The hatchling was held immobile by Faegan’s warp, but as Shailiha’s trembling hand continued its dangerous journey toward the great bird, the hatchling’s eyes began to glow an even deeper, fiercer red.
Carefully, very carefully, the princess wrapped her fingers around the leathery, pointed top of the bird’s head. Almost immediately a change overtook her.
She began to perspire, and her entire body started to shake. She lowered her head like an animal, moving it back and forth as if in some kind of trance. When she finally lifted her face again, her eyes had rolled up high beneath her lids. Her teeth were bared in a kind of silent, almost vicious snarl, and her breathing was heavily labored, her chest heaving mightily. Faegan feared she might die. He watched in helpless frustration, desperately wondering whether they had done the right thing.
But then her sense of self and her breathing slowly returned to normal, and she finally removed her hand from the creature’s head. Still standing before it, she adopted a stance with her legs spread slightly, her arms folded across her chest, and glared directly into the thing’s bloodred eyes.
Neither bird nor woman flinched. It was as if the two of them had suddenly become locked within a place and time that somehow only they could inhabit. Everything about Shailiha now suggested an attitude of complete power and domination. Sensing the moment was right, Faegan terminated the warp holding the bird. Seeing the azure glow fade away, Shailiha spoke.
“Who is it that you serve?” she asked rather harshly.
“Only you, Mistress,” the hatchling answered dutifully, breaking its self-imposed silence for the first time since being captured.
The hatchling called her mistress! Faegan’s mind shouted out to him. But of course it would! The Forestallments in Shailiha’s blood are of Failee’s doing, and she would have wanted all of her endowed creatures to address the princess in that way! It makes perfect sense!
“And who are Nicholas, Ragnar, and Scrounge?” she asked, employing the second of the questions the wizards had instructed her to put to the bird.
“I know of no such beings,” the bird answered obediently. “My entire world is only of you, my mistress.”
We have succeeded beyond our wildest dreams! Faegan realized. Not only has her touching an endowed, winged creature of the craft enacted the Forestallment, just as it did with the fliers of the fields, but the superior quality of her blood has actually pushed out all of the hatchling’s memories of its original master. This bird will truly do our bidding.
“I shall ask you a question,” Shailiha continued, “and you shall endeavor to respond without the use of the spoken word, using only your thoughts to reveal the answer to my mind. Tell me, hatchling, what is my name and title?” The princess closed her eyes, waiting for a response.
And then suddenly there it was, resonating within her mind as clear as if the bird had spoken it with its tongue. Shailiha, fifth mistress of the Coven.
She turned, repeating the answer verbatim to the wizards.
And then she collapsed to the floor.
Faegan rushed to her and used the craft to lift her body into a chair.
“What is it?” Wigg shouted urgently. “What’s going on?”
“She collapsed,” Faegan answered.
The princess looked pale and drawn. Faegan lifted one of her eyelids, peering in. Seemingly satisfied, he closed it again. “I think she is going to be all right.”
Shailiha stirred, then opened her eyes and sat up a little straighter, getting her bearings. “Did we succeed?” she asked thickly. Her hair was matted against one side of her face from perspiration, and she weakly hooked some of it behind her ear. “Did I really do it?” she asked again. “I cannot completely remember . . .”
“Oh, yes,” Faegan answered her. “And to our wildest expectations. But there is still one thing I do not know. Are you able to communicate with the minds of all of the other hatchlings, or only this one before us?”
“Only this one,” she answered, looking back at the bird in the glowing cage. “Why is that, when I can communicate with all of the fliers if I choose to?”
Faegan paused for a moment, lost in the question. “Presumably because the magic sustaining the hatchlings is stronger,” he answered at last. “As such, your Forestallment, especially with your blood not having yet been trained, could only penetrate so far. Remember, we assume that this spell for Nicholas’ creatures came directly from the Heretics themselves. Given that premise, it is a true testament to your blood that you were able to accomplish as much as you did.”
Shailiha slowly stood, testing her legs, then walked gingerly to the cage. “I no longer fear it,” she said rather absently. “It is mine now, heart and soul.” Wigg stood, and Shailiha went to take him by the hand.
“Thank you, my child,” he said with shiny eyes, “for all that you have done here. But I think we should leave now. I want you to get some rest.”
The three of them walked to the door. Before going through, Shailiha suddenly stopped, turning back to the hatchling for the last time. She commandingly trained her eyes upon the beast.
“In my absence you are to obey these two men, and these two men only, just as you would obey me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the bird answered, lowering its head slightly in submission. Even the glowing sense of hatred that had once possessed its eyes was now gone.
Narrowing his eyes in thought, Faegan leaned toward Shailiha’s ear and whispered something to her.
The princess nodded and again addressed the bird. “There is one other order I have for you, and it is to be obeyed to the letter, as are all of my demands. Do you remember the Chosen One, the man without wings who brought you here?” The bird nodded. “Good,” Shailiha said. “Under no circumstances is he to become aware of your powers of speech. You are never to speak in his presence, nor to answer him should he ever ask you anything by which he might test you in this regard. And test you he will, mark my words. In addition, only the three people you see here before you are to know that you can speak. Should any others be present, anyone at all, you are to remain silent. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the bird answered. “It shall be as you order.”
“Well done.” Wigg smiled.
“Indeed,” Faegan added, winking. No longer having a reason to contain his delight, he levitated his chair and, cackling, whirled twice in a circle in the air before lowering himself back to solid ground. Wigg scowled. Shailiha smiled weakly.
And then the three of them, one wizard on each side of the exhausted princess, left the room, starting down the halls.
40
When Tristan finally regained consciousness, pain wracked his entire body, and he was weak and trembling. His breathing was labored, and he was covered with perspiration. Lying on his back in the snow, as he looked up all he could see were the leafless tops of the trees, swaying gently in the wind. And then he vaguely remembered being dragged toward the woods by Ox. He could feel as much as see the Minion warrior sitting nearby in the snow, carefully watching over him.
He tried to raise himself, but couldn’t help falling back to the ground. Immediately Ox was next to him, helping him to sit up. Then the vomiting came, and seemed to last forever. Finally feeling somewhat better, he looked over to the Minion.
“Thank you,” he said weakly. He smiled at the warrior.
“Ox only do what wizards say,” the warrior replied, an uncharacteristically worried look gracing his usually menacing face. “Ox again glad Chosen One lives.”
“You dragged me here, didn’t you?” Tristan asked.
“Ox bring here, so other Minions not see Chosen One sick. That bad for new lord of Minions.”
Tristan noticed a strange taste in his mouth, coming from something that seemed to be lodged between two of his teeth. He liberated it and spat what looked to be a tiny piece of tree bark into the palm of his hand. “What’s this?” he asked. “Did you do this, too?”