“If you live, you will see them. If not, it won’t matter. That’s enough discussion for now. Pack your canteen tightly with snow and saddle your horse. We must head for the mountains.”
On returning to the cave’s end they saddled their mounts. After packing their canteens, they led the horses to the entrance.
Nothing had changed. The falling snow swirled, and the mother-of-pearl sky gleamed with every imaginable color. As they led their mounts from the cave, the Borderlands’ new form of cruelty hit them full blast.
The wind slicing through Tristan was so cold that he thought his lungs would literally freeze. He found that if he took measured breaths, it was easier. Xanthus climbed onto his horse; Tristan did the same. The Darkling started leading Tristan down the slope and toward the seemingly unreachable gap.
The snow was deep, making the going even harder this time. Shadow stumbled often as he waded his way along, and anything except a trudging pace was impossible. Frost formed on the riders’ brows and lashes, making it difficult to see. When his unprotected hands went numb Tristan flexed them incessantly, trying to delay frostbite.
The wildly blowing wind simultaneously created and destroyed huge snowdrifts, their white dunes sometimes appearing, then vanishing in seconds. Sometimes Xanthus chose to climb them to stay on track. Other times they were so high that he and the prince had no choice but go around, losing valuable time. Tristan looked back to see whether Shadow was leaving marks in the snow. Immediately after the heavyset horse abandoned his tracks, they filled in again.
As the time passed Tristan nearly fell asleep. He finally resorted to slapping himself to stay awake. He knew from his Royal Guard training that falling asleep in the cold was a fatal mistake. But even the tough Royal Guard lessons had never prepared him for anything as brutal as this.
After climbing another high snowbank, Xanthus stopped his horse. Coming up alongside, Tristan gave him a questioning look. The Darkling pointed into the distance.
Tristan gasped. At first he was sure he was hallucinating, due to the terrible cold and lack of food. Closing his eyes, he opened them again. To his amazement, the scene remained the same.
Xanthus indicated that they should retreat a bit, so that their horses couldn’t be seen. Tristan obeyed. Leaving their mounts behind, they crawled back to the snowdrift’s summit and peered over the edge.
Far in the distance, a massive army tried to forge its way across the Borderlands. But because of the swirling snow and the vast distance, the force appeared to be little more than a dark line against a white canvas.
His eyes wide, Tristan looked over at Xanthus. “Is that the Ones’ army?” he shouted, trying to be heard above the wind. His heart was beating so wildly at the prospect of finally seeing the Ones that for a moment he thought it might burst through his chest.
“It’s probably only a small patrol,” Xanthus answered. “They might have become separated from the main body when the Borderlands changed, and lost their way.”
“That’s apatrol?” Tristan shouted against the wind. “But their numbers are huge!”
“Yes,” Xanthus answered. “You will find that the scale of conflict on this side of the Tolenkas dwarfs anything you have ever experienced. Your Sorceresses’ War lasting three centuries was a mere skirmish compared to what goes on here. If you are lucky enough to survive the Borderlands and then go home again, your perspective on war will be forever changed.”
Tristan looked back down at the slowly moving columns. For a moment his curiosity was so great that he hardly felt the searing cold. Watching the army as best he could, he tried to estimate its size.
It was impossible to be sure, but the slowly moving force seemed to be at least a league wide by several leagues long. Tiny pinpricks of color could be seen here and there-war banners, he guessed. Taken as a whole, from this distance the army looked like a great dark snake, gradually winding its way through the snow.
“Why do you say that they are lost?” Tristan shouted. “It seems that they travel toward the mountain gap, just as we do.”
Xanthus looked over at him. “I say that because our destination is a well-kept secret,” he shouted back. “That army travels in the same direction by sheer coincidence. Given the Borderlands’ huge scale, it’s astounding that we would cross paths at all.”
Then Xanthus’ expression hardened. “I know what you’re thinking, Jin’Sai, ” he shouted. “That you could render me unconscious while I’m in my human state, then somehow hurry to join the Ones as they trudge across the snow. Don’t try it! Your plan won’t work!”
Tristan scowled. It was almost like the Darkling had read his mind.
Xanthus pointed at the slowly moving columns. “They are as good as dead!” he shouted. “They just don’t know it yet! They are heading off into nothingness! The only refuge for thousands of leagues in any direction is where I am leading us. It would be a complete impossibility for that struggling army to find it. Your only chance to remain alive is to stay by my side. I know that you hate me, but I have never lied to you. Assuming you could reach them you would only die, just as they will!”
As the freezing wind tore at him, Tristan’s anger and frustration boiled up to such a point that he started pounding the freezing snowdrift with his bare fists. He glared hatefully at the Darkling.
“Someday I will kill you,” he growled. “And I’ll enjoy it!”
His voice had been nearly drowned out by the raging wind. But Xanthus understood.
Before the Darkling could respond, Tristan felt the ground start to shake, followed by an earsplitting cracking sound. Tristan and Xanthus immediately turned to look back down into the valley.
To his horror, the prince saw gigantic cracks forming in the snow. Starting at the mountain bases on either side, they came from several directions at once as they stretched fingerlike across the valley. Like the army columns, they had to be at least a league wide. As they tore across the landscape, snow by the ton tumbled into their quickly forming abysses. Even from where the prince and Xanthus lay watching, the fissures’ depths seemed endless. There were at least eight, with more forming by the moment. Amid the shaking ground and the terrible noise, Tristan held his breath. The fissures were heading straight for the Ones’ struggling army.
The columns tried to scatter to avoid the coming threat, but the snow was far too deep for them to move quickly enough. His eyes wild with disbelief, Tristan watched helplessly.
Soon the fissures converged toward one point-the army’s center. With a mighty crash the ground beneath the columns started collapsing.
Watching the awful spectacle from such a great distance was strange. As if in slow motion, the Ones tumbled into the fissures’ vast abysses. And then there was nothing, save for a gigantic, dark crater lying in the valley’s center.
Tears started streaming down Tristan’s face. As his rage took over he raised his fists toward the heavens. “No!” he screamed.
But the only answer was his lonely voice, ricocheting off the mountain walls. He fell to his knees and hung his head. After a time he glared at the Darkling.
“Was that your doing?” he demanded.
Xanthus shook his head. “No,” he answered. “You know that here in the Borderlands, I am as powerless to cause such things as you are.”
“Tell me the truth!” Tristan shouted back. “I refuse to believe that was a coincidence!”
“No, Jin’Sai, it was no coincidence. But it wasn’t my doing, either. What you just saw was an act of war, performed by the Heretics.”
Tristan got to his feet and walked closer toward the drift’s edge. He stared down into the valley. Only the huge, dark circle remained in the snow. It was easily the size of Tammerland, if not larger.
He was about to speak when he heard another rumbling sound. The circle was disappearing. With a massive crash the crater closed in on itself, then it was gone. Snow soon washed over the scene, and rapidly forming drifts left no trace of what had happened.
Tristan still couldn’t believe that hundreds of thousands of Ones had been destroyed in seconds, simply because of an order given by the Heretics. Xanthus was right. If he survived to see his homeland again, his perspective about war would be forever changed. But this did not seem like war. This was mass annihilation, on a scale so vast that it could scarcely be fathomed.
“It is time to go, Jin’Sai, ” Xanthus said. “There is nothing for us here.” The pair mounted their horses and again headed toward the distant mountains.
Three hours later, Tristan was near death. Struggling to stay in his saddle, he could no longer feel his feet,
