Taking a final look at the butterflies, Shailiha reluctantly followed the wizard out of the room. Faegan closed the great doors of the atrium behind them.
And then, from seemingly nowhere, a mesmerizing idea overtook Faegan’s mind.
It was possible that Shailiha’s bond with the butterflies was not one of her natural gifts! He was filled with a strange mix of excitement and foreboding as he pondered his new idea. Impossibly, it seemed, the bond might be a sign of something else, something always thought to be mere myth: an Incantation of Forestallment. Not wishing to alarm the princess with either his actions or his words, he wheeled his chair forward.
If what he had just witnessed was truly a sign of a Forestallment, then there was a great deal more going on than he had ever imagined.
His mind whirling, he continued to roll down the magnificent hall. The unsuspecting princess followed obediently behind.
16
The cold wind tearing through the lengths of his dark hair, Geldon held on tightly to either side of the litter that was carrying him through the sky. He found the feeling of flying totally exhilarating. Looking down, he delighted in seeing familiar landmarks of the Parthalonian countryside passing by as he soared along, the Minions upon each side expertly holding his litter between them.
At first the sensation of being carried up and away by the winged warriors had been frightening. Not only was this something he had never done before, but the Minions, his onetime enemies, very much had his life in their hands. But after the first few moments he had settled down, coming to trust the fact that if the warriors had wanted to drop him they probably already would have. He then embraced the flying with a kind of glee he had not felt since was a child.
Joshua, however, was having an altogether different experience. The consul’s litter was close enough that Geldon could see the blatant terror on his face. Joshua’s eyes were clamped shut, and he was holding onto his litter with both hands. Even as Geldon soared bouncingly along, he could see that the younger man’s knuckles were white.
Geldon smirked to himself. For a disciple of the craft he seems unusually frightened. But then again, even consuls cannot fly.
Occasionally they would swoop straight through a bank of clouds. The dwarf had at first tightened his grip, holding on for dear life as if they were about to smash headlong into a solid object. From his inexperienced perspective, that was exactly how it seemed. But he had quickly learned to love tearing into the clouds and feeling the cool, fine mist striking his face before bursting out the opposite side over a charged panorama.
Geldon looked in awe at the Minion warriors flying all around him. Their powerful, leathery wings reached through the air in great, broad strokes, propelling them through the sky. Flying seemed as natural for them as walking across the ground. He soon found himself admiring—even envying—this marvelous advantage.
But Geldon had not come to trust the Minions yet, despite the fact that they were helping him. As they continued to soar through the air he focused his mind on the upcoming meeting. Traax, the Minion second in command, was no fool. Geldon needed to be as prepared as possible when he finally landed. He would have to put into his own words whatever the Chosen One would say if he were here, to impress upon the Minion leader the importance of what must be done.
For over three hundred years Geldon had been the butt of the Minions’ cruel jokes. But now things were different. Now he was the emissary of the Chosen One himself. His job was to see to it that Tristan’s wishes were being carried out, and see to it he would. Assuming, of course, that Traax recognized his authority. But deep down he was starting to worry that such a thing might be a very large assumption, indeed.
It was then that he first noticed the anomalies in the Parthalonian landscape, as its familiar beauty flashed by below him.
Something was different—he was sure of it. They had already flown over several landmarks he knew quite well, so he was sure they were on the correct course to the Minion fortification closest to the Recluse, north of where Faegan’s portal had exited them. He had seen both the Black River and the Vale of Torment, the valley where Tristan and Wigg had first learned of the Gallipolai. He looked down steadily now, his mind awash with curiosity. And then he realized what had changed.
The ground below him was covered with lakes and ponds. Some had huge waterfalls spilling into them. Others emptied more serenely into babbling brooks that stretched into the distance. Still others were calm, their placid surfaces reflecting the sky and clouds back to him as if some great force had placed a series of huge mirrors upon the earth. In all of them, the water was a strikingly beautiful blue.
But these waters were not here when I left Parthalon! he thought, confused.
Just then, a group of Minion warriors detached themselves from the flying mass and dived down toward one of the largest lakes. They winged their way around the edge of the lakeshore and then soared back upward, seeking out their leader.
Almost immediately the entire flight of warriors plunged down toward the lake at an alarming speed—faster than Geldon had known the Minions could fly. The warriors seemed to have absolutely no regard for their own personal safety; the way they were falling through the sky bordered on suicidal. So rapid and violent was their descent that at one point Geldon feared his litter might come apart.
The Minions landed close to the lake and roughly dropped the hundreds of litters they were carrying—Geldon’s and Joshua’s included. And then the warriors did something very strange.
From pouches located in each of the litters they began producing what appeared to be fishing nets of unusually strong, thick rope. Each of the warriors seemed to have one. The warriors quickly tied the nets together, ending up with one of very great size. Completely ignoring the consul and the dwarf, they all flew above the lake—the huge, circular net before them—and hovered only meters above the calm waters.
After regaining their composure, Geldon and Joshua ran closer to the lake, straining to see what invited such urgency. When they reached the shore, Geldon felt sure he was going to be ill.
Human skeletons—small and large, child and adult—lay scattered all around. The skeleton’s bizarre postures were completely random, as if some powerful force had dumped them there from a great height, yet not a one was broken.
Surrounding everything was an acrid, almost toxic stench, unlike anything he had ever smelled. As his eyes began to water, he placed his hand over his mouth. And then he realized the source of the sickening, overpowering odor.
An oozing, slimy substance covered some of the bones. In places, it actually seemed to hiss, a small amount of steam coming off hauntingly to waft back and forth upon the breeze. Gray-green and quite thick in places, it was eating into and actually melting whatever flesh was left clinging to the bones.
He looked quickly to Joshua, but the consul seemed to be as confused as he. The Minions seemed to know, though. They hovered over the dark blue waters, holding the massive net, their eyes trained upon the surface of the lake, as if waiting for something.
An insidious sense of dread began to coil up inside Geldon like an angry, frightened snake.
Suddenly, one of the Minion warriors swooped down toward the surface of the lake, coming to hover barely a single meter from the surface. Slowly, silently, he drew his dreggan. All the warriors not holding the net drew their dreggans at once and extended the hidden tips of their swords with a great clanging sound that bounced off the surface of the dark blue water and back into the air. Then everything went silent again.
The water beneath the lone Minion warrior began to role and swirl. Geldon and Joshua stood transfixed, holding their breath in anticipation.