“BEFORE WE TELL YOU WHY WE BROUGHT YOU HERE, we must first explain Xanthus’ part in all this,” Hoskiko said to Tristan. Sitting back in her chair, she looked across the table at the Darkling. Tristan saw admiration in her eyes.
“Despite what you were led to believe, he is not evil,” she said, “at least not in his present form. When he returns to the Imperial Order they will probably kill him for failing to deliver you. He will tell them that you were lost to him in the raging Borderlands, but that story may not save him. Even so, he accepted this fate when he agreed to help us. As I said before, you owe him your life.”
Tristan again looked around the glistening chamber. He was quickly learning that the Crysenium was a maze of well-kept secrets, and his presence was the key that might finally unravel its many mysteries.
After looking into the Envoys’ faces, he cast his gaze back to Hoskiko. The prince had no reason to believe that she was lying to him. But Xanthus’ terrible atrocities made it impossible for Tristan to believe that the Darkling could somehow be his ally. He regarded Hoskiko skeptically.
“Please go on,” he said simply.
“Xanthus is a binary being. He was once completely human, and an officer of some rank in the Imperial Order. That is how he and Faxon came to know each other. His makeup was especially altered by the Heretics so that he might successfully bring you to them,” Hoskiko said. “As I told you, it was their intention to take you prisoner, thereby keeping you from your destiny. To help protect his human side and the Paragon’s life during his mission, the Heretics also granted himK’Shari. ”
Despite his august company, Tristan was becoming impatient. “With all due respect, some of this I already know,” he said.
Recognizing Tristan’s eagerness to learn, Hoskiko smiled. “What youdon’t know is that when the rebel Heretics at this table first approached us, they secretly brought Xanthus with them, and a plan was born,” she said. “Before sending him on his mission we drastically changed his blood signature rightward. This way we might convince him to doour bidding, rather than follow his original orders. Moreover, the atrocities he committed would be less extreme, yet also satisfy the Heretics’ expectations. Our idea worked.” Pausing for a moment, Hoskiko again looked at the Darkling.
“The Heretics would be closely watching his progress after he entered Eutracia, so he had to do exactly as they expected to maintain our charade,” she added. “Although the Heretics still believe that Xanthus is following their orders, he serves us. But as he went about his atrocities, the guilt consuming his human half became overpowering. Therefore he started flagellating his back. This was his doing, not ours. His reasons were twofold-he wished to pay a deeply felt penitence for the terrible things he was doing, and to trick the Heretics into believing that his self-torture was an act of ritual devotion to the Vagaries. Such rites of self-mutilation are not unheard of in the Heretic culture. It all had to be real, because the Heretics were watching his every move.”
Tristan looked across the table into Xanthus’ eyes. “You agreed to bring me here,” he whispered, “even when you knew that your original masters would likely put you to death?”
Bending forward a bit, Xanthus placed his hands flat atop the table. “Yes,” he answered. “The Vigors’ cause is too dear to allow one life to endanger it. I have done my part; now I have but to return to the Heretics and meet my fate. You will soon learn your role in this great undertaking. It will be far more difficult and dangerous than mine ever was. I humbly ask that you accept it and fulfill your destiny. Please do not let my death-and the deaths of those innocent Eutracians I was forced to kill-be in vain.”
As he realized how wrong he had been about Xanthus, Tristan turned to Faxon. “Must he be returned to the Heretics?” he asked. “Isn’t there some way that we can save him?”
Faxon shook his head. “Not and maintain our charade,” he answered. “As it is he must return soon, or his tardiness will arouse added suspicions. When he arrives without you at his side, the Imperial Order will be suspicious enough.”
“But if they enter his mind, won’t they learn everything anyway?” Tristan asked. “In the end, what purpose will all this subterfuge have served?”
“You forget that I am a high-ranking officer of the Imperial Order,” Faxon answered. “They trust me implicitly. When I was told by my superiors about their wish to bring you to them, Xanthus’ conversion became my idea. From the beginning, it was my plan to secretly bring him to Crysenium. When I take him back, I can help with his fate, but not much. Nor by then will I probably wish to do so. He will be their servant again, and a danger to our cause.”
“I don’t understand,” Tristan said. He turned quickly to look at Hoskiko then back to Faxon again. “Don’t you feel any guilt about creating him, only to use him then watch him die some horrible death?”
“We do,” Faxon answered. “But to ensure that our gambit works we must do even more to seal Xanthus’ fate. Before we allow Xanthus to return to the Heretics we will change his blood signature back to what it once was, then wipe his memory clean of everything we do not want the Heretics to learn. In their place we will provide him with an entirely new host of memories-those that support our subterfuge. In this the Borderlands’ appearance, although unexpected, will serve us well. Not only will your unfortunate wandering in the Borderlands explain his being overdue, but they will also provide a plausible explanation for your supposed death. Xanthus will tell them that you fell prey to a great sinkhole, and that your body was unrecoverable. At first they will believe that despite his best efforts, Xanthus simply failed. It wasn’t he who activated the Borderlands, after all. Wiping his memory clean will also protect Crysenium’s existence.”
“And when the Heretics see that I have returned to Eutracia?” Tristan asked. “What then? Won’t they know that they have been duped?”
“Yes,” someone said from across the table.
Tristan looked to see Mitsu staring at him. She was younger than the others, with an attractive face and a pleasant smile.
“But by then you will be home, and about the mission we shall entrust to you,” she added. “When they realize that they have been misled, Xanthus’ masters will likely kill him. If all goes as we hope, Xanthus will die believing that he was truly a failure to his Heretic masters. He will never remember the other side of the story-our side, to be precise. We know it’s unfortunate, but it’s how things must be if we are to succeed.”
“You can do that to people’s minds?” Tristan asked.
“Yes, Jin’Sai, ” Mitsu answered. “One day you and Shailiha will also command such gifts.”
Tristan shook his head with wonderment-not only at what Mitsu had just said about him and Shailiha, but also at the Envoys’ intricate plan. It was foolproof and elegant, he realized. And for some reason it centered on him.
“All right,” he said. “I understandhow you brought me here. What I haven’t learned iswhy. ”
“This is why,” Hoskiko answered simply. “Observe.”
Waving one arm, she called the craft. Tiny azure particles soon formed in the air. Waving her hand again, she caused them to start whirling. They formed a mini-tornado that hovered and swirled, then moved to the room’s other side. Then the glowing cyclone coalesced to form a staggering panorama. A dozen meters across by several meters high, the colorful image was life-sized and terrifying. Soon sound arose from it to fill the room.
What Tristan was seeing and hearing was so all-encompassing that for several moments he had to close his eyes. When he opened them again, to his dismay he found the scene unchanged.
Across a wide field not unlike those of Farplain, two vast armies charged toward one another. Tristan realized that he was witnessing a battle in the ongoing War of Attrition. He could only imagine the numbers of troops involved-hundreds of thousands in each camp, he guessed.
Some rode towering beasts across the land and through the sky, the likes of which he couldn’t start to describe. Entire regiments could be seen doing something even the best Eutracian wizards had always found impossible-they were literally flying through the air toward the enemy. Carrying odd weapons and screaming maniacally, other soldiers ran across the ground at amazing speed. Everything was happening with such frantic quickness that Tristan could hardly take it all in. As the thundering ranks neared, he didn’t want to watch, but he found it impossible to tear his eyes away. Then the brave warriors started dying.
The first strikes came from each army’s rear lines, as the opposing archers loosed their shafts against one another; the converging arrow clouds were so dense that they literally darkened the sky. Amazingly, every arrow seemed to find an enemy body into which to tear. Screaming and writhing, tens of thousands died on the spot. As the mayhem grew louder, blood ran across the emerald-green battleground.
At first he couldn’t believe that such unerring accuracy was possible. But then he realized something more. Many of the warriors must command the craft.
This was no ordinary war among mortals. The War of Attrition was a war among adepts from both sides. Tristan knew that this was what Xanthus had meant when he said that after seeing this world, his perspectives on war and death would be forever changed. The Envoys were right. Compared to what went on here, the war between the Directorate and the Coven was a mere skirmish between light and dark.
As the two armies neared, azure bolts flew through the air. Thousands died on either side; thousands more quickly took up their comrades’ abandoned ranks. Amid more explosions, smoke, and carnage, the two great armies finally collided, their forces swarming over each other in a terrible display of wanton death-dealing.
Deciding that Tristan had seen enough, Hoskiko caused the battle scene to vanish. Everyone around the meeting table stayed respectfully silent for a time. Tristan finally looked over at Hoskiko. He shook his head.
“So this is what it is like in your world?” he asked. “I have never witnessed such death and destruction.”
Hoskiko nodded. “That was but some of the ongoing struggle. Battles continually rage, and sometimes a siege can last for decades. That scene is being carried out more than two thousand leagues away. Other conflicts go on in the sky and on the water. At this moment, over fifty such battles are occurring. Many are far larger than what you just saw.”
Tristan simply sat there for a moment, trying to imagine the war’s vast scope. “Your losses are staggering,” he breathed. “How can your people continually suffer such decimation yet survive as a race? It doesn’t seem possible.”
Hoskiko was about to speak when a Heretical Envoy answered for her. “It’s all relative,” Balsius said. He was a short man, with a long, hooked nose and a kind face. Like Wigg, when speaking he used his hands for emphasis.
“From the Tolenka Mountains that border us on the east, our world stretches for tens of thousands of leagues in every other direction,” he said. “By comparison, Eutracia and Parthalon are mere garden plots. Like you, we have our cities, ports, and such-although their splendors would be nearly unrecognizable to your mind. And like you we live, love, care for our children, and hope for a better day. Just as our lands are so much greater, so is our population. The land is almost evenly divided. The Heretics control the north, the Ones the south. The azure pass is found just north of the war border, in Heretic-controlled territory. When activated, the Borderlands run east to west along the border’s entire length. Had the orb cut through the Tolenkas farther to the north, constructing Crysenium might have proven impossible. As you might expect, most land battles tend to occur along that north-south border. The struggle you just saw was one such conflagration.”
“Do the two separate lands have names?” Tristan asked.
“The Heretic lands are called Rustannica,” Faxon answered. “In Old Eutracian it means, ‘heretical,’ or ‘splitting away.’ The Ones’ lands are named Shashida, or ‘homeland of the faith-keepers.’”
“I see,” Tristan mused. “And the war has raged ever since the Heretics split away.”
“Correct,” Faxon answered. “Before the Heretics started their exclusive practice of the Vagaries, we all lived in quiet but fragile harmony. Then the Heretics revolted and started the war. What followed was a miscalculation beyond description.”
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked.
“During the war’s early years, the Heretics used especially dark magic to influence the forces of nature,” Hoskiko explained. “Spells were formulated that allowed them to employ natural phenomena as war weapons. Millions died. To survive, the Ones had no choice but to do the same thing, even though it went against their better judgment. You see, before the war, what you call Eutracia and Parthalon were also part of where we lived. The Tolenkas didn’t exist, nor did the Sea of Whispers. The lands encompassing Eutracia and Parthalon were contiguous.”
Tristan looked at Faxon with amazement. “How could that be?”
“Once loosed, the magic was far more powerful and difficult to control than either side anticipated,” Hoskiko answered. “The Tolenkas unexpectedly rose, and the landmass separated, creating the Sea of Whispers. Since then the environmental and seismic arts have been abandoned by both sides as being far too dangerous. But the formulas are still held in reserve by each side, should either try such madness again. It is said that the Heretics first formulated these spells to create the Isle of the Citadel.” Pausing for a moment, she sadly closed her eyes.
“Because such potent magic unintentionally created them, the Tolenkas and the Sea of Whispers hold many secrets-secrets that even we have yet to unravel,” she added. “One such mystery is why no one from either side can conquer the mountains. Some say that it is because they are high and the air too thin to breathe-even for us. Others believe that there are darker reasons. But no matter the cause, there is finally a way to cross.”
“The azure pass,” Tristan said.
“Yes,” Hoskiko replied. “That will be your way home again. But time grows short, and we cannot afford to indulge your many questions. It is finally time to tell you why we brought you here.”
Sitting quietly, Tristan looked first at Hoskiko, then Faxon. Hoskiko reached out to touch him on one arm.
“Your ultimate destiny is to stop this terrible War of Attrition,” she said. “It always has been-just as it has been the destiny of eachJin’Sai andJin’Saiou before you who tried and failed.”
Hoskiko’s words stunned Tristan. “That can’t be,” he protested. “The Tome clearly states that I am to combine the craft’s opposing sides for the betterment of mankind. Besides, how could I ever hope to stop a war that you brilliant Envoys cannot?”
“It has to do with interpreting the word ‘sides,’” Hoskiko answered. “Old Eutracian can be a difficult language to grasp, even for those who have spoken it for aeons. Is it so impossible to believe that your wizards might be wrong in how they interpret it?”
Suddenly Tristan understood. “The Tome isn’t saying that Shailiha and I must combine the two arts,” he breathed. “Instead, I am to combine the two opposite ‘sides’ that practice those arts-the Ones and the Heretics! I am to somehow bring peace among you!”
“Yes,” Faxon said. “You are the firstJin’Sai to fully understand.”
“But how am I to do this?” Tristan asked.
“You must first understand that the craft’s two sides need each other to survive,” Hoskiko said. “Without good, evil would not exist and vice versa. Like light and dark, and male and female, each side needs the other to carry on. Each side of the craft must be allowed its existence-even the Vagaries. But to flourish peacefully they must coexist in a world of mystical checks and balances, rather than by warring against each other. If either side should be destroyed, the other will wither and die.”
“But if that is the case, then why do the Heretics continue trying to destroy the Vigors?” Tristan asked. “The Coven, Nicholas, Wulfgar-with the Heretics’ help, in one way or another they all tried to ensure that only the Vagaries ruled. If what you say is true, their actions make no sense. Was it their goal to wipe out all magic?”
“No,” Faxon answered. “The answer has to do with left-leaning blood signatures. Those with signatures leaning far leftward are much more devoted in their fanaticism. Their minds become frantic, chaotic, and unyielding to any philosophy other than their own. Any sense of tolerance disappears. The craft’s two sides are much the same, save for this distinction.
“For the most powerful of those who practice the Vagaries, their worship turns into deadly obsession,” he added. “Their minds, hearts, and souls are overtaken by it, and they consider the Vigors’ followers to be the evil ones. In essence, they no longer know that what they are doing is wrong, or destructive to the craft as a whole. The Coven of the Sorceresses, Nicholas, Wulfgar, and now Serena were all such true believers, as are the many Heretics who counseled them. Each suffered from this madness. In their frantic need to crush the Vigors, they believe their cause justifies any means. Among the more fanatical leaders of Rustannica that misguided sense of fatalism exists to this day.”
“Do you remember Wigg telling you about Failee’s madness?” Hoskiko asked Tristan. “She was brilliant, even by our standards. To this day her dark work continues to influence your world. She was not the first to be affected that way. Aeons ago, when the Heretics split away, their improper Vagaries use sometimes caused the same madness in them. Sometimes it also became psychosexual, as it did with Succiu, Second Mistress of the Coven.”
“Because of their immense gifts, the radical Vagaries worshippers hold sway over all others living in Rustannica,” Faxon told the prince. “Their kind is comprised of two distinct parts. The governing order is a group of Heretical clerics called thePon Q’tar. They are the true fanatics. The Imperial Order is thePon Q’tar ’s military arm. They oversee the war, taking their orders from thePon Q’tar and the emperor. Beneath both these groups live the more ordinary citizens.”
“Why don’t those with far right-leaning signatures suffer their own madness?” Tristan asked. “That’s something I could never understand. Nor could my wizards answer this question.”
Faxon smiled. “Ah,” he said. “We have finally come to the heart of the matter.” Leaning a bit closer, he searched Tristan’s face.
“To better understand the answer, consider these questions,” he said. “Tell us-is cold the absence of heat, or is heat the absence of cold? In that same vein, is dark the absence of light, or is light the absence of dark?”
Tristan found Faxon’s inquiries strange. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Have your wizards ever mentioned that chaos is the natural order of the universe?” Faxon asked.
“Yes,” Tristan answered, “many times in fact.”
“With that idea in mind, consider Faxon’s questions, then answer them to your best ability,” Hoskiko said.
Tristan thought for a moment. “I suppose that cold is the absence of heat,” he said, “and dark is the absence of light.”
“Well done,” Hoskiko said. “Tell us why.”
“Because unlike cold and dark, heat and light are energy forms that must be generated,” Tristan answered. “It is like being in a cave. Because the cave’s natural inclination is to be cold and dark, it will remain that way until visited by a flame’s heat and light.”
“And…?” Faxon asked.
“The cold and darkness are therefore the natural order of the universe,” Tristan mused. “Without energy to change them, they always prevail.” An astonished look suddenly overcame Tristan’s face. “I finally understand,” he breathed.
Smiling, Hoskiko looked knowingly at Faxon, then back at Tristan. “Tell us,” she said.
“When the Heretics split away to practice only the Vagaries, they forever abandoned the Vigors-the craft’s side that provides its energy and light. It is being in this perpetual state of ensured ‘darkness’ and ‘cold’ that causes the Vagaries practitioners to go mad. Just as dark and light are the natural order of the world, without the Vigors, chaos is the craft’s natural state. That chaos soon affects the Heretics’ minds.”
“Exactly,” Hoskiko answered. “They shun the light, warmth, and balance that the Vigors would ordinarily bring. Madness soon follows. As their minds spiral downward, they stop caring about anything else. It is this concept that lent the craft sides their names. The ‘Vigors’ speak of energy and light; they are the ‘vigorous’ side. The Vagaries refers to the darkness, chaos, and confusion that follow, should one abandon the light.”
“But how does this knowledge help me broker a peace among you?” Tristan asked.
“Before you can help do that, you must first return to Eutracia,” Hoskiko answered, “for two important reasons.”
Tristan listened as Faxon explained the plan that Serena was carrying out. It was heinous, barbaric. Armed with this understanding, Tristan could easily see how Serena’s success might easily destroy the Vigors, and all that the Conclave held dear. Worse, if the Conclave hadn’t already attacked the Citadel, they soon would. His friends would unknowingly be sailing into a death trap. He had to get home as fast as possible.
As he thought about the danger the Conclave was heading into, Tristan closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Hoskiko’s expression was compassionate and concerned.
“If you and the Conclave can defeat this final threat to your side of the world, your wizards must then alter your blood signature,” she said. “We ask that you then return to us.”
“Change my signature in what way?” he asked.
“It must be forced leftward,” Faxon answered, “toward the Vagaries. As you know, your wizards and sorceresses have recently acquired that power. Once your signature shows no appreciable lean in either direction, you must return to us through the azure pass. Because your blood has not been classically trained, there is little worry that you will be attracted to the Vagaries.”
“Before you leave here, we will grant your blood the Forestallment allowing you to safely summon and navigate your way through the pass,” Hoskiko added. “We will remain here until you return.”
“And then?” Tristan asked.
“We will all leave Crysenium,” she answered. “We will seek out the rebel Heretic network. Together we will go on to attract ever more souls to our cause, until our numbers are such that thePon Q’tar has no choice but to listen to our peace plan. To save the craft, we must bring the Heretics back to the light. Ordinarily this would have been impossible. But with you leading us, we finally have a chance.”
“But why should these people listen to me?” Tristan asked.
Faxon smiled. “You’re forgetting something. You are theJin’Sai. For aeons, millions have anticipated your coming. TheJin’Sai willingly changing his blood signature so that it has no appreciable lean will be seen as a monumental, unheard-of act of good faith. Everyone will understand that your intentions carry no bias, and that you are willing to work for the good of both sides. We believe that millions from each side will rise up to hear your word, then drop their swords to follow you. Even the Imperial Order and thePon Q’tar will eventually be forced to listen. Peace is finally possible, Jin’Sai, if only you will lead us. If the fanatical Heretics can be reasoned with and again be persuaded to accept the Vigors, Rustannica and Shashida will finally be reunited into one kingdom.”
Pausing for a moment, he looked into Tristan’s eyes. “It will be a new kingdom,” he said softly. “One ruled in peace and harmony by theJin’Sai, his blood signature permanently altered to the vertical. Should you succeed in your destiny, you will rule the combined lands with no bias toward either side of the craft. So will your children, and your children’s children, who shall all inherit your blood.”
Tristan was speechless. Can such a thing be true? he wondered. All of his life he had scarcely been able to imagine himself as Eutracia’s leader, much less somehow presiding over such vast, magical lands as these. He looked at Hoskiko with wonder.
“Can your plan work?” he asked her.
Reaching out, she took his hands into hers. “All we know is that this horrible war produces nothing but endless slaughter,” she answered. “We realize that the risks are huge, but so are the possible rewards. If it is ever to end, someone must take the first step. The likelihood of the Heretics doing so is nearly nonexistent. That being the case, can we do less than try?”
“Why can’t you change my blood signature here and now?” he asked. “Surely that is in your power.”
“Altering the blood signature lean of aJin’Sai or aJin’Saiou is a major event in the fabric of the craft,” Faxon answered. “Even so, your wizards should be able to do it. But the energy released will be so great that if it were done here, Crysenium might be revealed to the Heretics. Crysenium’s existence already balances on a knife’s edge. We simply cannot afford to take that chance.
“There is something else that you must know,” Faxon said. “When Xanthus attacked Faegan, his intent was not to kill your wizard. Instead, he used his azure bolt to grant Faegan a Forestallment. Faegan is probably clever enough to have learned this. But if not, tell him that the Forestallment grants him the index to both scrolls. He will understand its importance.”
Hoskiko looked deep into Tristan’s eyes. “Do you accept your mission, Jin’Sai?” she asked. “Understand that once you return to us, you might be forced to remain here forever. Should thePon Q’tar sense your presence then close the pass, even we cannot send you home again.”
“What about the Prophecies of the Tome?” Tristan asked. “The great book’s third and final volume? On its pages it is written that I am to read the entire treatise before joining the two ‘sides’ of the craft. And that I am to be the only one who will read them. If I come back before doing so, doesn’t that fly in the face of everything my wizards believed to be true?”
“Yes-as far as it goes,” Hoskiko answered. “But so long as you are with us, your concerns over the Tome do not matter.”
“Why don’t they?” Tristan asked.
Hoskiko smiled. “Because there is nothing contained in the Tome that we cannot tell you. After all, some of the Tome’s authors are in this very room.”
Stunned, Tristan sat back in his chair. He looked around the table, then back to Hoskiko. “I accept the mission,” he answered.
“Then when you leave Eutracia to return here, say your good-byes well,” Hoskiko said. “It might be the last time you see your loved ones.”
“I will,” Tristan said.
“Very well,” Hoskiko said. “Please close your eyes.”
Tristan did as he was asked. Hoskiko placed one hand on Tristan’s arm. He soon felt a tingle in his blood. It was not unpleasant, nor did it last long. Smiling, Hoskiko looked at him. “You may open your eyes,” she said.
“What just happened?” he asked.
“The Forestallment allowing you to navigate the pass has been added to your blood signature,” she said. “Because of our higher gifts, doing this caused you no pain. Nor need you be trained in its use. Once you call the pass forth you will be in its depths. From that point on, all will be revealed.”
Hoskiko waved her fingers and caused a folded parchment to appear. It hovered gently between her and the prince. Tristan looked questioningly at Hoskiko. Smiling, she nodded.
Tristan grasped the parchment form the air and unfolded it. Upon it was written a lengthy series of complex numbers and symbols.
“This is a craft formula, isn’t it?” Tristan asked.
“Yes,” Hoskiko answered. “It is the formula allowing Forestallments to be imbued into endowed blood. Faegan already has the scrolls’ indexes. With this additional formula he can accomplish much. But because of your wizards’ lesser gifts, if they choose to grant you other Forestallments you will experience great pain.”
Thinking for a moment, Tristan recalled the first time that had happened. “That was the case when Succiu placed Forestallments into my blood,” he said. “I thought I would surely die from the pain.”
“Yes,” Hoskiko answered simply.
Tristan folded the parchment and placed it beneath his vest. “Thank you,” he said.
Faxon looked across the table at Xanthus. “Come here,” he said. Xanthus immediately came to stand between Faxon and the prince. “Give me the Paragon,” Faxon said.
Reaching up, the Darkling took the stone and chain from around his neck. He handed them to Faxon. Calling the craft, Faxon produced a crystal bowl filled with red water, then laid the stone within it. As he did, another question came to Tristan.
“Answer something for me,” he said to Faxon. “If Xanthus had delivered me to thePon Q’tar, what would have happened to me?”
As he watched the stone prepare for its new host, Faxon shook his head. “Even I am not privy to that information,” he answered. “Only thePon Q’tar clerics know. But I believe that we can assume one thing.”
“What is that?” Tristan asked.
Faxon gave Tristan a wry look. “You’re better off here,” he said.
Lifting the stone from the water, Faxon smiled, then placed its chain around Tristan’s neck. As it lay wet against his worn leather vest, the Paragon twinkled beautifully.
“Before you go, there is one last thing to be done,” Hoskiko said. Reaching out, she grasped the gold medallion hanging around Tristan’s neck. For the briefest moment an azure glow surrounded it, then faded away. Hoskiko smiled.
“What just happened?” Tristan asked.
“I have enchanted the medallions you and Shailiha wear,” she said. “From this day forward, either of you only needs to envision the medallions and the magic will surface. It would have taken your wizards many years to formulate the needed spell, if ever. Try it, Jin’Sai. Close your eyes and imagine the two medallions floating side by side. Then reach down and turn yours over.”
Tristan closed his eyes. Soon he was envisioning the two gold discs. In his mind’s eye they joined into one.
“Look,” Hoskiko said.
Tristan reached down to the medallion on his chest and lifted it to his eyes. He saw Tyranny sitting next to Wigg. It was nighttime, and they seemed to be riding in a carriage. Between cigarillo puffs, Tyranny was talking up a storm. After dropping the medallion to his chest, Tristan smiled at Hoskiko.
“What Shai’s medallion sees, mine also sees,” he said. “Is the same true for hers?”
“Yes,” Hoskiko answered. “From this day forward she has but to do the same to reverse the process. But you mustn’t lose either medallion. The needed spell lives in the medallions-not in their owners’ blood. Because of that, if the spells are employed for long periods at one time or summoned too often, they will die. Worse, should the medallions fall into the wrong hands, anyone of endowed blood might learn to use them. You and theJin’Saiou must guard them well.”
“We will,” Tristan said.
As Hoskiko stood, the other eleven Envoys did the same. “You must go,” she said. “Even now there might not be enough time for you to warn your fleet of Serena’s plans.”
“I understand,” he said. “But I have so many more questions.”
“We know,” Hoskiko replied. “Had the Borderlands not delayed you, we could have told you more. But the hour is late. Your mission on the world’s other side must take precedence. All your questions will be answered when you return to Crysenium. Go, Jin’Sai. Your world needs you. And remember-as was the case when you first came here, your return journey could prove dangerous.”
“I’ll remember,” Tristan said.
Turning to Xanthus, Tristan embraced him. Each saw tears in the other’s eyes. “Good-bye, my friend,” Tristan said. “I will never forget your sacrifice.”
“Fulfill your destiny, Jin’Sai, ” the Darkling answered. “That will be thanks enough.”
Tristan turned. One by one he looked at each Crysenium Envoy. He gave them all a brief smile.
“Thank you for the look ahead,” he said softly. Closing his eyes, he called forth his new Forestallment.
Suddenly he felt Shadow beneath him. As the azure swirled about him, he smiled.
Amazing, he thought. And so simple! A child could do it!
In the space of one heartbeat, Shadow and Tristan stepped through the azure pass’s other side and into Eutracia.
As the stunned Minions guarding the pass jumped to their feet, theirJin’Sai smiled.