Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

He decided to ask the wizards to test Brent’s blood. Odds were that it would not be endowed. But if it was, and his mother consented, perhaps Wigg would consider allowing him to join the consuls’ sons being taught the craft in the Redoubt Nursery. It seemed the least they could do. After all, the boy had just lost his father.

Just then Tristan heard Brent scream, the young boy’s shrieked so loud that they easily rose above the music. As he stopped dancing, Tristan quickly looked around, but he could find nothing amiss.

Looking back at Tyranny, Tristan saw the blood drain from her face. She clearly understood-but he still hadn’t grasped it. He looked down again to see that the dancing had stopped. The orchestra slowly stilled, its final strains waning away into nothingness.

Tristan was about to demand an answer from Tyranny when Brent screamed again, then pointed to the variegated columns lining the room’s walls. As Tristan looked, the breath caught in his lungs. All the decorative ginger lily wound around the columns was dying before his eyes.

Tristan snapped his head around to look at a buffet table lying against the nearest wall. All the brightly colored flowers and decorative plants atop it were dying as well. Turning brown, their stems slowly slumped over in awkward death postures.

Then Tristan remembered what Brent had told the Conclave about his capture. Suddenly things became clear. Tristan frantically turned to look at Wigg.

From their vantage point high above the floor, the wizards urgently searched the room. But even they could detect no alien presence. The still-unknowing guests were happily murmuring among themselves as they wondered what was going on. “Another clever parlor trick by our wondrous wizards,” Tristan heard one man say. But Tristan knew that this was no illusion. The stakes had just become deadly serious.

Just then all six dancers were lowered to the floor, and Faegan returned to his chair. Faegan urgently shook his head, telling the prince that it had not been his or Wigg’s doing. Hearing Wigg cry out, Tristan looked back over to him.

To everyone’s horror, the Paragon was being lifted from around the First Wizard’s neck. Wigg quickly raised one hand to employ the craft. But try as he might, stopping the stone’s ascent was impossible-even for him. Faegan and Jessamay tried to help augment Wigg’s powers with their own, but to no avail.

Everyone could only watch as the Paragon glided to an empty spot above the checkerboard floor. Many gasped as the golden chain disappeared link by link, and was followed by the stone. The wizards looked aghast at the prince, who then cast his eyes back toward the dais. Those Conclave members still seated seemed as stunned as everyone else.

Drawing their swords, Traax, Ox, and several more male and female warriors started cautiously making for the floor’s center. Tristan raised one arm, ordering them to stop where they were.

An irregular, shimmering shape started to form in the air. It slowly grew until its outer edges were about two meters wide. Then the shimmering vanished to slowly show an intruder. As he materialized, Brent screamed again and ran to his mother.

A mounted figure had brazenly invaded the room. The intruder’s black stallion stood stock-still as white vapor streamed from its nostrils. The rider wore a soft black robe with its hood pulled up over his head. A black leather duster covered the robe and reached down past his saddle stirrups. He seemed to have no face, and the depths of his hood seemed limitless. Even the previously unsuspecting partyers had quieted as they realized that this dark being was not a welcome guest.

Tristan detected a slow movement by his side. Looking over, he saw Tyranny surreptitiously slip one hand beneath the folds of her gown. Understanding that she was reaching for a weapon, he locked his eyes on hers and shook his head.

Tristan started to approach the rider. In response, the intruder gently spurred his horse forward several steps. Tristan didn’t reach for the weapons lying across his back. His wary eyes went to the axe and shield that were tied to the being’s saddle. Despite the ominous circumstances, he found them magnificent. When Tristan looked into the rider’s face, he was shocked by what he saw.

The deep space inside the hood was dark as night-with two eerie exceptions. The being’s eyes glowed azure, as they stared back calmly. No skull held the orbs-they simply floated there in the hood’s dark recesses. Tristan had never seen anything like them. Then the being smiled, exposing his equally grotesque, glowing teeth. The effect was chilling.

Xanthus, Tristan thought.

Suddenly he heard Wigg’s familiar heel strikes, followed by the squeaky wheels of Faegan’s chair. Turning around, Tristan looked them both in the eyes and shook his head. They reluctantly stopped approaching.

When Tristan turned back to look at Xanthus, his blood ran cold. Xanthus was wearing the stolen vial around his neck.

Tristan could only hope that the stone was safely inside the pewter vial, and that the vial was filled with red water from the Caves of the Paragon. When the stone was removed from its human host, only the red, thick water could sustain its life-but not indefinitely. He forced himself to look back into the macabre eyes.

“Xanthus,” he said, trying to control his anger. He looked over at Brent, then back at the Darkling. “We got your message,” he added nastily.

“And also the branch and the scroll, I hope?” Xanthus asked. His voice was hollow, dead-sounding. Tristan nodded.

“Then you understand aboutK’Shari?”

“Yes.”

Xanthus nodded his approval. “Good-that simplifies my task.”

Tristan stood his ground, waiting.

“Then you also know why I have come,” Xanthus said.

“You have come for me,” the prince answered, “and you have stolen the Paragon. What I don’t know is why. And why did those innocent people in Charningham have to die? Surely they meant you no harm.”

Xanthus didn’t respond. His jaw set, Tristan arrogantly looked into Xanthus’ eerie eyes.

“Who sent you?” he asked softly.

The Darkling’s bizarre smile surfaced again. He spurred his horse another two steps closer, then leaned one arm down on his saddle pommel.

“My masters are the Heretics of the Guild,” he answered softly. “Unless I’m mistaken, you have heard of them. They request the pleasure of your company, Jin’Sai. ”

Tristan took a quick breath. He didn’t know why the Heretics had sent this abominable creature to him. But his heart told him that if he went with this being he would never return.

He turned to look at Shailiha. Her face was a mixture of fear and rage. She slowly shook her head, telling him not to go. Tristan looked back at Xanthus.

“Why do they want me?” he asked.

“All in good time,” Xanthus answered.

Wigg and Faegan approached to stand on either side of the prince. “Why have you taken the Paragon?” Wigg asked. His voice was shaking with rage. “Do you truly understand the significance of what lies around your neck?”

“Yes, wizard,” Xanthus answered. “I too can employ the craft.”

“And if theJin’Sai does not follow you?” Faegan asked.

“Then I will commit even greater atrocities,” he said, “making those in Charningham seem like mere child’s play. TheJin’Sai will accompany me. I could take him by force, but the Heretics have willed it otherwise. Unless he accompanies me this night, the horrors will grow. As a start, killing the revelers in this room will do nicely. Make no mistake, wizards-my gifts are of the Heretics. No one on the Tolenkas’ eastern side has the power to stop me. Trying to do so would only result in your deaths, and the deaths of many others. Is that what you want?” Xanthus paused for a moment.