Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

Tristan looked at the Darkling like he was insane. “If you must kill him, it will be without my help!” he shouted. Looking back at the wheel, he saw the man submerge for the second time.

“Is that right?” Xanthus asked. “Let’s see if I can persuade you.”

As the mill owner came out of the water for the second time, it was clear that he was weakening. Gagging and coughing, he looked at the Darkling with glassy eyes.

Raising one hand, Xanthus called upon the craft to adjust the levers controlling the dams. As the current was directed away from the wheel, it stopped turning. This time the wheel stopped with the miller in an upright position along one side.

Xanthus stepped closer. He looked up at his victim. “Tell me,” he asked, “how many hide inside the farmhouse?”

Shivering uncontrollably and trying to catch his breath, the miller shook his head. “There is…no one!” he shouted. “I live alone!”

Xanthus nodded. “I see,” he answered. “Since that is the case, you won’t mind if I look for myself.”

Suddenly an even greater sense of panic overtook the helpless captive. “What are…you going to do?” he begged.

Saying nothing, Xanthus turned toward the house. He raised one arm.

The farmhouse immediately erupted into flames. Soon the front door burst open. Screaming wildly, an elderly woman and young girl ran through the door. Just as they passed the split-rail fence, the entire structure went up in a raging fireball. In mere moments there was nothing left of it.

Seeing the man atop the wheel, the woman fell to her knees and started wailing. The terrified girl clutching the older woman’s arm looked to be about eight or nine Seasons of New Life.

Xanthus looked at the mill owner. “Your wife and daughter?” he asked.

“My…wife and granddaughter,” he answered weakly. “Do what you will with me, but please don’t harm them! They’re all I have left of my family! My son and daughter-in law were killed during the failed try to invade Eutracia!”

Xanthus pointed to Tristan. “All your fates depend on this man,” he said. “You should be pleading to him, not me.”

The miller turned his head to look at Tristan. His desperate eyes stabbed their way into the prince’s heart.

“Please!” he cried out. “I beg you! Whatever he wants from you, you must give it!”

Xanthus walked closer to the prince. “Indeed,” he said quietly. “Who are you, to let these innocents die? Come through the pass, Jin’Sai, and I’ll let them live.”

Completely overcome, for a moment Tristan believed that his helplessness would drive him mad. Unlike the other victims, this was the first time that one had begged him personally. His heart breaking, he looked hatefully into Xanthus’ glowing eyes.

“No,” he whispered.

Xanthus shook his head. “Because you continue to be obstinate, it is time for your direct participation.” Xanthus pointed to the lever system on the river bank.

“Throw the levers to open the dams,” he ordered. “When your victim is fully submerged, close them again, leaving him under.”

Balling his hands into fists, Tristan shook them at the sky. “No!” he screamed. “I refuse to help you in this madness!”

Taking another step closer, Xanthus glared at him. “Do as I say, Jin’Sai, ” he whispered. “If you continue to refuse, I’ll start on the child.”

Tristan frantically turned to look at the girl and her grandmother, then back at the miller. His mind was awash with guilt about what might happen next, and his body shook uncontrollably. Finally deciding, he shamefully looked at the ground.

“I will go with you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

What have I just done? he asked himself. He looked at the Paragon, still hanging around Xanthus’ neck and shining brightly in the setting sun. By saving these people, have I also destroyed the craft?

Xanthus smiled. “Well done,” he said.

Releasing his wizard’s warp, Xanthus sent the miller crashing into the river. His wife and granddaughter ran to him and helped him ashore. Although he seemed near death, Tristan guessed that he would live.

As Tristan sadly looked west, the smell of charred wood teased his nostrils. Looking past the ruined house, he saw the snowcapped Tolenkas sparkle in the setting sun. What will it be like on the other side? he wondered.

He hatefully looked back at the Darkling. The glowing eyes regarded him calmly.

The glow of the craft again surrounded Xanthus. His persona soon melted away to be replaced by his human side. As the prince took in the sensual face, for the briefest moment he thought he saw tears in Xanthus’ eyes, but then they were gone.

Xanthus took the black knotted cord from his duster. He removed his duster and robe, then dropped them to the ground. Turning west to face the Tolenkas, he sat on his knees in the dirt.

The one hundred self-imposed lashes came across his back accurately, deliberately. Soon his azure blood ran down to be absorbed by the thirsty dirt. When it was over, Xanthus stood. He put on the robe and duster. The glow came again, restoring his Darkling side. The stunned miller and his family could only look on in unbelieving horror.

Xanthus walked to the prince. The glowing eyes seemed even more self-assured.

“It’s time,” he said simply. “Mount your horse. You are about to witness such wonders as you’ve never dreamed possible.”

Tristan did as he was told. Wheeling Shadow around, he took a last look at the family he had saved.

But at what cost to the world? he wondered.

The miller’s sobbing wife held her husband and granddaughter close, like she couldn’t believe they had survived. As she looked at the prince, he saw that her teary eyes were a soft, limpid blue. Bowing her head, she tacitly gave him her heartfelt thanks.

Mounting his horse, Xanthus prodded the stallion to a place alongside Shadow. The two riders started toward the Tolenkas and disappeared.

SOMETIMES THE PAIN SEEMS TOO GREAT FOR EVEN MY HIGHLYendowed blood to withstand, she thought. She closed her teary eyes. But with the Heretics’ help, our plan has been set in motion. Soon my grief will be avenged.

Serena opened her eyes and looked around the room. Like every morning, the lush, red rose petals covering the crypt floor were fresh, and their familiar scent filled the air. The dawn’s first rays streamed in through the open skylights, and songbirds could be heard greeting the morn. As always, two specially chosen handmaidens stood quietly in the room’s far corners.

Lifting her gown, Serena strode through the petals to stand by the altar. Out of respect for her daughter and the man who had fathered her, she completed this sacred pilgrimage twice each day. The Vagaries queen looked down at the dead body and lovingly touched the child’s cold face, just as she did each time she visited here.

Just then she sensed the Heretics touch her mind. She smiled, for she knew why they called to her. During their previous communion, they had promised to let her watch the slaughter. Eager to be informed, she went to her knees and closed her eyes.

“I am here,”she said silently.

“Your servants have reached their next destination,”the many voices said at once.“As we reveal the scene to your mind, joyously behold the Vagaries’ power.”

Unmoving and her eyes still closed, Serena gasped aloud as the vision revealed itself. It soon became so clear that she found it difficult to believe she wasn’t part of it all.

It was morning in Parthalon, and the sun’s rays were coming up over the eastern horizon. Einar and Reznik lay on their stomachs in the dewy grass atop a hill. They were looking down on the Ghetto of the Shunned-the same city that for more than three hundred years had imprisoned all those deemed undesirable by the late Coven of Sorceresses.