The Gates of Dawn

by Robert Newcomb

  May the Afterlife grant me the peace to know that what I have done is right.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-one

  Wigg sat quietly at the rather large table. He had his doubts concerning what Faegan was about to do, but he had finally agreed to it. Faegan sat nearby in his chair on wheels. In his hands he held an oddly shaped glass beaker, its liquid contents glowing brightly with the power of the craft.

  Tristan and Ox had not yet returned from Parthalon, but each of the wizards knew it was still too early to be concerned. Shailiha was sleeping safely in her bedroom. The rest of those who lived here in the Redoubt were quietly going about their duties.

  The two wizards sat alone in the antechamber that protected the Well of the Redoubt. Several days before, they had removed the stone from around Faegan’s neck and placed it beneath the continually running waters of the Well, hoping that might help protect the stone. That act should also have caused everyone of the craft to lose their gifts, but to their amazement, that didn’t happen. Not only did they all keep their gifts, but the decay of the stone went on unabated.

  Wigg and Faegan had just come from checking on the stone. The Paragon losing its color—and at a strangely accelerating rate. To an untrained eye, the loss of color in the Paragon would have appeared fairly constant. But not to someone as highly trained as Faegan. This had set the curious master wizard to thinking. As a result he had come to view the entire problem of the fading jewel in a potentially new light.

  A murky light, he thought as he sat there in his chair, holding the odd beaker he had brought with him. But not one without possibilities in the darkness of our troubles.

  Given his tenuous but hopeful new hypothesis, he had immediately gone to the Archives to do research. It had taken some time, but he eventually found the rather esoteric calculations he was looking for. Then had come several hours in one of the Redoubt laboratories, laboring to get the mixture just right.

  Due to his reduced powers, it had taken him far longer to accomplish this than normal. The hard-won result was the glowing fluid he now held.

  “Are you really sure that this is going to work?” Wigg asked, ever the skeptic.

  “What’s wrong, Wigg?” Faegan retorted impishly. “Do you no longer trust my abilities?” His experience of being back in one of the laboratories again, even though difficult, had energized him. Just as it always did. Research, followed by the successful physical application of its results, were his favorite aspects of the craft.

  “Let’s see,” he continued, feigning an air of ignorance. “First it was the Forestallments I had to convince you of. You fought back hard on that one. And then came the bond between Shailiha and the hatchling. You were highly skeptical about that one, too. But I was correct on both counts, I believe. Will you never be able to admit that I sometimes get things right?” His gray-green eyes twinkled, and he dangled the beaker tauntingly at Wigg, even though he knew his friend could not see him doing so. “Would you like to try for two out of three?”

  Unwilling to join into the game, Wigg simply sighed. “Has Shawna the Short done her part in this foolishness?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Faegan said happily. “She informed me this very morning that she was quite finished. And she took great relish in it, I can assure you. It took her the past two evenings to finally accomplish her mission without raising suspicion. She has, of course, absolutely no idea why I would request something so bizarre. She has also been sworn to secrecy regarding her actions.” Faegan smiled. “She certainly loves a good mystery. Almost childish about it, in fact.”

  She’s not the only one, Wigg thought. “Let’s get on with it,” he growled.

  Closing his eyes, Faegan levitated Wigg in his chair. Then he levitated himself, chair and all, in the same fashion, and carefully removed the stopper from the beaker. He slowly poured the azure fluid out into a small, glowing puddle on the floor of the room.

  His expression became more serious, and he closed his eyes in concentration. Almost immediately the fluid began to spread across the floor, finally progressing from wall to wall and corner to corner. Not one scintilla was left uncovered. And then, after several moments had passed, the fluid completely disappeared.

  Faegan opened his eyes, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Time to go, Wigg,” he said softly. “Our work here is done.”

  With that, the single door at the opposite side of the room swung open by itself and the two wizards floated from the room, coming to rest on the floor of the hallway outside.

  The great mahogany door closed firmly upon its strange secret as the two ancient friends made their way back down the hallways of the Redoubt.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-two

  Tristan sat with Faegan, Wigg, and Shailiha behind closed doors in the Archives of the Redoubt. As usual, Morganna slept in the sling across Shailiha’s chest. It had taken the prince some time to relate his experiences in Parthalon.

  The wizards’ expressions had become far graver when they heard the macabre tale of the Necrophagians.

  “We simply cannot allow the armada to cross,” Faegan said. “The Necrophagians’ bargain was with the Coven, and the sorceresses are all dead. We have no way to know whether the bargain would still be honored, and we can’t risk losing all those warriors for nothing.” He thought for a moment. “We must send Ox back to Parthalon immediately, with written orders from Tristan to belay the sailing.” He stroked his blue cat as it contentedly purred in his lap. “It seems I shall just have to speed up my efforts to find a way of both widening the portal, and holding it open longer.” He sighed deeply. “But it shall not be easy.”

  Tristan looked to Shailiha. She seemed more pale somehow, and weaker. “Are you all right?” he asked earnestly. “Did something happen to you while I was away?”

  Knowing how much she cared for her brother and how difficult it was for her to lie to him, the two wizards held their breath, hoping against hope she would say the right thing. Shailiha stifled the urge to bite her lower lip, a dead giveaway whenever she was unsure of herself.

  “I’m fine, little brother,” she said reassuringly. She reached out, gently touching the gold medallion that hung around his neck. “No need to worry. I think I’m just tired from all of the excitement.” She saw the wizards uncoil a little. Deftly changing the subject, she took up Tristan’s right hand. “Was it bad?” she asked, referring to his second convulsion.

  “Yes, Shai,” he said quietly. “I have never experienced such pain in my life. My right arm is now somewhat weaker, and very sore. Had Ox not been with me, I might have swallowed my tongue and suffocated. I still can’t get used to the fact that a Minion has become one of my friends.” He turned to the wizards. “I don’t suppose there is any point in my asking whether you two are any closer to finding a cure?”

  Faegan shook his head slowly. “But we do have something else for you,” Faegan added. “A surprise! Something that I believe will cheer you up.”

  Tristan raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked skeptically.

  “For the answer, you must follow us to the upper levels,” Faegan answered cryptically. Without waiting for Tristan’s response he began wheeling toward the door. “Shall we go?”

  Tristan dutifully followed the two wizards and his sister out of the Redoubt and up into the broken, looted palace rooms above. He eventually found himself standing before the doors that once barred entrance to his mother’s private chambers.

  “And just what is it that you all think is so interesting here?” he asked. One corner of his mouth came up.

  “Why don’t you open the door and see for yourself?” Wigg asked him. The smile was one of the few Tristan had seen on the lead wizard’s face in weeks, and it only added to the deepening mystery. The prince took a breath and then turned the doorknob, walking purposefully into the once-sumptuous room.

  Considering the fact that the wizards were involved, he could have witnessed any number of bizarre things in these r
ooms, and he knew it. But what stood before him now was the last thing he had ever expected. Especially here, in his mother’s chambers.

  The hatchling he and Ox had captured stood in the center of the room on its strong rear legs. Seeing the bird was for some reason free of its wizard’s cage, Tristan began to reach for his dreggan. But then he saw that the bird was calm, and was regarding him with only mild interest.

  Faegan cackled. “You won’t be needing your sword. I suggest you take another look.”

  Tristan carefully examined the beast. Something about it was clearly different. And then, recognizing why, he immediately understood what was going on.

  They’ve broken it, or trained it somehow! he realized.

  The bird made no move to escape out the open balcony doors behind it. Tristan’s eyes immediately went to the odd-looking saddle and stirrup combination that had been cinched to the hatchling’s back, and then to the bridle and reins. His eyes widened with sudden realization.

  They actually expect me to ride it! Ride through the sky!

  He turned back to the three of them, his jaw slack, to see that they were all smiling from ear to ear. “Please tell me you’re joking,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Not at all,” Wigg replied. “But in all fairness we have some explaining to do.”

  “An understatement, I’m sure,” Tristan muttered. He turned to his sister. “I assume you knew about this,” he added.

  As she rocked the baby slightly, Shailiha could not keep from biting her lip. “I knew, but I really didn’t have anything to do with it,” she lied convincingly. “It was all the wizards’ idea.”

  He regarded her narrowly for a moment, finally accepting her answer. “Can this thing talk?” he asked the wizards.

  “Unfortunately not,” Wigg lied. “Even though it has human arms. There were apparently three generations of these birds. We believe this one to be second generation, rather than third.”

  “Did you ever learn how it came to be separated from the others?” Tristan asked skeptically. “Could this be a trick of some kind? How do I know it won’t simply fly me back to the enemy?”

  Understandable questions, especially given the fact that we are not being truthful with him, Faegan thought. “We considered that possibility, eventually dismissing it as illogical,” he replied. “You were just with Nicholas in the Caves, and he willingly set you free. Why would he send a single bird out, simply to take you back to him? If he had wished to keep you there, he could have easily done so. Besides,” he added, “the bird fought with all of its strength to keep from being captured, did it not?”

  “Yes,” Tristan answered. He rubbed his sore arm, thinking. “But that still doesn’t explain how it came to be wandering around on its own.”

  “Faegan and I believe that this bird was one of those that ransacked Ilendium,” Wigg suggested. “In the darkness and chaos that must have ensued, it is easy enough to imagine how one or more of them might have become lost.” He raised the usual eyebrow. “I suggest you start being more positive about all this, and stop looking a gift bird in the mouth, so to speak.”

  Tristan turned back to the creature, beginning to think that this might be a blessing in disguise after all. “Where did the strange saddle and bridle come from?” he asked.

  “You have Geldon to thank for those,” Wigg answered. “He took them from the palace stables, and modified them for use on the hatchling. As it turns out, among his many other talents he is quite a good leatherworker, as well.”

  Being careful not to make any sudden moves, Tristan walked closer to the bird. He closely examined the saddle. The pommel had been enlarged, presumably to provide a better grip. The leather bands leading down to the stirrups had been widened. Leather belts, complete with buckles, had been stitched into them, three on either side.

  “What are these extra belts for?” Tristan asked quizzically.

  Shailiha smiled. “To keep you from falling off, of course. They go around your legs and buckle in the front, holding you in the saddle.” In truth she had been particularly worried about this, despite the fact that Tristan had always been one of the finest horsemen in the kingdom. Nonetheless, he fell from the bird at any significant altitude, death would be certain—Chosen One or not. It had therefore been she who had insisted on the additional straps.

  Tristan simply stood there, not sure of what to say. It seems they have thought of everything. “But none of this explains how you were able to turn the hatchling to our side, or do it so quickly,” he insisted.

  Faegan cleared his throat. “It seems that the bird’s ties to Nicholas were not so strong, after all. I reasoned that with so many hatchlings, even he surely cannot keep perfect control over them all, every second of every day. Assuming this to be true, I invoked a spell that allowed me to sense when his control was at its lowest point. That’s when I broke the bond, turning it to our side.” He made a nonchalant, throwaway gesture with one hand. “But all of that is wizards’ business, and you needn’t concern yourself with the whys or the hows of it all.” Watching the prince’s reaction carefully, he sensed that his lies had worked.

  “And you really expect me to ride it?” Tristan asked. “What’s wrong with using Pilgrim, just as I always have?”

  “You are about to lead the Minions into battle,” Wigg said sternly. “Have you somehow forgotten that they fly? Or that every single lord they have ever had has always been able to join them in the air? This shall be a new kind of battle for you, Tristan. One that takes place primarily in the air, just as Faegan’s prophecy decreed. In addition, this creature can give you greater speed, and the ability to see what is happening on the ground over great distances. Besides, it is our belief that the hatchlings can run as fast across the ground as any horse that ever lived. So what are you going to do, eh? Ride your hatchling into the skies to command the Minions properly, or plod around on the snowy, slippery ground atop Pilgrim, wondering what in the name of the Afterlife is really going on above you?”

  Tristan glared at the wizard, finally understanding that Wigg was right. In truth the prince was thrilled at the prospect of riding a hatchling. But there were questions he wanted answered first. The wizards had been acting strangely lately, and he wanted to know why.

  But it was clear by the imperious look on Wigg’s face that no more questions were going to be answered at the moment. Tristan turned to his sister. She had a curiously mischievous look in her eyes.

  Grasping his medallion, she pulled his face close to hers and raised her eyebrows at him mockingly. “What’s the matter, little brother?” she teased. “Afraid Scrounge can do something you can’t? I hear he doesn’t even need a saddle.”

  That was all it took. Taking the medallion from her grasp, Tristan walked to the hatchling. As if the bird knew his wishes, it kneeled down, allowing Tristan easier access to the stirrup. When he climbed aboard, the saddle felt good beneath him, almost as familiar as the one he always used on Pilgrim. He carefully cinched the straps around his thighs, buckling them tight, and finally took the reins. As if he had been doing it all his life, he expertly wheeled the bird around to face the others in the room.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said softly. Shailiha held her breath.

  Tristan turned the muscular bird toward the balcony, and the hatchling launched itself into the air.

  Shailiha, Wigg, and Faegan went to the railing. The princess strained her eyes for as long as she could, as the strange bird carrying her twin brother became little more than a dark speck against the sky, finally vanishing altogether.

  “Do you think he believed us?” she asked tentatively.

  “That is hard to say,” Wigg answered, pursing his lips. “Tristan is both highly intelligent and very stubborn. But the important thing is that he is finally on the bird.” He turned his unseeing eyes toward the princess. “Your comment about Scrounge was the turning point. Well done. As to whether he believes us—well, who knows? But he must ride none oth
er than that particular monstrosity of the craft into battle if we are to have any hope of succeeding in all of this.”

  The three of them finally turned away from the balcony, retreating to the depths of the Redoubt.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-three

  You have done well, Nicholas, the young adept heard the Guild of the Heretics say. Their many voices came to him as one—both male and female, both strong and soft. It was as if a choir sang the most beautiful songs imaginable within the depths of his consciousness. His very blood was alive with their sound. And as he hovered in the depths of the Caves, taking in their words, he closed his eyes in ecstasy.

  The Gates of Dawn shall soon be complete, they said. The Chosen One continues to grow more ill, and will soon come to you on bended knee. Complete the Gates as soon as possible, our son. At that time the Vagaries, the truly sublime side, will reign continually and without contest. And the Ones, our enemies of the craft, shall be locked within the firmament forever.

  I shall, my parents, Nicholas told them. I shall.

  “Nicholas soared through the cold, clear sky and quickly approached the construction site. He hovered near the magnificent black-and-azure Gates.

  The three massive structures had climbed even higher, and their graceful, more artistic aspects would soon be in evidence. Nicholas was pleased. In only two more weeks they would be finished, and he could then activate them, bringing his parents of above back to the earth.

  He had just come from yet another blood-drawing session in the special room at Fledgling House. That was the slowest part of the process: He could only take a bit at a time from the children without killing them.

  But he still had time. The Chosen One’s Minions were not yet here, and his wizards were already drastically weakened. His father of this earth was therefore in no position to challenge his hatchlings, much less stop the construction of the Gates. Soon, very soon now, the Chosen One would see the awesome power of his son’s creations for himself.