“And now for the true reason I have come,” he said, looking into Traax’s eyes. “I am ordering as many of the legions as you can possibly spare to Eutracia. Immediately. We have a host of new enemies, and it shall be the Minions’ task to destroy these monsters.” He folded his arms across his chest and sat back. Holding his breath, he waited for Traax’s response.
“It has been too long since we have seen action, my lord,” Traax said. Gripping the hilt of his dreggan, he held the shiny blade to the light of the chandeliers. “And it will be good for our swords to again taste blood, especially since we can no longer train to the death. Your enemies are ours.” He refocused his green eyes back on the Chosen One. “Tell me more,” he said eagerly.
At that moment the food came. Tristan became quiet, waiting for the women to depart. The Parthalonian grouse was excellent, perhaps the best bird he had ever tasted. He quickly washed down several helpings of both the seasoned grouse and the dark, rich bread of the Minions with several glasses of hearty red wine. In between bites he gave Traax his orders.
The reconstruction of the Recluse was to be put on indefinite hold, he said. Traax was to begin assembling his men—along with weapons, support staff, materiel, and foodstuffs—and placing it all near the entrance to Faegan’s portal. Also, the fleet anchored at Eyrie Point was to depart as soon as possible, carrying additional troops. Should there be any serious problems in the execution of his orders, a Minion messenger was to immediately come through the portal, informing him.
Tristan described the hatchlings and the scarabs, and Traax only smiled, his sense of anticipation growing. Tristan purposely did not mention Nicholas or the building of the Gates of Dawn. He would explain those things to Traax once the entire force had arrived in Eutracia and were at his disposal. Getting them there was the chief concern now, and he did not wish to confuse the issue for his second in command, or give him a possible reason to object.
Above all, he especially did not want Traax or any of the other Minions to become aware that the wizards were losing their powers.
“There are several other points you must adhere to strictly,” Tristan continued, remembering the things the wizards had insisted upon. “Mark my words well, for your life and the lives of your troops shall depend on it. Should you see any weakness or fading in the consistency of the vortex, it is paramount that no more warriors go through. Such an anomaly will mean either that the portal is about to close, or there is something wrong with its operation. If anyone goes through at that time they could die horribly, forever lost somewhere in between. They are to run through as fast as they know how and as many abreast as the portal allows, so as to add to our numbers on the other side as quickly as possible. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Traax answered.
“You are also to leave a small skeleton force here, to continue hunting the shrews. I give you five days to organize all of this. Then you are to come to Eutracia, by way of the portal. You and I still have much to discuss, not the least of which is our plan of battle.”
Traax took a deep breath as he formulated his next thought. He took another sip of the wine. “The Chosen One understands, does he not, that the ocean voyage takes at least thirty days?”
“Yes,” Tristan said. “But there is little we can do about that. And in the meantime Minion troops should be pouring through the portal, especially if my wizards can find a way to enlarge it, or to hold it open longer.”
“And my lord understands the bargain of tenfold times four, the agreement made by the Coven to ensure a safe crossing?” Traax asked politely.
Tristan froze, not knowing what to say. At long last here it is, he thought frantically. He reminded himself that he must never show weakness or a lack of knowledge, especially at this stage. He needed to get the answer without revealing to the Minion that he did not know what it was. He turned to Ox. Having been part of the force that invaded Tammerland, the giant Minion must also know—yet in their great concern for their many other problems, they had not thought to ask him. Tristan saw a hint of concern creep into the corners of Ox’s large, dark eyes. This has to do with the craft, he realized. For nothing else of this world gives pause to a Minion warrior.
“I forced the Coven to reveal the secret of crossing before I killed them all,” Tristan finally said with hardness in his voice, hoping desperately that the Minion would accept the lie. “We must make allowances for the increased degree of difficulty, of course. I know you yourself have crossed, for you were upon the dais in Tammerland that day.” He paused, his jaw hardening. “The day my family and the Directorate of Wizards were all murdered.”
Traax took a long, deep breath, leveling a clearly remorseless gaze at Tristan. “I follow my orders to the letter,” he said sternly, quietly. “No matter who my lord may be at the time. Do you think my great numbers could not have crushed you and your wizard that day in the courtyard when you killed Kluge? But usurping one’s lord in unfair battle is not the Minion way. It is something you shall be quite glad of when we finally arrive again upon your shores.”
Tristan stiffened at the tone in Traax’s voice, but at the same time he knew the warrior was only telling the truth. Tristan was coming to have more than a modicum of respect for the intelligent, clean-shaven Minion sitting before him.
“Tell me your version of the crossing,” Tristan said, finally using his ploy. “I wish to see whether the Coven lied to me.”
Traax nodded, Tristan’s bluff having apparently worked for the moment. “At fifteen days into the voyage, the ships enter a ‘dead zone.’ By this I mean that there is suddenly no wind for the sails, and the sea becomes smooth as glass. The air is so cold that one can see his breath. Then a thick fog coalesces into the shape of two hands, gripping both the bow and stern of the ship, holding it in place. Voices come from faces in the water, demanding the forty dead bodies. We throw them over, and they are consumed. Only then do the Necrophagians, the Eaters of the Dead, allow us to pass.” He paused for a moment, thinking.
“We will, of course, require forty dead bodies. And, as you know, they must be fresh,” Traax added. “If my lord would allow it, I am sure we could easily arrange for a session of training to the death on board, just before entering the dead zone. This could easily result in the required number of fresh corpses.” He paused again, a look of concern growing on his face. “All of this assumes, of course, that the Necrophagians will honor the bargain despite the fact that the sorceresses are not aboard, much less still living.”
Tristan sat back, trying not to appear horrified by Traax’s story. Necrophagians . . . the Eaters of the Dead. He had to find a way to corroborate the bizarre tale—and the one person in this land he was so far willing to trust was Ox. He turned to the huge Minion by his side. “Is this the way you remember it?” he asked.
“Yes, Chosen One,” Ox said.
Tristan nodded. “Then either my wizards shall deal with the Necrophagians, or we shall not cross by sea. One way or another, we shall find a solution.”
Traax gave the prince a strange look.
“Is there something else?” Tristan asked him. “Something you don’t understand?”