Tristan asked.
“Although their gifts dwarf anything seen on your side of the world, even they are not all-powerful,” Xanthus replied. “The energy needed to sustain the Borderlands is beyond our imagination. Even the Heretics cannot summon it indefinitely. But the last two times they called it forth, it served its purpose admirably.”
Tristan scowled. “What do you mean?”
“The Heretics survived,” Xanthus said. “When the Ones’ armies tried to advance, they were annihilated by the elements.”
“Are you telling me that right now-out there, somewhere-an army of the Ones is advancing on the Heretics?” Tristan asked.
Xanthus nodded. “There can be no other reason, save for one.”
“What might that be?” Tristan asked.
Again refusing to answer, Xanthus shook his head. Even so, Tristan was starting to understand-if only a little.
“When the Ones draw near, the Heretics summon the Borderlands,” Tristan mused. “Suddenly engulfed, the Ones are without their magic, and they perish from the elements.” He looked curiously at the Darkling. “If that is always the case, why do they continue to try?”
Xanthus shook his head. “You speak about such things like they were an everyday occurrence,” he said. “Remember, over tens of thousands of years, until now the Borderlands have been conjured only twice. Perhaps the Ones have discovered what they believe is a way to overcome the Borderlands. In any event, the timing bodes badly for us. It seems that we have arrived during another great campaign.”
“A place where magic exists, but its use is impossible,” Tristan said to himself. Suddenly understanding something else, he looked into Xanthus’ human face.
“That is why your human half shows, isn’t it?” he asked. “Here in the Borderlands, you can’t sustain your Darkling persona.” Tristan gave the Darkling a deadly looking smile. “If I chose to, I could kill you right now.”
“Yes, you could,” Xanthus answered calmly. “But you won’t, and we know why.”
Just then the wind picked up. Howling loudly, it sent more red dust into the cave, reminding them of what waited outside.
“Do the dust storms ever abate?” Tristan asked. “If so we would stand a far better chance.”
“I do not know,” Xanthus answered. “Like you, this is my first experience here.”
Thinking for a moment, Tristan became curious about something. “If no army of the Ones has ever successfully crossed the Borderlands, then how can we?” he asked. “Surely they would come far better prepared.”
“True,” Xanthus answered. “But we have an unexpected advantage that they never enjoyed.”
“What is that?”
“Remember what I said about our being propelled vast distances in the space of a single heartbeat?” Xanthus asked. “We moved through the azure fog for some time-too long, in fact. The Heretics granted me a unique Forestallment. It is designed to take me through the pass to the Eutracian side and also bring us back to them again-each action occurring in the twinkle of an eye. Instead, the azure fog imploded and we ended up here. I believe that was attributable to the Borderlands being summoned simultaneously to our journey. In effect, it blocked our way. We traveled an amazing distance-but not far enough. Through a quirk of fate, I believe that when we exited the fog we were already far across the Borderlands. If that is true, we may have already come much farther than the Ones’ armies ever have.”
“What caused us to exit the fog when we did?” Tristan asked.
“As the Borderlands formed, magic became increasingly ineffective. When the craft ceased to matter, my powers became inert. The result was that we had no more momentum. The azure fog imploded, leaving us somewhere in the Borderlands and short of our true destination.”
Disheartened, Tristan looked at the ground. Even during his darkest days fighting the Coven he had never felt so defeated. He was stranded in a nightmarish wasteland with a Heretical servant who possessed the Paragon. Worse, things would be building to a climax in Eutracia. He hoped that Shailiha had set sail for the Citadel by now. Whatevernow meant in this place, for it was clear that nothing could be taken for granted here in this monstrous construct. He looked back at the Darkling.
“Is time the same here?” he asked. “Is a day still a day, a year still a year?”
“I do not know,” Xanthus answered. “It is said that there is no day or night in the Borderlands. The Heretics designed it that way, to confuse and tire the enemy. If that is true then time cannot be measured, and has no meaning.”
Xanthus handed the canteen to the prince. “Take a small sip,” he said. “I will do the same.” Despite their grave circumstances, the Darkling managed a slight smile. “In this place where I cannot call on magic, we are finally on equal terms.”
Opening the canteen, Tristan drank. The life-giving water momentarily soothed his parched throat. He handed the canteen back to the Darkling so that Xanthus could do the same.
“We should sleep before journeying onward,” Xanthus said. “Then we will see.”
Tristan was forced to agree. Removing his weapons, he lay them on the ground within easy reach. He stretched out on the cave floor. Closing his eyes, he did his best to relax. Even so, because of the howling wind and the many questions worrying his mind, sleep was a long time in coming.
Once Tristan slumbered, Xanthus walked around the bend and stared out the cave entrance. To his dismay everything about the raging Borderlands was the same. Sighing, he looked to the ground.
My masters did not foresee this, he thought. Why would they, when the last Borderlands appearance was more than two thousand centuries ago? But now, all might be lost because of one unforeseen coincidence in time. I must get the Jin’Saito safety! The craft’s future depends on it! But if the Ones are on the march, it could change everything.
Xanthus turned away from the Borderlands and walked back into the cave.
CHAPTER XXV
“I NEED THOSE SHIPS READY TO SAIL!” SHAILIHA SAID. Scowling, she stared across the table.
“Every day we wait, Serena grows stronger!” the princess added. “If the spell granting Forestallments to endowed blood can be found in the Scroll of the Vagaries, our mission to the Citadel is even more urgent than before!”
Calming herself, Shailiha took another sip of tea. It was strong and hot-just the way she liked it. She was sitting in her private quarters. Before retiring the night before, she had asked Wigg, Faegan, Abbey, and Adrian to join her for breakfast. There were things she wanted to discuss without conducting a full-blown Conclave meeting.
Hearing Morganna call her, she looked down. Her daughter had started walking, her pudgy legs taking her across the floor faster than the princess ever thought possible. Shailiha watched as the child turned to waddle back toward her. Like her mother, Morganna was bright and inquisitive, her eyes always drinking in the world’s wonders. With a nod from the princess, Shawna the Short scooped up the toddler, then took her from the room.
It was early morning. The dawn had broken clear and bright, its golden rays streaming in through the open balcony doors. Despite the lovely day, a sense of gloom seemed to dishearten everyone, and the magnificent breakfast Shawna had brought remained largely untouched.
Shailiha looked across the table at Adrian. Because of the princess’s outburst, an apologetic look commanded the First Sister’s face. Shailiha reached out to touch the acolyte’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you that way. I suppose it’s because I’m so worried about Tristan. I feel powerless as we wait to sail, and it’s driving me mad. I believe theJin’Sai was right-Serena has much to do with his disappearance. The Citadel must be taken soon.”
“I understand, Your Highness,” Adrian answered. “Rest assured that the acolytes I have chosen are nearly trained. The delay is my fault. I know we should be ready, but I realized that we would need more than six sisters.