Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

Just as she was about to give the order, some clouds parted, allowing more light to stream down onto the sea. A shiny moonlit path came to life atop the waves, lying directly between the hovering warriors and the Citadel. Lying on the path was a piece of mast, bobbing atop the water. Wasting no time, Duvessa headed for it.

As they neared they saw that the mast section was long and heavily entangled in torn rigging. Several spars were still attached to it. Suddenly Duvessa thought she saw something else. Redoubling her efforts, she winged her way toward it for all she was worth.

Buffeting the air with their wings, Kefira and Duvessa slowed as they approached. As Duvessa looked closer, the breath caught in her lungs. There was a body lashed to the mast.

Duvessa and Kefira landed to stand atop the bobbing mast as best they could. Duvessa quickly bent down to turn the body over. It was Traax. His skin pallor was ghostly white, and he looked dead. Duvessa quickly understood that he had somehow found this mast, then used the rigging to tie himself to it, so that his face would remain above the waves. He lay chest-down, with one cheek pressed against the cold, soaked wood.

With tears filling her eyes, she quickly unsheathed her dreggan and cut the ropes that bound him to the mast. She turned him over and pressed her fingertips against his neck. There was a very slow, nearly undetectable pulse. Then she saw the tourniquet bound around his upper arm, and she knew.

When his patrol was attacked, he and some others had stayed behind, trying to buy time for Axel and Valgard to warn the fleet. He was suffering not only from exposure but also from massive blood loss. Even if he got immediate care, his chances for survival were not good. Her eyes filled with tears again as she saw her wet, bloodied, ruby pin still attached to his body armor.

But as she looked around, her heart fell again. Tired as she and Kefira were, she doubted that one of them could lift him into the air, and trying to carry his body between them would probably reopen his wound. Then an idea came to her. Cradling Traax’s head in her lap, she looked into Kefira’s worried face.

“Draw your sword!” she ordered. “We have work to do!”

AS TRISTAN LOOKED DOWN AT TRAAX’S FACE, AN OVERWHELMINGsadness washed over him. Traax lay atop a bed, his body covered by a light blanket. The Minion had been in a deep coma for more than ten days. During all that time, Duvessa had scarcely left his side.

Tristan watched Duvessa apply a wet cloth to the warrior’s forehead. Traax’s condition was being further complicated by a high fever, and an infection had set into his arm wound. Since finding him lashed to the mast, Duvessa had yet to see him open his eyes. The palace mystics had done all for the warrior that they could, but from this point forward only time would tell. Like Tristan, they checked on him often.

On finding Traax, Duvessa and Kefira had cleverly used their dreggans to cut the spars free from the floating mast. They had then built a crude litter by binding the spars with some of the torn rigging. After they had placed Traax onto the litter they had hardly been able to get it airborne and fly back to where they had left the others. But with more warriors to bear the load, they had found their way back to the fleet. Shailiha had quickly ordered the surviving vessels to turn for home.

After a week at sea, the four Black Ships had returned, arriving three days ago. With the Necrophagian threat gone, the return voyage was uneventful. It had taken an entire day and part of that night for everyone to trade tales. Aeolus had joined in his first Conclave meeting, and everyone had been glad to have him there. Tristan had been amazed to hear the details about Serena’s attack on the fleet, but not that the Citadel had gone dark.

As he had expected, when he told his story he was first greeted with outright disbelief, followed by a dense silence that he thought might never end. After the shock wore off, everyone had started badgering him at once and had interrogated him for hours. But like the others, he had more questions than answers. Tristan had then presented Faegan with the Envoys’ parchment that held the formula for granting Forestallments directly to one’s blood signature. When the old wizard saw it, he whooped for joy like a child with a shiny new toy.

While he waited for the return of the fleet, Tristan spent each morning in training with Aeolus. He was gradually improving, even by the old master’s standards. The rest of his time had been devoted to helping the Minions and highlanders learn each other’s maneuvers. At first the warriors and highlander horsemen had been highly suspicious of each other. Tristan had expected that. But as they came to appreciate each other’s unique abilities, a grudging respect formed between them.

As a precaution, the mystics had used a signature scope to check Tristan’s blood signature, while Jessamay had looked deeply into his eyes to confirm their findings. Aside from the Forestallment granting Tristan access to the azure pass, they pronounced his signature to be normal in every respect.

Just then Tristan heard the door squeak open. He turned to see Wigg standing there. Crooking a finger, the First Wizard beckoned the prince into the hall. Tristan went to him.

“Has there been a change in Traax’s condition?” Wigg asked.

“No,” Tristan answered. “But he hasn’t worsened, either.” He gave Wigg a questioning look. “Are you and Faegan ready to honor my request?”

Wigg scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “The others await us,” he answered. “But they want another word with you first.”

Tristan was well aware of the Conclave’s misgivings. Yesterday he had argued with his friends about this subject for hours. He shook his head.

“The answer is still no!” he insisted. “I will not give up on this. You and Faegan are to install theK’Shari Forestallment into my blood signature today.”

Wigg sighed. “Walk with me,” he said. As Tristan and the First Wizard started down the hall, Wigg seemed deeply concerned.

“I can’t start to tell you how much the rest of us are against this,” Wigg said. “You are the reigningJin’Sai, so if you order us to do it, we will. But we worry about the consequences. We have had the formula allowing the placement of Forestallments directly into one’s blood for only a matter of days. Even Faegan has yet to fully understand its workings. Please let us research it further!”

Tristan loved and respected Wigg like the old wizard was his father. But he meant to have his way in this. He had been fascinated byK’Shari ever since first hearing about it years ago, during his Royal Guard training. Then he had taken his unexpected journey with Xanthus and returned home to meet Aeolus-the same man the fable described. These two unexpected events had only heightened his need to know.

More important, he had seen firsthand the kinds of things that Xanthus and Aeolus could do, and he wanted those skills for himself. But he fully understood Wigg’s concerns. He gave the old wizard a reassuring smile.

“I would think that as an accomplished graduate of Aeolus’ teachings, you’d understand how badly I want this,” he chided Wigg.

Wigg stopped walking and looked into Tristan’s eyes. “That’s just it,” he answered. “I understand the need all too well. But that doesn’t mean that gainingK’Shari this way is a good idea. We can’t be sure about what the spell will do to you. We can’t even know whether it’s something the Envoys of Crysenium would object to.” One of the wizard’s eyebrows went up. “They expect you to return, you know.”

Tristan put a hand on Wigg’s shoulder. “Thank you for your concern,” he said. “But this is going to happen, with or without your blessing. Let’s join the others, shall we?”