Xanthus was dumbfounded by what he saw. His grandparents were long dead, and had been named Aaron and Esther. He had loved them with all his heart. By that time in his life he had become an orphan, his parents killed in the seemingly never-ending War of Attrition. It had been his parents’ tragic deaths that had eventually convinced him to join the Imperial Order. As he watched the strangely familiar people walk along, he started hearing sounds come from the scene. With this last enhancement, the image took on an eerie life of its own.
The bustling forum was colorful and alive with energy. Hundreds of stalls enticed the many passersby. Each stall’s proprietor called out loudly to the shoppers, trying to get them to stop and admire his or her wares. Stern-looking Imperial Order officers strolled watchfully, looking for anyone who seemed out of place. Young Xanthus admired their golden uniforms and the short swords hanging at their hips.
Smiling, Aaron looked down at Xanthus. “Would you like a treat?” he asked.
The boy nodded eagerly. After paying for a candy, Aaron handed it to him. Xanthus placed the whole thing into his mouth. Smiling widely, he looked up at his grandmother, then-
The lead cleric waved one hand. The image vanished, and the azure light fled back into the nautilus’s compartment. The compartment’s riotous colors stopped whirling. Suddenly brought back to reality, Xanthus returned his gaze to the shroudedPon Q’tar clerics. The amazing respite into his past had been brief but welcome.
“Do you remember that day?” the lead cleric demanded. Unlike Aaron’s voice, the cleric’s held no compassion.
“No,” Xanthus answered. “But that does not mean it didn’t happen. The two elderly people were Aaron and Esther, my paternal grandparents. They raised me after my parents died in the war.”
“We know,” the cleric answered drily. Lifting a leather-bound notebook from the tabletop, he held it up for Xanthus to see. “It’s all here in your file. You were once a respected member of the Imperial Order. You even rose to become Faxon’s personal assistant. He trusted you enough to choose you to bring us theJin’Sai. But you turned traitor and let Tristan escape. What we cannot understand is why you brought him so far, only to let him go. We have spoken to Faxon. Like us, he is beside himself with anger at your betrayal.”
“And I keep telling you how wrong you are!” Xanthus protested as he angrily strained against his bonds. “I am no traitor! I saw theJin’Sai die in the red desert with my own eyes! It was not I who conjured the Borderlands! If anyone is responsible for theJin’Sai ’s death it is you!”
“Mind your tongue!” one of the female clerics shouted. “There was an army of Ones advancing-we did what we had to! How dare you question our wisdom! We are not some gaggle of low-ranking Imperial Order officers for you to berate! We are members of thePon Q’tar! Any one of us could kill you with a single thought!”
Xanthus’ mouth turned up into a sneer. “But you won’t,” he answered sarcastically. “You need to learn whether I’m telling the truth.”
The lead cleric had heard enough. “Guard!” he shouted.
Double doors immediately opened in the wall behind Xanthus’ chair. Light streamed in, hurting his eyes again. Two high-ranking Imperial Order officers quickly entered the room. The azure bands binding Xanthus disappeared.
“Take this traitor back to his hole!” the lead cleric ordered. “As punishment for his insolence he is to be denied food for the next two days.” The two officers promptly manhandled Xanthus from the room. As the doors shut behind them, the darkness returned.
“When will the index spell be ready?” one of the clerics asked.
“Within another moon,” the leader answered. “Then we will have our answers. Even so, theJin’Sai has escaped us. But if Serena succeeds, Tristan and his sister will be of little consequence.”
“We have just proven that one’s blood signature holds the entire account of its owner’s life,” he added. “Even we clerics at this table would never have believed that possible. It is often said that the eyes are the window to the soul. But after witnessing the nautilus effect, now I say that the true window to the soul is one’s blood signature, in all of its amazing splendor.”
“Do you still believe that Xanthus is a traitor?” another of them asked.
Several quiet moments passed before the lead cleric answered. “Only time will tell,” he said. “If he is, he will be killed. If not, we might find another use for him after all.”
After picking up Xanthus’ file from the table, he squired the other clerics from the room.
CHAPTER LIII
AS SHE AND HER WARRIOR SCOUTS SAT ATOP PART OFthe smashed deck, Duvessa raised her eyes to the sky. Her heart fell as she realized that the coming darkness would drastically impede her search.
It was early evening of the day following the attack on the fleet. Even the famous Minion battle with Nicholas’ forces high over Farplain had not caused so many casualties. As she looked down at the floating wreckage, the premier warrior-healer fervently hoped that she might find some fellow warriors still alive.
Wigg had been right. Had she ordered a search party aloft yesterday, they would not have gotten far before tumbling into the sea. It would have been a Minion suicide mission, pure and simple. Even so, Duvessa knew that there would have been no shortage of volunteers.
As her group had traveled farther east, they had all realized that not even Traax could have stayed continually aloft for this long. Any survivors would be in the ocean, and that only lessened their already meager chances for survival. As she and her warriors had focused their attention on the waves, they found Black Ship wreckage. Each piece had to be investigated. Eventually she and her scouts had landed on a section of aft decking to take a rest.
At first Duvessa had been surprised to see wreckage of any kind. To her mind, the wave had been so tall and strong that no part of either lost Black Ship should have reappeared. But after giving the matter some thought, she understood. After engulfing the ships and breaking them apart, the wave had sent debris tumbling east, down its backside. The trough’s impetus had then carried the wreckage even farther.
As Duvessa surveyed the flotsam, she realized that she had no idea from which ship it had come. Not knowing somehow added to the forlornness of it all. It was strange to see it like this, as it wandered the sea by itself. The deck boards were broken or missing in many places and most of the ship’s wheelhouse was gone. Sections of tangled rigging still lay about. Finding this wooden island had come just in time, for the tired patrol had been nearing the point of no return when they spotted it. Although it held no sign of Traax’s group, the respite it granted was welcome.
As Duvessa tried to decide what to do, she looked at her exhausted male and female warriors. Each had eagerly volunteered. As their commander she had every right to force them eastward until they plunged to their deaths from exhaustion. Despite how much she loved Traax, that was not an order she was prepared to give. If they turned around now, with any luck they would make it back to the fleet. But even the current was against her. Their wooden island was quickly drifting east, adding urgency to her decision.
She thoughtfully touched Traax’s betrothal pin still attached to her armor. Finally deciding, she stood and gathered her warriors’ attention.
“I’m ordering you all back to the fleet,” she said.
The warriors had been expecting this, and each understood her real meaning. She was going to continue searching for Traax’s group to her death, if need be. But because they were already at the point of no return, she would not ask them to continue on with her. Yesterday this mission would surely have meant their deaths. Today, if there was a chance the others could get back, she would make them take it.
One of Duvessa’s most trusted warrior-healers stood. Her name was Kefira. At twenty-five Seasons of New Life, she was one of the best long-distance fliers in the entire Minion force. Although she regarded her commander with humility, she meant to be heard.
“With all d
ue respect,” she said, “we have a suggestion.”
Duvessa didn’t like having her orders questioned. But out of respect for Kefira she decided to listen. “Speak quickly,” she said. “What daylight remains is rapidly fading.”
“I will go with you,” Kefira proposed. “Two pairs of eyes are far better than one. The others will spend the night here, atop this wreckage. Although it is damaged, it seems to be in no imminent danger of sinking. If you and I have not returned by dawn, those remaining behind will fly back to the fleet. It is a sound tactical decision, mistress. We bore enough food and water to last until morning. By then those staying here will be refreshed and will have a better chance of getting back alive.”
Duvessa understood the real reason behind Kefira’s plan. Those who stayed behind had no intention of resting. They planned on keeping up the search, using the ravaged deck as a base from which to send smaller patrols north and south. She gave Kefira a grateful look.
“Very well,” she said. “But are you sure that you want to accompany me? You’re probably signing your own death warrant.”
Kefira gave her commander a knowing smile. “I live to serve,” was all she said.
Duvessa looked at the others. “You are each in agreement?” she asked. “Any who wish to go back now may do so without shame.”
The five males and four females nodded. Minions to the end, Duvessa thought. She looked back at Kefira.
“Very well,” she said. “You and I will leave at once.” While the others stood to honor them, their commander looked into every face. “Thank you,” she said softly. Without speaking, her warriors came to attention.
After climbing back into the sky, Duvessa and Kefira made a circle over the shabby wooden island before turning east toward the growing darkness.
CHAPTER LIV
“WE KNOW THE PROBLEM IS A DIFFICULT ONE, PRINCESS,” Wigg said. “But we have to decide soon. The repairs to the ships are nearly done. Tomorrow we must be either on our way home, or headed toward the Citadel. There is no middle ground.”
Gathered in Faegan’s quarters, the Conclave members had been meeting for the last two hours. Tyranny had just reported that the four surviving Black Ships would be ready to sail soon. Most of the severely wounded warriors had been sent by portal to Tammerland. Aside from waiting for the return of Duvessa’s patrol, by dawn there would be no valid reason to tarry.
No fresh replacements had been sent from Eutracia, and that worried everyone. Had Faegan’s portal malfunctioned in some way, Shailiha wondered, causing the wounded warriors to somehow go to their deaths? Despite the princess’s worries, Faegan firmly insisted that his portal was working normally. Or perhaps the palace had been attacked by other forces, Shailiha worried. Those considerations and more plagued her as she considered what to do.
“I say we forge ahead,” Faegan said from the other side of the table. “I for one haven’t come so far and lost so many brave warriors just to turn tail and run!”
Wigg gave him a hard look. “And it is for those exact reasons that I say we must return!” he argued. “Clearly, Serena knew we were coming! Our advantage of surprise is long gone! We must go home and regroup!”
“Every day we wait, Serena grows stronger,” Jessamay added, siding with Faegan. “We need to take the Citadel soon.”
Suddenly an urgent pounding came on the cabin door. Shailiha scowled. She didn’t wish the meeting to be disturbed. But if there was an emergency, she needed to know.
“Enter!” she called out.
An unfamiliar warrior strode briskly into the room. He held something in one hand.
“Approach,” Shailiha said.
The warrior hurried to the table and looked at Shailiha. “Please forgive the intrusion, Princess,” he said. “My name is Kratos.”
“What is it?” Shailiha demanded.
Kratos handed her a letter. “I was told to give you this,” he answered.
Shailiha saw that it was addressed to her. More important, she knew the handwriting. When she turned the letter over, she recognized her brother’s seal, and her heart jumped for joy.
“It’s from Tristan!” she shouted as she tore it open. She unfolded the parchment and cast her hungry eyes down the page. As the other members waited and wondered, the princess was overcome with happiness. Pressing the letter to her chest, she closed her eyes and let go a deep sigh of relief.
“Don’t keep us on tenterhooks!” Tyranny blurted out. The privateer blushed at her outburst, then regained her composure. “What does he say?” she asked.
Looking at the letter again, Shailiha read it aloud.
Dearest Sister,
I have returned to the palace, and I am well. Also know that although no replacement warriors were sent to you, we are not in danger here. For reasons of security I cannot explain my reappearance further, nor can I come to you. You simply must trust me.
Because of the fleet’s significant losses, I order you to return to Eutracia at once. Wigg and Faegan will surely wonder whether I have truly come home. After seeing me vanish with Xanthus they are right to be suspicious; they might even doubt whether it was I who penned this missive. With all my heart I tell you that it is me. Should you or the wizards doubt that I have returned, I ask that you follow the instructions written at the bottom of this letter.
Come home soon. Much remains to be done, and time is of the essence.
Your loving brother,
Tristan
Wigg raised an eyebrow. “What are these instructions he mentions?” he asked.
Shailiha handed the letter to Wigg. Not to be left out, Faegan quickly wheeled his chair close to Wigg’s, then rudely read the letter from over the First Wizard’s shoulder. Scowling, Wigg sighed and shook his head.
Each wizard read the addendum twice. As Wigg sat back in his chair he looked at Kratos. “Did theJin’Sai give you this letter personally?” he asked.
“Yes,” the warrior answered.
“How did he seem?” Wigg asked. “I mean, was he himself in every respect?”
“Without question,” Kratos answered. “I watched him write the letter. I met with him in the Redoubt, along with Abbey and another man.”
Wigg scowled. “What other man?” he asked.
“He was about your age,” Kratos answered. “His name is Aeolus.”
Pursing his lips, Wigg placed his hands flat on the tabletop. “Well, well,” he mused.
“It seems that some things have changed while we were away,” Jessamay said.
Wigg nodded. “If Aeolus has agreed to join the Conclave, then so much the better.” He picked up the letter again. “The handwriting looks like Tristan’s,” he said, “and the envelope carries his seal. More important, Kratos hasseen the prince. But I still have my doubts.” He handed the letter to Faegan. “In your opinion, did Tristan write this note? If the person Kratos saw is some kind of impostor, he could be ordering us right into a trap.”
Faegan held the page to the light. “I can’t tell from this alone,” he said. Then he seized on an idea and he cackled softly. “But there’s a way to find out.”
Reaching across the table he took up a piece of blank parchment. Then he closed his eyes. Everyone wondered what he was up to, but knew better than to interrupt. With his eyes still closed, Faegan lifted the parchment higher. The Conclave members were surprised to see words start forming on the page. After several lines had appeared, Faegan opened his eyes.
Faegan grinned. “I just called on my gift of Consummate Recollection,” he explained. “As you know, I am able to perfectly recall everything I have ever seen, heard, or read. I used the gift to reproduce one of the many parchments the prince has signed of late. I then used the craft to duplicate it onto this fresh sheet. This document has to do with recent taxes levied against the province of Ephyra. But it’s not the text that interests me.” Then the wizard smiled again. “It’s the prince’s signature I’m after.”
Faegan lifted the two pages, then held them si
de by side to the light. After a time he nodded, then placed them on the table. “As best these old wizard’s eyes can tell, the signature on Shailiha’s letter is genuine.”
As Shailiha looked around the table, she saw that everyone seemed convinced except Wigg. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.
“You seem to have forgotten our conversation while we were on the way to the Serpent and the Sword,” Wigg answered. “I told you that if Tristan came home, we would have to take measures to ensure that he wasn’t under the influence of the Vagaries. That possibility still concerns me. But out here at sea, there is no way to tell.”
Faegan thoughtfully cast his eyes to the bottom of Tristan’s letter, then smiled. Wigg knew that look. This time it worried him. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I’m looking at these instructions Tristan left for Shailiha,” Faegan said. “I believe she should follow them.”
“And I don’t!” Wigg shot back. “The last time we saw Tristan he was being taken away by a creature of the Vagaries! There’s no telling what sort of disaster these instructions might produce! For all we know the entire fleet could go up in flames!”
Faegan looked over at the princess and gave her a wink. “What say you, Your Highness?” he asked. “Will you give it a go?”
She reached out and took up Tristan’s letter. As she reread the instructions, she had to admit that she couldn’t guess what might happen. Do as I ask, Tristan had written, and my reason will become clear. It seemed that he was referring to the craft. She had not been trained in the craft and possessed but one usable Forestallment, allowing her communion with the fliers of the fields. But she desperately wanted to believe that it was Tristan who had penned this note, so she decided that she would try.
She looked at Wigg. “I’m sorry,” she said,” but I agree with Faegan.” After putting the letter on the table she closed her eyes.
Following Tristan’s instructions, Shailiha imagined the gold medallion hanging around her neck. Then she imagined Tristan’s medallion hanging alongside hers. To her surprise they combined to form one disc. Shailiha heard people around the table gasp. Worried that Wigg had been right, she opened her eyes.
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