Nicholas soared through the cold, clear sky and quickly approached the construction site. He hovered near the magnificent black-and-azure Gates.
The three massive structures had climbed even higher, and their graceful, more artistic aspects would soon be in evidence. Nicholas was pleased. In only two more weeks they would be finished, and he could then activate them, bringing his parents of above back to the earth.
He had just come from yet another blood-drawing session in the special room at Fledgling House. That was the slowest part of the process: He could only take a bit at a time from the children without killing them.
But he still had time. The Chosen One’s Minions were not yet here, and his wizards were already drastically weakened. His father of this earth was therefore in no position to challenge his hatchlings, much less stop the construction of the Gates. Soon, very soon now, the Chosen One would see the awesome power of his son’s creations for himself.
Nicholas flew higher to examine the new construction.
The blood of the children ran freshly from the seams between the great stones, dripping lazily down the sides of the stunning black-and-azure pillars and forming little endowed ponds around each of the legs.
Satisfied, Nicholas backed away, and closed his eyes.
Almost immediately the blood of the children began to turn azure. Steaming with heat and glowing brightly, it began to pull the massive stones closer together, their surfaces grating against one another as the joints slowly, agonizingly fused.
Excess blood ran down the sides of the Gates, leaving macabre, winding trails down the smooth edifices, adding crazily patterned streaks to those already shot deep throughout the stone.
Smiling, Nicholas flew down to hover near the base of one of the legs.
Ragnar stood there waiting, dressed in his fur robes, Wigg’s ceremonial dagger at his side. He bowed, then pulled the robe closer, warding off the cold.
“The bond between the most recently erected stones is now complete,” Nicholas said quietly. “Later this night I will harvest yet more of the children’s blood. I shall return with it at midnight to repeat the incantation for the pieces the consuls shall erect between now and then. In less than a fortnight, we shall be victorious.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ragnar answered obediently. He placed two fingers into his ever-present vial of yellow fluid, then sucked on them. Almost immediately he felt warmer.
“Keep the consuls working,” Nicholas ordered quietly. “I will brook no slackness in this.”
Again Ragnar bowed, smiling.
Nicholas soared into the sky, his white robe and dark hair billowing about him, and disappeared.
44
The next two days passed in relative calm for Tristan. At first learning to control the movements of the bird and trying to stay in the saddle at the same time had been a challenge.
It was much like riding Pilgrim, he soon discovered, but more unpredictable. And far more dangerous. However, as time went on, he was becoming more and more used to the experience, finding it mesmerizing.
Not only could the bird climb swiftly, but it could also, given the proper commands, hover, seemingly indefinitely, or fold its wings to dive with great speed toward the ground. Tristan dove the bird often, from increasingly greater and greater heights. He would pull up at the last second, only to do it again. He came to love soaring through the white, humid fog of the clouds, only to emerge suddenly out the other side. He quickly came to realize what a wonderful place these clouds—or even the branches of a tree, for that matter—could be to hide from an enemy. And seeing Eutracia from this far up gave him a unique, awe-inspiring perspective on his nation that before he had only dreamed about.
He had also purposely landed the hatchling on a large, bare, snow-covered field to test the wizards’ other belief regarding the creature’s abilities. Sure enough, when finally made to understand, the bird ran across the snowy ground as fast and as surefooted as Pilgrim ever could have.
When he finally landed on the balcony of his late mother’s rooms on the afternoon of the second day, Geldon was there waiting. Tristan walked the bird into the chamber, then dismounted and began removing the saddle and bridle. Geldon closed the balcony doors.
“You have become very good in such a short time,” the hunchbacked dwarf said with a smile. “But there is now business to attend to. The wizards ask for us.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Did they say what it was about?”
“No,” the dwarf answered. “Only that it was important. We are both to go to the antechamber that lies outside the Well of the Redoubt. Now.”
Tristan took a deep breath, shaking off the cold. Then he removed his gray fox coat and slung it over one shoulder. “Very well,” he said matter-of-factly. “Let’s go.”
Inside the chamber, Wigg, Faegan, Shailiha, and Celeste were seated at the ornate table. Behind them, a fire danced merrily in the familiar, light blue fireplace. The prince and Geldon took seats. As always, Tristan found himself acutely aware of Celeste’s presence and the way the fire showed off the highlights in her long, red hair. She smiled at him. Shailiha, on the other hand, looked anxious. Morganna was not with her. But before he could ask her what was going on, the door opened again.
Joshua walked into the room, looked around briefly, and then took a seat at the far end of the table. His hazel eyes took in the group gathered there, then settled on the princess. He smiled.
Faegan cleared his throat. “Now that we are all present, there is something of importance to discuss,” he said sternly. Abruptly he raised one arm, and azure flashed from the ends of his fingers. A wizard’s cage immediately formed about the young consul.
Joshua looked up first in horror, then in fury. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked angrily. “Have you lost your mind?”
Faegan pursed his lips. “No, I think not,” he replied softly. He leveled his gray-green eyes at the younger man. “Tell us, if you would, how it is that you were able to circumvent the death enchantments, considering the fact that you have been practicing the Vagaries?”
Faegan’s question hit Tristan like a thunderbolt. What in the world is the wizard talking about?
Joshua turned to look at Wigg. “What is the meaning of this, Lead Wizard? Surely you cannot be a part of this madness! Tell Faegan that you know me well, and that I have done nothing wrong!”
Wigg sighed long and hard. “You know I cannot do that, Joshua,” he answered. “For you also know that it is not the truth. I may be blind, but there are still some things I am able to see clearly.” He paused for a moment. “And my eyes have finally been opened regarding you.”
“What is it you are accusing me of?” the consul asked frantically, refocusing his attention on Faegan. “I have the right to know!”
“Simply put, you are in league with Nicholas, and we can prove it,” Faegan answered, his face dark. He was literally shaking with anger. It was as if the formidable power he controlled was about to burst forth at any moment in some incredible use of the craft.
“I am not a traitor!” the consul protested. “You have no proof!”
“Oh, but we do,” Faegan countered. “You have been instrumental in helping Nicholas drain the power of the stone. I am now as sure of this as I am my own name. But still, the most interesting piece of the puzzle is how you were able to deny the death enchantments. As a consul of the Redoubt who has willingly taken them upon himself, performing such acts of the Vagaries as I accuse you of would normally result in instant death. So the question remains. Or, put another way, how is it that you continue to live?”
At this, Joshua seemed to calm somewhat. Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe, he lowered his eyes menacingly at the master wizard across from him. This was a Joshua that Tristan had never seen; it was as though something vile had just come over him.