Faxon and the prince. “Give me the Paragon,” Faxon said.
Reaching up, the Darkling took the stone and chain from around his neck. He handed them to Faxon. Calling the craft, Faxon produced a crystal bowl filled with red water, then laid the stone within it. As he did, another question came to Tristan.
“Answer something for me,” he said to Faxon. “If Xanthus had delivered me to thePon Q’tar, what would have happened to me?”
As he watched the stone prepare for its new host, Faxon shook his head. “Even I am not privy to that information,” he answered. “Only thePon Q’tar clerics know. But I believe that we can assume one thing.”
“What is that?” Tristan asked.
Faxon gave Tristan a wry look. “You’re better off here,” he said.
Lifting the stone from the water, Faxon smiled, then placed its chain around Tristan’s neck. As it lay wet against his worn leather vest, the Paragon twinkled beautifully.
“Before you go, there is one last thing to be done,” Hoskiko said. Reaching out, she grasped the gold medallion hanging around Tristan’s neck. For the briefest moment an azure glow surrounded it, then faded away. Hoskiko smiled.
“What just happened?” Tristan asked.
“I have enchanted the medallions you and Shailiha wear,” she said. “From this day forward, either of you only needs to envision the medallions and the magic will surface. It would have taken your wizards many years to formulate the needed spell, if ever. Try it, Jin’Sai. Close your eyes and imagine the two medallions floating side by side. Then reach down and turn yours over.”
Tristan closed his eyes. Soon he was envisioning the two gold discs. In his mind’s eye they joined into one.
“Look,” Hoskiko said.
Tristan reached down to the medallion on his chest and lifted it to his eyes. He saw Tyranny sitting next to Wigg. It was nighttime, and they seemed to be riding in a carriage. Between cigarillo puffs, Tyranny was talking up a storm. After dropping the medallion to his chest, Tristan smiled at Hoskiko.
“What Shai’s medallion sees, mine also sees,” he said. “Is the same true for hers?”
“Yes,” Hoskiko answered. “From this day forward she has but to do the same to reverse the process. But you mustn’t lose either medallion. The needed spell lives in the medallions-not in their owners’ blood. Because of that, if the spells are employed for long periods at one time or summoned too often, they will die. Worse, should the medallions fall into the wrong hands, anyone of endowed blood might learn to use them. You and theJin’Saiou must guard them well.”
“We will,” Tristan said.
As Hoskiko stood, the other eleven Envoys did the same. “You must go,” she said. “Even now there might not be enough time for you to warn your fleet of Serena’s plans.”
“I understand,” he said. “But I have so many more questions.”
“We know,” Hoskiko replied. “Had the Borderlands not delayed you, we could have told you more. But the hour is late. Your mission on the world’s other side must take precedence. All your questions will be answered when you return to Crysenium. Go, Jin’Sai. Your world needs you. And remember-as was the case when you first came here, your return journey could prove dangerous.”
“I’ll remember,” Tristan said.
Turning to Xanthus, Tristan embraced him. Each saw tears in the other’s eyes. “Good-bye, my friend,” Tristan said. “I will never forget your sacrifice.”
“Fulfill your destiny, Jin’Sai, ” the Darkling answered. “That will be thanks enough.”
Tristan turned. One by one he looked at each Crysenium Envoy. He gave them all a brief smile.
“Thank you for the look ahead,” he said softly. Closing his eyes, he called forth his new Forestallment.
Suddenly he felt Shadow beneath him. As the azure swirled about him, he smiled.
Amazing, he thought. And so simple! A child could do it!
In the space of one heartbeat, Shadow and Tristan stepped through the azure pass’s other side and into Eutracia.
As the stunned Minions guarding the pass jumped to their feet, theirJin’Sai smiled.
CHAPTER XXXIII
Beware the guiles of highlander lasses, all you well-meaning men who would try to keep your hearts pure and your possessions safe. For such wenches have dark eyes that mystify, ways to make a good man abandon home and hearth, and enchantments galore to make a bad man fall prey to their seductive ways even quicker.
“OVER HERE!” EINAR SHOUTED. “I SEE SOMETHING! GIVE me the torch!”
Reznik eagerly caught up to Serena’s lead consul. He handed Einar the torch. Raising the flame high, Einar looked around.
For the last two days Serena’s mystics had been exploring Failee’s labyrinthine research chambers, deep below the Recluse. Unknown to them, they had traveled much farther than Tristan and Wigg had done when they rescued Jessamay from Failee’s sorceress’s cone. Sometimes radiance stones were in evidence as they went along. In other places they were not, and torchlight was needed.
The underground chambers were far vaster than Einar had anticipated. The farther he went, the more he understood why the Coven had chosen this area over which to build the Recluse. Formed partly by nature and partly by the Coven’s handiwork, the lower regions were fascinating.
When Einar realized that exploring this place would take days rather than hours, he had ordered some consuls to accompany him and Reznik. Walking in single file, seven consuls carrying food, water, and torches followed behind.
When they had started this journey there had been eight of them. One consul had already plunged to his death while trying to traverse a rocky stone ledge. The others never heard him hit bottom as he tumbled end over end into the murky depths. His torch still in one hand, his screams had simply faded away into the darkness. Knowing that there was nothing more to be done, Einar had carried on. Not one of the survivors had seen sunlight for the last two days.
Stopping for a moment, Einar stared into the gloom. Like many chambers, this one was a revelation. The cavern was huge. The mystics were standing atop a natural stone bridge. Arching its way over a deep cavern and stretching from one stone sidewall to another, it was a good thirty meters long but less than two meters wide. Formed of crystalline rose quartz, it twinkled beautifully in the flickering torchlight. The chamber’s curved sidewalls gracefully arched upward to form a domed ceiling. Multicolored stalactites hung from the ceiling like probing fingers, reaching for the cavern floor. The cool air smelled moist and mildewed. Behind the explorers lay the dark tunnel through which they had just come.
Hearing rushing water, Einar looked down. Given the impenetrable darkness, it was impossible to tell how far the cavern walls descended. Curious, he summoned the craft. After pointing to the torch, he separated part of its flame to form a bright fireball. The torch flickered weakly for a moment, then regained its previous strength. Einar caused the fireball to grow in size and brightness until it was about one meter in diameter. Looking down, he cast it into the depths.
On and on the fireball plunged until Einar saw a subterranean river rushing across the cavern floor. Wide and strong, the river flowed along a smooth trough it had long ago carved into the rock floor. He soon realized that it was probably part of the water table feeding the lake surrounding the Recluse. He also guessed how the amazing quartz bridge had been formed. Its curved underside had been carved out by centuries’-worth of rushing water. Interestingly, a crude wooden boat with two oars lay on the stone floor bordering the river.
Suddenly understanding, Einar smiled. How clever you were, First Mistress, he thought. After extinguishing the
