Despite the danger all around him, for several moments Tristan simply stood there, marveling at the things he had just done, and how easily they had come to him. He hadn’t been trained to throw dirks with his left hand, and his technique had never mustered such unbelievable force. Nor had he any idea that he could will his weapons to return to him. But he knew that this was no time to analyze his new gifts. Determined to never be surprised by hisK’Shari gift again, he charged across the ward and started racing up the sidewall steps.
He reached the southern guard path and climbed up without incident, but the situation atop the castle walls was as deadly as that in the inner ward. As he searched for Serena he saw more shrews prowling the paths, viciously protecting their endowed masters. Hundreds of red-stained envelopers filled the sky, swooping low and wrapping their velvety sides around struggling Minion warriors and highlander horsemen. To his dismay, Serena was nowhere to be seen.
Tristan quickly looked down the wall’s outer side. To his relief, Faegan, Jessamay, and Aeolus had succeeded in following his orders. Knowing that they would have no time to dig earthen cradles into which to set the Black Ships, he had ordered them to set the vessels down atop the soft, muddy lake bed. As expected, each ship tilted hard toward starboard or port. But they were largely intact, and Minion troops still poured from their hatches to join the fight.
Tristan suddenly froze as something told him that an enveloper was swooping toward him from behind. Its velvety sides extended, it was about to blanket him in its deadly embrace. He didn’t have to turn around to confirm the coming danger, for hesensed it with certainty.
Standing his ground, he took his sword into both hands and waited, purposely drawing the creature in. Suddenly he felt a strange tingling sensation in his arms, but there was no time to question it. Swiveling around, he raised his dreggan high and brought it down with everything he had. As he did, a strange, icy-blue glow flashed across his vision.
The dreggan severed the stunned enveloper from top to bottom like it had been made of parchment. But the sword had done more than cut. It had alsoburned its way through the monster’s flesh with a searing heat so intense that it had nearly cauterized the thing’s wound at the same time. Tristan watched azure smoke drift from the nearly surgical slash, and he smelled burning flesh. Split and smoking from cranium to tail, the enveloper tumbled to the lake bed. Then Tristan started blankly at his bloody dreggan and blanched with wonderment.
The blade of his sword glowed with the azure hue of the craft. As the tingling sensation in his arms and hands faded away, so did the glow of the blade. Knowing better than to question what had happened, he swiveled around again, looking for his next challenge.
Suddenly an azure bolt came tearing his way. Launched from a wounded consul standing on the same guard path, it flew over the inner ward and straight toward him. Tristan whirled at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the bolt’s searing heat.
With a deafening explosion, it slammed into one of the nearby barbicans, blasting it to bits. The concussion threw Tristan to the guard path as mortar dust and broken stone rained down on him. Then he heard a scream, and he groggily turned to look.
Through the clouds of settling dust he saw the enraged consul extend his arms and start running at him. Snarling and baring its teeth, an angry shrew charged along beside its master. Dazed from the blast, Tristan struggled to his feet. As he did the consul loosed another bolt.
Tristan instinctively raised his dreggan and held it before him. The bolt struck the dreggan and was immediately entrapped by its blade. Trusting hisK’Shari, Tristan whirled the blade twice in a great circle, then stopped it dead and pointed it at the shrew. The bolt shot from the blade and screamed along the guard path, hitting the shrew squarely in the chest. Bursting into a thousand pieces, the shrew simply disappeared. Even so, the consul hadn’t stop charging. Raising his arms again, he prepared to throw another bolt. Tristan raised his sword and braced himself.
But this time the consul lacked the needed power. Exhausted from the fighting, when he tried to summon another bolt, only a soft, azure light arced from his hands. Before it could reach Tristan it fell short onto the guard path, then sizzled away into nothingness. Undeterred, the enraged consul kept coming. As he neared he pulled a dagger from the folds of his robe and raised it high.
Quick as lightning, Tristan sheathed his dreggan, then spun around toward his attacker’s unarmed side and grabbed the consul’s wrist. He spun again and launched the consul off his feet and into the air. The consul hit hard atop the stone pathway. Tristan kicked the dagger from the consul’s hand and put his boot to his attacker’s throat. The consul tried to use his gifts to escape, but his endowed power was clearly spent.
Tristan drew his dreggan. Because he needed information from this man, he had resisted the urge to kill him. He glared down at the consul’s sharp, hawklike features.
“What is your name?” he demanded.
The consul’s only response was to turn his head as best he could and spit on Tristan’s boot.
As Tristan’s determination rose, the tingling sensation returned to his sword arm, and the dreggan blade glowed again. He slowly moved the blade’s lustrous point toward the consul’s face, and the mystic’s eyes widened with amazement.
“Your name!” Tristan demanded.
Still the consul did not answer.
Determined to get his information, Tristan swiveled his boot and forced the consul’s cheek flush against the pathway. Then he touched the dreggan’s glowing blade to the man’s exposed temple. The consul immediately started to scream. As azure smoke and the smell of burning flesh drifted upward, theJin’Sai drew the blade down the consul’s cheek, forever branding his face.
“Einar!” the man screamed. “My name is Einar!”
Tristan lifted the blade. “Where is your queen?” he shouted.
Despite his searing pain, the consul did not answer. Einar probably feared Serena’s wrath far more than that of theJin’Sai, Tristan realized. He decided to change the consul’s opinion.
Tristan moved the glowing sword point away from Einar’s face. At first the consul showed a great sense of relief. But as Tristan moved the blade toward Einar’s throat, the consul’s eyes widened with horror.
Starting at the neckline, Tristan touched the dreggan blade to the consul’s blue robe, and the cloth immediately started to burn. As the blade traveled toward Einar’s feet, the two halves of his robe fell away, leaving him naked. Tristan calmly placed the glowing blade tip directly above Einar’s exposed genitals. The consul nearly fainted with fear as he felt the heat engulf his groin.
“Where is your queen?”Tristan snarled.
“She’s in Failee’s previous quarters!” Einar screamed. “She went there to try and commune with thePon Q’tar! That’s all I know!”
“Take me there,” Tristan growled. He started to raise his boot from Einar’s throat.
“That won’t be needed,” Tristan suddenly heard Shailiha say. “I learned the way while I was imprisoned here.”
Tristan spun around to see Wigg and Shailiha standing behind him on the guard path. They looked exhausted.
Wigg’s robe was singed and torn, and his fingertips were scorched black. Shailiha’s doublet and breeches were smeared with blood; a jagged wound lay in her right hand. Her thigh dagger was gone, and her sword blade was heavily bloodied. Her face was filthy with sweat and smoke residue. The blond hair Tristan loved so much, tied behind her back and secured with a gold barrette, was so dirty that she could have been a brunette. She had done her share of killing, he realized. Relieved to see that they were alive, Tristan let go a deep breath.
“And the others?” he asked anxiously.
“They were all alive, last we saw them,” Shailiha answered. “But that was some time ago.”
Wigg looked down at Tristan’s glowing dreggan. As his blood calmed and the tingling sensation left his arm, it no longer surprised Tristan to see his dreggan stop glowing.
Wigg looked back into Tristan’s face.
“Interesting,” he said simply.
Tristan took a moment to look around. It seemed that the fighting on the wall tops had all but ended. As he turned back toward Einar he placed the point of his blade against the consul’s bare chest, then removed his boot from his throat. Wigg stepped beside Tristan to look down at the traitor.
“Hello, Einar,” he said calmly. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough, you bastard,” Einar answered. Despite his perilous situation, he gave Wigg a nasty smile.
“You might find Serena,” he said. “But you’ll never capture her. Her powers have become as strong as yours, First Wizard- or whatever grandiose title you’re giving yourself these days. Serena’s daughter has been reborn, and Serena will do anything to protect her.”
As the battle quieted, Tristan pulled Einar to his feet. But as he came up, the consul produced another dagger from inside the folds of his severed robe and thrust its blade straight toward Tristan’s neck. Shailiha gasped; even Wigg realized that there was no time to summon the craft.
As the silvery blade neared Tristan’s jugular, the prince slid leftward. Grasping Einar’s dagger hand, Tristan twisted it, then drew it in a large circle. Before he knew what was happening, he had thrown Einar headlong from the guard path.
Screaming wildly, the consul hit his head on the stone steps, breaking his neck. He landed on the inner ward’s tile floor with his head lying at an unnatural angle against one shoulder. Einar’s death had taken less than three seconds.
Shailiha looked at Tristan’s sword, then she searched her brother’s face like she was seeing both for the first time. “How…?” she asked.
“This isn’t the time to discuss it,” Tristan answered. “We need to go.” With Shailiha in the lead, they ran across the guard path, down the stone steps, and started across the inner ward.
Although the battle had quieted on the wall tops, the savage fighting in the Recluse proper forced Tristan to realize that his assault could still fail. Minions, envelopers, highlanders, and shrews still waged desperate war against each other, and as yet neither side sensed victory.
As they neared the palace steps, more than once Wigg was forced to kill ravaging shrews, and Tristan’s glowing blade cut two swooping envelopers from the air. On the way they came across Ox, Traax, and a group of warriors. TheJin’Sai quickly ordered them to follow along. Soon their party reached the marble steps, and they charged up into the Recluse.
The search for Serena had begun.
CHAPTER LXIX
UNDER TRISTAN’S ORDERS, FAEGAN, AEOLUS, AND JESSAMAYwere also searching for Serena as they cautiously prowled the Recluse’s second floor. Like everywhere else, the fighting there was a terrible mixture of smoke, magic, and sudden death.
Shrews and envelopers still controlled the Recluse, but the tide was slowly turning. Faegan had ordered a dozen Minion warriors to follow his group up the stairs. Not to be outdone, Rafe and twenty of his highlander riders had spurred their horses up the foyer staircase to follow along.
Blood smeared the second-floor walls, and the hallway floors were littered with bodies from both sides. Smashed furniture, torn paintings, and ripped draperies lay everywhere. Stained-glass windows were scattered in pieces around their broken window frames. Levitating his chair as he went, Faegan led the charge. The hallways were so wide that Aeolus, Jessamay, and several warriors could run alongside him.
Faegan soon saw an intersection up ahead. The area was huge. Five massively wide hallways joined ends there, creating a pentagonal sitting area. The center of the intersection was open and overlooked the marble floor below. A huge ceiling mirror hung directly above the intersection opening, reflecting a fountain sitting on the first floor. The fountain water shot high into the air, climbing up through the intersection opening before falling back. An intricately carved wooden railing protectively lined the intersection’s five angled sides. It was a beautiful part of the Recluse that incongruously belied the brutal ugliness taking place elsewhere.
As Faegan and his party neared the intersection they suddenly heard screeching sounds. Searching for prey, dozens of envelopers soared upward from the first floor to careen through the intersection’s open center. At once the sitting room became a riotous madhouse.
The Conclave mystics immediately raised their hands. Azure bolts struck many envelopers, killing them instantly. But soon the flow of envelopers became a constant stream, forcing Faegan to admit that his group could not overcome them. Just then the warriors started charging ahead to engage the envelopers.
“No!” Faegan shouted at the warriors. “There are too many of them for you to kill! You must come back!” As the warriors returned, Faegan looked anxiously at Aeolus and Jessamay.
“Unless I miss my guess, the beasts will gather for a coordinated assault!” he warned them. “Then we will act!”
As they waited and watched, it became clear that Faegan was right. Soon the intersection was full of envelopers, ominously circling the massive room. So many were gathering that Jessamay could imagine no way to survive their impending onslaught. While more soared up from the first floor to join the whirling maelstrom, she frantically looked at Faegan.
“Whatever you have in mind, you must do it soon!” she shouted.
Faegan shouted out a quick series of orders to Jessamay and Aeolus. It worked once, so it should work again, he reasoned. But we must perform our parts to perfection, or we’re all dead.
Envelopers finally stopped rushing up from the first floor. Knowing that they hadn’t a second to lose, Faegan gave the order, and the three mystics raised their arms.
Faegan acted first by sending an azure bolt toward the ceiling mirror. On hitting the mirror, the reflected beam streamed straight down into the water swirling in the massive fountain. Calling on the same spell that Wigg had used for the Recluse lake water, Faegan commanded the fountain water to keep its shape and lift into the air. The ring of water quickly levitated to the second floor, engulfing the surprised envelopers.
Twin beams shot from Aeolus’ and Jessamay’s hands. The beams hit the ring of water, and it started twinkling with an icy blue. Then it instantly froze solid, trapping all the envelopers in midflight.
As Aeolus and Jessamay lowered their hands, Rafe trotted his horse through the warrior ranks to stop beside the mystics. He had seen many amazing things this day, but this feat stunned him most of all.
“I beg the Afterlife…,” he breathed.
The huge, frozen ring imprisoning the envelopers revolved gently in the air. Rafe correctly guessed that it revolved because of the momentum it had gathered when the circling beasts first entered it. He turned his incredulous gaze toward Faegan.
“Are they dead?” he asked.
Faegan rubbed his chin. “I don’t know,” he answered. “If not, they soon will be. We will sustain the spell and let them freeze to death.”
“Reznik!” a male voice called out from the floor below. They heard boot heels running across marble.
“Einar is dead!” the unfamiliar voice shouted. “If you want to live, you must come with us!” As he heard the words, Faegan stiffened.
Reznik.
Without hesitation, Faegan flew his chair into the sitting room. Narrowly missing the hovering ring of ice, he launched over the railing and soared down toward the first floor.
Aeolus and Jessamay realized that they had no choice but to go, too. As they levitated over the railing they heard two thunderous explosions boom out. The Minions dutifully followed the mystics. Unable to go with them, Rafe and his riders charged their horses back down the hallway in search of more prey.
When Aeolus and Jessamay landed on the first floor they saw two dead consuls with their heads blown apart. One lay on the floor. The other hung on a wall, his chest impaled by an iron sconce bracket. Bits of the smashed globe the bracket had once held lay on the floor, beneath the dead consul’s dangling feet.
Fa
egan sat nearby. His arms were raised, and dark smoke drifted from his scorched fingertips. He faced a trembling man trapped in a nearby corner. The fellow was a fat, greasy-looking creature, and he wore a bloody butcher’s apron.
Aeolus and Jessamay immediately suspected that the man was Reznik. As they stared at him the Minions descended. Looking around warily, the warriors confirmed that this part of the Recluse was peaceful. Even so, the sounds of fighting going on elsewhere eerily drifted toward them.
Faegan glared at the man in the corner. “You’re Reznik,” he growled. “You do not wear a blue consul’s robe, and I heard your name called out from the room above.”
Reznik cowered before the wizard. “I am he,” he said. “Please don’t kill me!”
“Is Serena’s child reborn?” Faegan demanded. Knowing that there was nowhere for the Valrenkian to go, Faegan lowered his arms.
“Yes…,” Reznik answered.
“Where are they?” Faegan asked.
“I don’t know,” Reznik answered.
“Don’t lie to me, you piece of filth!” Faegan shouted.
For a moment Reznik beseechingly cast his eyes around the room like he was searching for someone to take pity on him. No one took the bait. He looked back at Faegan.
“If I answer, will you spare my life?” Reznik countered.
“I’ll consider it,” Faegan answered.
As Reznik tried to decide, he started shaking, and a stream of urine ran down one of his legs to form a puddle on the marble floor. He nervously wiped his damp palms down the front of his bloody smock.
“Serena and Clarice are on the second floor, in Failee’s previous quarters,” he finally answered.
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