“But there is yet another problem,” Faegan added. “And that problem has to do with what may be our most important foe: time. Do you remember what Wigg taught you about needing the stone to decipher the Tome?”
“Yes,” Tristan said, now beginning to understand Faegan’s ominous point. “The Tome is written in a different language. Wigg has sometimes referred to it as Old Eutracian. It is believed to be the language of the Ones Who Came Before—the civilization of ancients who preceded us here in this land. They were the ones who wrote the Tome, leaving it behind for ongoing generations of the endowed to find, and employ. Since I have not studied Old Eutracian, the only way I can comprehend the language of the great book is to wear the stone. It immediately allows a wearer of endowed blood to read the text.”
“Excellent,” Faegan said, giving an approving glance toward Wigg.
“But there is still something I do not understand,” Tristan said. “If Faegan has the power of Consummate Recollection, then why can’t he simply recite the entire Tome to us, here in the Redoubt? Can we not find the answers we need without making this journey?”
“Although I have read the first two sections of the Tome, I have not read the Prophecies,” Faegan said sadly. “To do so is forbidden by anyone but the Chosen One. Wigg and I fear that much of what we may need, not only to help stop whoever is doing this but also to train you, may well reside within that last volume. And if the Tome is not brought back to us soon, it is quite possible that whatever we learn from the Prophecies we might not be able to employ. Because by then our powers may be too weak.”
Tristan looked around the table at all of the people who were now so heavily relying on him. Shailiha, Morganna, Wigg, Faegan, Geldon, and Joshua. And then he turned to look at the dead consul on the other side of the room, knowing that the lives and dreams of whatever consuls were still left in the countryside also rested squarely upon his shoulders.
“As much as I wish to retrieve the Tome,” he said, thinking out loud, “there is great danger, is there not, in simply bringing it back to the Redoubt with us? We will be out in the open. If we are accosted and they manage to take it from us, we might never see it again. This sounds far too risky to me! Is there no other way?”
“I must agree with the prince,” Joshua interjected. “Master Faegan, the lead wizard has told me of the portal that you summoned to transport them to Parthalon and back. Could that not be used for this purpose, making it safer to transport the Tome?”
“There simply is not enough time,” Faegan said. “The portal is summoned to a specific location through a series of complex calculations. And in truth, I have only ever directed its use between Parthalon and Shadowood. It takes weeks to complete the computations for a new destination, and that is a luxury that we just can’t afford.”
Tristan tried to take in the ramifications of everything he had heard that day. So much bad news had arrived in such a short period of time that it was difficult to comprehend it all. The vanishing consuls, the decaying Paragon, and an assassin named Scrounge who killed for pleasure and was bent upon not only distributing wanted posters of him, but sending him taunting notes written in blood. Not to mention Joshua’s strange flying creatures and the fact that there might be at least one blood stalker still on the loose who might somehow be in league with the one named Scrounge. He wondered if all of this was somehow intertwined, or whether these events were random acts, a result of the madness sweeping the land. He thought of the nation of Eutracia, lost in the chaos that had been brought by the Coven.
It pained him to know that his leaving the Redoubt with Wigg would be hard on Shailiha. But he tried to take heart in the fact that here in the Redoubt with Faegan, Geldon, and Joshua was the safest place for her. Even he could not protect her as well as the master wizard in the chair, and he knew it. But there remained yet another concern, one that had been haunting him since his departure from Parthalon. He was still unaware of the status of the Minions of Day and Night.
The Minions—the savage Parthalonian fighting force of over three hundred thousand who were responsible for the sacking of his nation and the deaths of his family. Incredibly, he now found himself to be their undisputed leader. Traax, the Minion second in command the prince had left behind to carry out his orders, had seemed completely committed to doing whatever Tristan ordered. But that did not mean things in Parthalon had changed.
The prince had given several commands to Traax that day. He had demanded the elimination of the brothels and the freeing of the Gallipolai—the enslaved offshoots of the Minions who had white wings, instead of the customary black. He had also ordered the task of reconstructing the terrible place called the Ghetto of the Shunned, the holding area the Coven had employed to contain the “undesirables” of the nation.
I am not only responsible for the welfare of Eutracia, he thought, but now for Parthalon, as well. For the nation across the sea is not advanced, nor does it have any history of the craft other than the Coven. If they chose to, the Minions could cut the Parthalonian citizenry down like locusts through a wheat field.
“If Wigg and I are to go to the Caves, there is something that I insist be accomplished while I am gone,” Tristan said adamantly. “I wish for Geldon to be sent through the portal to Parthalon. I want him to review the actions of the Minions, and to be sure that the nation is still at peace. And I want to know the warriors are continuing to carry out the orders I issued. Far too much time has gone by without such an inspection, and in my temporary absence I wish Geldon to do it. He has the most experience of any of us in this regard. He is, after all, Parthalonian himself.”
Tristan turned to look at the hunchbacked dwarf, the small man of such great stature and heart who had come to their aid time and time again. “Will you do this thing for me?” the prince asked. “Will you go as my emissary and bring me back a report?”
Geldon was stunned, and his face showed it. He owed Tristan his life, and would do anything he asked—but what if the situation in Parthalon was not as it was expected to be? He looked around the table for a solution to his dilemma, and then quickly realized what it was.
“I will gladly do as you ask, Tristan, but I have one request,” Geldon said. “We do not know what this journey might hold. None of us has been back since we left. I would therefore ask that Joshua accompany me on this trip. I may need someone to help protect me. And clearly you, Wigg, and Faegan must stay here. Joshua is trained in the craft. He is not as highly trained as the wizards, I know. Nonetheless, his gifts would be of great help, should we find it necessary to use his skill to either impress the Minions or to actually try to fend them off.”
Well said, Tristan thought.
The prince automatically turned his gaze to Faegan and Wigg. They seemed far from pleased. But Tristan meant to have his way in this. The responsibilities he had left behind in Parthalon had come to weigh heavily upon his mind in recent days, and he needed to know. Without giving either of the wizards a chance to object, he spoke directly to the consul.
“Will you do it?” he asked Joshua bluntly. “Will you accompany Geldon to Parthalon for me?”
“My authority has always come from the lead wizard,” Joshua said without hesitation. “But you do need my services, and you are the Chosen One. Meaning no disrespect to Wigg, I will do as you ask.”
“Thank you,” Tristan said. The wizards remained silent, but Wigg’s arched eyebrow was as high up into the furrows of his forehead as the prince had ever seen it.