A March into Darkness dobas-2

by Robert Newcomb

  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.

  “A kisa for your thoughts,” Wigg said, bringing the princess back to the present. Looking over at his craggy profile, she smiled.

  “I was just thinking about how much things have changed,” she answered. “And about how much we’ve all lost, yet also gained.” She looked over at Tristan again, to see that he was still painstakingly sharpening his sword. His silhouette dark against the moonlight, he did not look back.

  “Do you think that the peace will hold?” she asked.

  “For a time,” Wigg answered. “But periods like this have always been fragile. Several things still threaten our security.”

  Wigg took a deep breath. “We must secure the Scroll of the Vagaries,” he added, “and Serena must be dealt with. I am sure that she is of highly endowed blood, and that makes her immensely dangerous. Wulfgar would have never chosen her as his queen otherwise. There is simply no telling how much craft training she might have already had. From that mission you and Tyranny carried out at the Citadel not long ago, we also know that she is pregnant. That means that there will soon be another child in the world of your family’s bloodline. As long as Serena controls the other scroll and has gifted consuls working in her service, we will always be in danger.

  “Our recent examination of the azure pass also concerns us greatly,” Wigg added. “The terrible hordes Wulfgar used to attack Tammerland came through there, but we have yet to learn any of its secrets. Who knows what other horrors may lie in wait behind that glowing wall? Faegan, Jessamay, and I think that the calculations needed to breach the pass might be found in the Scroll of the Vagaries. But would having them do more harm than good? Only time will tell.”

  Summoning a mental image of Shawna the Short rocking Morganna in her arms, Shailiha smiled. For no good reason, Wigg again poked at the fire.

  “There are other things to consider,” he said, “things that easily eclipse our storming of the Citadel, or whether the calculations we seek to breach the pass can be found in the other scroll.” He looked over at Tristan again, then back into the fire.

  “And they all have to do with the amazing revelations about you, your brother, and your destinies,” he added.

  Shailiha nodded. “The things that the Scroll Master told him,” she offered.

  “That’s right. When Tristan explained them to me just before he finally destroyed theEnseterat, at first I couldn’t believe my ears. We are still trying to come to grips with what they might mean. His training should start soon, but Faegan, Jessamay, and I would much prefer to see his heart lighten before we start. His full attention and willingness to learn will be crucial. But there is no telling when tha
t might be.”

  Turning from the fire, Wigg looked at Shailiha. “You know how stubborn he can be,” he added.

  Shailiha understood Wigg’s worries. During his time with the Scroll Master, Tristan had learned not only where Forestallments came to reside after a blood signature’s human host dies, but also that there had been many otherJin’Sais andJin’Saious who had arrived long before he and she. Every one, the Scroll Master said, had failed in their attempts to unite the two sides of the craft.

  The Scroll Master also told Tristan that Celeste-despite how much Tristan loved her-was not his destiny. Had she lived, he would have been forced to leave her for the good of the craft. Another love would come to him, and it would be a love like no other. When Tristan saw her he would know. It would be she who would become his true love, and bear his children. And when she arrived to take part in his life, she would not be what he expected.

  Shailiha knew that Tristan did not want to believe that. Nor did the First Wizard, she guessed. But the word of the young Scroll Master was not to be doubted. Despite how much he had loved Celeste, Tristan found himself having to accept these painful facts.

  When Tristan finally finds this new woman, will he be able to love her in the way that the Scroll Master foretold? Shailiha wondered. Or will Celeste’s memory continue to so crowd his heart that there will be no room for anyone else?

  Perhaps most important, in a painful application of the craft the young Scroll Master had used the spells given him by the Ones Who Came Before to change Tristan’s blood back to red. He would now be able to wear the Paragon and start translating the Prophecies-the third and final volume of the Tome that only he or Shailiha were destined to read.

  But before that process started, the wizards and Jessamay had agreed that the consular safe houses needed to be wiped out. Each time they approached one it had been all they could do to convince the prince not to go charging in, trying to kill every consul he could find. Since Celeste’s death he seemed to possess an even deeper, more blinding hatred of all things connected to the Vagaries, and he mercilessly acted on it with every opportunity.

  Shailiha often wondered what her late parents would think of her and Tristan helping to round up and sometimes kill former Redoubt consuls. Sometimes she felt like their parents’ spirits were looking down on her and her brother, watching them struggle to fulfill their destinies.

  She looked back at Tristan. His silhouette dark in the moonlight, he continued to hone the already razor-sharp blade. Sensing his pain, Shailiha closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER III

  SECRETS AND GIFTS, SHE THOUGHT AS SHE QUIETLYwalked the corridors. That is all I have left of what my lord so graciously bestowed upon me. But the secrets and gifts that remain in my heart and in my blood signature shall be enough to pluck my revenge from the ashes.

  As she walked, she clutched a withered rose to her breast, and a tear came to one eye. The droplet slowly traced its way down one cheek.

  Soon, my love, she thought. Soon I will avenge your death.

  Serena walked slowly down the Citadel hallways, her black silk gown rustling pleasantly as she went. Dark ringlets lay on her shoulders. Although her blue eyes were tinged with grief, they also carried a commitment to see the Heretics’ goals attained. She would struggle until her efforts ended either in the death of theJin’Sai, or in her own. Wiping the tear from her face, she walked on.

  Two months had passed since Wulfgar’s unsuccessful invasion of Eutracia. The rose that he had bound to his life force before departing the Citadel had told Serena his fate. If the rose withered, she would know he had died, and she would be the new ruler of the Citadel.

  When the impossible had happened, and the rose had died before her very eyes, she had been in her private chambers, taking tea. Her grip had faltered, and her teacup had smashed upon the floor as she cried her grief to the heavens. Without a doubt, she knew: TheEnseterat was dead.

  At that very moment, a searing pain had racked her belly, its strength so great that she was sure she would die as well. The first of the horrible contractions came quickly as her endowed blood surged hotly through her veins. Then she felt something inside her slip.

  Collapsing to the floor, she began to bleed and give birth. Just moments before she fell unconscious, she managed to place an azure field around the little corpse that lay there beside her like a bloodied doll.

  Summoned by her screams, her servants soon found her. Teetering on the cusp of death, Serena lingered under the care of her worried consuls for two more days.

  On the third day her consciousness sensed the Heretics of the Guild for the first time, as their voices roused her from her nether-sleep. Opening her eyes, she commandingly raised one arm to order her shocked servants from the room. After they had gone, she closed her eyes again.

  “Serena,”she heard.

  “I am here,”she thought, innately understanding that she would not need to speak to make her thoughts known. Then her losses stabbed her heart again, hurting so badly that she could hardly bear it.

  “My husband and child are dead,”she told them.

  “We know,”the choir of voices answered.“In his twisted eagerness to rule the craft, the Jin’Saikilled them both.”

  Serena took a quick breath.“How?” she asked.

  “He used the Orb of the Vigors to destroy Wulfgar,”they answered.“The unexpected might of their clash had been underestimated-even by us. It had been aeons since your world witnessed such a titanic struggle of the craft. But the Ones cannot commune with the Jin’Saiagain, for the Forestallment required to do so is lost to his blood.”

  “What of my child?”Serena asked.“I still do not understand.”

  “When theEnseteratdied, your blood could withstand it; the vulnerable blood of your unborn child could not. But take heart. Wulfgar granted you many Forestallments before he died. You are a fully empowered sorceress, and your blood is strong. Any additional Forestallments required for your purposes can be gleaned from the Vagaries scroll. If you act soon enough, victory can still be ours.”

  She smiled for the first time since the death of her family.“What do you wish of me?” she asked.“My life is yours.”

  “We know, Daughter,”they responded.“Your mission will be a complicated one, and must be accomplished in steps. Listen as we tell you what to do first.”

  As she lay near death, Serena was astounded by what she heard. Nonetheless it all made perfect sense. The task before her would be enormous. But the rewards would be, as well.

  When the Heretics had finished speaking to her, she bid them good-bye. From that moment on, her strength and vitality had returned quickly. That had been seven weeks ago. She had accomplished much since then.

  Reaching her destination, the queen of the Vagaries stopped before a pair of tall twin doors. A wreath of flowering red cat’s paw hung on each one. She pointed an index finger. At her bidding the heavy locks turned over and the doors parted. Serena walked into the room. The doors shut heavily behind her.

  She paused for a moment to look around. Everything was just as she had left it. The room was to be perfectly maintained at all times. If she found the slightest thing disturbed, the handmaidens responsible for maintaining this place would die.

  The chamber was large and well lit. Sunlight streamed in through numerous skylights; songbirds could be heard warbling in the outer yard. The brick floor was covered with fresh red rose petals. On the dawn of each new day the old petals were removed, then carefully replaced. Their familiar aroma permeated the air. Two specially chosen handmaidens stood in the far corners. As Serena looked at them, they bowed.

  Finally satisfied, she again lifted her gown to stride through the lush foliage and toward the center of the room. When she reached the altar she stopped to look down. Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

  The pink marble altar was just large enough to support a small body. An azure glow surrounded it. Reaching through the aura, the bereaved sorceress stroked her da
ughter’s cold cheek.

  The tiny body was covered by a black silk sheet. More rose petals littered the shroud and surrounding altar top. Small and frail-looking, the dead baby girl lay peacefully atop the stone. The child’s eyes were closed in death. A small wisp of downy brown hair adorned the crown of her head. Had she lived, she would have been named Clarice.

  In memory of the child’s father, Serena had ordered the floor covered with rose petals of the same variety Wulfgar had chosen to signal his demise. The glow she had conjured over the little corpse would ensure that the body remained perpetually preserved. The spell’s calculations had been purposely convoluted to avoid tampering, and Serena was sure that only she could unravel it. She turned and looked at her handmaidens.

  “These petals upon which I stand,” she said. “They were fresh this morning?”

  One of the handmaidens bowed. “Yes, Your Grace,” she answered.

  Serena returned her gaze to her daughter’s lifeless form. “Good,” she replied. Silence filled the room again.

  She suddenly heard someone knocking on the double doors of the crypt. Earlier this morning she had summoned the only two other people she would allow into this room without killing them outright.

  “Enter,” she called out.

  The doors parted to show two men. She bid them entrance.

  Two servants walked into the room. They bowed to their queen, then to the little corpse.“When you are in this sacred place you are to bow to my child as well,” Serena had warned them. Given their queen’s mental state, they knew better than to disobey.

  Serena looked commandingly at them. Einar, her senior consul, was dressed in his familiar dark blue robe. Tall and whippet lean, his dark brown eyes stared back at her with confidence. She watched him lower the hood of his robe to expose his sharp features and cruel-looking mouth. Serena trusted and respected Einar. His loyalty to her late husband had been unshakable.

  Reznik was another matter. Serena found his kind to be greasy, unpleasant creatures, but she tolerated the partial adepts here on her small island because she found their gifts useful. At fifty Seasons of New Life, Reznik had a wrinkled face, a thick middle, and a balding head. A circular fringe of graying hair fell to his shoulders. Yellow teeth, a hooked nose, and limpid brown eyes finished the unappealing picture. As if suddenly needing something to do, he nervously ran his wet palms down the front of his bloody smock.