Robert Newcomb: A March into Darkness

“This simply isn’t good enough,” he said menacingly. “I want them all.”

Wigg cleared his throat. “We may as well return to camp,” he said cheerfully. “Our work here is done. I for one am so hungry that my ribs must be showing through!”

“I agree!” Faegan added. “I could do with a bit of Minion cooking myself-crude as it might be!”

But as the group turned to go, theJin’Sai stayed put. He turned to look at the remains of the burning cottage. Sensing his frustration, Shailiha walked over and snaked one arm through his.

“Come, Brother,” she said gently. “There is nothing more to be done here.”

When Tristan turned she saw his eyes start to well up. Holding him a bit closer, she accompanied him back to the Minion campsite.

“He worries me,” Shailiha said softly.

As she sat by the campfire with the First Wizard, the princess pulled her knees up under her chin. It was a perfect evening. The nighttime sky was full of stars; the tree frogs sang pleasantly. Her soft brown jerkin and matching trousers were helping to keep her warm, while the campfire added to her sense of security.

Several Minion tents dotted the ground nearby, and the occasional flying patrol could be seen highlighted against the three red moons. Reaching up, the princess tossed a handful of her long blond hair over one shoulder.

The roasted pheasants the Minions prepared had been wonderful, and the princess had consumed a bit more than her share of red wine. Ox and Traax were off seeing to the sentries; Faegan and Jessamay had retired. They would all be home late tomorrow. The princess would be glad to hold her daughter Morganna in her arms again.

She looked over at Tristan. He had again eaten little, then gone off to be alone, sitting with his back up against a tree. He was monotonously sharpening his dreggan blade with a whetstone. As the stone slid down the sword’s edge time after time, the crown prince of Eutracia simply stared into space, like he was the only person left in the world. Since the death of his beloved Celeste, they all knew that when he was like this, it was best to leave him alone.

Sighing, Shailiha looked over at the First Wizard.

“You have been with him when he endured so many of his losses,” she said softly. “Each time he has returned to us. Will he do so this time as well?”

Taking a deep breath, Wigg leaned over to rearrange his robe. As he did, the Paragon dangled forward to twinkle in the firelight.

“Yes, but I cannot be sure when,” Wigg answered.

“How can you know?” Shailiha asked.

“Because he must,” Wigg answered simply. “He understands that. His nation needs him. His blood has finally returned to its natural state, and his training in the craft must start. More important, he is the reigningJin’Sai. Despite his recent behavior he understands his destiny far better than ever before.” Pausing for a moment, Wigg picked up a nearby stick to casually poke at the fire.

“He worries us all,” the wizard went on. “His personal losses have been huge. He so loved his parents, and the late Directorate of Wizards. He loved Lionel and Geldon, too. But he loved Celeste in that special way that only lovers’ hearts can become entangled. She was the single greatest loss of his life. His blood has such strength that I believe he loves more deeply, hates more deeply, and struggles against his enemies with more intensity than the rest of us could ever know. We must be patient with him. But besides the fact he so loved Celeste and that she was his wife, there is another, even more meaningful reason why he grieves so deeply for her.”

“Why?” the princess asked.

“Because he feels responsible for her death,” Wigg answered. “It was, after all, their physical act of love that began her slow demise. Had he never lain with her, she might be alive today.”

Shailiha looked back at her brother. For the first time in a long while, it finally seemed that their nation had found peace. Despite everyone’s losses they should all be happy and looking forward to their futures. And they were-except for Tristan. As she again looked into the fire, her mind was taken back to the unimaginable series of events that had brought them all to this remote campsite in the woods.

Wulfgar’s second invasion of Eutracia had been defeated, but at a huge cost. TheEnseterat had attacked Tammerland with two full armies and a fleet of the magical Black Ships that could do wondrous things. The resulting war had cost many Minion troops. It would take an entire generation to replace them.

Much of Tammerland had been ravaged by fire and by the destructive creatures Wulfgar had loosed on the city. Lionel and Geldon had been killed by the assassin Satine, whom Wulfgar had hired to kill the members of the Conclave of the Vigors shortly before the invasion. Serena-Wulfgar’s widow-still lived in the island fortress on the other side of the Sea of Whispers. She alone possessed the fabled Scroll of the Vagaries.

But perhaps the most ominous development was the appearance of the azure pass that had been cut through the Tolenka Mountains by the wounded Orb of the Vigors, as the orb rained its destructive energy down on the land. Tristan had later used the craft to heal the orb and destroy Wulfgar. But the secrets of the pass-and what lay beyond it-remained mysteries. Wulfgar had nearly succeeded in his insane plans. Despite the losses, however, good things had also been born of that struggle.

After Tristan killed Satine, Wigg’s search of her body produced a crumpled parchment. There were thirteen names and matching locations listed on it. Even more interesting was the series of secret code phrases associated with each of them.

Wigg recognized the names immediately. To everyone’s surprise, each one identified a onetime consul of the Redoubt. The list also revealed a series of safe houses in which Satine could hide as she went about her grisly work. The network of endowed spies lying in wait throughout Eutracia had finally been brought to light. But the bottom of the list was ragged, indicating that Satine had ripped away one or more of the names. This concerned them all, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Tristan had been right. Even though tonight’s cottage had been the final safe house on the list, that didn’t mean that the last of the traitorous consuls had been dealt with. The few who had been taken alive awaited questioning in the Redoubt.

She thought back to the night when Tristan defeated Wulfgar, and healed the Orb of the Vigors. Despite the carnage and destruction, things had ended on a glorious turn of events. His blood having been turned from azure back to red, Tristan used the last of the spells in his blood signature to miraculously heal the warriors who had been wounded in battle, and also heal those unfortunate citizens stricken by the orb.

As a result the jubilant populace-long wary of the prince and the Minion warriors at his command-again regarded Tristan as their rightful leader. They had even come to accept the flying warriors as their protectors.

The people of Eutracia again appreciated magic for the good things that it could do, rather than fearing it for the evil. Watching the citizens and the Minion warriors working side by side to rebuild the palace and the city had been a heartwarming thing. A grand masquerade ball had been scheduled to celebrate the royal residence’s completion. It would be the first real palace social event since the ill-fated night of Tristan’s aborted coronation ceremony.

An added result of this new peaceful period had been a rebirth of culture and prosperity in Eutracia. Shops again buzzed with activity. Crime in Tammerland had been drastically reduced because of the Minion patrols that Tristan ordered to wander about the city. Long overdue taxes and vital goods again flowed into the capital. Vital trade had resumed not only between Eutracia’s far-flung provinces, but up and down her coastline as well.