hurried to his lord’s side. Casting a wary glance downhill, he saw that Xanthus had not moved.
Traax looked worriedly at Tristan. His face drawn and pale, theJin’Sai seemed exhausted. “Are you well, my lord?” Traax whispered.
“Well enough,” he answered. “It is good to see you, my friend. There is no use in whispering. Because he commands the craft, Xanthus probably hears everything we say.”
Looking around, Tristan acknowledged the other warriors. Their faces grim, it was clear they were spoiling for a fight. “Xanthus says that there are twenty-five warriors here with you,” Tristan said. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” Traax answered. “Another twenty-five wait at the base camp, making fifty in total.”
Tristan looked around at the anxious warriors. He knew that his next order would be nearly impossible for them to accept, even from him.
“Drop your dreggans!” he shouted. “You have no chance against the Darkling.”
Even though the order had come directly from theirJin’Sai, at first the warriors hesitated. Then the razor- sharp swords started falling to the ground. Looking down at Traax, Tristan saw that his second-in-command had not complied.
“You too,” he added sadly.
Traax looked aghast at Tristan. To a Minion, the mere idea of surrendering one’s sword was blasphemy. “Butwhy, my lord?” Traax asked. His incredulity was such that his voice had become little more than a whisper.
“We are fifty-one warriors!” he protested. “If we all attack at once, I know that we can kill that bastard! You have but to give the word!”
Tristan shot Traax a determined look. “We cannot defeat him!” he answered. “I have seen the things he can do! I have no choice but to go with him through the pass!”
Stupefied, Traax took a step backward. “But Xanthus serves the Vagaries!” he argued. “Only he knows what will happen to you on the other side! You mustn’t do this!”
Tristan gazed deeply into Traax’s eyes. For everyone’s good, the order had to be followed. “Commander!” he said sternly. “Drop your sword!”
Knowing he must obey, Traax took a deep breath. His dreggan fell to the ground.
“Does Faegan live?” Tristan asked anxiously.
Traax nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He was badly burned, but he will recover.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “What about the ball guests he accidentally injured?”
“Several Minions and humans were killed outright, and some survivors still lie near death. The Minion healers and the acolytes are doing all they can for them. Shailiha ordered us to come here, to intercept you.”
Turning in his saddle, Tristan looked down the moonlit hillside. Xanthus was still keeping his word. The prince turned back to Traax.
“I expected as much,” he said. Then Tristan saw the ruby pin attached to Traax’s body armor. He fully understood the custom. He managed a slight smile.
“That betrothal pin comes from Duvessa, I’d wager,” he said.
Traax nodded. “She does me a great honor.”
“In truth, you honor each other,” Tristan answered.
Reaching beneath his vest, Tristan produced the hated black mask. He held it to the moonlight for a moment before handing it to Traax. A confused look overcame the warrior’s face.
“Xanthus insisted that I wear it,” Tristan explained. “He didn’t want me recognized while he committed more atrocities. I’m glad to be rid of it. When you see Shailiha, give it to her.” Tristan leaned down on his saddle pommel. “I assume that because you are here, the Conclave has yet to set sail for the Citadel,” he said.
“They had not done so when I left. I cannot vouch for after that.”
“After I am gone, I want you to fly back to the palace,” Tristan ordered. “Tell the Conclave what happened here. Shailiha must attack soon! Every second we wait, our position weakens. I am more convinced than ever that our answers lie across the sea.”
Worry crowded its way onto Traax’s face again. “Is there truly no other way?”
“Not that I can find,” Tristan answered. “If I refuse, he will keep on killing. Worse, we might lose the Paragon forever.”
Wondering what fate awaited him, Tristan looked past Traax toward the shimmering azure wall. His jaw hardened.
“I will do everything in my power to return,” he added softly. “Tell Shailiha that I love her. In my absence-be it a day or forever-you are to follow her orders like they were my own. In the event of her death, the wizards command you.”
“Your time is up, Jin’Sai!” they suddenly heard Xanthus call out. “I am about to approach! If your warriors resist me, they will die!”
Spurring his stallion onward, Xanthus neared the campsite. As the Darkling neared, the prince could sense every warrior tensing, each desperately wanting to pick up his sword. To Tristan’s relief, not one did.
Xanthus glanced around at the discarded dreggans. Looking at Traax, he smiled.
“Very sensible,” he said. He looked over at Tristan. “The Heretics await you. It is time to go.”
Tristan gave Traax a final look of farewell. “Remember my orders,” he said. “Do not try to follow us.”
It was rare to see Minion weakness. Even so, Traax’s eyes were damp. Collecting himself, he clicked his boot heels together. “I live to serve!” he said.
Tristan looked at Xanthus. “I am ready,” he said.
Shimmering brightly, the pass stood about twenty meters up the hillside. As the helpless warriors watched, Xanthus spurred his stallion toward its splendor. Tristan followed.
The azure glow was nearly blinding. Even so, it gave off no heat. Just like the first time Tristan had come here, white light shards danced to and fro within its limitless depths.
Raising his arms, Xanthus called the craft. A white vertical line formed on the center of the wall. Xanthus spread his arms, and the pass divided into two halves. Gazing in, Tristan saw only blackness. Xanthus looked over at the prince.
“It is our time, now,” he said softly. “No otherJin’Sai orJin’Saiou has ever been so privileged. Take care not to leave my side. Alone, your death is inevitable. I will place a spell over our mounts so they remain calm, and do our bidding. Come, Jin’Sai. Together we will make history.” Spurring their horses forward, Tristan and Xanthus entered the darkness and disappeared.
The azure wall closed behind them, leaving the Minions alone again in the night.
CHAPTER XXII
LEANING BACK IN HIS CHAIR, LOTHAR WINCED. HISburned chest and abdomen hurt like blazes. The escaping girls either hadn’t had the power or the will to kill him, but they had come perilously close. He still had no idea who they were, or how they had become proficient in the craft. Had he known they were gifted, he would have kept them drugged until concluding their sale.
Glowering down at his raw chest, Lothar lamented his bad luck. He could only imagine the wondrous services those endowed creatures might have plied on their clients, had they somehow been convinced to follow Mary’s chosen profession! And with extraordinary selling prices, to match! But he would never know. Not only had the girls slipped through his fingers, but several guards had burned to death during the escape. The guards would have to be replaced, and that was always expensive. It wasn’t just anyone who was willing to work here.
Lothar reached across the desktop to unbutton his shirt, then pick up a bottle of balm the neighborhood healer had given him. He poured some into one palm, and reached beneath his bandages to rub more onto his badly scalded torso.
The girls’ bolts had nearly killed him. After lying unconscious for several hours, he had finally awakened, screaming in agony. The guards had called for a healer. Lothar would live, but would be scarred for life.
But ever true to his nature, his grief had quickly turned to greed. This was a new day; there was work to be done and fresh profits to be stolen. Despite his painful condition he intended to make the most of it.
