“What is the second reason?” Tristan asked.
“The second reason is more…complex,” the Darkling answered. “It has to do with proving my devotion to the Heretics. From their places on the Tolenkas’ other side, certain of them watch our every move, and hear our every word. They consider your arrival of the utmost importance. Because it was previously impossible to conquer the Tolenkas, never before has anyone-not even aJin’Sai or aJin’Saiou- had this opportunity. For that reason alone, I suggest that you be judicious in your decision. As I said, they see everything. Proving my loyalty to them as they watch is the other reason they granted me a human side.”
“How do you prove your devotion?” Tristan asked.
The Darkling turned to look at him. Tristan found the glowing eyes boring into his brain again.
“Through the acceptance of pain,” Xanthus answered simply. “But ask no more questions this night, Jin’Sai. As we travel there will be ample opportunities for you to learn what I have to teach you, humble as such things might be. Sleep now; you will need your strength. Have no fear. I will watch over you until the cock crows. Then we will start for Everhaven.”
Tristan gazed blankly into the fire. Xanthus’ unthreatening nature continued to surprise him. It was almost like the Darkling had become his teacher. The calm, talkative being by his side seemed little like the creature that had killed the citizens of Charningham and caused such terror in the Great Hall. Despite his ominous words, the Darkling’s recent demeanor had become almost fatherly, caring.
With Xanthus’ mention of sleep, Tristan suddenly realized how tired he was. Could he rest safely? With escape and killing Xanthus impossible, what else was there to do? As Xanthus had said, if the Darkling had wanted him dead, he would be.
Unable to hold his eyes open any longer, he lay by the fire with the black masquerade mask pressing against his skin. He fell asleep immediately.
Xanthus ended the spell he had surreptitiously used to put Tristan asleep. He looked over to see theJin’Sai ’s sharp features gently highlighted by the fire, then stared back out across the vacant plains.
There is so much for you to learn, Jin’Sai, if only you will agree to follow me through the azure pass. But you cannot see that. Considering the many things I must do to convince you, you will remain difficult. Come with me and your wildest dreams will be fulfilled. Refuse and your entire world will suffer peril such as it has never known.
Amid the ominous quiet, Xanthus started the long wait for dawn.
CHAPTER XII
DEEP IN THE REDOUBT, WIGG LOOKED WITH SADNESSinto Faegan’s face. His old friend was still unconscious. The First Wizard had been sitting by Faegan’s bedside for the last three hours. As night marched inexorably toward day, Wigg’s concern deepened.
Faegan’s face was pale. His breathing was little more than a ragged collection of wheezes and gasps, and he was bathed in sweat. Jessamay stood quietly beside the First Wizard. She hadn’t said so, but she doubted that Faegan would last the night. Shailiha and Tyranny were also there, keeping vigil.
Rather than accept rooms in the palace, Faegan had taken up residence in the massive labyrinth belowground. He wanted to be near two of the things he loved most in the world-the Redoubt research facilities, and the fliers of the fields.
Faegan’s private rooms were spacious and welcoming. A fire burned warmly in the hearth. A large desk sat to one side, and its top was littered with texts, scrolls, and other craft tools. Patterned rugs and specially chosen artwork tastefully adorned the room, and elaborate floor candelabras held brightly burning candles.
When Faegan wasn’t knee-deep in some craft riddle, he could usually be found in the flier aviary. Seated on the spacious balcony, he would watch for hours as his beloved butterflies swooped and darted about the spacious chamber.
It was on that same balcony that Shailiha’s only active Forestallment had unexpectedly come alive. It was a day that the princess would never forget. As she now sadly watched the wizard fight for his life, she doubted that they would ever share that balcony again.
After the incident at the ball, Shailiha had quickly ordered the Acolytes of the Redoubt and Duvessa’s warrior- healers to tend to the injured ball guests. She had then commanded Traax to immediately take a flying phalanx of warriors to the azure pass, to see whether Xanthus and Tristan might arrive there.
The remaining Conclave members were in agreement that the pass was where Xanthus had probably entered Eutracia. Shailiha had her doubts about whether the warriors could stop the Darkling from taking Tristan back through it, but they had to try. Following Xanthus was impossible, because he had vanished, taking Tristan with him. Stopping him at the pass was their last, best chance.
Faegan groaned, and Wigg reached down to place a gnarled hand on his friend’s forehead. After a time Wigg removed his hand. He looked at Jessamay.
“His fever has returned,” Wigg said gravely. “When it broke earlier, I had hoped it was for good. But he grows weaker by the moment.”
Faegan moaned again and started thrashing about like he was in the midst of some awful nightmare. Wigg and Jessamay had seen this several times during the last three hours. Clearly, there was more going on than Faegan’s struggle to survive.
Wigg lifted the covers and looked at Faegan’s mangled legs. After being captured by the Coven during the Sorceresses’ War, Faegan had been tortured for days. Failee had ordered that his legs be shredded by the craft until their muscles, nerves, and blood vessels lay exposed down their entire lengths. Since then they had been useless to him, causing exquisite, never-ending pain.
One wasn’t often reminded of Faegan’s legs, because his robe always hid them. Faegan had been able to overcome some of the pain by using the craft to partition it away in his mind. It was a constant struggle, and one that he sometimes lost. He had tried for the last three centuries to formulate a spell that might heal them. But even his great intellect had failed to unravel Failee’s particular brand of wickedness.
Faegan cried out again, louder this time. With tears in his eyes, Wigg looked over at Jessamay. They each knew why the crippled wizard was suffering so. Unconscious and on death’s door, Faegan’s mind had lost its ability to control his leg pain.
After lowering the covers, Wigg again leaned down to put a hand on Faegan’s forehead. The injured wizard soon calmed, which told Wigg that his spell was taking hold. Sighing, Wigg stood upright.
“This is the third time I have had to assuage his agony,” Wigg said worriedly. “I fully understand that he is weak and fighting for his life. But my spells should be longer lasting. I was not affected during Xanthus’ attack. Therefore, any spell that I conjure should sustain itself until I choose to end it. But each of my pain-cessation charms has mysteriously withered away. As they die, I can literally feel them slipping from my grasp. I can already sense the new one starting to erode, and I have never seen its like. It is almost like my spells are somehow being crowded out.”
Wigg looked toward the room’s far side. Still dressed in their ball gowns, Shailiha and Tyranny were talking worriedly and drinking wine. Tyranny anxiously smoked one cigarillo after the next while she paced around the room like a caged tigress. Wigg was about to admonish her, then thought better of it; everyone worries in his or her own way.
Wigg’s immediate concern was to help Faegan regain consciousness. When struck by a craft bolt, the victim often died outright. If one wasn’t killed, the main threat became withering bodily functions, because of the massive energy that had surged through the organs and nervous system. The secondary issue was skin burns. In many ways, it was like being struck by lightning. The longer the unconscious state persisted, the less the chance for recovery.
Faegan’s torso had been badly burned. Luckily, his face had been spared. Wigg had treated the burns. Provided Faegan lived, they would heal.
But the First Wizard was at a loss about how to strengthen Faegan’s fading life force. Wigg had tried everything he knew to buttress it. Even so, Faegan’s heartbeat, breathing, and brain activity had all fallen to critical levels, and they were sinking ever lower. If they became further depressed, death would be inevitable. Hoping that
