Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

"But why?" Shailiha asked. "Why would the Ones give us such names?"

"As is the case with so many things of magic, we do not know," Faegan answered. "We have theorized that it may be so that future beings of the craft you encounter in your struggles to join the two sides shall know you for who you now are, and therefore willingly accept your aegis over them. Or there may well be deeper, even more meaningful reasons for this. Only time will tell. And time is the one thing we don't have."

Despite all that Tristan had heard, the thought that had been going through his mind since he had sat down needed to be addressed before anything else was done. Wulfgar and his fleet could be there at any time, and they had to be as ready for him as they could.

"We must deploy the fleet," he said sternly. "And we need to set up a system of warning, should they see Wulfgar and his slavers approaching."

"Our thoughts exactly," Wigg said. "What do you suggest?"

Tristan turned back to Traax. "What you must do is to keep the fleet concentrated in strength, so that it can be ordered to move as a unified force at a moment's notice. I want the fleet maneuverable, without having our backs up against the coastline. Sail east from the delta, but venture no farther from Tammerland than your best warriors can fly without stopping to rest. Hold your position there. Then order a small contingent of scout vessels farther east, but again no farther than the warriors can safely fly back to the main body of the fleet. Send warriors flying out from the decks of the scout vessels to scour the sea as far to the east as they can. When the slavers are finally sighted, send a message to me at once. If we can destroy his fleet and keep him from reaching the coast, we may be able to save the orb."

Tristan looked over at the wizards. "Agreed?" he asked. They both nodded.

Tristan thought to himself for a moment, then looked back over at Traax. "Do you remember the officer named K'jarr?" he asked. "His intelligence and bravery impressed me during the sea battle with the pirates."

"Of course," Traax answered with a smile. "He is one of my best. Still a bit young and impetuous, but very capable."

"Good," Tristan answered thoughtfully. "When you return to the fleet, find him and keep him by your side. He is not to participate in any of the flying search parties. When I finally join you I may have a special use for him, and I want him available. I may also want a special litter built. I will tell you about it later."

Traax bowed his head slightly. "I live to serve," he said. Then his strong, rather menacing-looking smile emerged again. "It shall all be as you order, Jin'Sai."

On hearing himself called that for the first time, Tristan sighed and shook his head. He had never been one for titles, and now it seemed that still another one had been heaped on him. He looked over to Shailiha, and saw her smile slightly.

"And for your part, what will you be doing?" Tristan asked the two wizards.

"What we have been doing for the last week," Wigg answered. "Specifically, trying to find a way to combat the Forestallment gifted to Wulfgar that will result in the destruction of the orb. But I must tell all of you here that given the quality of his blood and the still-unknown nature of the various gifts he has surely been imbued with, the likelihood of our stopping him will be remote, at best. And if we fail, all that we know and love may soon vanish." As he finished speaking, a tense silence descended over the table.

Tristan looked over at Traax. "Go now," he ordered. "Take the fleet out, but leave a sufficient number of troops here to defend the palace, should it come to that. Once at sea, follow my directions to the letter. I will await your word."

Nodding, Traax stood. He walked a short distance to the side of the balcony, snapped open his wings, and took to the air.

Looking down at the scroll on the table, Tristan took a deep breath. Rising, he stretched his long legs and walked over to the balcony wall. He kept his dark eyes on Traax as the loyal warrior became smaller and smaller against the backdrop of the sky, then finally vanished.

He knew that if they were not exceedingly fortunate, they would lose this fight. Then the warrior K'jarr crossed his mind again. There might yet be a way-one that he had not discussed with the wizards.

Suddenly, despite the loved ones sitting just behind him at the table, the newly anointed Jin'Sai felt very much alone.

Sixty-four

T he baby girl coughed yet again as she lay struggling for her life in the plain, wooden crib. As she did, the woman in the robe sensed that this gentle but sinister convulsion would be the child's last. Long past grief, the baby's mother and father huddled helplessly near their child, their eyes red and crying as they watched her die.

Closing her eyes, the woman called upon the craft yet again in her efforts to help the infant breathe, at the same time trying to make sure the familiar azure aura did not form, thereby alerting the parents of her secret abilities. But she knew she was losing this battle, and the end would come soon.

Almost as quickly as she had thought it, the child's deep, brown eyes closed, her soft eyelashes fluttering for the last time, like tiny butterflies' wings. Then came the delicate death rattle from her exhausted lungs, and her head slipped quietly over to one side. The woman slowly stood back up.

With tears in her eyes, the woman named Adrian lifted the worn blanket up over the baby's face. Turning to look at the parents, she shook her head sadly.

Refusing to believe, the frantic mother snatched the dead child up in her arms, as if by holding her close, she could somehow imbue her with new life. Adrian left the mother to her grief and walked to the father. His name was Inar, and he hadn't eaten or slept for three days. Near collapse, he leaned his head against the wall and sobbed openly.

"Please know that I did all I could," Adrian said softly.

Reaching out from the sleeve of her hooded robe, Adrian gently touched his hand. It felt cold and lifeless, just as his heart now surely did. Tears running down his face, the father could only nod.

Knowing there was nothing left to be said, Adrian quietly left the room. Going to the cottage door, she let herself out onto the street, where a light rain had begun to fall. She walked to where her horse was tied, pulling up the hood of her robe as she went.

As she mounted her roan gelding, she took a final look back at the modest cottage. Smoke wisped up out of the chimney, and she knew that the traditional black silk ribbon of mourning would soon adorn the door.

What a difference only a few seconds could make, she thought. A body could be warm and alive one moment, and then, in the twinkle of an eye, it was not. After closing her eyes for a time, she slowly opened them again and turned her horse up the slick, cobblestoned street.

Had the child's parents somehow had the occasion to see Adrian's upper left arm, they would have noticed her tattoo: a square, bloodred image of the Paragon. Still, that would not have entirely revealed Adrian's secret, the one she had promised never to divulge since the age of five, when the wizards of the Directorate had granted her father's humble request that his only daughter be accepted for training in the craft. But Adrian was more than simply another person of endowed blood.

Adrian of the House of Brandywyne was of the craft, and a graduate of a place known only to a privileged few. A place called Fledgling House.

Listening to her horse's shoes strike the cobblestones, she regarded the drab city of Tanglewood as it passed slowly by. It was not one of Eutracia's more prosperous places, and probably never would be. And since the unexpected return of the Coven of sorceresses and the deaths of the wizards of the Directorate, she feared the city's plight would only worsen.