“It is the worst we have ever known,” Tristan said. “It is greater than the return of the Coven, Nicholas’ Gates of Dawn, and Wulfgar’s effort to pollute and destroy the Orb of the Vigors. I daresay it is even more dire than the Sorceresses’ War of three centuries ago. Conflicts and forces are in play that you couldn’t start to imagine.”
Aeolus looked over at Abbey. “We have known one another for a long time,” he said. “I don’t distrust theJin’Sai ’s word, but I want to hear you say it. Is the threat truly as terrible as he says?”
Abbey nodded. “Yes,” she answered. “Unless we stop it, everything we hold dear is doomed.”
For several long moments silence filled the room. Aeolus looked into Tristan’s eyes. “I accept,” he finally said.
Tristan was pleased by Aeolus’ answer. But before giving his final stamp of approval, he wanted to be crystal clear about some important points.
“I know how you feel about the craft and your school,” Tristan said. “You must promise to live here at the palace, to accept my orders at all times, and to willingly use the craft when needed. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” the wizard and martial master answered. Then he gave Tristan a smile. “I also promise to train you nearly to death in your pursuit ofK’Shari. ”
Tristan finally smiled back. “Fair enough,” he said. He looked over at Abbey. “The Conclave again numbers ten souls,” he said.
Abbey nodded. “So it would seem,” she answered, “if Traax still lives.” Realizing his oversight, Tristan nodded sadly.
For the next hour, Tristan told Aeolus all about his journey with Xanthus. Aeolus became nearly speechless at the tale. For several moments he looked at Tristan like the prince had lost his mind. “Is what you say true?” he breathed.
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “Had I not lived it, I would find it equally incredible.”
Aeolus shook his head in disbelief. “Amazing,” he said. “And yet, it explains so much. But you still haven’t discussed the immediate threat.”
Tristan’s face became grim. “Simply put,” he said, “unless we can stop her, Serena will soon have the ability to simultaneously change every right-leaning blood signature in our world leftward. With everyone of endowed blood so strongly influenced to worship the Vagaries, everywhere east of the Tolenkas, the Vigors will cease to exist. The Forestallment allowing this power is being held by thePon Q’tar. They have yet to trust its calculations to Serena’s mind. But when the right time comes, they will.”
“I beg the Afterlife,” Aeolus breathed. “Abbey told me that Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay had found the formula allowing them to change blood signature lean. But I never suspected that all the signatures of one type or another could be affected at the same time!”
“Nor did we,” Tristan said.
“How is such a thing possible?” Aeolus asked.
“On Wulfgar’s death, Serena’s unborn child miscarried,” Tristan answered. “Before leaving for Eutracia, Wulfgar magically bound his life force to Serena’s, so that she would know if he died. But he underestimated the spell’s strength. When I killed him, the spell caused the miscarriage and nearly killed Serena. The dead baby was a girl. Serena calls her Clarice. She blames me for her child’s death.”
“Go on,” Aeolus said.
“Serena has enchanted the baby’s corpse, ensuring that it won’t decay,” Tristan said. “The corpse figures prominently in the Heretics’ plan.”
“But why preserve an infant corpse?” Aeolus asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Ah, but it does,” Tristan answered. “Before Wulfgar was killed, he spirited the Valrenkians away to the Citadel. Reznik, the most adept among them-and Einar, Serena’s lead consul-are conducting grotesque experiments. They are trying to refine a lost spell written by Failee, just before she died.”
“To what end?” Aeolus asked.
“To bring the dead back to life,” Tristan answered quietly.
For several moments no one spoke. Stunned, Aeolus sat back in his chair. “But why?” he breathed.
“They would use this spell to revive Clarice,” Tristan answered.
“But why is the life of one child so important?” Aeolus asked.
“Because that child’s living blood is the last piece of the puzzle,” Tristan answered. “If Clarice can be revived, she will be the only person in the world who carries the late Queen Morganna’s blood that has not been affected by a Forestallment, as mine and Shailiha’s have. It would be virgin territory, if you will. Because she is Morganna’s descendant through Wulfgar, her living blood will be of great power. It would not be as strong as mine or Shailiha’s. But it would reign third most powerful in our world-dwarfing even yours, Wigg’s, Faegan’s, and Jessamay’s.”
“Why go to all the bother?” Aeolus asked. “Why don’t thePon Q’tar clerics grant the Forestallment calculations directly to Serena’s mind now? Then she could imbue the Forestallment into her own blood and morph all of the right-leaning blood signatures at will.”
Leaning over the table, Abbey looked into Aeolus’ eyes. “Because even Serena’s blood, potent as it is, is not strong enough to accept such an amazingly strong Forestallment,” she explained. “Only Morganna’s blood or some derivative will suffice.”
“And Clarice’s blood is strong enough?” Aeolus asked. “Even though Wulfgar was your half brother, and his daughter is two generations removed from Morganna?”
“Yes,” Tristan answered, “provided her blood has never been imbued with any other competing Forestallments. In this, her blood is unique in the world. On bringing Clarice back to life, she will be the only living person of Morganna’s blood walking the earth with a left-leaning blood signature, and controlled by those who worship the Vagaries. When Clarice reaches maturity, thePon Q’tar will provide her mother with the Forestallment allowing all right-leaning signatures to be changed leftward at once. Serena will then grant that Forestallment to her daughter’s blood. Clarice will call it forth, forever sealing the Vigors’ doom everywhere east of the Tolenkas. It would be about twenty years before this could happen. But you and I know that twenty years is only a blink of an eye in the history of the craft.”
Aghast, Aeolus slumped back in his chair. He stared blankly down at the tabletop for some time before returning his gaze to the prince.
“It’s monstrous,” he whispered. “You’re right. This threat eclipses even the Sorceresses’ War. I assume that we three are the only Conclave members who know about it?”
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “But there is more to tell you. Despite your experiences in the Sorceresses’ War, you will find the rest of the tale difficult to hear.”
“Please continue,” Aeolus said.
“Both the Ghetto and the Recluse have been conquered by Serena’s forces,” Tristan said. “All the Minion warriors who once manned those strongholds are dead. Serena needed the Ghetto because there she could easily secure large numbers of vulnerable people all at once, rather than having to waste time scouring the countryside for them. The lepers are being taken to the Recluse and used as subjects for Reznik’s and Einar’s bizarre experiments. They are killing them and using Failee’s continually refined formula on them, trying to bring them back to life.”
“Aren’t they worried that the use of lepers might somehow alter or ruin their experiments?” Aeolus asked.
Tristan shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Dead is dead.”
Aeolus stared blankly at Tristan. “What will you do?” he asked.
“I will do the only thing I can,” the prince said. “I will order the fleet home.”
“But by now they must be near the Citadel,” Aeolus protested. “Why not let them continue on and capture Serena and her dead baby girl? If they succeed, the threat is ended and the Recluse can be dealt with later.”
“For one thing, I fear that there has been too much attrition in the Minion forces for the campaign to succeed,” Tristan answered. “Serena is
being aided by the Heretics. Two ships have already been lost, and one-third of the warriors are casualties. Our forces need to come home so that they can regroup, and be joined by the highlander cavalry.”
“Will you go through the portal to give this order?” Abbey asked Tristan.
Tristan shook his head. “I would like to, but I mustn’t,” he said.
“Why not?” Aeolus asked.
“You’re forgetting something,” Tristan said. “Crysenium’s existence is a secret, and must be kept that way. If I am captured, the information might be tortured from me. Nor may either of you go for the same reason. For the time being, we must allow no one with the fleet to understand my true motives for ordering them home. To do so could alert those at the Recluse. Instead, I will send a letter back to Shailiha, citing her recent losses as the only reason for my decision. I suspect that given the situation, she might soon come to that decision on her own, anyway. When our forces return we will quickly ready another invasion fleet, including the highlander horsemen. Then we will sail for Parthalon and lay siege to the Recluse.”
“We will attack the Recluse?” Abbey asked. “Not the Citadel?”
“That’s right,” Tristan answered. “We can only guess at whether Serena remains at the Citadel, but weknow that Einar and Reznik have taken sanctuary in the Recluse. Stopping them from completing the formula will be as effective as capturing Serena and Clarice. Both are needed for the Heretics’ plan to work.”
Aeolus thought for a moment. “If thePon Q’tar are in possession of a powerful Forestallment that alters all blood signature lean at once, then why haven’t they used it against their enemies on their side of the world?” he asked.
“They tried to do so, aeons ago,” Tristan answered. “And they nearly succeeded. Luckily, the Ones got wind of it and developed a counterspell. Millions were converted before the Ones could turn the tide.”
“Why can’t the counterspell be used on this side of the Tolenkas to protect us?” Abbey asked.
“I asked the Envoys the same question,” Tristan answered. “Simply put, there isn’t enough time. You must remember that our knowledge and power in the craft is infantile compared to that possessed by the Ones and the Heretics. I was told that our learning to employ the spell could take far longer than the time required for Clarice to grow old enough for her blood to accept the needed Forestallment.”
Tristan stood from the table, walked to Faegan’s desk, and looked through its drawers. He soon produced a parchment, an inkwell, and a quill. After giving the issue some thought, he penned a letter to Shailiha. When he had finished he placed the letter in an envelope, sealed it with hot wax, then removed his signet ring and forced an impression into the fresh wax.
He turned toward the door. “Guard!” he called out.
At once the doors opened. A sturdy Minion warrior entered the room and clicked his heels.
“I need to see Kratos,” Tristan said. The warrior bowed, then left the room. Kratos soon appeared. Tristan beckoned him closer and handed him the letter. He gave the warrior a stern look.
“This might be the most important mission of your life,” he said. “When Faegan’s portal opens tomorrow at midday, you are to enter it and return to the fleet. Give that letter to Princess Shailiha. She will surely pen another letter back to me. Bring it back as fast as you can. Until then, you are to guard this letter with your life.”
Kratos bowed.“Jin’Sai,” he said solemnly. As he turned and left the room, Tristan returned to the meeting table.
Silence reigned again. Abbey put one hand atop Tristan’s. “Will your stated reason be enough for Shailiha to obey your orders?” she asked.
Tristan turned to look into the fire. “It has to be,” he said. He turned back to worriedly look at the herbmistress and newest Conclave member.
“If the Conclave doesn’t come home soon,” he added softly, “all is lost.”
CHAPTER LII
“COLLECT A SAMPLE OF HIS BLOOD,” ONE OF THEM SAID.“It is time to test our latest discovery.”
The harsh words awakened Xanthus. As he came around, he found himself in the same room where he had been interrogated twice before. Azure bands again bound him to a simple chair. A glowing light shone down on him from overhead, its stark beacon the only reprieve from the darkness. Although he was weak, Xanthus had yet to be harmed. Their faces bathed in shadow, twelvePon Q’tar clerics again sat at a table across from him.
Xanthus watched with fear as a cleric pointed at him. With his powers gone, he could do nothing but wait for the agonizing pain. But this time the suffering never came. Instead he felt a slight tingling in one wrist, nothing more.
Xanthus looked down to see that he had been bound to the chair with his right wrist upturned. He watched a painless incision form to release a single drop of his endowed blood. The incision closed. As the azure blood drop hovered to a place between him and the clerics, it smoothly evolved into his blood signature.
The male cleric who had spoken seemed to be in charge. Peering through the gloom, Xanthus watched him move his index finger slightly. At once the blood signature obeyed and floated closer to the clerics’ table.
“Watch as I bring the needed spell,” the lead cleric told the others. “The theory behind the nautilus effect is vastly complex,” the cleric added. “Behold.”
At once a series of Old Eutracian symbols and numbers started materializing in midair. They swirled about the room for several moments before silently arranging themselves into a horizontally aligned formula. Xanthus tried to decipher it, but he soon realized that its complexities went far beyond his knowledge. Then the formula aligned itself vertically, and the symbol at the line’s top revolved several times, twisting the formula into a tight spiral.
Looking closer, he saw that the numbers and symbols had an unusual thickness about them. This formula’s configuration was different from every other he had seen. Not only did it carry a vertical orientation, but it seemed to also have a physical, three-dimensional substance about it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the lead cleric asked his fellows. “What you see is the product of more than a decade of work by our best Heretic researchers. It couldn’t have come at a better time.”
The lead cleric pointed at Xanthus’ blood signature. It obediently came to rest on the formula’s top, then started winding down its length, leaving a blood trail as it went. When it reached the end it stopped.
At once the formula lost its spiral shape, then started curling from the bottom upward, securing Xanthus’ blood signature tightly at its center. As it finished winding up, its numbers and symbols vanished.
In their places, outward-facing chambers appeared. Spiraling tightly in a clockwise direction, they looked like those shown if a nautilus mollusk had been cut in half lengthwise. But unlike a naturally occurring nautilus, this one had grown to over two meters across, and held hundreds of individual compartments. The spiraling compartments grew in size as they radiated outward from the nautilus’s center. Each compartment held brilliantly colored patterns, like those viewed in a kaleidoscope. As it hovered in the air, its outer shell glowed.
“I give you the nautilus effect,” the lead cleric said. “From this day forward, no one of endowed blood will be able to hide his or her memories from us-even if those memories have been altered by the craft.”
“Breathtaking,” one of the female clerics said.
“Indeed,” the lead cleric answered. “Like the sea mollusk, this shell is separated into a series of progressively larger compartments. With the nautilus effect, each successive compartment holds not an ever-growing sea creature, but an ever-growing number of memories, taken directly from the subject’s blood. The physical similarity between the naturally occurring mollusk and the nautilus effect is strictly coincidental. Still it makes for a good comparison, hence the name.
“The subject’s earliest memories are at the nautilus’s center,” the cleric added. “Because there are fewer retrievable mem
ories available from one’s formative years, the chambers near the center are the smallest. Succeeding chambers grow in size as the subject ages and ever more memories are created and retained in the subconscious. Because these memory chambers arise from one’s blood rather than one’s mind, our researchers doubt that they can be tampered with. Should Xanthus’ memories gleaned in this manner prove different from those we found while searching his mind in the traditional way, we will know that trickery is afoot.”
“How are these closeted memories shown?” another of thePon Q’tar women asked. Xanthus could tell that she remained skeptical, despite the wonder hovering before her.
“As is the case with the vast variety of Forestallment formulas, an index spell will be needed,” the lead cleric answered. “Our researchers say it should be finished soon, and that it will rely on chronology and subject matter. For example, should one wish to see a subject’s adolescent memories relating to his father, the index will select the appropriate time frame from the subject’s life, then search for images showing the subject’s father. Then the index will sift though the scenes until the requested memory is found. Even without an index, I can give you a nonspecific demonstration here and now. I have but to select a memory chamber, then call forth one of its thousands of scenes.”
Xanthus had become so entranced that he had almost forgotten his dire situation. If what they said was true, the gleaming chambers held his entire life’s story. But which part was it about to show?
Suddenly one of the nautilus’s smaller chambers glowed, and its patterned colors started whirling. Then an azure light shone from the chamber. As the light streamed into the room, a scene formed in its depths.
Xanthus did not remember the particular occasion that was being shown, but he could identify the people in it. One of them was him, around the age of nine or ten. He walked hand in hand between his paternal grandfather and grandmother. The old man’s face was kindly, weather-beaten. The woman looked slightly younger. They were strolling through a lively forum. The sun was high, the sky clear.
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