“But how could you be aware of whether it all worked?” Tristan asked. “How did you know we were coming?”
Shailiha smiled. “Caprice, leading a specially picked group of fliers, hovered near the battle zone,” she answered. “We have much to thank them for. I am glad to tell you that they all returned safely.”
Bemused, Tristan looked quietly at his sister; then he turned to Faegan. “But if you wanted those things to happen, then why didn’t you simply ask Shailiha to bond with Traax, instead of my hatchling?” he asked. “Or for that matter, simply inform me of your plan. You could even have used my hatchling, since it had the power of speech, to tell me more. I would gladly have followed it, leaving the scene of the battle as you wished.”
“We considered that,” Faegan said. “But there were too many ways for what you suggest to go wrong, and we couldn’t take any more chances than were absolutely necessary. First of all, we did not know what the use of Shailiha’s Forestallment upon the Minions might bring about, and we desperately needed their services to stave off the hatchling legions. Added to that is the fact that you are the Minions’ lord, and this entire plan had to be done without your knowledge. We felt that if we used the Minions for this purpose, they might not have accepted the fact that their lord remained uninformed, even tricked, if you will. Therefore, the Minions might have felt duty-bound to tell you of our scheme. That could have easily ruined everything.”
“You are quite right, wizard,” Traax said sternly from the other side of the room. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “Had we been told, we would have considered it our sworn duty to inform our lord.”
Tristan nodded, beginning to understand. “And so Shailiha had my hatchling leave the battle and fly to Shadowood, hoping that both the Minions and the hatchlings would follow.”
“Correct,” Wigg said. He raised his index finger for emphasis. “But we also knew that you must not leave the battle too early, nor too late. If done too soon, it might not have appeared as a full-fledged retreat, signaling the beginnings of the trap that it eventually turned out to be. And if done too late, there would not have been enough of your warriors left to be effective once you reached Shadowood. You were beginning to lose badly.”
“But I still do not understand why you did not inform me,” Tristan countered. “I could have led us there easily, without all of the subterfuge.”
“True,” Faegan answered. “But we did not know what plans Nicholas may have had for you. Remember, he was still hoping that you would join him in his cause. For all we knew at the time, he might even try to force you to do so. Had this been the case, and had Scrounge and his hatchlings been under orders to abduct you, all Nicholas would have had to do was test the quality of your heart to find his answer. We simply couldn’t risk that.”
“And so you had Shailiha order my bird to fly straight down into the canyon,” Tristan mused. He ran a hand through his dark hair, thinking. “You took a great risk, did you not? The canyon is invisible except to those trained to see it. Clearly, the Minions and the hatchlings were not. How did you know they would follow?”
Wigg smiled. “We didn’t. But we thought the odds were in our favor. We hoped the Minions would follow you into the canyon out of loyalty. Especially after they saw you disappear, rather than crash to your death into the earth. And as for the hatchlings, well, after they saw all the rest of you so mysteriously vanish, they no doubt believed you were escaping.”
“And the gnomes, with the Minions you had brought to Shadowood, trapped them with nets,” Tristan answered. “While the Minions that followed me were left free to hack them to pieces.” He smiled to himself. For as long as I live, the wizards will continue to impress me. Suddenly very tired from all of the talk, though, he laid his head down on the pillow.
“Are you all right?” Shailiha asked.
“Yes, Shai, I’ll be fine,” he answered. “But it’s going to take a while.” He looked back to Wigg. “Are the hatchlings all dead? The entire force?”
“Yes,” Traax answered proudly from the other side of the room. “Every single one. The birds and their leader will trouble us no more.”
Tristan uncoiled a little, glad to know that Scrounge was finally dead.
“Ox kill many bad birds,” the giant Minion said, interrupting Tristan’s thoughts. The great warrior stood to the side of the room with his chest puffed out proudly. “Ox enjoy that much.”
Tristan smiled at the two warriors who, despite their part in the pillaging of his nation, had impossibly become not only his servants, but also his trusted friends.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“But there is still a great deal more to tell, isn’t there?” Shailiha asked the wizards. As Traax had done, she crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that clearly said she would not be denied. “And I want to hear all of it, right now.” At the sight of her characteristically defiant posture, one corner of Tristan’s mouth came up impishly.
“The answers as to why the prince still lives, why his son Nicholas does not, and why the Gates of Dawn seemed to self-destruct are far more complicated,” Wigg began. “The best way to tell you all is to take you into yet another room.” He gestured to Traax and Ox. “If you please, help the prince to follow me.”
With that, Wigg narrowed his eyes. With his use of the craft, a hidden panel in the far wall began to turn on a pivot, revealing another room beyond.
Traax and Ox went to Tristan’s bed and helped him stand. With his arms over the shoulders of the two warriors, he managed to stumble into the room. Celeste and Shailiha followed.
It was very spacious, constructed of shiny, rose-colored marble. Its unusually high number of oil chandeliers gave it a bright, almost sterile look. A large table with many chairs sat in the center. An even larger table sat nearby, covered with books and scrolls.
Off to one side sat something large, covered by a sheet of cloth. There was another object, similarly covered but differently shaped, on a rather long but narrow table. And still another table lay nearby with nothing on it.
“What is under the sheets?” Tristan asked as Traax and Ox helped him down into one of the comfortable chairs.
“That question shall be answered later,” Wigg said once everyone was seated. “Now then, to answer your many other inquiries. First, to explain the death of Nicholas.” He paused for a moment, looking around the table. His aquamarine eyes finally landed on the prince.
“You killed Nicholas, Tristan,” he said softly. “You, Succiu, and Failee.”
“What are you talking about?” Tristan exclaimed, taken aback. “Succiu and Failee are dead. You burned their bodies yourself, in Parthalon.”
“Quite true,” Faegan said from the other end of the table. “A fact we are all certainly glad of. But please listen to what Wigg has to say.”
Wigg extended one hand toward the table covered with papers, and a scroll of parchment rose into the air and floated to his grasp. He unrolled it and held it up for Tristan’s inspection. “Do you recognize this?” he asked the prince.
Tristan looked down at it. “Of course,” he said. “It is Nicholas’ blood signature.”
“Correct,” Wigg answered. “Now I want you to run your fingers over the signature, and tell me if you feel anything unusual.”
Reaching out, Tristan drew the parchment to him. He placed the tips of his first two fingers on the azure signature and began tracing over it. He felt nothing other than the light scratchiness of the dried blood that one might expect to feel.
“I don’t feel anything,” he answered, withdrawing his hand.
“Precisely,” Wigg answered. “Now, please give me that same hand.”
Tristan did so. Wigg closed his eyes. Almost immediately their joined hands became bathed in the glow of the craft. Tristan felt a slight tingling, but it was not painful. Wigg opened his eyes, and the glow of the craft vanished. Tristan took back his hand.
“What did you just do?” he asked,
puzzled.
“I have employed the craft to temporarily enhance the feeling in your fingertips.” The wizard smiled. “Now then, retrace them over the signature. Stop when you feel something unusual. And by the way,” he added, giving the prince a strange smile, “it might help if you close your eyes.”
Tristan placed his fingertips once more on the blood, closing his eyes. He began to retrace the path he had taken earlier.
The sensation was amazing. He could now feel every little bump, every nuance of the dried blood as his fingers traced the lines. And then, just as he approached one of the gentle curves at the top, he abruptly stopped. He backed up, tracing over the spot again.
Sure of his findings, Tristan opened his eyes and looked down. But he could see nothing unusual about the signature he had just felt.
“There is a gap in the top line of the signature,” he said quietly, still not fully understanding the ramifications of his words. “Why can I feel it with my fingers, but not see it with my eyes?”
“The answer to that is very simple,” Faegan answered. “The lead wizard did not enchant your eyes.”
“But what does all of this mean?” Shailiha asked. “I am assuming that this ‘gap’ is some kind of imperfection. But how did it get there? Does this mean that Tristan’s blood signature is imperfect, too? And what did you mean about Tristan, Succiu, and Failee having all killed Nicholas?”
Wigg smiled. “One question at a time, Your Highness. First of all, as to how the imperfection came about.” He took a deep breath, thinking about how to best explain.
“We shall begin at the beginning,” he said. “First of all, we believe that the Forestallments discovered by Faegan were created by Failee, first mistress of the Coven, and were placed into Tristan’s blood during Succiu’s rape of him. Succiu’s immediate, endowed conception of Nicholas meant that Nicholas not only carried Tristan’s blood, albeit in a slightly less powerful form because it was mingled with hers, but that he also inherited Tristan’s Forestallments. As you may remember, the fact that Forestallments can be passed on from one generation to another was proven when we examined the blood of Morganna, Shailiha’s daughter.”
“So it was his inherited Forestallments that killed him?” Celeste asked skeptically.
Wigg smiled. “No, Daughter,” he answered. “It was Nicholas’ Forestallments that made him strong.”
“What is all of this leading to?” Tristan asked impatiently.
“Think back,” Wigg said. “Back to that fateful day in Parthalon when you chased Succiu to the roof of the Recluse. I know this is painful for you, but tell me—was Nicholas ever really born into this world?”
Tristan closed his eyes for a moment, taking himself back in time to that day in the rain—the day he lost his son. “No,” he answered. “Succiu jumped from the roof just as she went into labor. She landed in the moat and died. I took her out and incised Nicholas from her womb with my knife, then buried him in the little grave.”
“That’s right,” Wigg said softly, understanding how hard this was for the prince. “And as such, Nicholas was never really ‘born.’ ”
“I still don’t get your meaning,” Shailiha said.
“The meaning is really very simple,” Faegan said from his chair. “When Succiu jumped from the roof, killing herself and her unborn child, she interrupted Nicholas’ gestation.”
“But that can’t be correct,” Tristan protested. “If Succiu went into labor, doesn’t that mean that Nicholas’ gestation was complete? Is that not the natural order of things? Or are you telling me that his birth was premature?”
“No,” Wigg answered. “His birth was not premature. But that is not to say that his blood was fully formed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After greater study of Egloff’s scroll, Faegan and I now believe that the blood signature is the last thing to form in the unborn, endowed child. We think that this happens just before birth, perhaps even occurring as late as labor. But until now, we could never prove it. However, the strange, unexpected death of Nicholas atop the gates, combined with the circumstances surrounding his aborted, earthly birth, finally do just that. You see, the act of the blood signature forming is the craft’s way of placing its final, unique mark upon yet another of its potential practitioners, if you will. But the blood of Nicholas was never given enough time to do so. He was killed when Succiu jumped, just as her labor began. In essence, he was never really born. His body had been prepared for his birth, but the blood signature had not finished forming completely. The virtually microscopic size of the gap is further proof of how narrowly close his signature was to completing itself, just as Succiu went into labor. Had she not jumped when she did, and instead given birth naturally, his signature would have formed completely. Trust me when I say that had this occurred, our futures would have been very different.”
“Then it was this ‘gap,’ this imperfection, that killed him?” Tristan asked.
“Of and by itself, no,” Wigg answered. “But it was the major contributing factor. It was actually his gathering of the power of the Paragon into himself, and his subsequent empowerment of the Gates of Dawn, that finally killed him. Had he never tried to accomplish such an incredibly high aspect of the craft he might have lived among us forever, the imperfection in his blood of absolutely no consequence. But he was most certainly not sent here to accomplish the mundane.”
The lead wizard sat back in his chair, seeing that the faces gathered around him were still very perplexed. “When one of the trained endowed calls upon the craft, the endowed’s blood in turn calls upon the Paragon,” he elaborated. “It is a symbiotic relationship, and always has been. Tristan, do you remember that day on the mountain, when I told you that the most important determinant of the power of an endowed person is the inherent quality of his or her blood? That has always been true. When Nicholas took so much of the power of the stone into himself, he magnified both his powers and Forestallments hundreds of times over. Perhaps even more. This occurred for two reasons. First and foremost, in order to have the power required to perform the Confluence. And secondly, to simultaneously reduce the powers of Faegan and myself. From the very beginning this was the plan of the Heretics, the ones who sent him here. Whenever he needed to call upon his blood for any so-called ‘normal’ use of the craft, such as his conjuring of the hatchlings, he had no need to draw upon all of the power of the stone and his blood could stand the strain, so to speak. Simply put, the imperfection in his blood signature did not matter.” Wigg paused for a moment, letting his words sink in.
“But when he needed to call upon so much more of the power of the stone to activate the Gates of Dawn as was dictated by the Confluence, bringing to life both the mixture of endowed fluids covering them and the azure blood of the Heretics that already lay within, his blood simply could not survive it.”
Wigg again looked at Tristan. “In the end,” Wigg said quietly, “Nicholas died of simple blood loss.” He watched the mixed emotions that played across Tristan’s face.
“Do you remember how your blood reacted in the Caves, when we spent too much time trying to decide whether to enter the tunnel?” Wigg continued. “Now imagine that same kind of feeling, that agitation of endowed blood if you will, magnified literally hundreds of times over.”
Out of respect for the prince, the table went quiet for a long time. Finally it was Tristan who broke the silence.
“But there is still something I do not understand,” he said. “Nicholas appeared to me as a grown man. That was why I could not recognize him at first. How could he return to our world in so short a time as a fully mature being?”
“An excellent question,” Faegan said from the far end of the table. “And if Wigg will allow me, I will endeavor to answer it.” Glancing over to the lead wizard, Faegan saw him nod.
“First of all,” he began, “it is entirely possible that Nicholas was returned by the Heretics while still an infant, or at least as a very small ch
ild. But if the Heretics were aware of the many Forestallments he inherited from Tristan, as we now believe they must have been, then they may also have been able to enact many or all of them before sending him here, giving him immense wisdom and powers for one so young. These abilities would have had little or nothing to do with his chronological age. And as we now know from Shailiha’s experiences with winged creatures of the craft, Forestallments can be activated even if the subject has never been trained. In fact, it is quite logical to assume that all of Nicholas’ gifts were the result of Forestallments. And if that is true, we may then postulate that as he took the power of the stone for himself, both his physical and mental growth continued to advance at a rate never before seen.”
“So he never knew of the imperfection in his signature?” Tristan asked.
“That is correct,” Wigg answered. “Neither did the Heretics, or they would not have sent him here. In this we were most fortunate.”
“But how on earth did you first come upon the imperfection in his blood, when neither Nicholas nor the Heretics ever did?” Tristan asked. “Frankly, such a thing seems quite impossible.”
“Yet another piece of the puzzle,” Faegan said, smiling. “One that we have Ragnar to thank for.”
“What are you talking about?” Celeste asked. At the mention of his name her face had gone dark, her eyes hard.
“Ragnar blinded Wigg by having the dried brain fluid placed into his eyes,” Faegan answered. “When we were examining Nicholas’ blood signature, Wigg had to pass his fingers over it in order to ‘see’ it, if you will. It was then that he first noticed the anomaly.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
“Armed with that first bit of information, we began our research,” he continued. “As for the Heretics, they no doubt never employed this rather bizarre method of reading a blood signature. Why would they? It is highly untypical of beings, even those as gifted as the Heretics seem to be, to go looking for things they believe cannot exist.”
The Gates of Dawn Page 60