“We travel to the azure pass,” Xanthus answered. “How long it takes us to arrive, and what occurs when we do, depend entirely on you.”
“How can that be?”
“Your ignorance is understandable,” Xanthus said. “I will be happy to enlighten you. But first you must eat. Sit down, Jin’Sai. I am not your enemy.”
Realizing that escape was probably impossible, Tristan reluctantly took a seat by the fire. He watched a roasted venison piece tear itself away from the slowly rotating hindquarter. It floated through the air to land in his lap. He refused to touch it. Xanthus smiled.
“Bring you all this way only to poison you?” he asked. “I believe not. If I wanted you dead, you would be. Eat. Our journey is long; you will need your strength.”
Tristan bit warily into the meat. To his relief it seemed all right. He started eating greedily. As soon as he had finished, another piece was delivered to him, along with a wine flask.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth and looked back at the Darkling. He anxiously eyed the pewter vial hanging from the being’s neck. Tristan silently prayed that Xanthus understood the stone’s full importance. His mind filled with unanswered questions, Tristan looked back into the glowing eyes.
“You steal the Paragon, attack Faegan, and then abduct me!” he snarled. “Yet you say that you are not my enemy! If that’s true, your way of making friends is a strange one! Who are you?” he demanded. “Why am I your prisoner?”
“You bear no chains that I can see,” Xanthus answered. “You are not, nor will you ever be, my prisoner. You came willingly.”
“I accompanied you only under the threat that more atrocities would occur if I did not!” Tristan shot back. “What sort of sick game are you playing?”
“It’s no game,” Xanthus answered. “But there are rules, I assure you.”
Tristan watched as Xanthus caused a log to float through the air and land atop the fire. The prince turned furtively to regard the axe and shield. As he found himself wondering about them, his curiosity did not go unmissed by the Darkling.
“You still have your weapons,” Xanthus said. “Moreover, you are free to ride away anytime you choose. I will do nothing to stop you. But you won’t go, and we both know why.”
“The Paragon,” Tristan said.
“Yes,” Xanthus answered. “But there is more to it than that. You haven’t grasped the problem’s entirety. Observe.”
Tristan cringed as he watched the pewter vial float up and away from Xanthus’ form. Its top slowly opened. The Paragon and its gold chain lifted free from the vial. Tristan shuddered as he realized that the stone was probably ready to accept a new human host. He also knew that the period between hosts was always the stone’s most vulnerable time.
The Paragon dripped cave water as it twinkled beautifully in the firelight. As Tristan expected, the stone quickly started to lose its color. Unless it was given a human host soon, it would die.
Tristan’s reaction was immediate. Lunging for the stone, he tried to grab it with both hands.
Just as he neared the Paragon it flew away and its chain landed securely around Xanthus’ neck. It twinkled enticingly against the Darkling’s black duster.
Seething, Tristan sat down again. Xanthus smiled.
“You could have done that while I was unconscious,” Tristan said. “Did you wait simply to taunt me?”
“It was merely an object lesson in our respective gifts,” Xanthus answered. “Moreover, you needed to be conscious to see what happens next.”
To Tristan’s horror, Xanthus caused the pewter vial to turn over, pouring its cave water onto the ground. As Tristan watched the liquid soak into the dead grass his anger finally boiled over.
Hoping to confirm his suspicions, he lunged for Xanthus’ axe. To his amazement the Darkling did nothing to stop him. Just as Tristan raised it over his head to strike Xanthus down, the awful realization hit him. Tristan suddenly stopped. With the axe still held above his head, he stared hatefully into the glowing eyes.
Xanthus smiled. “I see you have finally grasped the enormity of your problem,” he said calmly.
Feeling impotent, Tristan could only stand there, shaking with rage. He lowered the axe.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Explain it to me,” Xanthus said. “Before we travel farther, I must know that we understand one another.”
“You already know what the answer is!” Tristan growled.
“I’m sure I do,” Xanthus said. His politeness in the face of Tristan’s helplessness was driving the prince mad. “Tell me anyway,” Xanthus insisted. “Do this small thing for me, and I will then answer some of your many questions.”
“Even if I somehow took the stone from you, I couldn’t prepare it for a new host,” Tristan snarled. “The stone would die. For the time being, I’m forced to accept that it must stay around your neck.”
“Well done,” Xanthus said. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” the prince answered.
Tristan dropped the axe. Even if the Darkling’s axe could somehow kill Xanthus, it didn’t matter anymore.
“And that is?” the Darkling asked.
“Even if I find a way to kill you, I mustn’t,” Tristan breathed hatefully, “because there is no fresh cave water with which to prepare the stone for a new host. If you die, the stone dies with you.”
“Well done,” Xanthus answered. Strangely, he seemed genuinely pleased. “The Heretics said that you are a quick study,” he added. He turned his eyes back toward the fire. “Even so, a very important aspect of our relationship eludes you.”
“Just what is that?”
“As we travel, you must serve as my protector,” Xanthus answered.
The preposterous notion nearly made Tristan laugh. “That’s nonsense!” he protested. “I’ve seen your abilities! Faegan’s bolts passed straight through you! No doubt physical weapons would as well. In addition you command the craft. I understand the need for you to live-at least until I have found a way to reclaim the stone. Then I will kill you gladly, if I can. Even so, your warrior abilities far outstrip mine! So why would you need my protection?”
“Calm yourself,” Xanthus said. “Sit down, and I will tell you.”
Knowing he had little choice, Tristan again sat by the fire.
Xanthus looked into his eyes. Tristan found the experience unnerving. No matter how many times the Darkling gazed at him, he sensed it would always be this way.
“It is in fact true that I may require your protection at certain times,” Xanthus said. “If you want to ensure the Paragon’s survival, you will give it. Our journey to the pass will be a dangerous one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am a binary being,” Xanthus said, “created by the Heretics for only one purpose-to tempt you into coming with me. My Darkling half is mere spirit. At certain times, my horse and my clothing are equally ethereal. My specialized gifts allow me to function in your world as though I had physical substance when I choose to do so, and to employ the craft even while the Paragon is immersed in cave water. What you see of me now is only part of what I truly am.”
Tristan had never heard of a binary being. Nor could he understand why Xanthus was telling him these secrets.
“If that is true, what makes up your other half?” Tristan asked.
“My other half is human,” Xanthus answered. “Although my human half also commands the craft, when I am in that form I am mortal, just like the wizards and sorceresses of your Conclave. You must therefore stay by my side and protect me. If I am attacked while in my human form I might die, and the Paragon would die with me.”
Tristan considered Xanthus’ words. The irony that the Darkling presented was infuriating. The idea that he might be forced to protect the same dark being that had slaughtered the innocent citizens of Charningham angered him to the core.
“Why would the Heretics grant you human form,” he protested, “when it contributes to your vulnerability?”
