“And the hatchlings follow?” Wigg asked.
“Yes.”
“How long?” Faegan demanded.
“One hour, perhaps a bit more.”
“Then it is time to make ready,” Wigg replied.
The wind blew the snow back and forth into little drifts of ever-changing shape; the deceivingly calm, blue skies overhead were soon to be full of the coming fury. Behind Shailiha stood the most magnificent forest she had ever seen. And just before her, though she could not see it without proper training, lay the invisible canyon guarding the borders of Shadowood.
Within that dark, enchanted forest, the Minions and the gnomes had hurriedly begun to go about the tasks the wizards had given them. The various sounds coming to her ears from their work seemed strange, and foreign-sounding.
Everything else seemed so peaceful here in this place of the craft, but in her heart of hearts she knew all of that was about to change.
Tristan held tight to both his reins and his saddle pommel as the snowy ground below him flew by at an astonishing speed. Almost an hour had passed since they departed the battle scene. By now it was abundantly clear that they were heading for the coast, or at least as far as Shadowood.
In sheer desperation he pulled once more on the reins, trying to change the bird’s direction and thus veer the monsters behind them off course.
But still it was no use. Exhausted not only by the poisoned blood swirling through his veins but also by the recent battle, he carefully replaced his heavy dreggan within its scabbard and slumped forward. The bird carried him across the sky at what now seemed to be an even greater speed.
They are here,” Shailiha said, opening her eyes. She looked up to the sky, where tiny dots were beginning to form. “First come Tristan, then Ox and Traax, the Minions, and finally Scrounge and his hatchlings.” Her voice was cracking with the strain. “They will be over us in moments.” She closed her eyes once more.
Wigg turned his own white, unseeing eyes toward where he knew Faegan to be. Desperation showed clearly in his face. “Are they ready?” he asked.
“If they are not,” Faegan answered softly, “then all that we know is truly and finally lost.”
With Shailiha and Wigg standing quietly in the snow to either side of his chair, Faegan reached out and linked hands with the princess and Wigg. He turned his eyes to the sky before speaking again.
“May the Afterlife have somehow granted us the wisdom to be right.”
Tristan clung to his hatchling as it tore across the sky. Looking up, he could just begin to make out the edge of the dark forest protecting the western border of Shadowood. He still didn’t know precisely where his bird was taking him, but one thing was now blindingly certain: It was no use trying to get the hatchling to change direction.
But then, quite unexpectedly, it did on its own.
Pointing its head down in an incredibly steep dive, the bird plummeted headlong toward the white, cold earth. Turning around as best he could, Tristan was able to see that all of the Minions were obediently following him, with hatchlings still in relentless pursuit.
It was then that the insidious realization gripped him.
It was a trick! His hatchling had not been successfully tamed by Wigg and Faegan. It was one of the enemy still—and it intended to dive straight at the ground, killing Tristan along with itself. How could he have been so blind and mistrusting? And what about the Minions? Would they follow him to their deaths, as the hatchlings driving them onward pulled up at the last moment?
He tried to raise his hands to wave the Minions off, but the force of the oncoming wind was too strong.
Finally, as the white, snowy ground raced up to meet them, Tristan remembered the invisible canyon. And then it all became clear.
“Trust the process, Chosen One.” Now he understood!
For a split second, as the earth approached headlong toward him, he saw three figures holding hands. Shailiha?
One second later, as the white, snowy ground rose up into his face, he gripped the bird around its neck for all he was worth, wondering if he was about to die.
He didn’t. But all he could see was blackness.
What seemed like an eternity passed as the hatchling continued its steep descent into the canyon. Then he felt the bird begin to level out, and his eyes started to adjust to the gloom. His hatchling made a curving turn to the left and went speeding along what seemed to be the floor of the canyon; the walls flashed by so quickly they were just a blur. Looking down, he saw bones scattered everywhere. They were no doubt the result of having gone one step too far in the pursuit of the magical place known as Shadowood.
Glancing up, he could see the sky overhead, sunlight streaking down here and there between the clouds. Then he looked behind him, and his mouth fell open.
The entire Minion army, led by Traax and Ox, was following him along the floor of the canyon. There was no way to tell whether the hatchlings were still pursuing them.
All Tristan could do was hold on as best he could while the floor of the cavern and its macabre carpet of bones flew by at an astonishing speed.
“Are you quite sure of the timing?” Wigg asked nervously. “It must be absolutely perfect!”
Faegan pursed his lips, trying to retain his concentration. “I am well aware, Wigg,” he responded curtly.
The three of them were still at the edge of the invisible canyon, and had watched both the prince and the Minions dive into its depths, followed by Scrounge and the hatchlings. With the rapid disappearance of the two forces, the skies above had gone still. But Faegan, Wigg, and Shailiha knew it was not to last.
Turning around to face the forest, hoping against hope, Shailiha held her breath.
Now also turning, his eyes closed, Faegan silently employed the craft to calculate the variables of time, speed, and distance. It must be neither too soon, nor too late, he reminded himself. As Wigg said, it must be absolutely perfect. There will be no second chance.
Still concentrating, Faegan slowly raised his right hand. Then he opened his eyes and sent an azure bolt from his fingertips into the sky. At the signal, the trees in the forest seemed to tremble.
The Minions who had brought Wigg, Faegan, and Shailiha here flew from the woods. Many of them carried something in their hands other than weapons. And others of them carried something on their backs that seemed stranger still—the gnomes of Shadowood.
Each of the little men had one of his small arms wrapped tightly around the neck of the Minion he was riding, and in the other he gripped what appeared to be a canvas bag.
Rising quickly into the sky, the Minions fanned out over a section of what the wizards had previously shown them to be the unseen outline of the canyon’s facing edges and unwrapped their cargo. Faegan again sent a bolt of magic shooting skyward. Without hesitation the Minions dived for the earth, spreading something before them.
Swamp shrew nets.
Holding the nets out before them, the Minions plunged headlong into the canyon. Shailiha watched in amazement as they disappeared, as if they had been literally swallowed up by the earth. As quickly as they had come, the Minions and the gnomes were gone. Turning to the princess, Faegan nodded.
Closing her eyes, Shailiha raised her arms.
Without warning, Tristan’s hatchling lurched upward, soaring toward the top of the chasm. The prince watched, mouth agape, as the walls of the canyon flew by, vertically this time, and wondered what was to become of him.
His bird stopped about midway to the top. The Minion forces quickly caught up, coming to hover in the gloom before their leader.
“What is happening, my lord?” Traax called out. “What is this place? Why are we stopping? Are we to finally turn and fight like warriors?”
A glance downward told Tristan that Scrounge and the hatchling army would shortly be upon them.