have finally been opened regarding you.”
“What is it you are accusing me of?” the consul asked frantically, refocusing his attention on Faegan. “I have the right to know!”
“Simply put, you are in league with Nicholas, and we can prove it,” Faegan answered, his face dark. He was literally shaking with anger. It was as if the formidable power he controlled was about to burst forth at any moment in some incredible use of the craft.
“I am not a traitor!” the consul protested. “You have no proof!”
“Oh, but we do,” Faegan countered. “You have been instrumental in helping Nicholas drain the power of the stone. I am now as sure of this as I am my own name. But still, the most interesting piece of the puzzle is how you were able to deny the death enchantments. As a consul of the Redoubt who has willingly taken them upon himself, performing such acts of the Vagaries as I accuse you of would normally result in instant death. So the question remains. Or, put another way, how is it that you continue to live?”
The Gates of Dawn Page 45