A March into Darkness dobas-2

by Robert Newcomb

  At first she thought nothing had happened. Then she saw everyone looking at her chest. When she looked down her mouth fell open. A soft, nearly undetectable glow was seeping out from beneath her medallion. She picked it up and turned it toward her face.

  The medallion’s underside had changed amazingly. On its surface she saw Tristan sitting in his palace quarters. Abbey and Aeolus were there with him. All three seemed to be waiting for something. The Paragon lay around Tristan’s neck, but his medallion did not.

  Suddenly Shailiha saw her brother’s face light up. He just noticed that we’re watching, she realized. He has placed his medallion across from him, so that we can see him and the others. Our medallions can reach across space and time! How marvelous! But how, why…?

  She saw Tristan stand. Entranced, Shailiha watched as he came closer to his medallion. Then he held something up for her to see. It was small, made of gold, and twinkled brightly. He smiled at her and nodded. Understanding, Shailiha smiled back. Having seen all she needed, she ended the spell the way the letter’s instructions suggested.

  “Amazing,” she breathed. She dropped the gold disc back to her chest.

  “Indeed,” Wigg said. “The medallions you and your brother wear have been enchanted in some way. But what did you see when you turned yours up to your face? At that point, the rest of us could no longer view the scene.”

  Shailiha smiled again. “I think he was counting on that,” she said. “I also have no doubt that it was truly him.”

  “Why?” Faegan asked.

  “He showed me a gift that I gave him when he graduated from his Royal Guard training,” she answered. “Since then it has been our little secret. Even our parents never knew about it.”

  “What is it?” Wigg asked.

  “A small, golden image of Pilgrim, the stallion mother and father gave to him on the same occasion,” Shailiha answered. “I would recognize it anywhere.” Smiling, the princess looked around the table.

  “As soon as Duvessa’s scout patrol returns,” she said, “we’re going home.”

  CHAPTER LV

  AMID THE PLAINTIVE SCREAMS OF THE DYING, SERENAturned to look at Actinius. She smiled.

  “I want all the remaining lepers brought here from the Ghetto,” she said. “If we’re forced to continue feeding all of our servants in one place like this, we will need them. We might even be forced to gather up citizens from the countryside. But that doesn’t matter. Parthalon holds enough souls to satisfy our needs.”

  Night had fallen several hours ago. Serena and Actinius stood on the guard path atop one of the walls surrounding the Recluse. The Eutracian moons shone brightly down on the lake and the land surrounding the huge castle. As more screams filtered up to their ears, the two mystics looked down at the grisly spectacle.

  Shrews and envelopers by the thousands were voraciously feeding on lepers brought from the Ghetto. It was vitally important to keep the beasts alive, even if the Conclave fleet had been destroyed. Once Serena’s mission was fulfilled, the shrews and envelopers would serve as her taskmasters, just as the Minions had done for the sorceresses of the Coven. She wanted them to know who was in control, and that it was she who satisfied their needs.

  Like Failee, she worshipped the Vagaries and ruled the Recluse with an iron fist. But there would be vital differences between her and Wigg’s late wife. Serena would directly serve thePon Q’tar. And her power would dominate two nations, rather than just one.

  Only minutes ago, several hundred lepers had been herded through the castle’s entryway, across the bridge spanning the lake, and onto the surrounding land. Naked and terrified, at first they had huddled together like they could somehow find safety in numbers. Little had they known that this was the worst thing that they could have done, for it only simplified the beasts’ feeding frenzy.

  Sensing prey, shrew herds had surfaced from their hiding places in the lake surrounding the castle, and from the nearby bodies of water that had sprung into being after the sudden deaths of the Coven sorceresses. Not to be outdone, envelopers by the thousands abandoned their camouflage and left their hiding places in the air and against the castle walls to join in the frenzy.

  In moments the gorging had reached an insane crescendo. Serena knew full well that there weren’t enough victims for all her creatures to feed on at once. In fact, she had planned things this way.

  After launching the vast tidal wave, Serena had every confidence that the Conclave fleet had been destroyed. But if by some miracle it had not, she wanted her servants hungry, and eager to act at a moment’s notice. She had also given instructions that the victims be proffered naked, so as to minimize evidence of the atrocity. The shrews and envelopers left clothing, bones, and footwear behind. After each feeding Serena’s consuls were ordered to leave the castle and cause the abandoned bones to vanish. Should Conclave forces approach, she wanted everything to look as normal as possible.

  She watched with curiosity as two shrews fought over a screaming, naked man. One had its jaws closed around the man’s head, while the other had sunk its teeth deep into his feet. Snarling and struggling, they pulled in opposite directions so mightily that the fellow’s head was torn from his shoulders, leaving one shrew to claim the bulk of the prize. The snuffling monster quickly dragged the headless carcass off into the darkness to keep the meal for itself.

  A quieter, more muffled type of screaming also filled the air. These sounds were coming from the victims taken by envelopers. As the creatures wrapped their velvety bodies around victim after victim, they absorbed them.

  When the feeding session ended, not one human remained. The beasts that hadn’t secured someone to feed on snarled and hissed at the others as they all reluctantly returned to their hiding places. The massive shrews submerged; the envelopers again blended in perfectly with their various surroundings. Soon all went quiet.

  Serena turned to Actinius. “Send out the consuls,” she ordered.

  Actinius turned around to look down into the palace courtyard. Several dozen consuls stood there, waiting for his command. After seeing Actinius give them a hand sign, they walked across the bridge and onto the killing field. The place was a sickening maze of regurgitated bones. Blood seemed to lie everywhere, its slick freshness shiny with moonlight against the surrounding grass. The stink rose so high as to reach Serena and the consul by her side.

  Serena watched as azure beams streaked from the consuls’ hands and into the night. Little by little, all evidence of the recent atrocity vanished and the scene returned to normal. Just then Serena and Actinius heard footsteps. They turned to see a consul approaching.

  “Begging your pardon, mistress,” he said. “Einar and Reznik request your presence. They wish to give you a report.”

  Serena nodded. “Very well,” she answered. “I will meet them in my quarters.”

  After giving his mistress a bow, the consul hurried away.

  Actinius gave Serena an encouraging look. “I think they are near success,” he said.

  “Good,” she answered. “But with the Conclave fleet resting on the bottom of the sea, their sense of urgency might not be what it once was. I must ensure that is not the case. Come with me. I want you in attendance.”

  Levitating from the guard path, Serena floated down to the courtyard. When Actinius reached her side, they started for her personal quarters. As she walked across the outer ward’s tile floor, the Vagaries queen ignored the cries of those still imprisoned in wooden cages. Walking up the majestic steps, she entered the great castle.

  Her journey from the Citadel had been quick and uneventful. After overseeing the mooring of her vessels just south of the port city of Eyrie Point, she had hurried on to the Recluse under consular guard. The remaining consuls, Valrenkians, and Vagaries documents that had accompanied her to Parthalon were still trickling into the Recluse.

  Walking up the curved staircase, she and Actinius strode down several long hallways before reaching her private quarters. She had purposel
y taken the refurbished rooms that had once belonged to Failee, and the irony of that choice hadn’t escaped her. The door was partly ajar, telling her that Einar and Reznik had arrived. She and Actinius walked in.

  The main room was wonderfully sumptuous. A lovely landscape mural covered every wall. Double stained-glass doors on the room’s opposite side lay open to show a huge balcony overlooking the lake. Several hallways led off from the main room to the bedroom, personal library, washroom, and more. Elegantly carved furniture and brightly patterned rugs graced her view, and evening birds could be heard warbling just beyond the exquisite wrought-iron balcony railing.

  But as she entered the room she was overcome by a sadness that even her sumptuous surroundings could not assuage. Had Wulfgar and Clarice lived, she would have occupied these rooms as a proud wife and mother, rather than as a grieving widow whose only child was dead. But soon she would have her revenge. For her, its scent hung in the evening air as distinctly as did that of the hibiscus blossoms lying just beyond the windows.

  Einar and Reznik were seated at a large table on the far side of the room. Ignoring them, she left Actinius to walk toward one corner. The familiar pink altar had been brought from the Citadel, and the floor immediately surrounding it was covered with fresh red rose petals.

  Like so many times before, she reached through the azure aura surrounding Clarice and touched the child’s cold cheek. After standing that way for several moments she went to sit with her lead consul and Valrenkian. Actinius joined them.

  “Your report?” she asked. Knowing that Einar and Reznik were unaware that she had been viewing their experiments from afar, she was eager to learn whether they might try to deceive her, and lie about their progress.

  Einar cleared his throat. “As you are aware, Your Grace, we have found Failee’s lost spell. We know that it is the one we need, because we have had some measure of success with our test subjects. But not one has been resurrected sufficiently to regain sustained life. Reznik has augmented the spell with herbs and oils, but it still lacks the potency we need.”

  “Is it a matter of not having the right ingredients?” Serena asked Reznik.

  The Corporeal shook his head. “I do not think so, mistress,” he answered. “Rather, it is about having enough time. Moreover, I am working in uncharted territory. Usually, an herbmaster has a previous frame of reference to guide him down the right path. With this work there is none. But given enough time, we will find it.”

  Serena gave each of her mystics a stern look. “Just because we suspect that the Conclave fleet is destroyed does not mean that you can dawdle,” she warned them. “Xanthus failed. TheJin’Sai has returned to Eutracia. When he learns of the Conclave’s destruction his anger will know no bounds. Although it’s true that he is not trained in the craft, he remains exceedingly dangerous, and many Minion warriors still serve him. ThePon Q’tar clerics are becoming impatient, as am I. We can afford no more delays. You also need to know that I have ordered the total evacuation of the Ghetto. Not only might we need the Ghetto’s additional supplies and inhabitants, but it is far easier to defend one fortress than two. As the people and goods arrive, you will be informed.”

  “We understand, Your Grace,” Einar said. “We will redouble our efforts, and go forward as quickly as possible.”

  Serena nodded. “Just so,” she said. “Leave me and return to your work. I wish to be alone.”

  As the three mystics neared the door, Serena called out Einar’s name. He stopped and watched Reznik and Actinius walk down the hall for a moment; then he turned back.

  Einar gave his queen a questioning look. “Yes, Your Grace?” he asked.

  “After we are sure of success, you may kill Reznik and all other Valrenkian half-breeds like him,” she said softly. “There will be no room in the new order for those bearing a partial blood signature.”

  Einar smiled. “With pleasure,” he answered.

  He walked through the door and closed it quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER LVI

  DUVESSA’S HEAVY WINGS WERE TELLING HER THAT SHEwas quickly nearing another point of no return. As her eyes searched the waves, she was thankful for the bright moonlight that shone down. She looked to her right to see Kefira give her a reassuring smile. The other Minion officer’s youth was serving her well, and Duvessa knew that Kefira would be able to continue on after she could not. But that was not an order she would give.

  This far to the east, Black Ship wreckage was almost nonexistent. They had seen but one piece-a rather sizable part of a smashed skiff. After briefly resting on it and drinking some water, they had continued on. That had been three hours ago. As Duvessa’s wings grew heavier, so did her heart.

  Just then she heard Kefira call out. She snapped her head around to see her companion point into the distance. Duvessa’s heart leapt in her chest as she strained her eyes to find what Kefira was trying to show her. But she became disheartened again as she identified it.

  The Citadel, dark and foreboding, lay against the eastern horizon in the twinkling moonlight. From the two warriors’ vantage point, the three moons seemed to float in the night sky directly above it. Had it not been for Kefira’s sharp eyes, they might easily have missed it. Then Duvessa realized that there was something odd about the fortress. Slowing her pace, she held up one hand. Kefira hovered beside her.

  “Why are we stopping?” Kefira asked.

  “There is something peculiar about the Citadel,” Duvessa answered.

  Kefira cast her gaze into the distance. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you see that I do not?”

  “It’s what Idon’t see,” Duvessa answered.

  Suddenly Kefira understood. From what she had been told, at night the Citadel was always brightly illuminated. But this night the great fortress’s walls, turrets, and catwalks were bathed only in moonlight. She quickly realized that it had been something of a miracle for her to discover it at all. She looked back at Duvessa.

  “Why is it dark?” she asked.

  “There can be only two possibilities,” Duvessa answered. “Either Serena has ordered the Citadel to be abandoned, or she has purposely ordered no lights to shine. My money is on the first reason.”

  “But why would she order the place abandoned?” Kefira asked. “It makes no sense.”

  “It might if she believes that the fleet was destroyed,” Duvessa said. “Perhaps her supposed victory was only one part of her plan, and another part is to be carried out elsewhere. That would explain much. Whatever the reason, the Conclave must be informed.”

  With the discovery of the darkened Citadel, Duvessa suddenly found herself torn between two conflicting choices. The Conclave needed to know about this unexpected development as soon as possible. But the only way to ensure that was to reverse course and abandon her quest for Traax. As she searched her heart, she tried to imagine what her betrothed would have done had their roles been reversed. In the end there was but one answer. She and Kefira would abandon the search.

  Just as she was about to give the order, some clouds parted, allowing more light to stream down onto the sea. A shiny moonlit path came to life atop the waves, lying directly between the hovering warriors and the Citadel. Lying on the path was a piece of mast, bobbing atop the water. Wasting no time, Duvessa headed for it.

  As they neared they saw that the mast section was long and heavily entangled in torn rigging. Several spars were still attached to it. Suddenly Duvessa thought she saw something else. Redoubling her efforts, she winged her way toward it for all she was worth.

  Buffeting the air with their wings, Kefira and Duvessa slowed as they approached. As Duvessa looked closer, the breath caught in her lungs. There was a body lashed to the mast.

  Duvessa and Kefira landed to stand atop the bobbing mast as best they could. Duvessa quickly bent down to turn the body over. It was Traax. His skin pallor was ghostly white, and he looked dead. Duvessa quickly understood that he had somehow found this mast, then used the rigg
ing to tie himself to it, so that his face would remain above the waves. He lay chest-down, with one cheek pressed against the cold, soaked wood.

  With tears filling her eyes, she quickly unsheathed her dreggan and cut the ropes that bound him to the mast. She turned him over and pressed her fingertips against his neck. There was a very slow, nearly undetectable pulse. Then she saw the tourniquet bound around his upper arm, and she knew.

  When his patrol was attacked, he and some others had stayed behind, trying to buy time for Axel and Valgard to warn the fleet. He was suffering not only from exposure but also from massive blood loss. Even if he got immediate care, his chances for survival were not good. Her eyes filled with tears again as she saw her wet, bloodied, ruby pin still attached to his body armor.

  But as she looked around, her heart fell again. Tired as she and Kefira were, she doubted that one of them could lift him into the air, and trying to carry his body between them would probably reopen his wound. Then an idea came to her. Cradling Traax’s head in her lap, she looked into Kefira’s worried face.

  “Draw your sword!” she ordered. “We have work to do!”

  CHAPTER LVII

  AS TRISTAN LOOKED DOWN AT TRAAX’S FACE, AN OVERWHELMINGsadness washed over him. Traax lay atop a bed, his body covered by a light blanket. The Minion had been in a deep coma for more than ten days. During all that time, Duvessa had scarcely left his side.

  Tristan watched Duvessa apply a wet cloth to the warrior’s forehead. Traax’s condition was being further complicated by a high fever, and an infection had set into his arm wound. Since finding him lashed to the mast, Duvessa had yet to see him open his eyes. The palace mystics had done all for the warrior that they could, but from this point forward only time would tell. Like Tristan, they checked on him often.