Traax turned to Tristan and saw the look of hate in the prince’s eyes. “This one called Scrounge waits for you,” he said quietly. “And it is now time for you to go to him.”
Tristan took his gaze from the sky just as Scrounge and his mount began to soar away to the northeast. “Yes,” he answered, his eyes dark. “There is much between him and me that needs to be put right. But first I will address the warriors.”
Looking to the thousands of winged ones before him, he thought for a moment. Many, if not all of them, were about to die in his service. He wanted to make sure as best he could that his address would count for something.
“Warriors! Minions of Day and Night!” he shouted. “When you first came to my land, you came as attackers. This time you come as defenders of Eutracia. I am honored by your presence here today, for you are the most skilled warriors I have ever seen. Follow my instructions and those of your officers to the letter, and you may survive. If I should fall in battle, know that for as long as the struggle reigns, you are to take your orders from Traax. But following the conflict, no matter how it ends, you are to seek out the wizards Wigg and Faegan and submit to them as your new lords. Do you understand me?”
Again came the thunderous chorus. “I live to serve!”
Tristan reached painfully behind him and drew his dreggan. The deadly, familiar ring of the blade leaving its scabbard reverberated a long time in the cool, dry air before finally fading away.
“I also charge each of you with something else this day,” Tristan shouted. “It is no secret that we are greatly outnumbered. But if each of you kills at least three of the enemy, we shall win!”
With that thousands of dreggans came out of their scabbards, their blades ringing through the cold air amid eager cheering.
Tristan looked at the warriors for a time, and then over to both Traax and Ox. They were smiling broadly. “Remember our battle plan,” he said. “And may the Afterlife have mercy upon us this day.”
Saying nothing more, he replaced his dreggan into its scabbard and checked his knives. His hatchling was waiting nearby, and Tristan climbed into its saddle and strapped himself in. He wheeled the bird around to face his warriors a final time. And then a thought came to him.
He reached into a pocket and produced the scented handkerchief that Celeste had given him. As the myrrh hidden there came back to him for what would almost certainly be the final time, he smiled fatalistically and tied it around his left arm. Then he launched his bird into the sky.
The thousands of warriors took flight to follow him, their huge numbers blotting out the rising sun. As one, they turned north, to what would soon become the killing fields of Farplain.
51
As they soared through the sky, Shailiha clutched Morganna with one hand. Her other hand gripped one of the rough-hewn handles fastened to the inside of the litter. She had never traveled in this fashion before, and was already quite sure she never wished to do so again. She was terrified that either she would fall out, or the warriors would eventually drop them from sheer exhaustion. Neither, to her complete amazement, had yet happened.
Wigg, Shailiha, and Martha were in one litter. Faegan, the Tome, the Paragon, and Celeste were in another, while Geldon and the gnomes rode in the third. Faegan’s fliers of the fields flew alongside. Several empty litters were also being carried along.
Faegan, still in his chair on wheels, would occasionally pop his head out, shouting the necessary course corrections to the warriors as they sped along. Wigg, on the other hand, seemed very self-absorbed, his mind lost in wizardly contemplations.
To distract herself from her fear, Shailiha tried to remember what Wigg had told her of their destination, Shadowood, which was inhabited by gnomes and had served as Faegan’s home since his crippling by the Coven three hundred years ago. It had been created by the Directorate, using the craft, and had been intended as a refuge for those of endowed blood, should the Coven have won the war. Now it was about to serve the same purpose should the hatchlings burst through Tristan’s lines.
They were exceedingly fortunate to have the Minions and litters, Wigg had said, since the normal trip to Shadowood on foot was very difficult and time-consuming. The secret place was surrounded on all sides by a deep, invisible canyon that only the trained endowed could see. To others all that could be seen was an expansive field of grass lying before a great pine forest, and if they came too close, they would fall into the canyon and perish. If one succeeded in navigating the bridge across the canyon, a deadly forest and deadlier tunnel awaited.
There was only so much to ponder about the place, though, and curiosity finally overcame Shailiha’s fears. She handed her child to Martha so that she could brave the cold and look outside as their litter soared through the sky.
The experience was both wondrous and terrifying.
The white, snowy ground flashed below them. Although she was already too far away to make out the banks of the Sippora River or the capital city of Tammerland that now lay far behind them, she was just able to distinguish the outskirts of the city of Tanglewood as their litter passed by to the northeast. Soon the southern edge of the great, flat expanses of Farplain would come into view.
Reminded of Farplain, she thought about Tristan, and the battle that he might be fighting this very moment. She felt guilty that she had teased him to get him to ride his hatchling into the sky that first time, since she found herself frightened merely to sit here in her litter, speeding along to the relative safety of Shadowood.
If only Tristan can survive the conflict, she thought to herself. And then, in the distance, she saw it.
Tree Town.
The Minions descended, carrying their precious cargoes with them. They landed carefully and surrounded the litters protectively, dreggans drawn. Some of them remained circling in the sky, keeping a lookout.
Shailiha took Morganna from Martha and stepped out onto the snowy ground, her knees trembling slightly. Martha emerged and helped Wigg out. Shailiha turned to look down the sloping knoll before her, and her eyes came upon one of the most curious sights she had ever seen: hundreds of tree houses, each one seeming more ornate than the last, painted a dazzling array of colors. Some several stories high, they were connected by a series of wooden walkways. Shailiha smiled. It was like something from a dream.
By now Faegan, Celeste, Geldon, and the gnomes traveling with them were all by Shailiha’s side. The fliers of the fields swooped down, congregating into a riot of color directly over their mistress.
The snow fell softly upon them as they continued to look down at the sleepy village. Strangely, there was no one to be seen.
“They are without doubt quite frightened,” Faegan said wryly. “They have never seen the Minions before.”
“Do they know we are here?” Shailiha asked, trying to keep the snow off of Morganna.
“Oh, indeed,” Faegan answered. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Without question the alarm has already gone out.”
“Faegan, I need to get the baby inside,” Shailiha said worriedly.
“Of course,” he answered. “Let’s go. But let me take the lead, so that they can see me. Otherwise there might be trouble, and I certainly don’t want any of them harmed.” He looked behind, regarding the rest of the very strange group. A smile came to his face. “We shall be quite a sight to them, I can assure you.”
With that, he levitated his chair above the snow-covered ground and started down the knoll. Martha took Wigg’s hand. The giant butterflies soared overhead, and the huge number of Minion warriors followed warily behind.