Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

Shailiha gently told them the full story-first about how their fathers had been turned to the Vagaries by Nicholas, then the tale of Wulfgar, then how the Conclave had used Satine’s list to hunt down the consuls hiding in safe houses. She told them that some of their fathers might still live, serving Serena at the Citadel. Last she related how Xanthus had taken the prince, and that the Citadel was about to be attacked.

By the time she finished, all the girls had teary eyes. But they also bore the news bravely. The princess looked at Martha.

“These girls have been through enough for one day,” she said. “Please return them to their quarters.”

As the girls rose to leave, Shailiha touched Mallory’s arm. “Please stay,” she said softly.

Mallory immediately obeyed her princess and reclaimed her seat. Once Martha had ushered the girls out, Shailiha looked Mallory in the eyes.

“We have information particular to you,” she said gently. “We wanted to inform you in private. You will find it bittersweet.”

Mallory didn’t know what to say. After searching every face at the table, she looked back at Shailiha.

“Is it about my father?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Yes,” Shailiha answered. “But take heart. Nathan lives.”

Mallory tried to hold back her tears. “Where is he?” she asked.

“He is imprisoned here in the Redoubt,” Wigg answered. “Like the other consuls, he now practices the Vagaries.”

Thunderstruck, Mallory sat back in her chair. Like a true acolyte, she did her best to regain her composure.

“Do you wish to see him?” Wigg asked. “Before you answer, please be aware that he is probably little like you remember. Nor do we know how he will react to your presence. Seeing him again might be disturbing.”

“I don’t know…” Mallory answered. “I’ve wished for this moment for so long. But now…”

“Take all the time you need,” Wigg said. “Perhaps waiting is for the best, anyway. Besides, there’s someone else you must meet. I promised we would join him after we concluded our meeting.”

Mallory wiped her eyes. “Who is it?”

“Another wizard,” Wigg answered. “He is amazingly eccentric, not to mention brilliant. I believe you’ll like him. He’s working on something special.” He gave Mallory a wink. “Perhaps by now he’s ready to explain his findings to us lesser mortals.”

Wigg stood and walked to her chair. He graciously held out his arm. “Shall I escort you?” he asked.

Mallory cleared her throat and smiled again, then stood and wrapped one arm through his. “It would be my honor,” she answered.

Without further ado, Wigg led the group from the room. Shailiha was the last to go.

Fluttering from her perch atop Shailiha’s chair, Caprice took to the air. As she followed her mistress through the open doors, the warriors closed them behind her.

TRISTAN UNTIED THE CANTEEN FROM HIS SADDLE ANDopened it to take a drink. No matter how much he consumed, the same amount of water always remained-telling him that Xanthus was using the craft to ensure that the canteen stayed full. After retying it to his saddleback, he looked up at the cloudless sky.

It was late afternoon, and the sun would soon disappear behind the western horizon. Riding side by side, they had traveled northwest all day, along the Sippora’s western bank. Tristan was surprised to notice that today the foliage lying before them did not wither. The river did not still, and the birds and insects still chirped their customary sounds-all despite Xanthus’ presence.

Since yesterday, they had met no one. Tristan was grateful, for Xanthus would surely have tortured them. They had stopped only once, to rest their horses and take a midday meal. The Darkling had said next to nothing all day, leaving Tristan alone with his thoughts.

The more Tristan considered his plight, the less convinced he became that he was making the right choice by fighting the Darkling’s wishes. If Xanthus had been granted time enchantments, the passing days would mean nothing to him. How many more would die? Could the alternative be worse?

Turning in his saddle, he tried to look at Xanthus’ profile. There was little to see of the grotesque face, hidden as it was by the Darkling’s hood. Despite how much he hated Xanthus, Tristan found the silence maddening. Seeking answers, he guided Shadow closer.

“Why don’t the grass and flowers die today?” Tristan asked. “Does the answer have something to do with your human half?”

Xanthus did not look over. “In a way,” he answered. “But no more than it concerns my Darkling side.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We are far from Tammerland,” Xanthus said. “I sense no imminent danger, so myK’Shari is not being employed. The phenomena to which you refer are simply its by-products.”

“So yourK’Shari is not ever-present,” Tristan mused. “Rather, you call on it during times of danger-like during the masquerade ball, or when you are torturing a victim. Then yourK’Shari becomes active and the foliage dies. But why would a simple martial discipline cause such strange happenings? Does it have to do with the craft?”

“There is nothing simple about it,” Xanthus countered, “but I see no harm in explaining its basics.” Turning toward Tristan, the Darkling’s glowing eyes bored themselves into his.

“K’Shariis a state of martial enlightenment that can be gained in two different ways,” Xanthus explained. “One method is to devote one’s life to mastering the combative arts. Once the physical side has been perfected, the needed mental training may start. In your world’s entire history, K’Shari has been gained by only a handful of practitioners. There were so few that the art nearly died out. These days, only one such Eutracian possesses the skill. So far, not one of this master’s students has succeeded in reaching their teacher’s degree of enlightenment. If one does not succeed soon and the master dies, K’Shari might vanish from your world forever.”

“Who is this great teacher?” Tristan asked.

Ignoring the question, Xanthus looked forward again.

“Very well,” Tristan said. “At least tell me about the other method of gainingK’Shari. ”

“The other way is available only to those owning endowed blood,” Xanthus answered. “That is how I attained the gift. Simply put, it can be granted by Forestallment. The needed calculations are found in both scrolls of the ancients.”

Thinking to himself, Tristan sat back in his saddle. “That does not answer my question,” he pressed. “When yourK’Shari is employed, why do the plants die, and the creatures still? It’s almost like they know, somehow.”

“In a way, they do,” Xanthus answered. “WhenK’Shari is summoned by a craft practitioner, the effect is far stronger. The calmness is so pervasive that it affects nearby life-forms and forces of nature. Wind and water stop flowing. Nonsentient life-forms like plants and trees slow so much that some wither and die. Moderately sentient beings-like animals, insects, and birds-are also slowed or simply flee. Humans don’t sense the effects, but they do observe these highly unnatural occurrences. As I travel away, the pervasive calm moves with me. The rivers and wind flow again after I leave, and the creatures return.”

After riding for a time in silence, the Darkling asked, “Have you decided to join me on the other side, Jin’Sai? How many more must die before you come to your senses?”

Tristan remained silent.

“Very well,” Xanthus said. “It seems I must add an incentive.”

Tristan stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“The next time an opportunity avails itself, you will aid me in my tasks,” Xanthus answered. “That should make you more agreeable.”