I will kill you, my son, he seethed inwardly. Somehow, some way, I will find the method by which to overcome your blood. The blood I was forced to give to you. I know I can do it now, and I swear by all that I am I will see you die.
Looking to the Recluse, his mind drifted back to the day when Succiu had so brutally raped him. He returned his gaze to the empty grave. You were conceived in violence and pain, Nicholas. And your life has been devoted to nothing else. But I shall end it for you.
As he made this new oath to himself, he looked down, staring defiantly at the wounds he had carved into his palms not so long ago. When he had sworn a similar pledge, also upon his knees, at yet a different burial place of those he had also once loved. These scars had only recently healed—far more quickly than the ones that remained upon his heart. Or the new one that he now realized he must create. And then his mind and vision began to swim.
Perhaps it had been the sudden, unrelenting rage passing through his blood. Or the fact that he was so near to yet another place of Nicholas. But for whatever the reason, Tristan immediately knew he was in the grip of his second convulsion, and it was far worse than had been his first.
He fell the rest of the way to the ground, foam surging from the corners of his mouth. The pain wracking his body was excruciating, and he screamed out blindly into the clear Parthalonian morning. On and on the torment went, without reprieve. The last thing he remembered was Ox trying to force something into his mouth, and being dragged toward the nearby forest.
Then everything went black as night.
CHAPTER
Thirty-nine
Faegan sat comfortably in his chair on wheels, his violin beneath his chin, in the spacious but stark chamber he had specially selected. He had chosen this particular room because there was only one massive, very secure marble door, and no chimney. The music he was creating was both thoughtful and soft, exactly befitting the master wizard’s current mood. His eyes were closed, and he let his hands perform their art without the use of the craft, preferring this day to produce the enchanting melody from his heart, rather than from his gifts. He had been playing for hours, as was his custom when there was an unusually difficult decision to make. And the problem he now wrestled with was one of the most trying of his very long life in the service of the craft.
Finally placing the violin in his lap, he turned his attention for the hundredth time to the glowing bars, within which resided the captured hatchling. Now conscious, the dangerous-looking bird had so far said nothing, simply glaring with hatred at him. Initially it had attempted to free itself by smashing its body against the bars of Faegan’s wizard’s cage, of course to no avail. This much, the wizard knew, was to be expected.
Even after his painstaking examination of the bird while it had remained unconscious, he still had serious doubts as to his plan. So had Wigg. After hearing of Faegan’s idea, he had instantly blustered and argued, finally saying he could not give his blessing to such a thing. He had instead gone off to meditate, trying to envision how he could somehow come to a compromise with Faegan. But in his heart Wigg knew it would probably have to be all or nothing. Half measures certainly would not work, and might prove to be even more dangerous.
Faegan could easily understand Wigg’s concern, for such a thing had never been attempted. Their knowledge of this particular branch of the craft was still very much in its infancy. But these were extraordinary times, he had told Wigg, and they needed to make use of any advantage they could think of. Even one this tenuous. And they needed to do it quickly.
Faegan again put the violin beneath his chin and started to play, going over in his mind the few facts that he had become relatively sure of regarding the bird. The hatchling had not spoken, but the wizard believed it was able to. When Faegan had first produced the instrument and begun playing it, the bird’s red eyes had widened, and it shuffled back and forth as if in surprise. It had started to form a word but had then closed its beak. It was no doubt under orders to remain silent if captured, Faegan realized.
He was quite sure that the hatchlings were a product of the Vagaries, since they were not only used for destruction but also seemed to relish their work. He knew that the spell needed to conjure such beasts was very intricate indeed, and had most assuredly been given to Nicholas by the Heretics via Forestallment. This last point, he reasoned, was the worst of the problems.
As he played, the unfazed hatchling continued to stare hatefully at him from between the glowing bars of its cage.
Faegan heard the massive door open and knew without turning that it must be Wigg. He put aside his violin to lead his old friend to a chair.
After a very long sigh of resignation, Wigg spoke. “Are you sure there is no other way to accomplish your idea?” he asked. “This is so risky I don’t even know how to begin to broach my many concerns! Such a thing has never been tried before, and we still know so little about Forestallments! And it is her very life we are talking about, not just her mind. Are you sure there is no other way?”
“We have been over and over this,” Faegan answered gently. “If you have a better plan, I am ready to listen. But as we sit and do nothing, every moment that passes Nicholas grows stronger, and we weaker. I checked the Paragon again today, and more than half of its color is now gone. I’m sure that you, like me, have sensed the acute reduction in your powers. Not a very pleasant experience, is it? It is time, Wigg. Like it or not I feel we have to proceed, before we both become powerless. And as the stone weakens, so does my warp that holds the hatchling at bay, and it’s far too valuable to kill.” He smiled coyly, though he knew Wigg couldn’t see the expression. “Do you really want it running loose through the palace, Lead Wizard?”
Scowling, Wigg ignored Faegan’s sarcasm. “But do you really believe the strength of her blood will prevail?” he asked. Uncharacteristically, he wrung his hands. “I know the theory proves itself on paper, but there is still so much about Nicholas and his spells that we do not know, not to mention the Heretics . . .”
“I too have grave doubts,” Faegan said. “It is true that again exposing her mind to the Vagaries, especially after her vicious treatment by the Coven, may be the end of her. But I believe her Forestallment, coupled with the nearly unparalleled quality of her blood, will overcome. Provided she agrees I feel we must push forward. Did she accompany you here?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Wigg answered. “She waits in the hall. Given the nature of the situation, I requested that she leave the baby with Martha. I have explained nothing of this to her. But if we are to do this, there is something I must insist upon. She must know everything involved—especially the reasons for this and the accompanying risks. Only then can I consent. May the Afterlife grant us success.”
“The Afterlife is precisely the problem, is it not, old friend?” Faegan asked, unknowingly echoing Wigg’s thoughts of the previous day. “Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, I love her too.”
Wigg nodded resignedly, tacitly giving his consent.
Faegan rolled himself to the door and opened it, then ushered Shailiha in.
This was her first time to see the hatchling, and on noticing it she took a step back, looking nervously from one wizard to the other.
“It cannot harm you,” Faegan said gently, motioning her to a chair.
“Is this the creature that Tristan brought to the Redoubt?” she asked, coiling up a little as she sat in a nearby chair.
“Yes,” Wigg said.
Shailiha stared at it a moment longer, then turned to the wizards. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked. “What is it that you desire of me?”
In careful, measured tones, Faegan and Wigg began to explain their plan to her. At first she did not respond. But as they finally described the most important part of it, she shrank back farther into the chair. They told her that what she was about to do must be of her own free will, but that it was not just for the sake of her brother that she would be making the attempt, but also for the surviva
l of her entire nation. And then they told her why it must be done. Upon hearing this, her eyes went wide. They went on to say what she must do should the process be successful.
“There is another fact you need to know,” Wigg said softly. “It is entirely possible that you could die in this attempt. We believe the spell used to conjure the hatchling will be very powerful indeed, having come directly from the Heretics themselves. Given your relative weakness from the Chimeran Agonies, we cannot be sure your blood will be able to stand the strain. But we feel its virtually unsurpassed quality will win out.”
Shailiha nodded her understanding.
“And one last thing,” Faegan added. “Perhaps the most difficult of all, in fact, given how much you love the prince. Should you be successful, no one outside of this room is to know what happened here. No one. No matter the circumstances. Especially Tristan. And for the good of us all, we will eventually be forced to tell him a lie. A lie that he must believe totally, and without hesitation. It will become imperative that you join with us in this. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” she said quietly, staring at the awful thing in the cage.
“Come to me, Princess,” Wigg said.
Shailiha walked to him. He felt for her hands and took them in his own. “What say you?” he asked. “Will you do this thing?”
She turned to look at the beast in the cage. The hatchling stared hatefully back at her with its grotesque, red eyes.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I owe you, Faegan, and Tristan my very existence. And I love you all more than my life. I also know that you mean only well in all of this. Therefore, I will try.”
“Very well,” Wigg replied, his voice cracking with emotion. He turned toward the other wizard. “Faegan, if you please,” he said.
“Of course.” Narrowing his eyes, Faegan encapsulated the bird’s body in an additional manifestation of the craft. At first the beast tried to struggle, but in the end it settled down, unable to move in any way.
Shailiha walked slowly toward the glowing cage. Stopping before it, she looked back to Faegan for a sign of support. Smiling slightly, he nodded to her.
Shailiha took a deep breath and tentatively slid one of her hands into the cage.
The hatchling was held immobile by Faegan’s warp, but as Shailiha’s trembling hand continued its dangerous journey toward the great bird, the hatchling’s eyes began to glow an even deeper, fiercer red.
Carefully, very carefully, the princess wrapped her fingers around the leathery, pointed top of the bird’s head. Almost immediately a change overtook her.
She began to perspire, and her entire body started to shake. She lowered her head like an animal, moving it back and forth as if in some kind of trance. When she finally lifted her face again, her eyes had rolled up high beneath her lids. Her teeth were bared in a kind of silent, almost vicious snarl, and her breathing was heavily labored, her chest heaving mightily. Faegan feared she might die. He watched in helpless frustration, desperately wondering whether they had done the right thing.
But then her sense of self and her breathing slowly returned to normal, and she finally removed her hand from the creature’s head. Still standing before it, she adopted a stance with her legs spread slightly, her arms folded across her chest, and glared directly into the thing’s bloodred eyes.
Neither bird nor woman flinched. It was as if the two of them had suddenly become locked within a place and time that somehow only they could inhabit. Everything about Shailiha now suggested an attitude of complete power and domination. Sensing the moment was right, Faegan terminated the warp holding the bird. Seeing the azure glow fade away, Shailiha spoke.
“Who is it that you serve?” she asked rather harshly.
“Only you, Mistress,” the hatchling answered dutifully, breaking its self-imposed silence for the first time since being captured.
The hatchling called her mistress! Faegan’s mind shouted out to him. But of course it would! The Forestallments in Shailiha’s blood are of Failee’s doing, and she would have wanted all of her endowed creatures to address the princess in that way! It makes perfect sense!
“And who are Nicholas, Ragnar, and Scrounge?” she asked, employing the second of the questions the wizards had instructed her to put to the bird.
“I know of no such beings,” the bird answered obediently. “My entire world is only of you, my mistress.”
We have succeeded beyond our wildest dreams! Faegan realized. Not only has her touching an endowed, winged creature of the craft enacted the Forestallment, just as it did with the fliers of the fields, but the superior quality of her blood has actually pushed out all of the hatchling’s memories of its original master. This bird will truly do our bidding.
“I shall ask you a question,” Shailiha continued, “and you shall endeavor to respond without the use of the spoken word, using only your thoughts to reveal the answer to my mind. Tell me, hatchling, what is my name and title?” The princess closed her eyes, waiting for a response.
And then suddenly there it was, resonating within her mind as clear as if the bird had spoken it with its tongue. Shailiha, fifth mistress of the Coven.
She turned, repeating the answer verbatim to the wizards.
And then she collapsed to the floor.
Faegan rushed to her and used the craft to lift her body into a chair.
“What is it?” Wigg shouted urgently. “What’s going on?”
“She collapsed,” Faegan answered.
The princess looked pale and drawn. Faegan lifted one of her eyelids, peering in. Seemingly satisfied, he closed it again. “I think she is going to be all right.”
Shailiha stirred, then opened her eyes and sat up a little straighter, getting her bearings. “Did we succeed?” she asked thickly. Her hair was matted against one side of her face from perspiration, and she weakly hooked some of it behind her ear. “Did I really do it?” she asked again. “I cannot completely remember . . .”
“Oh, yes,” Faegan answered her. “And to our wildest expectations. But there is still one thing I do not know. Are you able to communicate with the minds of all of the other hatchlings, or only this one before us?”
“Only this one,” she answered, looking back at the bird in the glowing cage. “Why is that, when I can communicate with all of the fliers if I choose to?”
Faegan paused for a moment, lost in the question. “Presumably because the magic sustaining the hatchlings is stronger,” he answered at last. “As such, your Forestallment, especially with your blood not having yet been trained, could only penetrate so far. Remember, we assume that this spell for Nicholas’ creatures came directly from the Heretics themselves. Given that premise, it is a true testament to your blood that you were able to accomplish as much as you did.”
Shailiha slowly stood, testing her legs, then walked gingerly to the cage. “I no longer fear it,” she said rather absently. “It is mine now, heart and soul.” Wigg stood, and Shailiha went to take him by the hand.
“Thank you, my child,” he said with shiny eyes, “for all that you have done here. But I think we should leave now. I want you to get some rest.”
The three of them walked to the door. Before going through, Shailiha suddenly stopped, turning back to the hatchling for the last time. She commandingly trained her eyes upon the beast.
“In my absence you are to obey these two men, and these two men only, just as you would obey me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the bird answered, lowering its head slightly in submission. Even the glowing sense of hatred that had once possessed its eyes was now gone.
Narrowing his eyes in thought, Faegan leaned toward Shailiha’s ear and whispered something to her.
The princess nodded and again addressed the bird. “There is one other order I have for you, and it is to be obeyed to the letter, as are all of my demands. Do you remember the Chosen One, the man without wings who brought you here?” The bird nodded. “Good,” Shailiha said.
“Under no circumstances is he to become aware of your powers of speech. You are never to speak in his presence, nor to answer him should he ever ask you anything by which he might test you in this regard. And test you he will, mark my words. In addition, only the three people you see here before you are to know that you can speak. Should any others be present, anyone at all, you are to remain silent. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the bird answered. “It shall be as you order.”
“Well done.” Wigg smiled.
“Indeed,” Faegan added, winking. No longer having a reason to contain his delight, he levitated his chair and, cackling, whirled twice in a circle in the air before lowering himself back to solid ground. Wigg scowled. Shailiha smiled weakly.
And then the three of them, one wizard on each side of the exhausted princess, left the room, starting down the halls.
CHAPTER
Forty
When Tristan finally regained consciousness, pain wracked his entire body, and he was weak and trembling. His breathing was labored, and he was covered with perspiration. Lying on his back in the snow, as he looked up all he could see were the leafless tops of the trees, swaying gently in the wind. And then he vaguely remembered being dragged toward the woods by Ox. He could feel as much as see the Minion warrior sitting nearby in the snow, carefully watching over him.
He tried to raise himself, but couldn’t help falling back to the ground. Immediately Ox was next to him, helping him to sit up. Then the vomiting came, and seemed to last forever. Finally feeling somewhat better, he looked over to the Minion.
“Thank you,” he said weakly. He smiled at the warrior.
“Ox only do what wizards say,” the warrior replied, an uncharacteristically worried look gracing his usually menacing face. “Ox again glad Chosen One lives.”
The Gates of Dawn Page 42
