Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered back. “There is far more to this than meets the eye. If Xanthus or the Heretics wanted me dead, I would be.” He looked into Shailiha’s face.

“It seems that there is only one way to find out,” he added gravely.

Shailiha vehemently shook her head. “No!” she exclaimed. “You mustn’t! I won’t let you! No one knows what that monstrosity has planned for you!”

“The princess is right, my lord!” Traax insisted. “There are at least one hundred male and female warriors in this room, most still carrying their dreggans! With one word from you, they will all attack Xanthus at once!”

Tristan shook his head. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “If Faegan’s bolts couldn’t harm him, then how could a dreggan do so? Besides, if he is attacked he might vanish, and we could lose the Paragon forever. No, my friend-he would only kill more of us in the process. There has already been too much death.”

Tristan looked back at Wigg. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked.

Wigg sadly closed his eyes, then opened them again. When he did they were shiny with tears.

“Yes,” he answered. “No matter how many of us attack, I fear we cannot defeat this creature. If his gifts truly are of the Heretics, we would be foolish to try. Even combining my gifts with Jessamay’s and Adrian’s would likely do little good. Despite how much I fear for you, I can see no other course but to let you go.”

“Then I shall,” Tristan said. “I know that I might never return. Either way, these are my orders: First, Shailiha is now the Conclave leader and reigning sovereign. She is also lord of the Minions. Her word is law. Respect her orders as you would my own. Second, speed your plans to attack the Citadel. If it is at all possible, take Serena alive, and capture the Scroll of the Vagaries. It is my belief that Wulfgar’s widow has much to do with this.”

“Your time is up, Jin’Sai!” Xanthus suddenly cried out. “Must more people die because of your indecisiveness?”

Tristan turned to gaze into the monster’s glowing eyes. “Harm no one else!” he shouted. “I will go with you!”

Xanthus grinned, his teeth showing grotesquely in the hood’s recesses.

Reaching out, Shailiha took her twin brother into her arms. She held him close, like she was never going to let go. She placed her mouth to his ear.

“I will find you,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “just as you once had to find me. I swear it.”

“No!” he whispered back. “Promise me that you will attack the Citadel!” Nodding sadly, she finally released him.

Knowing there was little left to say, Tristan nodded at Wigg. Wigg swallowed hard, then nodded back.

Just as Tristan turned to go, Tyranny stepped nearer. She pulled him to her, then kissed him hard on the mouth. She slowly let him go. For the first time since meeting her, he could see that she was shaking.

Rather than seeming surprised, Tristan smiled gently. “I know,” he said quietly. “I always have.”

Stepping off the dais, he walked to where Xanthus sat astride his mount. He looked again into the dark hood.

“I demand to keep my weapons,” he said.

“Granted,” Xanthus answered. “As you have no doubt surmised, you cannot harm me with them.”

Tristan watched in dread as Xanthus raised a bony, glowing hand. Wondering whether the being was about to cause yet more mayhem and death, he held his breath. The answer surprised him. Another shimmering shape started to appear. It slowly coalesced to take a familiar form.

Shadow, Tristan’s black stallion, soon stood where the shimmering had once been. A recent gift from the Minion warriors of Parthalon, the horse danced about a bit as he took in his new surroundings. Shadow was wearing the shiny black tack the warriors had also given the prince. Tristan walked over, grasped the bridle, and rubbed the stallion’s face. Shadow slowly calmed.

After gazing around the disheveled room, Tristan threw himself up into the saddle. As he wheeled Shadow around, the stallion’s iron shoes clip-clopped on the marble floor. Tristan took a last look at the Conclave members, then walked Shadow up alongside Xanthus’ horse.

“It is time, Jin’Sai, ” Xanthus said. In a voice that was almost kind, he added, “We travel to a place beyond description. Obey my every word, and many of your long-held questions will be answered.”

Side by side, Tristan and Xanthus walked their horses toward the rear of the Great Hall. With every step they took, what living foliage still adorned the room withered, then died.

As they neared the far wall, both riders disappeared.

STANDING ATOP ONE OF THE CITADEL’S BARBICANS, Serena looked toward the heavens. It was almost midnight, and the sky was angry. Dark clouds gathered ominously, blotting out Eutracia’s three magenta moons. The wind harassed her hair and gown, and the Sea of Whispers crashed mightily in its endless assault against the rocky shore. His hands clasped before him, Einar waited quietly by her side.

I will soon need to summon the craft to remain standing against this wind, Serena thought. The storm is gathering, just as the Heretics said it would.

The Heretics had again communed with her yesterday. As she remembered their words, the heavenly voices seemed as clear tonight as they had then.

“Although theJin’Saitravels with the Darkling, the Conclave plans to move against you,” the Heretics had told her.“You must summon your allies, so that the Citadel is unassailable while Einar and the Valrenkian visit Parthalon. Work the craft tomorrow at midnight, for there will be a great storm. If you fail, all that we wish to do might be rent asunder by the Conclave. We will grant you the proper Forestallment calculations needed to ensure your success.”

She had gone to her knees and lowered her head. There had been much more to their message; she had listened intently. When the Heretics had finished relaying their instructions, she’d told them she would obey.

At first, the combination of azure letters, numbers, and symbols had seemed incomprehensible. But as they had continued to enter her mind she’d started to recognize the elegant thread of genius winding through them. She’d quickly realized that she would need Einar’s help to impart them into her blood signature. It would have to happen soon.

After sending a handmaiden to summon Einar to the Scriptorium, Serena had walked there alone. The Scriptorium was a place of research, where many documents left behind by the Heretics lay in safekeeping. It was there too that she kept the consummately precious Scroll of the Vagaries. As she entered, several consuls in their blue robes nodded reverently, then returned to their work.

Ensconced high in one of the fortress’s corner turrets, the Scriptorium was built of tan stone. Bookcases lining the walls held hundreds of texts and scrolls, some still laden with centuries’ worth of dust. Several dozen desks sat in neat rows, their tops laden with more scrolls, texts, and tools of the craft. Golden candelabras, their candles enchanted to burn forever and without producing smoke, graced the desks’ working surfaces.

Because the hour was late, consuls occupied only a few of the desks. She knew that they would be compiling the results of today’s experiments. Other consuls were busy clearing away the physical remains of Einar and Reznik’s research. Blood could still be seen here and there on the floor. She clearly understood that Reznik had been right about his warning to her. What they needed could no longer be found on the island. The Heretics had been right in telling her to send Einar and Reznik to Parthalon.