Nicholas flew higher to examine the new construction.
The blood of the children ran freshly from the seams between the great stones, dripping lazily down the sides of the stunning black-and-azure pillars and forming little endowed ponds around each of the legs.
Satisfied, Nicholas backed away, and closed his eyes.
Almost immediately the blood of the children began to turn azure. Steaming with heat and glowing brightly, it began to pull the massive stones closer together, their surfaces grating against one another as the joints slowly, agonizingly fused.
Excess blood ran down the sides of the Gates, leaving macabre, winding trails down the smooth edifices, adding crazily patterned streaks to those already shot deep throughout the stone.
Smiling, Nicholas flew down to hover near the base of one of the legs.
Ragnar stood there waiting, dressed in his fur robes, Wigg’s ceremonial dagger at his side. He bowed, then pulled the robe closer, warding off the cold.
“The bond between the most recently erected stones is now complete,” Nicholas said quietly. “Later this night I will harvest yet more of the children’s blood. I shall return with it at midnight to repeat the incantation for the pieces the consuls shall erect between now and then. In less than a fortnight, we shall be victorious.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ragnar answered obediently. He placed two fingers into his ever-present vial of yellow fluid, then sucked on them. Almost immediately he felt warmer.
“Keep the consuls working,” Nicholas ordered quietly. “I will brook no slackness in this.”
Again Ragnar bowed, smiling.
Nicholas soared into the sky, his white robe and dark hair billowing about him, and disappeared.
CHAPTER
Forty-four
The next two days passed in relative calm for Tristan. At first learning to control the movements of the bird and trying to stay in the saddle at the same time had been a challenge.
It was much like riding Pilgrim, he soon discovered, but more unpredictable. And far more dangerous. However, as time went on, he was becoming more and more used to the experience, finding it mesmerizing.
Not only could the bird climb swiftly, but it could also, given the proper commands, hover, seemingly indefinitely, or fold its wings to dive with great speed toward the ground. Tristan dove the bird often, from increasingly greater and greater heights. He would pull up at the last second, only to do it again. He came to love soaring through the white, humid fog of the clouds, only to emerge suddenly out the other side. He quickly came to realize what a wonderful place these clouds—or even the branches of a tree, for that matter—could be to hide from an enemy. And seeing Eutracia from this far up gave him a unique, awe-inspiring perspective on his nation that before he had only dreamed about.
He had also purposely landed the hatchling on a large, bare, snow-covered field to test the wizards’ other belief regarding the creature’s abilities. Sure enough, when finally made to understand, the bird ran across the snowy ground as fast and as surefooted as Pilgrim ever could have.
When he finally landed on the balcony of his late mother’s rooms on the afternoon of the second day, Geldon was there waiting. Tristan walked the bird into the chamber, then dismounted and began removing the saddle and bridle. Geldon closed the balcony doors.
“You have become very good in such a short time,” the hunchbacked dwarf said with a smile. “But there is now business to attend to. The wizards ask for us.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Did they say what it was about?”
“No,” the dwarf answered. “Only that it was important. We are both to go to the antechamber that lies outside the Well of the Redoubt. Now.”
Tristan took a deep breath, shaking off the cold. Then he removed his gray fox coat and slung it over one shoulder. “Very well,” he said matter-of-factly. “Let’s go.”
Inside the chamber, Wigg, Faegan, Shailiha, and Celeste were seated at the ornate table. Behind them, a fire danced merrily in the familiar, light blue fireplace. The prince and Geldon took seats. As always, Tristan found himself acutely aware of Celeste’s presence and the way the fire showed off the highlights in her long, red hair. She smiled at him. Shailiha, on the other hand, looked anxious. Morganna was not with her. But before he could ask her what was going on, the door opened again.
Joshua walked into the room, looked around briefly, and then took a seat at the far end of the table. His hazel eyes took in the group gathered there, then settled on the princess. He smiled.
Faegan cleared his throat. “Now that we are all present, there is something of importance to discuss,” he said sternly. Abruptly he raised one arm, and azure flashed from the ends of his fingers. A wizard’s cage immediately formed about the young consul.
Joshua looked up first in horror, then in fury. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked angrily. “Have you lost your mind?”
Faegan pursed his lips. “No, I think not,” he replied softly. He leveled his gray-green eyes at the younger man. “Tell us, if you would, how it is that you were able to circumvent the death enchantments, considering the fact that you have been practicing the Vagaries?”
Faegan’s question hit Tristan like a thunderbolt. What in the world is the wizard talking about?
Joshua turned to look at Wigg. “What is the meaning of this, Lead Wizard? Surely you cannot be a part of this madness! Tell Faegan that you know me well, and that I have done nothing wrong!”
Wigg sighed long and hard. “You know I cannot do that, Joshua,” he answered. “For you also know that it is not the truth. I may be blind, but there are still some things I am able to see clearly.” He paused for a moment. “And my eyes have finally been opened regarding you.”
“What is it you are accusing me of?” the consul asked frantically, refocusing his attention on Faegan. “I have the right to know!”
“Simply put, you are in league with Nicholas, and we can prove it,” Faegan answered, his face dark. He was literally shaking with anger. It was as if the formidable power he controlled was about to burst forth at any moment in some incredible use of the craft.
“I am not a traitor!” the consul protested. “You have no proof!”
“Oh, but we do,” Faegan countered. “You have been instrumental in helping Nicholas drain the power of the stone. I am now as sure of this as I am my own name. But still, the most interesting piece of the puzzle is how you were able to deny the death enchantments. As a consul of the Redoubt who has willingly taken them upon himself, performing such acts of the Vagaries as I accuse you of would normally result in instant death. So the question remains. Or, put another way, how is it that you continue to live?”
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 pow
er 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. Nicholas 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.”
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