The Paragon dripped cave water as it twinkled beautifully in the firelight. As Tristan expected, the stone quickly started to lose its color. Unless it was given a human host soon, it would die.
Tristan’s reaction was immediate. Lunging for the stone, he tried to grab it with both hands.
Just as he neared the Paragon it flew away and its chain landed securely around Xanthus’ neck. It twinkled enticingly against the Darkling’s black duster.
Seething, Tristan sat down again. Xanthus smiled.
“You could have done that while I was unconscious,” Tristan said. “Did you wait simply to taunt me?”
“It was merely an object lesson in our respective gifts,” Xanthus answered. “Moreover, you needed to be conscious to see what happens next.”
To Tristan’s horror, Xanthus caused the pewter vial to turn over, pouring its cave water onto the ground. As Tristan watched the liquid soak into the dead grass his anger finally boiled over.
Hoping to confirm his suspicions, he lunged for Xanthus’ axe. To his amazement the Darkling did nothing to stop him. Just as Tristan raised it over his head to strike Xanthus down, the awful realization hit him. Tristan suddenly stopped. With the axe still held above his head, he stared hatefully into the glowing eyes.
Xanthus smiled. “I see you have finally grasped the enormity of your problem,” he said calmly.
Feeling impotent, Tristan could only stand there, shaking with rage. He lowered the axe.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Explain it to me,” Xanthus said. “Before we travel farther, I must know that we understand one another.”
“You already know what the answer is!” Tristan growled.
“I’m sure I do,” Xanthus said. His politeness in the face of Tristan’s helplessness was driving the prince mad. “Tell me anyway,” Xanthus insisted. “Do this small thing for me, and I will then answer some of your many questions.”
“Even if I somehow took the stone from you, I couldn’t prepare it for a new host,” Tristan snarled. “The stone would die. For the time being, I’m forced to accept that it must stay around your neck.”
“Well done,” Xanthus said. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” the prince answered.
Tristan dropped the axe. Even if the Darkling’s axe could somehow kill Xanthus, it didn’t matter anymore.
“And that is?” the Darkling asked.
“Even if I find a way to kill you, I mustn’t,” Tristan breathed hatefully, “because there is no fresh cave water with which to prepare the stone for a new host. If you die, the stone dies with you.”
“Well done,” Xanthus answered. Strangely, he seemed genuinely pleased. “The Heretics said that you are a quick study,” he added. He turned his eyes back toward the fire. “Even so, a very important aspect of our relationship eludes you.”
“Just what is that?”
“As we travel, you must serve as my protector,” Xanthus answered.
The preposterous notion nearly made Tristan laugh. “That’s nonsense!” he protested. “I’ve seen your abilities! Faegan’s bolts passed straight through you! No doubt physical weapons would as well. In addition you command the craft. I understand the need for you to live-at least until I have found a way to reclaim the stone. Then I will kill you gladly, if I can. Even so, your warrior abilities far outstrip mine! So why would you need my protection?”
“Calm yourself,” Xanthus said. “Sit down, and I will tell you.”
Knowing he had little choice, Tristan again sat by the fire.
Xanthus looked into his eyes. Tristan found the experience unnerving. No matter how many times the Darkling gazed at him, he sensed it would always be this way.
“It is in fact true that I may require your protection at certain times,” Xanthus said. “If you want to ensure the Paragon’s survival, you will give it. Our journey to the pass will be a dangerous one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am a binary being,” Xanthus said, “created by the Heretics for only one purpose-to tempt you into coming with me. My Darkling half is mere spirit. At certain times, my horse and my clothing are equally ethereal. My specialized gifts allow me to function in your world as though I had physical substance when I choose to do so, and to employ the craft even while the Paragon is immersed in cave water. What you see of me now is only part of what I truly am.”
Tristan had never heard of a binary being. Nor could he understand why Xanthus was telling him these secrets.
“If that is true, what makes up your other half?” Tristan asked.
“My other half is human,” Xanthus answered. “Although my human half also commands the craft, when I am in that form I am mortal, just like the wizards and sorceresses of your Conclave. You must therefore stay by my side and protect me. If I am attacked while in my human form I might die, and the Paragon would die with me.”
Tristan considered Xanthus’ words. The irony that the Darkling presented was infuriating. The idea that he might be forced to protect the same dark being that had slaughtered the innocent citizens of Charningham angered him to the core.
“Why would the Heretics grant you human form,” he protested, “when it contributes to your vulnerability?”
“Think,”Xanthus replied. “The answer you seek is hiding in plain sight.”
Tristan suddenly realized that Xanthus was treating him much the same way Wigg and Faegan often did, after he asked a question about the craft. They would sometimes keep the answer from him, forcing him to reason it out on his own. But despite the Darkling’s surprisingly quiet nature, this creature was no friend.
At first Tristan couldn’t imagine what the answer might be. Then Xanthus turned to him again, showing what little there was of his face. There was no skin, no bone, and no hair. The orbs floated hauntingly in the hood’s depths, accompanied only by teeth that were exposed whenever Xanthus opened his mouth. A mere spirit, he had said.
Tristan looked down at the Paragon hanging around the Darkling’s neck. Its deep, bloodred color had returned, signaling that it had accepted Xanthus as its new host. Suddenly the prince understood.
“You say your Darkling half is mere spirit,” he mused. “If that’s true then your spirit side likely contains no flesh, bone, or blood. If it has no blood, then your Darkling half cannot provide the host needed by the Paragon. That is accomplished only by your human side. That is why the Heretics gave it to you. Not because they wanted to, I suspect, but rather because they were forced to do so if you were to successfully take the stone.”
“And…?” Xanthus asked.
Tristan tried to make sense of Xanthus’ inference. He found sitting beside a campfire and talking craft theory with a mortal enemy maddening. It was like he was somehow being fattened up for the kill, and could do nothing about it.
“Your human half, even though I cannot see it, must coexist at all times with your darkling half,” he said. “If it did not, the stone would die.”
Tristan understood now. Xanthus’ human side sustained the stone, while his Darkling side-the side that he showed-provided the invincibility needed to carry out his mission. In turn, the stone provided the bait Tristan must follow, or risk the Paragon’s death. If that happened, magic would disappear forever.
Looking at the ground, he shook his head. The Heretics’ plan was elegant, foolproof. Like it or not, he had no choice but to follow this monster.
“But why must I go willingly?” he asked. “A being with your gifts could easily kidnap me, forcing me to come.”
The glowing smile appeared for a moment. “Like the way the misguided Coven abducted your sister?” Xanthus asked. “Only to warp her mind until it was nearly unrecognizable? And all so that she would do their bidding as little more than a common slave? No, Jin’Sai -the Heretics are not so crude. True, they wished for Failee’s success, for it would have furthered their overall cause. But brilliant as the First Mistress was, they eas
ily saw the flaws in her plan-flaws compounded by her madness. Nor were Nicholas or Wulfgar successful against you, despite the Heretics’ guidance.”
Xanthus paused for a moment as he caused another log to land atop the fire.
“Even I cannot answer why you must go willingly,” he added. “But I suspect that it has to do with yourtrue nature, and why you are upon the earth. Only the Heretics know such things. When you finally stand before them, they will tell you.”
Tristan suddenly felt a rush go through his blood. His next words came only as a whisper.
“Do you mean to say-?”
“Yes,” Xanthus interrupted. “If you accompany me through the pass, you will finally come face-to-face with one of the two factions that know all there is about you and your sister’s existences. Neither is what you believe, Jin’Sai. Your wizards, although brilliant, have been wrong in many respects.”
His mind racing, Tristan stared into the fire. If he followed Xanthus through the azure pass, the many secrets he so longed to unravel might be his. But he also realized that if the Heretics wanted him in their midst, their reasons wouldn’t be benign. His blood, although still untrained, was supposedly of the highest quality the world had ever seen. As much as he wanted answers, surrendering his person to the same beings who had originated and perfected the Vagaries was unthinkable.
He had to devise some way to take the Paragon from Xanthus and escape. But what if he found no way to take the stone? Would he watch Xanthus disappear into the pass with it forever? Or would he follow him, giving both the stone and himself over to the Heretics?
Something told him that he must do what he had always done when faced with an enemy of the Vigors. He would fight against what they wanted, simply because they wanted it.
“I won’t follow you,” he said softly.
“The Heretics warned me that this would be your stance,” Xanthus said, “at least at first. I understand your need to kill me and to take the stone. That’s simply the nature of your blood. But again, you’re forgetting something.”
“What?” he asked.
“The Paragon’s theft was meant to induce you to follow me, at least at first,” Xanthus answered. “The Heretics have been watching you since your birth. They might know you better than you know yourself. They suspected that you would struggle against their wishes, simply because they worship the Vagaries. Your stubborn nature precedes you, Jin’Sai. ” Xanthus looked into the fire again.
“Let us be honest with ourselves,” he went on. “You will stay with me until we reach the pass because it is in the craft’s best interests for you to do so. But your heart tells you that when we arrive, you should refuse to go in with me. Why? Because you believe that your blood must not fall into the Heretics’ hands. The Heretics expected as much. They knew that another, even more potent inducement needed to be found. That is another reason for my Darkling side.”
“The atrocities,” Tristan whispered.
“Yes,” Xanthus answered. “There is a village near here called Everhaven. It will be our first stop. If you continue to resist going through the pass, what I will do there will be but the beginning.”
Tristan’s anger rose again. Even though he knew it was impossible, he wanted to kill Xanthus with his own two hands. How sweet it would feel to crush the Darkling’s throat and watch the blue light abandon his venomous eyes. Remembering that attacking Xanthus would prove pointless, he tried to calm himself.
“Why must the torture start tomorrow,” he asked hatefully, “when we have yet to reach the pass?”
“Yet another object lesson,” Xanthus answered. “As we go, you will be forced to see what horrors will occur until you consent. You must resign yourself to this, Jin’Sai. The wheels are in motion, and neither of us can stop them. There is no other choice.”
Tristan stiffened as he watched the Darkling reach into one duster pocket. What Xanthus produced was surprising. It was Tristan’s black ball mask, somehow magically ferreted away by Xanthus before they left the palace. The Darkling handed it to him. Not knowing what else to do, he took it.
“Why give me this?” Tristan asked.
“The Heretics have been gracious enough to offer it,” Xanthus answered. “I suggest that you respect their wishes. When morning comes, you may find that you want it-perhaps desperately so.”
“I still don’t understand,” Tristan protested.
“But you soon will,” Xanthus said ominously. “It will take us several days to reach the pass because we will be traveling on horseback, rather than by the craft. Unless, of course, you decide to honor the Heretics’ wishes. If you do, I promise you that the wonders you will behold will dwarf your wildest dreams. Consent and I will take us there in the blink of an eye. Refuse, and the atrocities will continue. As I said when you first awoke-how long it takes us to arrive, and what happens when we do, depend entirely on you.”
Tristan looked around. The river was still unmoving, the wind nonexistent, the night creatures silent. He looked back at the Darkling.
“Why does nature still in your presence?” he asked. “I have never seen anything like it.”
“The phenomenon has to do withK’Shari, ” Xanthus answered. “But that is a topic for another time.”
Tristan looked down toward the fire. He realized that he was still holding the mask, and shoved it beneath his vest. Soon another question occurred to him.
“If your Darkling half protects you from harm, yet you never show your human half, then how could an enemy possibly kill you?” he asked. “It still seems that you don’t need my protection.”
“I did not say that my human half is never shown,” Xanthus answered, “but there are only two reasons why it appears. Unlike my Darkling half, my human half needs food, water, and sleep to survive. My human half sleeps while unrevealed. But when we take our meals together, I must appear to you that way.”
“What is the second reason?” Tristan asked.
“The second reason is more…complex,” the Darkling answered. “It has to do with proving my devotion to the Heretics. From their places on the Tolenkas’ other side, certain of them watch our every move, and hear our every word. They consider your arrival of the utmost importance. Because it was previously impossible to conquer the Tolenkas, never before has anyone-not even aJin’Sai or aJin’Saiou- had this opportunity. For that reason alone, I suggest that you be judicious in your decision. As I said, they see everything. Proving my loyalty to them as they watch is the other reason they granted me a human side.”
“How do you prove your devotion?” Tristan asked.
The Darkling turned to look at him. Tristan found the glowing eyes boring into his brain again.
“Through the acceptance of pain,” Xanthus answered simply. “But ask no more questions this night, Jin’Sai. As we travel there will be ample opportunities for you to learn what I have to teach you, humble as such things might be. Sleep now; you will need your strength. Have no fear. I will watch over you until the cock crows. Then we will start for Everhaven.”
Tristan gazed blankly into the fire. Xanthus’ unthreatening nature continued to surprise him. It was almost like the Darkling had become his teacher. The calm, talkative being by his side seemed little like the creature that had killed the citizens of Charningham and caused such terror in the Great Hall. Despite his ominous words, the Darkling’s recent demeanor had become almost fatherly, caring.
With Xanthus’ mention of sleep, Tristan suddenly realized how tired he was. Could he rest safely? With escape and killing Xanthus impossible, what else was there to do? As Xanthus had said, if the Darkling had wanted him dead, he would be.
Unable to hold his eyes open any longer, he lay by the fire with the black masquerade mask pressing against his skin. He fell asleep immediately.
Xanthus ended the spell he had surreptitiously used to put Tristan asleep. He looked over to see theJin’Sai ’s sharp features gently highlighted by the fire, then stared back out across the vacant plai
ns.
There is so much for you to learn, Jin’Sai, if only you will agree to follow me through the azure pass. But you cannot see that. Considering the many things I must do to convince you, you will remain difficult. Come with me and your wildest dreams will be fulfilled. Refuse and your entire world will suffer peril such as it has never known.
Amid the ominous quiet, Xanthus started the long wait for dawn.
CHAPTER XII
DEEP IN THE REDOUBT, WIGG LOOKED WITH SADNESSinto Faegan’s face. His old friend was still unconscious. The First Wizard had been sitting by Faegan’s bedside for the last three hours. As night marched inexorably toward day, Wigg’s concern deepened.
Faegan’s face was pale. His breathing was little more than a ragged collection of wheezes and gasps, and he was bathed in sweat. Jessamay stood quietly beside the First Wizard. She hadn’t said so, but she doubted that Faegan would last the night. Shailiha and Tyranny were also there, keeping vigil.
Rather than accept rooms in the palace, Faegan had taken up residence in the massive labyrinth belowground. He wanted to be near two of the things he loved most in the world-the Redoubt research facilities, and the fliers of the fields.
Faegan’s private rooms were spacious and welcoming. A fire burned warmly in the hearth. A large desk sat to one side, and its top was littered with texts, scrolls, and other craft tools. Patterned rugs and specially chosen artwork tastefully adorned the room, and elaborate floor candelabras held brightly burning candles.
When Faegan wasn’t knee-deep in some craft riddle, he could usually be found in the flier aviary. Seated on the spacious balcony, he would watch for hours as his beloved butterflies swooped and darted about the spacious chamber.
It was on that same balcony that Shailiha’s only active Forestallment had unexpectedly come alive. It was a day that the princess would never forget. As she now sadly watched the wizard fight for his life, she doubted that they would ever share that balcony again.
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