Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

“It’s no game,” Xanthus answered. “But there are rules, I assure you.”

Tristan watched as Xanthus caused a log to float through the air and land atop the fire. The prince turned furtively to regard the axe and shield. As he found himself wondering about them, his curiosity did not go unmissed by the Darkling.

“You still have your weapons,” Xanthus said. “Moreover, you are free to ride away anytime you choose. I will do nothing to stop you. But you won’t go, and we both know why.”

“The Paragon,” Tristan said.

“Yes,” Xanthus answered. “But there is more to it than that. You haven’t grasped the problem’s entirety. Observe.”

Tristan cringed as he watched the pewter vial float up and away from Xanthus’ form. Its top slowly opened. The Paragon and its gold chain lifted free from the vial. Tristan shuddered as he realized that the stone was probably ready to accept a new human host. He also knew that the period between hosts was always the stone’s most vulnerable time.

The Paragon dripped cave water as it twinkled beautifully in the firelight. As Tristan expected, the stone quickly started to lose its color. Unless it was given a human host soon, it would die.

Tristan’s reaction was immediate. Lunging for the stone, he tried to grab it with both hands.

Just as he neared the Paragon it flew away and its chain landed securely around Xanthus’ neck. It twinkled enticingly against the Darkling’s black duster.

Seething, Tristan sat down again. Xanthus smiled.

“You could have done that while I was unconscious,” Tristan said. “Did you wait simply to taunt me?”

“It was merely an object lesson in our respective gifts,” Xanthus answered. “Moreover, you needed to be conscious to see what happens next.”

To Tristan’s horror, Xanthus caused the pewter vial to turn over, pouring its cave water onto the ground. As Tristan watched the liquid soak into the dead grass his anger finally boiled over.

Hoping to confirm his suspicions, he lunged for Xanthus’ axe. To his amazement the Darkling did nothing to stop him. Just as Tristan raised it over his head to strike Xanthus down, the awful realization hit him. Tristan suddenly stopped. With the axe still held above his head, he stared hatefully into the glowing eyes.

Xanthus smiled. “I see you have finally grasped the enormity of your problem,” he said calmly.

Feeling impotent, Tristan could only stand there, shaking with rage. He lowered the axe.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Explain it to me,” Xanthus said. “Before we travel farther, I must know that we understand one another.”

“You already know what the answer is!” Tristan growled.

“I’m sure I do,” Xanthus said. His politeness in the face of Tristan’s helplessness was driving the prince mad. “Tell me anyway,” Xanthus insisted. “Do this small thing for me, and I will then answer some of your many questions.”

“Even if I somehow took the stone from you, I couldn’t prepare it for a new host,” Tristan snarled. “The stone would die. For the time being, I’m forced to accept that it must stay around your neck.”

“Well done,” Xanthus said. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” the prince answered.

Tristan dropped the axe. Even if the Darkling’s axe could somehow kill Xanthus, it didn’t matter anymore.

“And that is?” the Darkling asked.

“Even if I find a way to kill you, I mustn’t,” Tristan breathed hatefully, “because there is no fresh cave water with which to prepare the stone for a new host. If you die, the stone dies with you.”

“Well done,” Xanthus answered. Strangely, he seemed genuinely pleased. “The Heretics said that you are a quick study,” he added. He turned his eyes back toward the fire. “Even so, a very important aspect of our relationship eludes you.”

“Just what is that?”

“As we travel, you must serve as my protector,” Xanthus answered.

The preposterous notion nearly made Tristan laugh. “That’s nonsense!” he protested. “I’ve seen your abilities! Faegan’s bolts passed straight through you! No doubt physical weapons would as well. In addition you command the craft. I understand the need for you to live-at least until I have found a way to reclaim the stone. Then I will kill you gladly, if I can. Even so, your warrior abilities far outstrip mine! So why would you need my protection?”

“Calm yourself,” Xanthus said. “Sit down, and I will tell you.”

Knowing he had little choice, Tristan again sat by the fire.

Xanthus looked into his eyes. Tristan found the experience unnerving. No matter how many times the Darkling gazed at him, he sensed it would always be this way.

“It is in fact true that I may require your protection at certain times,” Xanthus said. “If you want to ensure the Paragon’s survival, you will give it. Our journey to the pass will be a dangerous one.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I am a binary being,” Xanthus said, “created by the Heretics for only one purpose-to tempt you into coming with me. My Darkling half is mere spirit. At certain times, my horse and my clothing are equally ethereal. My specialized gifts allow me to function in your world as though I had physical substance when I choose to do so, and to employ the craft even while the Paragon is immersed in cave water. What you see of me now is only part of what I truly am.”

Tristan had never heard of a binary being. Nor could he understand why Xanthus was telling him these secrets.

“If that is true, what makes up your other half?” Tristan asked.

“My other half is human,” Xanthus answered. “Although my human half also commands the craft, when I am in that form I am mortal, just like the wizards and sorceresses of your Conclave. You must therefore stay by my side and protect me. If I am attacked while in my human form I might die, and the Paragon would die with me.”

Tristan considered Xanthus’ words. The irony that the Darkling presented was infuriating. The idea that he might be forced to protect the same dark being that had slaughtered the innocent citizens of Charningham angered him to the core.

“Why would the Heretics grant you human form,” he protested, “when it contributes to your vulnerability?”

“Think,”Xanthus replied. “The answer you seek is hiding in plain sight.”

Tristan suddenly realized that Xanthus was treating him much the same way Wigg and Faegan often did, after he asked a question about the craft. They would sometimes keep the answer from him, forcing him to reason it out on his own. But despite the Darkling’s surprisingly quiet nature, this creature was no friend.

At first Tristan couldn’t imagine what the answer might be. Then Xanthus turned to him again, showing what little there was of his face. There was no skin, no bone, and no hair. The orbs floated hauntingly in the hood’s depths, accompanied only by teeth that were exposed whenever Xanthus opened his mouth. A mere spirit, he had said.

Tristan looked down at the Paragon hanging around the Darkling’s neck. Its deep, bloodred color had returned, signaling that it had accepted Xanthus as its new host. Suddenly the prince understood.

“You say your Darkling half is mere spirit,” he mused. “If that’s true then your spirit side likely contains no flesh, bone, or blood. If it has no blood, then your Darkling half cannot provide the host needed by the Paragon. That is accomplished only by your human side. That is why the Heretics gave it to you. Not because they wanted to, I suspect, but rather because they were forced to do so if you were to successfully take the stone.”

“And…?” Xanthus asked.

Tristan tried to make sense of Xanthus’ inference. He found sitting beside a campfire and talking craft theory with a mortal enemy maddening. It was like he was somehow being fattened up for the kill, and could do nothing about it.