DESPITE THE COOLNESS OF THE NIGHT, TRISTAN WASsweating. Its blade shining in the moonlight, his dreggan felt cool to the touch as he held it vertically before his body. A stout Eutracian maple tree was at his back. He had been hiding at the edge of the forest for some time. Taking a deep breath, he peered around the tree trunk.
Wigg and Jessamay were quickly making their way down the hill. The crippled wizard Faegan was close behind, levitating his wooden wheelchair as he went. The trio would soon near the nondescript cottage in the clearing. Then they would know.
Gritting his teeth, Tristan chafed at being left behind. For the last two months each of these deadly encounters had been the same. He and the others were always ordered to stay back, while the mystics went in first. More often than not their fanatical prey chose to die, rather than surrender. The few who had been taken alive were interned in the depths of the Redoubt.
As the three mystics hurried, Faegan cloaked their endowed blood. Even so, the adepts neared the cottage with extreme care. Light could be seen coming from its windows, and smoke gently curled its way free from the stone chimney. It was an idyllic picture, belying the deadly nature of those hiding inside.
Desperately wanting to act, Tristan looked over at Traax and Shailiha. Their expressions told him that they were equally eager to go charging down. They all had their individual scores to settle-Tristan most of all.
Looking deeper into the woods, Tristan saw more eager Minions, crouched in hiding and awaiting his orders. He doubted that the extra warriors would be needed, for the scouts he had sent here yesterday had reported that only two souls inhabited the cottage. But if the fugitives were of the craft they could prove deadly. His hands tightening around his sword hilt, he looked back down at the scene.
Their backs flattened against the cottage’s front wall, Wigg and Jessamay waited anxiously for Faegan. Finally landing his chair directly before the cottage door, the crippled wizard raised his hands. Twin azure bolts shot from his fingers, brilliantly illuminating the night.
Faegan used the twin bolts to free the door hinges from their frame. Lifting his hands into the air, he cast the door to the grass. Tristan held his breath as he watched the wizards and sorceress charge inside.
At first nothing happened. Then Wigg’s warning came roaring out into the night. Tristan raced down the hill. As he approached the cottage, bolts of azure energy screamed from the windows. Then the roof exploded into the air, and three of the cottage’s four walls tumbled into ruin. The blast took Tristan off his feet, throwing him hard to the ground. What remained of the cottage crumbled into flaming debris. Burning wood and charred stone landed all around him.
Tristan slowly came to all fours. He looked up to see Traax, Shailiha, and Ox come running. As his vision cleared, they helped him to his feet. Traax handed him his sword.
“Are you all right?” Shailiha asked anxiously.
Tristan ran one hand through his dark hair. “I…believe so,” he answered. But as his mind cleared, a terrible foreboding took him.
“Wigg…,” he breathed. As fast as his legs could carry him, he again started running toward the inferno.
Soon the heat was too much, forcing him to a skidding stop. Trying to enter the crumbling cottage was unthinkable. The last timber suddenly fell in, leveling the dwelling for good.
Shailiha came to stand with Tristan, and she took him by the hand. His body was shaking with hate, and tears filled his eyes.
“What happened?” she asked quietly as she sheathed her sword.
Tristan angrily slid his dreggan into the scabbard lying across his back. He looked down at the ground.
“Whoever was inside that cottage chose to die, rather than be captured,” he answered grimly. “Did you see those azure streaks come tearing out of the windows? That explosion was generated by the craft. Despite their amazing gifts, our friends never stood a chance.” His hands balling up into fists, theJin’Sai closed his eyes.
“Oh ye of little faith!” a gravelly voice suddenly called out from the darkness. A familiar cackle followed.
Everyone spun around to see Faegan approaching. He was again levitating his wooden chair. In the light of the burning cottage they saw that he was dirty from head to toe, but smiling broadly. Wigg and Jessamay-each equally filthy-were following along behind.
Tristan let go a sigh of relief. Shailiha ran to greet them. Faegan and Jessamay beamed back with the sheer joy of being alive. Embarrassed by Shailiha’s enthusiastic embrace, Wigg cleared his throat, then busily smoothed out the hem of his singed robe.
While the cottage remains crackled and burned, Tristan, Ox, and Traax walked over. By now the warriors hiding in the woods had joined them. Faegan gave Tristan a conspiratorial wink, but it was clear that theJin’Sai was not amused. The prince crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’d say you three have some explaining to do,” he said. “How did you manage to survive that explosion?”
“We managed to take cover behind the rear wall, which we strengthened with the craft.” Obviously pleased with himself, Faegan smiled again.
Shailiha scowled. “I don’t understand,” she protested. “How did you know that there would be an explosion? And what made you believe that you would be able to get out in time? It must have been close!”
“Indeed,” Wigg answered.
As the First Wizard and Jessamay walked closer, the others could see that their hair and clothing had been singed. The Paragon-the bloodred jewel that helped to empower both sides of the craft-hung securely from a gold chain lying around Wigg’s neck. Seeing that the gemstone was safe, Tristan finally relaxed.
“When we stormed the cottage, we saw two men sitting at a table,” Wigg added. “I recognized them as onetime consuls of the Redoubt. When a ball of energy started to form between them, I wasted no time in causing the windows to blow out so we could run for cover. We were lucky, but the two consuls died immediately. I think that was their intent from the beginning. I am sorry to see them perish. They might have told us much.”
Reaching down into one knee boot, Tristan retrieved a ragged piece of parchment. He held it to the moonlight as he glanced down the page.
“This was the last consular safe house on Satine’s list,” he said. “But that does not mean that it was the last of the consuls.” His face grim, he closed his hand around the parchment and crushed it to pieces.
“This simply isn’t good enough,” he said menacingly. “I want them all.”
Wigg cleared his throat. “We may as well return to camp,” he said cheerfully. “Our work here is done. I for one am so hungry that my ribs must be showing through!”
“I agree!” Faegan added. “I could do with a bit of Minion cooking myself-crude as it might be!”
But as the group turned to go, theJin’Sai stayed put. He turned to look at the remains of the burning cottage. Sensing his frustration, Shailiha walked over and snaked one arm through his.
“Come, Brother,” she said gently. “There is nothing more to be done here.”
When Tristan turned she saw his eyes start to well up. Holding him a bit closer, she accompanied him back to the Minion campsite.
“He worries me,” Shailiha said softly.
As she sat by the campfire with the First Wizard, the princess pulled her knees up under her chin. It was a perfect evening. The nighttime sky was full of stars; the tree frogs sang pleasantly. Her soft brown jerkin and matching trousers were helping to keep her warm, while the campfire added to her sense of security.
Several Minion tents dotted the ground nearby, and the occasional flying patrol could be seen highlighted against the three red moons. Reaching up, the princess tossed a handful of her long blond hair over one shoulder.
The roasted pheasants the Minions prepared had been wonderful, and the princess had consumed a bit more than her share of red wine. Ox and Traax were off seeing to the sentries; Faegan and Jessamay had retired. They would all be home late tomorrow. The princess would be glad to hold her daughter Morganna in her arms again.
She looked over at Tristan. He had again eaten little, then gone off to be alone, sitting with his back up against a tree. He was monotonously sharpening his dreggan blade with a whetstone. As the stone slid down the sword’s edge time after time, the crown prince of Eutracia simply stared into space, like he was the only person left in the world. Since the death of his beloved Celeste, they all knew that when he was like this, it was best to leave him alone.
Sighing, Shailiha looked over at the First Wizard.
“You have been with him when he endured so many of his losses,” she said softly. “Each time he has returned to us. Will he do so this time as well?”
Taking a deep breath, Wigg leaned over to rearrange his robe. As he did, the Paragon dangled forward to twinkle in the firelight.
“Yes, but I cannot be sure when,” Wigg answered.
“How can you know?” Shailiha asked.
“Because he must,” Wigg answered simply. “He understands that. His nation needs him. His blood has finally returned to its natural state, and his training in the craft must start. More important, he is the reigningJin’Sai. Despite his recent behavior he understands his destiny far better than ever before.” Pausing for a moment, Wigg picked up a nearby stick to casually poke at the fire.
“He worries us all,” the wizard went on. “His personal losses have been huge. He so loved his parents, and the late Directorate of Wizards. He loved Lionel and Geldon, too. But he loved Celeste in that special way that only lovers’ hearts can become entangled. She was the single greatest loss of his life. His blood has such strength that I believe he loves more deeply, hates more deeply, and struggles against his enemies with more intensity than the rest of us could ever know. We must be patient with him. But besides the fact he so loved Celeste and that she was his wife, there is another, even more meaningful reason why he grieves so deeply for her.”
“Why?” the princess asked.
“Because he feels responsible for her death,” Wigg answered. “It was, after all, their physical act of love that began her slow demise. Had he never lain with her, she might be alive today.”
Shailiha looked back at her brother. For the first time in a long while, it finally seemed that their nation had found peace. Despite everyone’s losses they should all be happy and looking forward to their futures. And they were-except for Tristan. As she again looked into the fire, her mind was taken back to the unimaginable series of events that had brought them all to this remote campsite in the woods.
Wulfgar’s second invasion of Eutracia had been defeated, but at a huge cost. TheEnseterat had attacked Tammerland with two full armies and a fleet of the magical Black Ships that could do wondrous things. The resulting war had cost many Minion troops. It would take an entire generation to replace them.
Much of Tammerland had been ravaged by fire and by the destructive creatures Wulfgar had loosed on the city. Lionel and Geldon had been killed by the assassin Satine, whom Wulfgar had hired to kill the members of the Conclave of the Vigors shortly before the invasion. Serena-Wulfgar’s widow-still lived in the island fortress on the other side of the Sea of Whispers. She alone possessed the fabled Scroll of the Vagaries.
But perhaps the most ominous development was the appearance of the azure pass that had been cut through the Tolenka Mountains by the wounded Orb of the Vigors, as the orb rained its destructive energy down on the land. Tristan had later used the craft to heal the orb and destroy Wulfgar. But the secrets of the pass-and what lay beyond it-remained mysteries. Wulfgar had nearly succeeded in his insane plans. Despite the losses, however, good things had also been born of that struggle.
After Tristan killed Satine, Wigg’s search of her body produced a crumpled parchment. There were thirteen names and matching locations listed on it. Even more interesting was the series of secret code phrases associated with each of them.
Wigg recognized the names immediately. To everyone’s surprise, each one identified a onetime consul of the Redoubt. The list also revealed a series of safe houses in which Satine could hide as she went about her grisly work. The network of endowed spies lying in wait throughout Eutracia had finally been brought to light. But the bottom of the list was ragged, indicating that Satine had ripped away one or more of the names. This concerned them all, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Tristan had been right. Even though tonight’s cottage had been the final safe house on the list, that didn’t mean that the last of the traitorous consuls had been dealt with. The few who had been taken alive awaited questioning in the Redoubt.
She thought back to the night when Tristan defeated Wulfgar, and healed the Orb of the Vigors. Despite the carnage and destruction, things had ended on a glorious turn of events. His blood having been turned from azure back to red, Tristan used the last of the spells in his blood signature to miraculously heal the warriors who had been wounded in battle, and also heal those unfortunate citizens stricken by the orb.
As a result the jubilant populace-long wary of the prince and the Minion warriors at his command-again regarded Tristan as their rightful leader. They had even come to accept the flying warriors as their protectors.
The people of Eutracia again appreciated magic for the good things that it could do, rather than fearing it for the evil. Watching the citizens and the Minion warriors working side by side to rebuild the palace and the city had been a heartwarming thing. A grand masquerade ball had been scheduled to celebrate the royal residence’s completion. It would be the first real palace social event since the ill-fated night of Tristan’s aborted coronation ceremony.
An added result of this new peaceful period had been a rebirth of culture and prosperity in Eutracia. Shops again buzzed with activity. Crime in Tammerland had been drastically reduced because of the Minion patrols that Tristan ordered to wander about the city. Long overdue taxes and vital goods again flowed into the capital. Vital trade had resumed not only between Eutracia’s far-flung provinces, but up and down her coastline as well.
“A kisa for your thoughts,” Wigg said, bringing the princess back to the present. Looking over at his craggy profile, she smiled.
“I was just thinking about how much things have changed,” she answered. “And about how much we’ve all lost, yet also gained.” She looked over at Tristan again, to see that he was still painstakingly sharpening his sword. His silhouette dark against the moonlight, he did not look back.
“Do you think that the peace will hold?” she asked.
“For a time,” Wigg answered. “But periods like this have always been fragile. Several things still threaten our security.”
Wigg took a deep breath. “We must secure the Scroll of the Vagaries,” he added, “and Serena must be dealt with. I am sure that she is of highly endowed blood, and that makes her immensely dangerous. Wulfgar would have never chosen her as his queen otherwise. There is simply no telling how much craft training she might have already had. From that mission you and Tyranny carried out at the Citadel not long ago, we also know that she is pregnant. That means that there will soon be another child in the world of your family’s bloodline. As long as Serena controls the other scroll and has gifted consuls working in her service, we will always be in danger.
“Our recent examination of the azure pass also concerns us greatly,” Wigg added. “The terrible hordes Wulfgar used to attack Tammerland came through there, but we have yet to learn any of its secrets. Who knows what other horrors may lie in wait behind that glowing wall? Faegan, Jessamay, and I think that the calculations needed to breach the pass might be found in the Scroll of the Vagaries. But would having them do more harm than good? Only time will tell.”
Summoning a mental image of Shawna the Short rocking Morganna in her arms, Shailiha smiled. For no good reason, Wigg again poked at the fire.
“There are other things to consider,” he said, “things that easily eclipse our storming of the Citadel, or whether the calculations we seek to breach the pass can be found in the other scroll.” He looked over at Tristan again, then back into the fire.
“And they all have to do with the amazing revelations about you, your brother, and your destinies,” he added.
Shailiha nodded. “The things that the Scroll Master told him,” she offered.
“That’s right. When Tristan explained them to me just before he finally destroyed theEnseterat, at first I couldn’t believe my ears. We are still trying to come to grips with what they might mean. His training should start soon, but Faegan, Jessamay, and I would much prefer to see his heart lighten before we start. His full attention and willingness to learn will be crucial. But there is no telling when that might be.”
Turning from the fire, Wigg looked at Shailiha. “You know how stubborn he can be,” he added.
Shailiha understood Wigg’s worries. During his time with the Scroll Master, Tristan had learned not only where Forestallments came to reside after a blood signature’s human host dies, but also that there had been many otherJin’Sais andJin’Saious who had arrived long before he and she. Every one, the Scroll Master said, had failed in their attempts to unite the two sides of the craft.
The Scroll Master also told Tristan that Celeste-despite how much Tristan loved her-was not his destiny. Had she lived, he would have been forced to leave her for the good of the craft. Another love would come to him, and it would be a love like no other. When Tristan saw her he would know. It would be she who would become his true love, and bear his children. And when she arrived to take part in his life, she would not be what he expected.
Shailiha knew that Tristan did not want to believe that. Nor did the First Wizard, she guessed. But the word of the young Scroll Master was not to be doubted. Despite how much he had loved Celeste, Tristan found himself having to accept these painful facts.
When Tristan finally finds this new woman, will he be able to love her in the way that the Scroll Master foretold? Shailiha wondered. Or will Celeste’s memory continue to so crowd his heart that there will be no room for anyone else?
Perhaps most important, in a painful application of the craft the young Scroll Master had used the spells given him by the Ones Who Came Before to change Tristan’s blood back to red. He would now be able to wear the Paragon and start translating the Prophecies-the third and final volume of the Tome that only he or Shailiha were destined to read.
But before that process started, the wizards and Jessamay had agreed that the consular safe houses needed to be wiped out. Each time they approached one it had been all they could do to convince the prince not to go charging in, trying to kill every consul he could find. Since Celeste’s death he seemed to possess an even deeper, more blinding hatred of all things connected to the Vagaries, and he mercilessly acted on it with every opportunity.
Shailiha often wondered what her late parents would think of her and Tristan helping to round up and sometimes kill former Redoubt consuls. Sometimes she felt like their parents’ spirits were looking down on her and her brother, watching them struggle to fulfill their destinies.
She looked back at Tristan. His silhouette dark in the moonlight, he continued to hone the already razor-sharp blade. Sensing his pain, Shailiha closed her eyes.