“No matter. Your secret’s safe with me,” she teased. But just as in the old days she had something to hang over his head, and she loved it. They smiled at other, happy to know that their relationship was back to normal.
Then she remembered that he was about to leave her, and her face darkened. “Tristan,” she said, more softly this time, “what would our world truly be like without the craft of magic?”
He didn’t really know how to answer her. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But what concerns me most is the fact that if the Paragon, is depleted, neither Faegan nor Wigg will be protected by the time enchantments. Their powers will wane, and then they will most assuredly die. And time is short, making things even worse.”
Her expression became more introspective, and she reached to touch the medallion around his neck. “I want to help,” she said, “but there seems so little I can do. Tell me honestly—do you think there ever might come a day when the wizards would let me learn the craft?”
He could see the hunger in her eyes, and understood it well. After all, her blood was nearly the equal of his, so her desire for the learning of the craft must be nearly as strong. But ever since the Sorceresses’ War, the Directorate had banned the teaching of magic to women—a custom that he now found to be cruel.
“I hope you may one day be trained,” he said. “Just as I am to be. But for now, the emphasis must be placed upon retrieving the Tome and stopping the decay of the stone. Until then, all of our other wishes must be put aside.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. “I must go now,” he said softly. “Wigg will be waiting.”
“Before you leave, would you please tell me about the graves?” she asked. It was almost as if she was afraid she would never see him again. “Were they truly undisturbed, as you told the wizards? Did you tell Mother, Father, and Frederick the things I asked you to?”
He closed his eyes, trying to fight back the rising grief. “Of course I did, Shai,” he answered. “I got down on my knees and told them everything. And they heard me, I know.”
Closing her eyes in gratitude, she gave him a long embrace. “Come home safe,” she whispered.
“I promise,” he assured her. With that he turned and walked out the door, purposely not looking back at her. Looking back would have been much too hard—for both of them.
Shailiha reached down into the crib and picked up her baby. She held Morganna tightly in her arms, as if by keeping the child close she could somehow also keep her brother safe. Then she looked over at the door her brother had just gone through.
Suddenly, from deep inside her, a cold, gnawing voice told her something she did not want to hear.
Neither Tristan nor Wigg will come home to you the same men as when they left.
Part II
The Stricken
13
It is not how much one hates that is important, but rather how that hate is manifested. Nor is it how much one plans for revenge, as much as how that revenge is carried out. And it is not even so much the form of the revenge itself that matters, but how long one can make it last. It is therefore not in the doing of the thing that one derives the greatest pleasure—for the act itself shall surely be fleeting. No, it is much more than this. It is the sublime knowledge that the pain administered shall be never ending.
Geldon and Joshua stood in the cool morning sunshine of the country called Parthalon, looking down at the city that for over three centuries had imprisoned all of those deemed undesirable by the Coven.
The Ghetto of the Shunned.
The Ghetto’s walls had been repaired, the dwarf noticed, and the drawbridge over the filthy, dank moat had been reconstructed. The drawbridge was raised and locked, seeming to haughtily reject all visitors to this once-desperate place. The flags of the Coven had all been removed, and from their perch high up on the hill, Joshua and Geldon could see movement upon the catwalks that lined the top of the wall. But the area surrounding the Ghetto was strangely abandoned, an eerie sense of quiet pervading it.
The figures standing guard atop the walls of the Ghetto were easily discernible to the dwarf. They were some of the winged warriors and former taskmasters of the Coven—the Minions of Day and Night.
Joshua and Geldon had not been able to come to Parthalon immediately, as Tristan had wished. After discussing their journey with Faegan, the three of them had decided it would be best for the consul and the dwarf to be delivered outside of the city walls, rather than inside. This would hopefully allow them to take stock of the situation before trying to enter. And since the wizard’s only calculations for the portal would exit them at Geldon’s destroyed aviary in the heart of the city, he was forced to restructure the spell slightly. Despite the proximity to the original destination, it took him three days of working day and night to produce the desired effect.
The trip through Faegan’s azure portal was dizzying, but worse for Joshua since it was his first experience. Faegan had instructed them that when they wished to return home they should go to the exact spot of their arrival at high noon, just as Geldon and the others had done the previous time, that day not so long ago when Tristan had become the new lord of the Minions. The wizard would re-create the portal and hold it open for an hour each successive day, until such time as they returned.
The dwarf and consul had then walked into the swirling maelstrom . . . and landed in the grass at the top of the hill. It had taken them both several moments to regain their bearings and for the dizziness to stop. But they were now themselves again as they looked at the city below, trying to decide what to do.
“It is amazing!” the consul exclaimed softly. “Just as you said it would be. Did the Coven truly banish anyone here who was not to their liking?”
“Oh, indeed,” Geldon answered, his eyes still locked upon the drawbridge as he wondered what to do.
“Why did the Coven send you here, if I may ask?”
Geldon closed his eyes for a moment. “I stole a loaf of bread,” he answered sadly. “A simple loaf of bread. My family was starving, and I was sent here to languish. I never learned what became of them, or whether I have any descendants still living. I suppose I shall never know. It was shortly after my internment that Succiu, second mistress of the Coven, found me here and made me her personal slave.”
His hand automatically went to his neck, where he had worn the jeweled collar for three centuries, until its removal by Wigg. “She made me wear a collar. At night she would chain me to the floor of the Recluse, the Coven’s palace.”
“I’m sorry, Geldon,” Joshua said.
“We have other things to worry about,” the dwarf said quickly. “As much as I hate to say it, our only option seems to be to walk right up to the drawbridge and demand that the Minions lower it for us.” He gave the consul a hard look. “You have no experience with these beings, so let me do all the talking. I can only hope that there are some of those still present who will recognize me as a friend of the prince. Under no circumstances are you are to display your powers unless I order it. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then,” the dwarf said with finality. “Let’s go.” With that the two of them began to approach the drawbridge.
As they neared the moat, about one hundred paces from the city walls, Geldon looked up to see two silver whirling disks flying toward them: returning wheels, the throwing weapon of the Minions.
He immediately grabbed the unsuspecting consul by the robes, stopping him short. The wheels, purposely underthrown, landed in the dirt at their feet. Geldon looked up to see the silhouettes of several dark, winged figures standing on the city walls, and he raised his hands high in a gesture of surrender.