Robert Newcomb: A March into Darkness

Despite the danger all around him, for several moments Tristan simply stood there, marveling at the things he had just done, and how easily they had come to him. He hadn’t been trained to throw dirks with his left hand, and his technique had never mustered such unbelievable force. Nor had he any idea that he could will his weapons to return to him. But he knew that this was no time to analyze his new gifts. Determined to never be surprised by hisK’Shari gift again, he charged across the ward and started racing up the sidewall steps.

He reached the southern guard path and climbed up without incident, but the situation atop the castle walls was as deadly as that in the inner ward. As he searched for Serena he saw more shrews prowling the paths, viciously protecting their endowed masters. Hundreds of red-stained envelopers filled the sky, swooping low and wrapping their velvety sides around struggling Minion warriors and highlander horsemen. To his dismay, Serena was nowhere to be seen.

Tristan quickly looked down the wall’s outer side. To his relief, Faegan, Jessamay, and Aeolus had succeeded in following his orders. Knowing that they would have no time to dig earthen cradles into which to set the Black Ships, he had ordered them to set the vessels down atop the soft, muddy lake bed. As expected, each ship tilted hard toward starboard or port. But they were largely intact, and Minion troops still poured from their hatches to join the fight.

Tristan suddenly froze as something told him that an enveloper was swooping toward him from behind. Its velvety sides extended, it was about to blanket him in its deadly embrace. He didn’t have to turn around to confirm the coming danger, for hesensed it with certainty.

Standing his ground, he took his sword into both hands and waited, purposely drawing the creature in. Suddenly he felt a strange tingling sensation in his arms, but there was no time to question it. Swiveling around, he raised his dreggan high and brought it down with everything he had. As he did, a strange, icy-blue glow flashed across his vision.

The dreggan severed the stunned enveloper from top to bottom like it had been made of parchment. But the sword had done more than cut. It had alsoburned its way through the monster’s flesh with a searing heat so intense that it had nearly cauterized the thing’s wound at the same time. Tristan watched azure smoke drift from the nearly surgical slash, and he smelled burning flesh. Split and smoking from cranium to tail, the enveloper tumbled to the lake bed. Then Tristan started blankly at his bloody dreggan and blanched with wonderment.

The blade of his sword glowed with the azure hue of the craft. As the tingling sensation in his arms and hands faded away, so did the glow of the blade. Knowing better than to question what had happened, he swiveled around again, looking for his next challenge.

Suddenly an azure bolt came tearing his way. Launched from a wounded consul standing on the same guard path, it flew over the inner ward and straight toward him. Tristan whirled at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the bolt’s searing heat.

With a deafening explosion, it slammed into one of the nearby barbicans, blasting it to bits. The concussion threw Tristan to the guard path as mortar dust and broken stone rained down on him. Then he heard a scream, and he groggily turned to look.

Through the clouds of settling dust he saw the enraged consul extend his arms and start running at him. Snarling and baring its teeth, an angry shrew charged along beside its master. Dazed from the blast, Tristan struggled to his feet. As he did the consul loosed another bolt.

Tristan instinctively raised his dreggan and held it before him. The bolt struck the dreggan and was immediately entrapped by its blade. Trusting hisK’Shari, Tristan whirled the blade twice in a great circle, then stopped it dead and pointed it at the shrew. The bolt shot from the blade and screamed along the guard path, hitting the shrew squarely in the chest. Bursting into a thousand pieces, the shrew simply disappeared. Even so, the consul hadn’t stop charging. Raising his arms again, he prepared to throw another bolt. Tristan raised his sword and braced himself.

But this time the consul lacked the needed power. Exhausted from the fighting, when he tried to summon another bolt, only a soft, azure light arced from his hands. Before it could reach Tristan it fell short onto the guard path, then sizzled away into nothingness. Undeterred, the enraged consul kept coming. As he neared he pulled a dagger from the folds of his robe and raised it high.

Quick as lightning, Tristan sheathed his dreggan, then spun around toward his attacker’s unarmed side and grabbed the consul’s wrist. He spun again and launched the consul off his feet and into the air. The consul hit hard atop the stone pathway. Tristan kicked the dagger from the consul’s hand and put his boot to his attacker’s throat. The consul tried to use his gifts to escape, but his endowed power was clearly spent.

Tristan drew his dreggan. Because he needed information from this man, he had resisted the urge to kill him. He glared down at the consul’s sharp, hawklike features.

“What is your name?” he demanded.

The consul’s only response was to turn his head as best he could and spit on Tristan’s boot.

As Tristan’s determination rose, the tingling sensation returned to his sword arm, and the dreggan blade glowed again. He slowly moved the blade’s lustrous point toward the consul’s face, and the mystic’s eyes widened with amazement.

“Your name!” Tristan demanded.

Still the consul did not answer.

Determined to get his information, Tristan swiveled his boot and forced the consul’s cheek flush against the pathway. Then he touched the dreggan’s glowing blade to the man’s exposed temple. The consul immediately started to scream. As azure smoke and the smell of burning flesh drifted upward, theJin’Sai drew the blade down the consul’s cheek, forever branding his face.

“Einar!” the man screamed. “My name is Einar!”

Tristan lifted the blade. “Where is your queen?” he shouted.

Despite his searing pain, the consul did not answer. Einar probably feared Serena’s wrath far more than that of theJin’Sai, Tristan realized. He decided to change the consul’s opinion.

Tristan moved the glowing sword point away from Einar’s face. At first the consul showed a great sense of relief. But as Tristan moved the blade toward Einar’s throat, the consul’s eyes widened with horror.

Starting at the neckline, Tristan touched the dreggan blade to the consul’s blue robe, and the cloth immediately started to burn. As the blade traveled toward Einar’s feet, the two halves of his robe fell away, leaving him naked. Tristan calmly placed the glowing blade tip directly above Einar’s exposed genitals. The consul nearly fainted with fear as he felt the heat engulf his groin.

“Where is your queen?”Tristan snarled.

“She’s in Failee’s previous quarters!” Einar screamed. “She went there to try and commune with thePon Q’tar! That’s all I know!”

“Take me there,” Tristan growled. He started to raise his boot from Einar’s throat.

“That won’t be needed,” Tristan suddenly heard Shailiha say. “I learned the way while I was imprisoned here.”

Tristan spun around to see Wigg and Shailiha standing behind him on the guard path. They looked exhausted.

Wigg’s robe was singed and torn, and his fingertips were scorched black. Shailiha’s doublet and breeches were smeared with blood; a jagged wound lay in her right hand. Her thigh dagger was gone, and her sword blade was heavily bloodied. Her face was filthy with sweat and smoke residue. The blond hair Tristan loved so much, tied behind her back and secured with a gold barrette, was so dirty that she could have been a brunette. She had done her share of killing, he realized. Relieved to see that they were alive, Tristan let go a deep breath.