old, but I’m not senile. I remember the way to the palace well enough.”
Tristan smiled. “Of course,” he answered. He stood from the table and reached out his right hand.
“Until tomorrow,” he said.
The two shook hands. Tristan found Aeolus’ grip firm and dry.
“Until tomorrow,” the master answered. “Sleep well, Prince. Shortly after my arrival we will start.”
Tristan nodded, then started the long walk back to the house. As Aeolus watched him go, his thoughts turned to the future.
He will be good, that one, he thought. But he will also be headstrong and impatient. He will want to run when I command him to walk. There is a natural quickness and an inherent ability in him that few possess. Satine was one of them.
Sighing, Aeolus shook his head. He would never have thought that he would become the willing teacher of the one who had killed Satine. It seemed that his life was about to come full circle.
As the insects buzzed and the birds sang, the old teacher sat there for some time before returning to the house to inform his students.
CHAPTER XLIV
FROM THE DEPTHS OF HIS IMPRISONMENT, XANTHUSwept. Time had no meaning here, and trying to guess how long he had been in this place was impossible.
Crouching naked on the filthy floor, he had no idea why his revered masters were treating him this way. During his unexpected march through the Borderlands with theJin’Sai, he had seen Tristan suddenly fall prey to one of the red desert’s great sinkholes. He had told them that simple truth over and over again, but to no avail.
Deprived of his gifts and condemned to human form only, Xanthus tried to peer into the dark. Even after days of confinement, he could see nothing in the impenetrable darkness. Food was lowered to him by way of an azure column, its brightness stabbing his eyes. During all other times only darkness reigned. Biting rats and his own decaying excrement took up what space the filthy floor had to offer.
Standing weakly, he reached out to touch the unforgiving prison surrounding him. The deep hole into which he had been lowered was cylindrical, and its sidewalls were constructed of rough-hewn stone blocks. He had tried several times to climb the blocks in the darkness, only to fall back again. Realizing that escape was impossible, he had finally given up trying.
Weeping again, he held his head in his hands. Why have my masters forsaken me? his soul cried out. I did my best to fulfill my mission. Yet I find myself here, in this terrible place. The Jin’Sai’s death was not my fault. Stripped of my gifts and my Darkling side, I am totally helpless. Even my command overK’Sharihas been taken from me.
Imperial Order Guards had come for him once already. He had been interrogated with such viciousness that he had been sure he would die. All he could tell his captors was the same truth over and over again, for that was all he remembered. After repeatedly bringing him to the cusp of death, they had finally stopped. His interrogators were experts. They could keep him on death’s knife edge for years if they chose to.
“Bring that traitorous filth back up into the light,” he suddenly heard a voice say from above. “He is to be questioned again.”
From high above, an azure light shaft streaked down into the hole, illuminating Xanthus and his dank cell. As the azure gleam struck his light-unaccustomed eyes he cried out in pain.
The descending light shaft stopped about one meter above where he crouched. Tentacles formed at its base, then snaked downward to wrap themselves under his arms. Gripping him by his shoulders, the beam of light started silently lifting him upward. He could do nothing but let it happen.
On finally reaching the top, he fell to his knees. As the light beam started dragging him across the floor, the onetime Darkling fell unconscious.
“WAKE UP, XANTHUS,” SOMEONE SAID. THE VOICE WAS MALE. Its timbre was almost fatherly, caring. “Your last session was not as productive as we had hoped. It is time for another talk.”
Still unconscious, Xanthus did not hear him.
“His mind has gone deep,” another said. “I suggest you wake him.”
At once a jagged bolt tore through the air to strike Xanthus in the face. As his head snapped back he screamed aloud and his body jerked uncontrollably. He slowly came around.
“That’s better,” one of them said.
Xanthus gingerly opened his eyes. Blessedly, the room was dark, and its contents were bathed in shadows. Looking around drunkenly, he tried to take stock of his situation.
Like the time before, he was seated in a simple wooden chair. An azure glow shone down from above, encircling him. More bands of azure light secured his hands and feet to the chair. Prior experience told him that the craft’s harsh embrace would grant no slack. Straining his eyes, he tried to discern what lay before him in the shadows.
Thirteen figures faced him. About three meters away, they sat next to one another behind a rectangular table. Cloak hoods surrounded their shadowed heads, making their facial features indistinguishable. He neared unconsciousness again, and his head slumped forward to his chest.
Despite his grogginess, Xanthus suddenly realized that this time he was not in the presence of Imperial Order troops. A shock went through him as he understood his new interrogators’ identities. He was sitting across fromPon Q’tar clerics. What little mercy he had experienced before would not be granted again.
“You told us that theJin’Sai perished in the Borderlands,” one of them said. “Yet we know that he has returned to Eutracia. Worse, he has sent the Conclave to do battle against the Citadel queen, and to capture the Scroll of the Vagaries. We can see no end to the trouble this might cause. Tell us, Xanthus-how can theJin’Sai be dead in the Borderlands, yet also fighting the Vagaries in Eutracia? Do you mean to say that he has somehow risen from the grave?”
Xanthus closed his eyes. His throat was parched. “Water…,” he begged.
“No,” another of their voices answered simply. “Not before we have the truth.”
Sobbing quietly, Xanthus hung his head.
“Are you secretly in league with the Shashidans?” another voice demanded. This time its owner was female. Its tone was sharp and impatient.
“No…”
“How did theJin’Sai manage to take the Paragon from you?” another asked. “He wears it for the first time. Yet another of your failures, it would seem.”
“I don’t know,” Xanthus answered.
“You do!” the voice answered. “You’re simply being stubborn to better protect your new friends, isn’t that right?”
Desperate to understand why his masters would not believe him, Xanthus shook his head back and forth like a wounded animal. “No…,” he rasped. “I’m telling you the truth! TheJin’Sai died in the red desert! I tried to save him, but I couldn’t!”
Suddenly one of thePon Q’tar clerics banged his fist down on the tabletop.
“Enough of this!” he shouted. “Either you tell us what we want to know, or we will enter your mind again. And this time we will rummage through your brain so savagely that you will beg for death.”
“Then kill me if you must!” Xanthus shouted. “It would be a blessing!” Again losing consciousness, he slumped forward in the chair.
“We must examine his memories again,” one of the clerics said. “Because theJin’Sai lives, there is clearly more to learn about this mystery.”
“No,” another male cleric argued. “That has already been tried, and it revealed nothing. If he truly is in league with the Shashidans, his real memories might have been altered, forcing him to believe he is telling the truth. Besides, doing so again might kill him. If he dies, we will never have our answers. We must do all in our power to help Serena succeed.”
