Smiling, Aeolus shook his head. “Not if what Faegan told me is true,” he said. “He believes that the Forestallment he just granted to your blood also contained hundreds of martial techniques, and that they will reveal themselves as needed, without further training. Who knows?” Aeolus added with a wry smile. “Youmight be able to teachme a thing or two at this very moment! And you’re forgetting something else,” he added.
“What is that?” Tristan asked.
“That of the two of you, your blood is far stronger,” Wigg interjected. “True, you each carry the ability to summonK’Shari. But it is in your blood, Tristan, that it will burn brightest. So you see-the student has surpassed the teacher after all.”
Tristan and the others watched Aeolus reach under his robe. He produced a small white scroll. Its center was bound with a bloodred ribbon. The prince immediately recognized it as the second symbol ofK’Shari mastery. Tristan gladly took it into his hands.
“I have been waiting for three hundred years to give someone that scroll,” he said. “For a long time, I thought it would go to Satine. Instead it finds its way to you, and I’m glad.”
“Thank you,” Tristan said softly. “I will always honor it.”
“Now then,” Aeolus said. “There remains but one more thing for me to do.”
Although curious, Tristan decided not to ask. Over the last fortnight he had come to trust Aeolus with his life, just as he did each Conclave member.
“Very well,” he said. As he waited, he looked into Aeolus’ eyes.
Suddenly the azure hue of the craft blanketed each of Tristan’s shoulders, and he knew. The azure glow soon faded.
“What you now bear was my first use of the craft in more than three centuries,” Aeolus said. “Wear them well, Jin’Sai. ”
Tristan looked first at one shoulder, then the other. On one lay a tattooed serpent; on the other lay a sword.
“I will,” he said softly. “And thank you.”
Tristan looked around to find Tyranny. “When can we sail for the Recluse?” he asked her.
Tyranny smiled. “Three more days should do it,” she answered. “Four at the outside.”
Tristan turned to look east, toward where the Sea of Whispers lay waiting. As he did, he thought about Serena.
“Good,” theJin’Sai answered quietly. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER LVIII
“BEFORE WE START, IS THERE ANYTHING MORE THATyou would like to tell us?” the leadPon Q’tar cleric asked. “If you repent, we might spare your life. If not-well, let’s just say that your demise will not be a pleasant one.”
Although Xanthus knew it would do no good, for several moments he strained against his bonds. Finally giving up, he looked across the shadowed room.
“No,” he answered. “My allegiance to the Vagaries is unshakable. You know that! That’s why you chose me for the mission! All I can tell you is the truth, and I have already done so!”
“Very well,” the lead cleric answered. “Then what happens next will be on your head.”
Xanthus glared at the twelve hooded faces behind the table. For the last thirteen days he had been confined to his stinking hole. He had nearly gone mad with loneliness, and the sensory deprivation had been so great that the only way to count the passing days had been when his guardians fed him. When they finally pulled him from the hole, he thought that the azure light coming from above would surely blind him.
As he again sat bound to the chair, he took stock of himself. His black robe was torn and reeked of his own waste. The beginnings of a dark beard had surfaced on his face, and his brown hair was matted and knotted. He was filthy, defeated, and completely alone in his plight-just the way the clerics wanted him to be.
Xanthus cringed as he watched the lead cleric point a finger at him. At once an incision opened in one of his wrists and a drop of his endowed blood was freed. The cleric caused it to float to a place midway between him and Xanthus. Soon the drop morphed into Xanthus’ blood signature.
Alongside the signature, azure numbers and symbols started materializing into a craft formula. Like before, the formula turned to the vertical, and the blood signature started sliding down its length. No one needed to tell Xanthus what was coming. He watched the beautiful nautilus form, its spiraling, colorful compartments growing in size as they radiated outward from its tightly wound center.
He had wondered about the nautilus often during his confinement. Although he had seen its wonders with his own eyes, he still found them difficult to believe. As the nautilus finished forming, he suddenly understood why he had been brought back after so long. The Heretics had perfected the nautilus index.
In a way, Xanthus was glad. He was not an enemy of thePon Q’tar, nor could he imagine ever becoming one. He had meant what he said about being loyal to the Vagaries. Had he felt otherwise, he never would have accepted the mission to seduce theJin’Sai into the pass. He welcomed the coming of the index. If it helped thePon Q’tar find the precise memories they were searching for, then the truth would come out, and they would realize that what had happened to Tristan was not his fault. Perhaps they might even release him, and allow him to return to his post as Faxon’s assistant in the Imperial Order.
Xanthus watched as another glowing craft formula appeared in the air. It was the longest one he had ever seen. He tried to read it. But like the first formula, its vast complexities were lost on him.
“Behold,” the lead cleric said. “I give you the nautilus index. Watch as I demonstrate its use.” The cleric raised his arms and pointed his hands at the formula.
“I wish to view the memories in the nautilus,” the cleric commanded.
Xanthus soon realized that the cleric was speaking directly to the glowing spell, rather than to the people in the room. He had never heard a mystic verbally address a raw craft formula this way, nor had he known that such a thing could be done. Then he remembered what the cleric had said about this spell having been wrought by the very best Heretical minds.
“Specifically, I wish to view only those images dealing with the subject’s recent time in the Borderlands,” the cleric added.
The spell immediately obeyed. Like it possessed a mind of its own, it flew across the room and wound its length around the hovering nautilus. At once a bright azure light shot from the nautilus’s largest chamber and streamed into the room.
Like the time before, Xanthus watched his memories unfold. As the cleric had ordered, the scene playing out showed him and Tristan exiting the pass to unexpectedly arrive in the terrible red desert. Xanthus anxiously watched the blazing heat start to overcome him and theJin’Sai. The searing wind birthed red dust maelstroms that bothered their eyes and stung their skin. The wind’s howling noise was terrible, and great sinkholes opened before them, threatening to take them into oblivion with every step. Then Xanthus watched Tristan turn and shout a question to him. Just as he remembered, he answered.
It will happen soon, Xanthus realized. At any moment a sinkhole will open in the desert floor and take the Jin’Sai. And the Pon Q’tarwill realize that I have been telling the truth.
But rather than see Tristan die, he watched incredulously as he and theJin’Sai started trudging toward the distant mountain peaks. He felt his endowed blood turn to ice water.
This cannot be! Xanthus thought. It didn’t happen this way!
With a wave of one hand, the lead cleric caused the scene to speed up. Soon Xanthus saw himself and Tristan enter a cave. They talked and later fell asleep. Then Xanthus saw himself awaken and go to the cave entrance to find the prince standing there. After donning blankets, they led their horses from the cave to start trudging through the deep snow.
“Stop!” the cleric called out angrily.
The amazing scene froze in place, and the sound quieted. As he sat bound to the chair under the harsh light, Xanthus suddenly felt even more naked and alone.
“So it seems that you were lying after all,” one of the female clerics said to him. There
was no mercy in her voice. As he wondered about his fate, Xanthus started to shake with fear.
“We all know that we morphed the Borderlands into a polar state to trap the army of Ones that was approaching,” she added. “After that, the red desert did not reappear. We again have irrefutable evidence that theJin’Sai survived, rather than perished, as you say he did. You are a liar and a traitor to the Vagaries, Xanthus. And because of your treachery you will meet a horrible death.”
Xanthus was beyond any rational understanding of what he had just seen. Weeping, he lowered his head.
“But it didn’t happen that way,” he sobbed. “I swear it.”
“The nautilus seems to disagree,” the lead cleric answered. “And we have it on good authority that the nautilus never lies.” He calmly looked back at the shining craft construct.
“Recommence,” he ordered. “Move swiftly.”
The scene started changing again, this time moving faster. Xanthus saw himself and Tristan nearly die from exposure, and he watched incredulously as he killed his horse and used its steaming innards to keep Tristan alive. Then they trudged on again through the nearly waist-deep snow. But Xanthus couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and he remembered none of it.
Suddenly the Borderlands disappeared to show Rustannica in its natural state. The ability to use magic had returned. After he and Tristan ate and drank, they disappeared into the azure pass. When he watched himself and theJin’Sai exit the pass, Xanthus’ mouth fell open.
As the onetime Darkling and thePon Q’tar clerics watched and listened, all of Crysenium’s secrets were gradually revealed.
Xanthus’ fate was sealed.
CHAPTER LIX
What is it, I wonder, that creates such a deep, unshakable bond between a mother and her child? Is it simply love, a desperate need, or something else? For even if she should somehow forever lose that child, the bond between them-although invisible, intangible, and indescribable-will always remain unbroken. And she will carry it in her heart until her dying day.
- SERENA, REIGNING QUEEN OF THE VAGARIES
“YOU KNOW, SOMETIMES YOU AMAZE EVENME,” RAFEsaid. As he stared out to sea, he offered Tristan histachinga bottle. Tristan took a swig, then wiped his mouth and handed the bottle back.
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked.
“I never thought you would get the Clan Kilbourne elders to agree to your scheme, but you did,” Rafe answered. “And unmasking Arwydd that way was no small victory, either-at least to us highlanders. But then you accomplished the greatest feat of all.” After taking another drink, Rafe laughed and slapped Tristan on the back.
“And what was that?” Tristan asked.
“Why, getting those three miserable wizards to let us highlanders come along!” Rafe answered. “In all my days I have never met such irascible old men! They make the Kilbourne elders seem positively affable! Aeolus isn’t so bad, I suppose. And I suspect that Faegan might be amusing, once one gets to know him. He at least carries a twinkle in his eye. But that Wigg is surely a caution!”
Tristan laughed. “I know,” he said. “He’s been around for more than three hundred years. To say that he’s set in his ways would be the greatest understatement of all time. He is a very moral man, and he doesn’t take kindly to thieving highlanders. The best way to get on his good side is to prove to him that you can control your vices-at least until this campaign is over.”
“I suppose so,” Rafe said. “But my men are getting restless. All I can say is that it’s a good thing there’s nothing on these giant tubs worth stealing!”
“You’re probably right,” Tristan answered laughingly. “But even if you did find something, you’d have no place to hide!”
Rafe laughed again and reached beneath his fur vest to produce a dark plug of chewing tobacco. After biting off a piece, he offered the plug to Tristan. Tristan winced and shook his head. Rafe shrugged his shoulders, then spat some dark spittle over theTammerland ’s side. Another slug oftachinga followed.
Tristan couldn’t help but like Rafe, even if the highlander was a crook. Rafe had never lied to him, and his riding and fighting abilities were wonderful-as were those of each of his horsemen. Tristan supposed that if there was such a thing as a gentleman thief, Rafe was it.
As his thoughts turned to the campaign ahead, Tristan looked out over the moonlit sea. The fleet was sailing atop the waves while the mystics rested for the night. The ships’ black sails were full, and each foresail carried a bright red image of the Paragon.
Ten days had passed since Tristan had been granted theK’Shari Forestallment, and the fleet had been at sea for eight of those days. Because the Necrophagian threat was gone, the Black Ships had made good time. Tyranny estimated that they would reach the coast of Parthalon by dawn. From there the ships would fly overland to the Recluse.
Few aboard the Black Ships could sleep this night, in anticipation of what the next day might bring. Many warriors and highlanders prowled the decks, talking among themselves and sharpening their weapons. Wigg’s, Faegan’s, Aeolus’, and Jessamay’s powers had kept the fleet in the air for much of the journey. Wigg empowered theTammerland, Faegan theEphyra, Aeolus theFlorian, and Jessamay theCavalon.
Blessedly, Traax had regained consciousness. True to his warrior nature, he had insisted on coming. But it remained unclear whether he would be ready to fight, because his arm hadn’t fully healed. Duvessa still watched over him and was doing her best to make him rest. But if Tristan knew Traax, the warrior would soon be up and about-if for no other reason than to prove his worth to hisJin’Sai.
Tristan took a moment to look up and down theTammerland ’s massive hull. The Black Ships were loaded nearly to the sinking point with food, water, Minions, and highlanders and their horses. This time every Conclave member had come, as had every acolyte, save those needed to watch over the nursery.
For the first few days the highlanders-including the stalwart Balthazar-had been deathly seasick. That had pleased Ox to no end, and he had teased Balthazar unmercifully. But as the two giants’ mutual training had progressed, a grudging form of respect-and perhaps even a budding friendship-had started to flower between them.
Tristan still hadn’t gotten used to seeing the colorful highlanders wander about the decks. This is the most ragtag group that I have ever assembled, he thought as he watched the restless waves. But in some ways it might be the best.
Of all the highlanders, only Rafe had been told the full nature of the mission. When Tristan had explained it, Rafe was stunned. The chieftain had no real knowledge of magic, and that had complicated Tristan’s task. But Rafe had promised that when the time came, he and his horsemen would follow Tristan’s orders to the death. Tristan believed him.
Despite the massive forces he commanded, Tristan was desperately concerned about the battle ahead. Serena would not surrender the Recluse easily. Given that the Scroll of the Vagaries was hers, there was no telling what dangers she had conjured to protect herself and the body of her dead child. One thing remained certain. If Clarice could be brought back to life and Serena could spirit her away before the Conclave could attack, the world as they knew it would be forever changed. It wouldn’t happen today, tomorrow, or presumably even a decade from now. But one day Clarice would gain enough maturity to understand the Heretics’ wishes and to call forth the craft, thereby ensuring that the Vigors would be no more.
Tristan was also disturbed because he had no real battle plan about how to take the Recluse. He and the other Conclave members had spent hours trying to formulate one, but to no avail. They were familiar with the Recluse and its surroundings, and that was an advantage. But because they were so unsure about the threat they faced, they had finally decided to approach the castle cautiously, and then make their plans.
Deciding to shelve his troubles for a while, theJin’Sai took a bracing lungful of sea air. He still felt wonderfully powerful and alive. He assumed that he would keep these sensations for as long as his blood c
arried theK’Shari Forestallment. He also believed that Faegan had been right about the Forestallment granting him immediate training in a variety of weapon and hand-to-hand techniques. He could almost feel them stirring in his blood as they lay waiting to be unleashed.
Looking down at his bare shoulders, he saw the tattoos Aeolus had given him. He wore them with pride. Aeolus had also been right about something. He and Tristan shared a unique bond. It was one that the others-including Wigg-didn’t fully understand.
Just then Tristan saw Rafe look in another direction and smile. Tristan turned to see Tyranny coming across the quarterdeck. The magenta moonlight highlighted her tousled hair, and a cigarillo was pressed between her lips, its lit end glowing in the night. As she neared, Rafe looked her up and down, then turned back toward the prince. He spat some more tobacco bits overboard.
“A beautiful woman,” he said quietly. “In some ways, she reminds me of Yasmin. Her nature can sometimes be deadly, and she approaches the world on her own terms. Such women can easily steal a man’s heart. The predatory ones are the best, don’t you agree, dango?”
Tristan suddenly thought about Celeste. These days he was glad to find his heart filled with fond memories of her, rather than only the pain of what might have been. But Celeste had been different from Tyranny and Yasmin. Shaking his head, he looked back at Rafe.
“That’s not always true,” he answered quietly.
As Tyranny approached, she tossed her cigarillo into the sea. She gave Rafe a respectful look.
“Would you please excuse us?” she asked. “I need to speak with theJin’Sai. ”
Rafe bowed. “Of course, Captain,” he answered. He offered Tristan a final pull on his jug. After Tristan declined, Rafe walked away.
Tyranny turned to look out over the shifting ocean. “There is something I need to tell you,” she said quietly. When she turned around her eyes searched his face, like she was trying to guess his feelings.
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