“Welcome back,” he said. “For several moments you had us worried.”
“Water…,” Traax said weakly.
Abbey went to the table, then returned with a glass. Snatching it from her hands, Traax started drinking greedily. After finishing he lay down on the bed.
“TheJin’Sai, ” he said softly. “I saw him.”
“Where?” Shailiha asked urgently. “Was it at the pass?”
Traax nodded. “Xanthus was still with him. They materialized out of nowhere. Tristan ordered us to surrender. He said that he had no choice but to go with Xanthus through the pass or more citizens would die. I watched them disappear into the azure wall.”
Her heart breaking, Shailiha looked away. After a time she looked back at Traax. “What else can you tell us?” she asked.
“The first warrior group sent to guard the pass was killed by Xanthus,” Traax answered. “We found their bodies scattered everywhere. I’m sure they died like the heroes they were.”
“Is there anything else?” Wigg asked.
Traax nodded. “Tristan said he would do everything in his power to return to us, but that we must attack the Citadel soon-with or without him. He said to tell the princess that he loves her. Should Shailiha die, command over the Minions and the Conclave goes to the wizards. I returned alone. The remaining warriors continue to watch the pass.”
The room went quiet again. As Wigg thought about Tristan being taken to the Heretics, he momentarily closed his eyes.
“There’s something else,” Traax added. Reaching beneath his body armor, he produced Tristan’s black ball mask. Shailiha recognized it immediately. The warrior handed it to her.
“Tristan wanted you to have that,” Traax said. “He said that Xanthus forced him to wear it while the Darkling committed his atrocities.”
Tears started running down Shailiha’s cheeks. Turning away, she held the mask to her breast and walked onto the balcony. Abbey started to go to her, but Wigg stopped her with a shake of his head.
“I know that one better than you ever will,” he said softly. “Give her a moment alone.” Abbey nodded.
Suddenly Duvessa ran into the room. Seeing Traax, she hurried to the bed. Her dark eyes searched his face. “Hello, my love,” he said.
Reaching up, Traax touched the ruby pin attached to his body armor. Despite his exhaustion he managed a smile.
“Your token stayed with me all the way there and back,” he said. “It’s a good omen for our upcoming marriage. But I hadn’t planned to announce our betrothal this way. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Smiling, she stroked his long hair. “It’s of no matter, my lord,” she answered. “Welcome home.”
Standing alone in the morning sun, Shailiha steadied herself as she wiped her eyes. Holding the mask in one hand, she grasped the gold medallion hanging around her neck with the other. For some reason she had never been able to understand, whenever she and her twin brother were separated, holding the medallion gave her a small measure of relief.
She looked out over the manicured grounds that her late mother had so loved. She could almost see the Eutracian queen, tending her gardens as Shailiha’s father, the king, watched. They were all dead, killed by the Coven. If she also lost her brother, Shailiha knew her heart could never stand it.
Tristan, her mind whispered. Where have you gone?
CHAPTER XXVI
TURNING OVER IN HIS SLEEP, TRISTAN GROANED. HISbody was stiff and sore. His skin stung hotly from being blasted by windblown sand. As he slowly awoke, he thought he sensed something odd. Impossible, his tired mind said. He tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t.
Slowly opening his eyes, he sat up. His weapons were still beside him. Curled up on the floor a short distance away, Xanthus lay asleep.
Still tired and groggy, Tristan stood. That was when he first saw the strange substance lying on the cave floor. Picking some up, he rubbed it between two fingers.
It was snow.
As he stood, he suddenly realized how cold it had become. As always, the wind moaned through the desolate cave. But this time it brought a mind-numbing frostiness-a chill so deep that it froze his lungs and rattled his bones. His breath exhaled as ghostlike vapors. Looking to the horses he saw that they had sidled up against one another, trying to keep from freezing to death. The red cave walls had become shiny with frost. As the cold sank into his core, he started to shake.
After quickly strapping his weapons into place he ran toward the cave entrance. Rounding the bend and skidding to a halt, he looked out with unbelieving eyes.
As far as Tristan could see, the Borderlands were buried in deep, white snow. The wind was as fierce as before. Rather than red dust, it carried giant snowflakes the size of his hand. The swirling crystals were so large that their patterns could be seen before they hit the ground.
The mountain ranges were no longer red. Dark and ominous, their snow-covered peaks reminded him of the Tolenkas. The sky had changed as well. No longer red and angry, every color of the rainbow swirled faintly through its vastness, like mother-of-pearl.
“Do not be deceived,” he heard a voice say from behind him. “Although it is more beautiful, this sudden shift in the Borderlands is equally deadly.”
Tristan turned to see Xanthus. The Darkling did not seem surprised by what he saw. He held two saddle blankets in his arms. He handed one to the prince.
Understanding, Tristan took one, then removed a throwing knife from its quiver. After cutting through the blanket’s center he put his head through the hole, letting the blanket drape over his upper body. Taking Tristan’s knife, Xanthus did the same with his blanket. They returned their eyes to the amazingly changed valley.
“This is what you were talking about, isn’t it?” Tristan asked.
“What do you mean, Jin’Sai?”
“When we first entered the cave,” Tristan answered. “You said that we would have to ration the water, ‘unless things change.’”
“Yes,” Xanthus answered. “We now have all the water we want-unless the Borderlands morph again.”
Using one hand to shield his eyes from the pearly sky, Tristan looked toward the distant mountain range lying against the horizon. The gap Xanthus had referred to earlier still seemed a thousand leagues away.
“We’ll never survive it,” Tristan said softly.
“Probably not,” Xanthus answered. “But we must try. It’s our only hope.”
Tristan turned to look at the Darkling. “How is this possible?” he asked. “Only hours ago this place was a scorching wasteland.”
“As with all things in the Borderlands, the transformation was caused by the Heretics,” Xanthus answered. “Magic may not be employed by those who tread here, but from far away the Heretics can control the elements.”
“Why foster such a change?” Tristan asked. “The red wasteland was deadly enough.”
“Perhaps, but consider my next words carefully,” Xanthus answered. “If an army of the Ones tried to cross the desert they would surely come prepared. That would mean vast amounts of water, food, and proper clothing. If the Borderlands suddenly change into what you see now, the Ones’ water and food will freeze, and their clothing will become woefully inadequate. Their chances of survival would lessen drastically. Without magic to change the nature of their supplies, they would only perish faster. It’s a clever trap, don’t you think?”
Although the Borderlands had been created by the Heretics to slaughter the Ones, Tristan had to marvel at this impersonal way to kill. The Borderlands was an ingenious weapon, devised by a race that was vastly superior to his. He could only imagine what their other powers might be like.
“You come from the Heretics’ midst,” he said. “Do they look like us?”
