At this, Joshua seemed to calm somewhat. Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe, he lowered his eyes menacingly at the master wizard across from him. This was a Joshua that Tristan had never seen; it was as though something vile had just come over him.
“First show me your proof, cripple,” he shot back.
“Very well,” Faegan answered calmly. He turned to Shailiha. “Princess, if you please.”
As if in concentration, Shailiha lowered her eyes somewhat. And then, from the bookcase behind the table and directly across from the secret door leading into the Well of the Redoubt, came Caprice, Shailiha’s violet-and-yellow flier. She had apparently been hiding in the dark space that would have ordinarily been occupied by an unusually thick, tall volume. Pausing tentatively for a moment on the edge of the shelf, she launched herself into the air, coming to rest on Shailiha’s arm. From there, presumably at the princess’ silent order, the flier flew down to land on the center of the table, her wings opening and closing silently.
For what seemed to be an eternity, no one spoke.
Joshua looked hard at Wigg. There was venom in his eyes. “Is this your idea of a joke?” he snarled. “Do you really expect me to accept the absurd accusations of some perverted creature of the craft? Especially one without the power of speech, who can communicate only with a woman who has just been supposedly cured of the Chimeran Agonies? No, gentlemen—I’m afraid you’ll have to do much better than that.”
“It’s over, Joshua,” Wigg said softly. “The flier, or should I say the princess, told us everything. You have been helping Nicholas drain the power of the stone. In fact, you have probably been doing so since the process first started. We had long wondered why the rate of decay varied so much from one day to the next—almost as if there were more than one force at work. After you, Faegan, and I placed the stone in the Well, Wigg and I placed the flier here, to determine whether anyone would enter the Well of the Redoubt without authorization. From her hidden perch in the bookcase, Caprice saw you. When you left she informed Shailiha, who in turn informed us. Faegan then immediately came here to check. The rate of decay had been increased, and the only changed variable was your presence.”
“Even if all this were somehow true, it isn’t enough, and you both know it,” Joshua protested. “For all I know this is something the two of you made up—an elaborate hoax of some kind, designed to force me from the Brotherhood.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “I have never, in my entire life, been to the Well of the Redoubt alone. The only time I have ever been there is with you.”
This seemed to be exactly what Faegan had been waiting for. “Really?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “We thought you might say something like that.” He turned to the prince. “Tristan,” he said, “please remove the consul’s right boot.”
Tristan stared at the old wizard in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Remove the consul’s right boot, and place it on the table in front of me,” Faegan answered calmly. “I have engineered the warp so that you might reach through it without harm. Except for his right foot, I will momentarily immobilize him so that he cannot resist you.”
Still nonplussed, Tristan nonetheless did as he was asked.
“Thank you,” Faegan said as Tristan walked back to his seat. “Now then,” the wizard went on. “Everyone please observe.”
At once the chandeliers in the room began to dim, until finally the only light came from the bars of the cage holding Joshua. In the eerie glow, Faegan turned his wheelchair toward the center of the room, then raised his arm. A glowing broom appeared and hovered silently in the darkness. Then it began to sweep the floor, until its sparkling, glowing bristles had covered it all. With that, Faegan caused the broom to vanish and the lights to come back up. Tristan looked down at the floor, amazed.
A set of very clear boot prints, glowing with the power of the craft, led to the secret wall panel guarding the Well of the Redoubt, and back again.
“Tristan,” Wigg said. “Go to the boot prints, and look closely at the right heel. Tell us what you see.”
The prince rose, and went to study one of the prints. In the center of the glowing heel mark was a dark letter “J.” He bent down, just to be sure, then turned back to the table and reported what he saw.
“Now,” Faegan said, “if you would also be so kind as to turn over Joshua’s boot.”
Tristan walked to the table and turned over the boot. In the center of the heel had been carved the letter “J.” The exact duplicate of the one upon the floor, it stared back silently at him, a clear testament to what had transpired here.
Speechless, Tristan turned to Faegan. “How?” he asked. “How was this done?”
“A little-known use of the craft,” Faegan replied, turning his chair around and staring directly into the eyes of the consul. “I created an elixir that when spread across the floor subsequently vanishes, but can later reveal the tracks of anyone who walks upon it. Because only his boot prints appear in that area, only Joshua has entered and exited the Well of the Redoubt since I poured the elixir onto the floor. As for the mark on the heel, well, ‘J’ obviously stands for ‘Joshua.’ It was carved there by Shawna the Short. She slipped into his chambers while he was asleep, and did the job for me.” Faegan smiled knowingly into the consul’s face.
“But suppose others had gone there, even for innocent reasons?” Celeste asked from the other side of the table. “Or he had used an accomplice? How would you know who they were?”
Faegan grinned impishly. “Because Shawna did everyone’s boots and shoes.”
Reaching down, Tristan quickly removed his right knee boot and carefully examined the heel. Sure enough, a small “T” had been carved into it. He shook his head. As he put the boot back on, he looked over at the fuming consul in the glowing wizard’s cage. And just what will become of him now?
“What made you suspect him?” Shailiha asked.
“First of all,” Wigg answered, “there was the fact that he has been the only consul to ever make it back to the Redoubt alive. Think about it. Didn’t that ever strike you as strange, given the fact that there were roughly three thousand of them out there? Surely if he could escape the hatchlings and make it to safety, so could at least a few of the others. It is our belief that Joshua traveled from squad to squad as Nicholas’ agent, helping the hatchlings to capture the consuls. We had often wondered how the birds could find the squads so easily, and why it was that the consuls’ powers were completely useless against them. It just made no sense. In both cases we believe Joshua used a superior spell given to him by Nicholas, perhaps even placed into his blood by way of Forestallment. A simple blood signature will tell us that. His emaciated condition and dislocated shoulder were a nice touch, as well. A small price to pay for authenticity and sympathy, wouldn’t you say? And so he came to us, at Nicholas’ orders, to tell us his sad story, infiltrate the Redoubt, and begin helping to drain the Paragon.” Wigg paused, collecting his thoughts.
“And then there was the fact that Joshua would not let Geldon unearth Nicholas’ grave in Parthalon, or at least talked him out of it,” he continued. He looked in the general direction of the dwarf, giving him a short, compassionate smile. “Geldon wanted to bring the body here for you, Tristan, so that you might bury it in the grave site of your parents. He thought that as long as he was there, he would do you a kindness, saving you at least that part of the grief. But Joshua couldn’t allow that, because there was no body to bring back, was there? And finally there was his suggestion that we use Ox as your bodyguard. An idea Faegan and I eventually embraced, ordering Tristan to accept. Fiendishly clever, I’ll give the consul that much. We never told you that it had been Joshua’s idea, but it was.”
“I still don’t understand,” Tristan said. “What has Ox got to do with all of this? Is he a traitor, too?”
“No,” Wigg said, shaking his head. “Ox’s heart is pure, and he would gladly die for you. Nichola
s wants you protected, for he still hopes that you will join him in his madness. The poison he ordered placed into your system by Scrounge, as he told you himself, provides the ultimate incentive to do so. Things are starting to make more sense, but I’m afraid there are still far more pieces to the puzzle.”
Tristan stared at the consul, stunned that he could be a traitor. “But what about placing the stone in the Well, and you retaining your powers?” he asked. “How could Nicholas do that?”
“No doubt via one or more of the Forestallments placed into his blood by the Heretics,” Wigg answered. “Perhaps even the same Forestallment that allows our ‘friend’ Joshua to help Nicholas accelerate the decay of the Paragon. As I said, a simple test of the consul’s blood signature will reveal much. For if he is innocent, his signature will contain no Forestallments. Isn’t that right, Joshua?”
The consul stayed silent, his lips drawn into a thin line, his eyes seething with hate.
“Assuming Joshua was our culprit, we needed to be able to prove it without a doubt,” Faegan continued. “I assumed he needed to be near the stone to help with its decay. He was occasionally in my presence as I wore it, but not always. By having him help us place the stone in the Well of the Redoubt, we gave him the opportunity—and the temptation. Wigg and I replaced the Paragon around my neck this morning, after Shailiha informed us of Caprice’s observations.”
“But we still have questions, Joshua,” Wigg said. “Questions that you shall answer—one way or another. How was it that Nicholas was able to defeat your death enchantments? And, even more importantly, is there a way by which we can return the power to the stone?”
Joshua produced an evil, twisted smile.
“Very clever, Wigg.” He nodded. “Yes, I have always been his, right from the moment he first revealed his mind to me, even while he was still a child. Even then his power and knowledge of the craft dwarfed anything you and the cripple have ever seen. But why, you are no doubt wondering. Why is it that a trusted consul would do such a thing? I’ll tell you why, you pompous old man. Because Nicholas promised me the one thing you and your vaunted Directorate would never share with any of us who wear the dark blue robes: power. And with that a complete understanding of the craft, especially the darker side. The adept has promised me things that you could never, in your exclusive, infantile practice of the Vigors, ever conceive of. And I wanted them. Oh, yes, Lead Wizard, I wanted them badly.” The wicked smile again contorted his face.
“And there is something else,” he hissed, so quietly his words were almost inaudible. “There are a great many more of the Brotherhood of Consuls just like me—brothers who went over to Nicholas’ cause willingly. A greater number of us than you could ever imagine. The master removed their tattoos so that they could never be identified.” He paused to stare menacingly at Tristan. “But your son didn’t tell you any of that, did he, Chosen One? No. For you see, there is still far more to all of this than any of you can imagine. But you shall never understand it all, for very soon now shall come the Confluence, and you shall all be quite dead.”
Wigg looked as if he had seen a ghost. Darkness passed across his face like a thunderstorm across the sky, and tears welled up in each of his useless eyes. But Faegan seemed less daunted by what he had just heard. Quickly wheeling his chair closer, he faced the consul directly.
“You said ‘the Confluence.’ What do you mean by that?” he demanded urgently.
“It makes no difference whether you are told, for you cannot possibly stop it now, anyway,” Joshua gloated. “The Confluence is the combination of four separate, but equally necessary elements. First comes the azure blood of the Chosen One, which my master already possesses. Second: a sufficient quantity of the blood of endowed children—blood that is gifted, but still malleable. He now has that, too. Third, waters from the Caves of the Paragon. And finally the power of the Paragon, transferred into the willing, azure blood of just one individual—an individual who is completely devoted to the teachings of the Heretics. The individual the Chosen One himself so conveniently took from the womb of the sorceress Succiu and left behind in Parthalon. As I said, it is the Confluence. Through the unique combination of these elements, the Guild of the Heretics will be allowed to return to the earth, to rule once more.”
Suddenly he smiled again. It was a more knowing and somehow more decisive smile—as if his mind was suddenly made up about something.
“But I digress,” he said, almost casually. “I shall not address your first questions—those of the death enchantments and the power of the stone. Those, I’m afraid, you must decipher for yourself. But there is still one thing of the highest importance that I have yet to mention. It would be quite impolite of me not to do so.”
“And that is?” Faegan asked, leaning forward.
“That death itself is not the end, nor is it even the problem,” Joshua answered cryptically. “That it is, truly, only the beginning. Something the master, in his infinite wisdom, will soon demonstrate to you.”
With that, the consul smiled calmly. Then his eyes began to roll up into his head. Reaching into his robes, he produced a long stiletto with a strange-looking, very tiny hook just visible at the end of the blade. Faegan’s eyes widened in realization and he raised his right arm, but even for the master wizard there was not enough time.
Joshua inserted the strange blade deep into his right ear. As blood gushed out, he slammed it in even farther, then gave the blade a sudden, forceful pull. Tristan heard a moist, muffled crack.
The consul was dead before his face hit the bars of his cage.
After everyone’s shock subsided and they verified that Joshua was truly dead, Tristan dragged the body outside the room to be disposed of later, then came back to the somber gathering.
“Why would the consuls revolt?” he asked. “I thought they were bound, heart and soul, to the Brotherhood and the exclusive practice of the Vigors. And how is it that they have somehow been able to circumvent the death enchantments?”
Wigg had been deeply affected by the news of the consul’s betrayal, and tears ran blatantly down his cheeks. Celeste placed an affectionate hand over his, and the lead wizard closed his ancient fingers around it. He seemed unable to speak.
Faegan, however, having had no such long-term relationship with the Brotherhood, remained more pragmatic. “For the same reasons Joshua mentioned, although I believe I can name a few more,” he said quietly. “First, the nation was destroyed by the Minions. The royal family, with the exception of the Chosen Ones, is dead. As is the entire Directorate, save for Wigg. So to whom do the consuls now owe their allegiance, eh? From their perspective, it is apparently up for grabs. For the first time in over three centuries, there is clearly a power vacuum in Eutracia. Second, Nicholas supposedly offers them far greater power than the Directorate would have ever dreamed of doing. This would be a very tempting proposition, especially in light of the fact that there is now no Directorate to punish them for their actions. They may even consider Wigg to be a traitor to the nation, just as the populace at large considers you, Tristan, to be the willing murderer of your father, the king. And then there is the most compelling reason of all.” Faegan sat back in his chair, his face grave.
“And that is?” Celeste asked, her sapphire eyes alive with curiosity.
“The promise of the time enchantments, granting them eternal protection from both disease and old age, and the concurrent circumvention of the death enchantments, finally freeing them to do literally anything they choose,” Faegan said glumly. “A very tempting package for those already partially trained, and still possessing an overriding curiosity about the craft. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Again the wizard paused, measuring his words. “We must therefore assume, at least for the time being, that the Brotherhood of Consuls is now in revolt.” Like the peals of a death knell, his words hung heavy and deep over the table.
“But Joshua has been exposed, and is dead,” Tristan countered, trying to find a glea
m of hope. “Surely that is a good thing.”
“Yes,” Wigg answered. “But we are not much better off than before. All we have gained is the fact that the Paragon will not decay so rapidly.”
Shailiha leaned forward, placing her arms on the table. “Joshua talked about the ‘Confluence.’ What is that?”
“The Confluence is mentioned in the Preface to the Tome,” Faegan explained, “and refers to the spell allowing the ‘rebirth,’ if you will, of those who have departed to the Afterlife. It is the concurrent gathering of usually disparate powers that will allow Nicholas to perform his version of the craft, thereby empowering the Gates and the blood of the Heretics locked within them.”
“And what happens then?” Tristan asked.
“It is written in the Tome that the Gates shall literally split open the heavens, releasing the Guild of the Heretics from their bondage in the firmament. The spirits of the Heretics shall then appear, descending from the heavens to come flying through the Gates, passing by their reactivated blood. They will then bond with it, taking on their original, human forms.”
“But if the Heretics can be released, then why are the Ones not released, as well?” Tristan asked.
“Because their blood is not in the marble of the Gates,” Wigg answered. “And is therefore not a part of the Confluence.”
Tristan looked around the table at the dark, defeated faces. Sighing sadly, he turned again to Faegan. “Tell me,” he asked, “why are they called ‘The Gates of Dawn’?”
“The Preface of the Tome states that the activation of the Gates is to take place precisely at dawn,” Faegan answered. “That is the only answer that we have.”
And with that, the room went silent.
The Gates of Dawn Page 46
