The entire theater went silent as Tristan and Traax stared at each other in an obvious contest of wills. No one moved; no one spoke. The only sound was the cold, swirling wind as it blew in and out of the great bowl.
Tristan stared calmly into Traax’s green eyes, not giving an inch.
He must speak to me first, thereby recognizing my authority over him, he remembered. Even Traax does not know how important this moment is. For if he will not honor my authority, I cannot order the Minions back to Eutracia, and all is finished for us.
The initial look of surprise in Traax’s eyes was quickly replaced by one of skepticism, as if he did not wish to relinquish command of his legions, no matter how briefly. His jaw hardened, one brow coming up questioningly, almost sarcastically. Every pair of Minion eyes was on Traax, waiting to see what he would do.
After several silent, excruciatingly tense moments, Traax relented, slowly going down on one knee. “I live to serve,” he said in a strong, clear voice.
Immediately the entire body of warriors in the theater also went to their knees. “I live to serve,” they said as one, the many voices seeming to shake the very coliseum in which they stood.
Tristan showed no outward signs of emotion, but his heart was leaping. He’d done it, he thought. But now that he had control, he had to learn to keep it.
“You may rise,” he shouted to the theater as a whole. Traax came to his feet. The other warriors did the same, continuing to stand at stiff attention.
“The Chosen One graces us with his presence,” Traax said, bowing slightly. Tristan thought there might be a hint of sarcasm in the Minion officer’s voice, but he brushed the concern away. “It is an honor,” Traax added, this time a bit more humbly. He then looked at Ox, and to the foot that had once been severed from the warrior’s body. “I see your foot is healed,” he mentioned. “I am glad the Chosen One’s wizards were successful.”
Bowing shortly, Ox clicked his heels.
“I have come for your report, as I said I would that day in the courtyard,” Tristan replied calmly, continuing to hold Traax’s eyes in his. “There are also urgent matters to discuss pertaining to Eutracia. Is there somewhere more private that we may speak? What I have to say is for your ears only.”
“Of course,” Traax said. “Follow me, my lord. But first may I request permission to return these warriors back to their duties of rebuilding the Recluse?”
Tristan had almost forgotten them, focused as he had been upon Traax. “Granted,” he said.
With a wave of his arm, Traax indicated the Minions were to leave. At once the several thousand warriors took to the air, flying back in the direction of the castle. “Now, if you will follow me,” Traax said.
Tristan and Ox followed him out the amphitheater and around the outer edge, finally stopping before a rather elaborate entrance of marble that had been constructed into the wall of the embankment. It was guarded on either side by very large, fully armed warriors. Opening the door, Traax beckoned Tristan and Ox within.
Once inside, Tristan was surprised. He had expected something rather stark, as was his overall impression regarding most things of the Minions. Instead the chambers here were light and airy, the marble of the palest indigo, with carpets on the floor and comfortable furniture placed tastefully about. A broad marble conference table with six chairs sat in the middle of the largest of several such rooms. Oil chandeliers gave the chamber a soft, inviting glow. It was not entirely unlike being in one of the smaller rooms of the Redoubt.
They each took a seat at the table. In an obvious gesture of respect, Traax removed his dreggan and placed it on the tabletop. Tristan and Ox replied in kind.
“Food and drink?” Traax asked.
“Yes,” Tristan answered, suddenly realizing how hungry and thirsty he was.
Traax slapped his hands, and almost immediately two Minion women appeared, coming to stand by the table. Tristan realized that these were the first Minion women he had ever seen.
They were quite beautiful.
They stood proudly, rather than adopting the meek, subservient postures he imagined they had been forced to maintain under Kluge’s command. It would be interesting to see how Minion society emerged, provided his orders remained in place, he thought.
“Food and wine,” Traax said to the women. “The grouse, I think. And be quick about it.” He then looked to Tristan, pursing his lips. “Please,” he finally added, in a softer, less commanding tone. As the women walked away, Tristan thought for a moment he could see slight smiles come to their lips. He had a hard time repressing one of his own, but he managed.
“They are strong, the Minion women,” Traax said thoughtfully. “Many of the warriors, especially those who have recently married as a result of your permission, seem to be even happier than before. Minion warriors prefer their women to be forceful, and sexually aggressive. Given their newfound freedoms, the females have responded in kind. Many of them have even made significant suggestions as to the rebuilding and decorating of the Recluse.” He spoke almost as if it were astounding that mere women could accomplish such intellectual acts. Then one corner of his mouth came up. “As I said, my lord, your changes have been interesting.”
“Please give me your report,” Tristan said. “I particularly wish to hear of your progress in the orders I gave you just before I left Parthalon. But be brief. There is much left for us to discuss.”
Traax nodded, quickly outlining for Tristan the progress that had so far been made.
When Traax had finished, Tristan asked, “What were the crimes of those who endured the Kachinaar? And why is this theater here?”
“The first warrior, the one whose head you saw, was accused of forcibly taking another man’s Gallipolai wife,” Traax said. “There was truly little doubt that he was guilty. His vigil failed, reinforcing not only the fact that other men’s women are no longer to be shared, but that the Gallipolai are no longer slaves.” Traax spoke as casually about this brutality as though he were discussing the weather.
“If two or more Kachinaars are to be held within days of each other, should the first accused be found guilty we also take his head, using it for the theater games,” he continued. “It was said the second fellow, his friend, also took the woman after the first one did. But his guilt was far less certain. In any event he survived his vigil, and is now free.” He paused for a moment, smiling.
“And to answer your second question, the theater was constructed of imperfect marble pieces left over from the site of the Recluse,” he went on. “There is still more work to be done upon it, such as decorative statues and the like. I ordered the stadium built so that if more than one accused was to suffer the Kachinaar at once, or if I deemed the crime to be important enough, far more of the Minions would be able to watch. It has become quite a tradition.” He smiled again, leaning in conspiratorially. “As you saw, we even keep a live shrew here, for just this very purpose. It tends to add a great deal of liveliness to things. Sometimes bets are taken on which day the shrew will vomit the bones back up.”
Tristan sat back in his chair, trying hard not to appear as disgusted as he felt. “Is there a name you have given to this place?” he asked.
“Of course,” Traax answered. “We call it the Proscenium of Indictment. Other places also serve as venues for the Kachinaar, of course, but the Proscenium is quickly becoming the favorite.”
And just what in the name of the Afterlife do I do about this now? Tristan wondered. Allowing this form of barbarism to exist here, under his aegis, was unthinkable. But he needed these warriors—every single one of them. Eliminating something so popular and that they were obviously so proud of, and doing so on his very first visit, might well cause too much ill will.
Still struggling with the decision, Tristan tried to think of what Wigg would tell him if he were here. Many had been the time, during their search for Shailiha and the Paragon, that the lead wizard had ordered him to forget the things he saw, no matter how vile, and t
o concentrate instead on the larger goal. Using the Minions to crush Scrounge’s hatchlings and somehow prevent Nicholas from empowering the Gates of Dawn had to take priority. He therefore decided to speak no more of the Proscenium or the Kachinaar for the time being. He would not condemn these traditions. But he would not give them his verbal approval, either. He decided to change the subject.
“And now for the true reason I have come,” he said, looking into Traax’s eyes. “I am ordering as many of the legions as you can possibly spare to Eutracia. Immediately. We have a host of new enemies, and it shall be the Minions’ task to destroy these monsters.” He folded his arms across his chest and sat back. Holding his breath, he waited for Traax’s response.
“It has been too long since we have seen action, my lord,” Traax said. Gripping the hilt of his dreggan, he held the shiny blade to the light of the chandeliers. “And it will be good for our swords to again taste blood, especially since we can no longer train to the death. Your enemies are ours.” He refocused his green eyes back on the Chosen One. “Tell me more,” he said eagerly.
At that moment the food came. Tristan became quiet, waiting for the women to depart. The Parthalonian grouse was excellent, perhaps the best bird he had ever tasted. He quickly washed down several helpings of both the seasoned grouse and the dark, rich bread of the Minions with several glasses of hearty red wine. In between bites he gave Traax his orders.
The reconstruction of the Recluse was to be put on indefinite hold, he said. Traax was to begin assembling his men—along with weapons, support staff, materiel, and foodstuffs—and placing it all near the entrance to Faegan’s portal. Also, the fleet anchored at Eyrie Point was to depart as soon as possible, carrying additional troops. Should there be any serious problems in the execution of his orders, a Minion messenger was to immediately come through the portal, informing him.
Tristan described the hatchlings and the scarabs, and Traax only smiled, his sense of anticipation growing. Tristan purposely did not mention Nicholas or the building of the Gates of Dawn. He would explain those things to Traax once the entire force had arrived in Eutracia and were at his disposal. Getting them there was the chief concern now, and he did not wish to confuse the issue for his second in command, or give him a possible reason to object.
Above all, he especially did not want Traax or any of the other Minions to become aware that the wizards were losing their powers.
“There are several other points you must adhere to strictly,” Tristan continued, remembering the things the wizards had insisted upon. “Mark my words well, for your life and the lives of your troops shall depend on it. Should you see any weakness or fading in the consistency of the vortex, it is paramount that no more warriors go through. Such an anomaly will mean either that the portal is about to close, or there is something wrong with its operation. If anyone goes through at that time they could die horribly, forever lost somewhere in between. They are to run through as fast as they know how and as many abreast as the portal allows, so as to add to our numbers on the other side as quickly as possible. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Traax answered.
“You are also to leave a small skeleton force here, to continue hunting the shrews. I give you five days to organize all of this. Then you are to come to Eutracia, by way of the portal. You and I still have much to discuss, not the least of which is our plan of battle.”
Traax took a deep breath as he formulated his next thought. He took another sip of the wine. “The Chosen One understands, does he not, that the ocean voyage takes at least thirty days?”
“Yes,” Tristan said. “But there is little we can do about that. And in the meantime Minion troops should be pouring through the portal, especially if my wizards can find a way to enlarge it, or to hold it open longer.”
“And my lord understands the bargain of tenfold times four, the agreement made by the Coven to ensure a safe crossing?” Traax asked politely.
Tristan froze, not knowing what to say. At long last here it is, he thought frantically. He reminded himself that he must never show weakness or a lack of knowledge, especially at this stage. He needed to get the answer without revealing to the Minion that he did not know what it was. He turned to Ox. Having been part of the force that invaded Tammerland, the giant Minion must also know—yet in their great concern for their many other problems, they had not thought to ask him. Tristan saw a hint of concern creep into the corners of Ox’s large, dark eyes. This has to do with the craft, he realized. For nothing else of this world gives pause to a Minion warrior.
“I forced the Coven to reveal the secret of crossing before I killed them all,” Tristan finally said with hardness in his voice, hoping desperately that the Minion would accept the lie. “We must make allowances for the increased degree of difficulty, of course. I know you yourself have crossed, for you were upon the dais in Tammerland that day.” He paused, his jaw hardening. “The day my family and the Directorate of Wizards were all murdered.”
Traax took a long, deep breath, leveling a clearly remorseless gaze at Tristan. “I follow my orders to the letter,” he said sternly, quietly. “No matter who my lord may be at the time. Do you think my great numbers could not have crushed you and your wizard that day in the courtyard when you killed Kluge? But usurping one’s lord in unfair battle is not the Minion way. It is something you shall be quite glad of when we finally arrive again upon your shores.”
Tristan stiffened at the tone in Traax’s voice, but at the same time he knew the warrior was only telling the truth. Tristan was coming to have more than a modicum of respect for the intelligent, clean-shaven Minion sitting before him.
“Tell me your version of the crossing,” Tristan said, finally using his ploy. “I wish to see whether the Coven lied to me.”
Traax nodded, Tristan’s bluff having apparently worked for the moment. “At fifteen days into the voyage, the ships enter a ‘dead zone.’ By this I mean that there is suddenly no wind for the sails, and the sea becomes smooth as glass. The air is so cold that one can see his breath. Then a thick fog coalesces into the shape of two hands, gripping both the bow and stern of the ship, holding it in place. Voices come from faces in the water, demanding the forty dead bodies. We throw them over, and they are consumed. Only then do the Necrophagians, the Eaters of the Dead, allow us to pass.” He paused for a moment, thinking.
“We will, of course, require forty dead bodies. And, as you know, they must be fresh,” Traax added. “If my lord would allow it, I am sure we could easily arrange for a session of training to the death on board, just before entering the dead zone. This could easily result in the required number of fresh corpses.” He paused again, a look of concern growing on his face. “All of this assumes, of course, that the Necrophagians will honor the bargain despite the fact that the sorceresses are not aboard, much less still living.”
Tristan sat back, trying not to appear horrified by Traax’s story. Necrophagians . . . the Eaters of the Dead. He had to find a way to corroborate the bizarre tale—and the one person in this land he was so far willing to trust was Ox. He turned to the huge Minion by his side. “Is this the way you remember it?” he asked.
“Yes, Chosen One,” Ox said.
Tristan nodded. “Then either my wizards shall deal with the Necrophagians, or we shall not cross by sea. One way or another, we shall find a solution.”
Traax gave the prince a strange look.
“Is there something else?” Tristan asked him. “Something you don’t understand?”
“Forgive me, my lord, but this is something I must ask,” Traax replied. “Are you ill?”
Tristan stiffened. “Why do you ask?” he answered as casually as possible.
“The veins in your arm,” Traax said. “They look inflamed. Have you been injured?”
“A battle wound, nothing more,” Tristan lied. “My wizards have already begun the healing process. I shall be by your side when the time comes.”
He stood from the
table, indicating that Ox and Traax should follow suit. Each of them replaced their dreggans into their scabbards. Tristan turned to Traax. “Do you understand your orders?”
Traax clicked the heels of his boots together. “Yes, my lord,” he answered quickly. Together the three of them walked outside, reentering the coliseum.
“Is there anything else you require, my lord?” Traax asked. “Will you be staying the night?”
“No,” Tristan answered. “We must go back.” With a sense of finality, he looked at the stars. “I ordered my wizard to briefly open the portal each hour until my return. We shall walk to the place at which we first arrived. Our wait will not be long.”
“In that case I shall go to the Recluse, and begin informing the legions of the upcoming campaign,” Traax said. He smiled again. “They will be most happy to hear of it. I shall see you in Eutracia, in five days’ time.”
“Five days,” Tristan repeated. In a final gesture of good faith, he held out his right hand. Traax extended his, as well. With a strong slap, each man firmly grasped the inner side of the other’s forearm. The pact had been made. With that Traax again clicked his heels, then walked away.
Tristan and Ox left the hauntingly beautiful, moon-shadowed Proscenium. The fresh Parthalonian snow crunching beneath their feet, they returned to the spot in which they had arrived. In the near distance the partially rebuilt Recluse shone brightly from the many torches surrounding it, just as it had during the days of the Coven. Suddenly, from the area of the castle came the sound of great cheering and yelling.
His breath leaving his lungs in frosty clouds, Tristan looked to the stars, and to the three rose-colored moons that bathed the twinkling, snowy ground with their crimson hue. He gathered his coat around him and remained that way for some time, thinking of his many loved ones who had died at Minion hands. Ox stood silently by his side, as if the huge warrior had been doing so all of his life.
The Gates of Dawn Page 49
