He turned to Shannon. “This is as far as you go,” he ordered quietly. “And I insist that you pour out the rest of your ale here. Considering everything we have witnessed on this little journey, you’ll need your wits about you.”
Blowing a puff of smoke from his corncob pipe, Shannon glared back at the wizard with a look that spoke volumes. But he finally relented, pouring his precious swill out over the grass.
“What a waste!” Shannon moaned, as if he had just lost his best friend. “That was one of my finest concoctions yet.”
Tristan couldn’t help but break into a grin.
“Now I want you to tie the horses,” Wigg ordered, “and find a good place to hide—one where you can not only watch our mounts but that also affords you a clear view of the entrance to the Caves. Stay long enough to make sure no one follows us in—if no one has appeared by dusk, then return to the Redoubt. If someone does appear to be following us, be sure to get a good look at them, then leave for the Redoubt immediately, to report to Faegan. Leave our horses when you go. If no one has come after us by then, they should be all right on their own.”
“Why would you want me to leave if someone does follow you into the Caves?” Shannon asked. “You might need my help.”
Wigg smiled slightly. “Your offer is brave, but you would be serving us better to be able to give Faegan a description of whoever may be after us, in case we don’t survive this. At the very least, it will give him a place to start looking.”
Grumbling, Shannon tied up the three horses and headed toward a stand of thick brush that looked to be a likely hiding place. But at the last moment he turned back toward Wigg and Tristan, and they could see that his expression had softened a bit. “Good luck,” he said. “And may the Afterlife watch over you.”
“And you,” Tristan said. Shannon ducked into the brush and was gone from view.
Wigg turned to look at the prince. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Staring at the breach in the wall, Tristan reached behind his right shoulder and tugged on the hilt of his dreggan and then the first of his throwing knives, making sure neither would stick should he need to call upon them. One corner of his mouth turned up in anticipation.
“I have been ready to return ever since I first came here,” he said.
“Very well then,” Wigg answered. “Let’s go.”
They walked cautiously across the glade, the giant butterflies scattering as they went. Wigg stood before the wall, carefully examining the breach. Then, using his hands, he began to remove more stones, widening the gap so that they would be able to enter.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to use the craft?” Tristan asked, helping the old one loosen the stones.
“Of course,” Wigg said in that all-knowing way of his. “But it might also help alert someone of endowed blood to our presence—something I do not feel would be wise just now. In addition, I have begun to cloak our blood from anyone who might be able to sense the fact that we are endowed—just as I did back in Parthalon, to screen our presence from the Coven. That will make it difficult for me to use the craft for anything else.”
When the hole was large enough, Wigg led the way through.
“Mind your feet this time,” he said snidely, reminding Tristan of how he had fallen down the rough-hewn steps the last time he had been here. “We will secure some illumination at the bottom.”
They descended slowly, the rushing sound of the water from the falls in their ears. The prince began to experience the now-familiar, exhilarating feeling of being close to the waters of the Caves. The farther down he went, the more his blood rose in his veins, making him slightly dizzy. Soon they were at the bottom, standing next to each other in the gloom. Wigg took a few careful paces to the side and reached up to take one of the torches from its holder on the nearby wall.
“Take out your flint and strike this torch alight,” Wigg ordered. “I dare not use the craft to do so.”
Tristan did as he was asked, and the torch came alight quickly. As the prince looked around, Wigg lifted the flame higher.
They were standing on the floor of a spectacular subterranean cavern, the high, cascading falls tumbling ever downward into a stone pool to their right. The sound was almost overpowering in its majesty, and the water was calling Tristan to again dive into its depths, to immerse himself just as he had so obsessively done on his first visit here. Giant, multicolored stalactites and stalagmites reached to join floor and ceiling. Some of them had already found their mates, creating majestic columns of slick, gorgeous stone.
From the rent in the wall above several of the fliers reentered, their wings adding to the riot of color and movement that surrounded the wizard and the prince. Some of them perched next to the pool.
From all around him Tristan could sense the serene, yet overpowering presence of the craft infiltrating his mind and his heart. Growing increasingly dizzy and short of breath, he found himself forced to go down on one knee. He looked up weakly at the wizard.
“Wigg,” he breathed, “you must get me away from the water! It is calling to me again!” He gasped for breath as he turned his head toward the enticing pool.
“I know,” the old one said. He helped Tristan up, putting one of the prince’s arms over his shoulder for support. “Come with me.”
Wigg hurried the prince across the stone chamber, to the entrance to the square-cut tunnel in the wall at the opposite side. But as they approached the tunnel, the breath left his lungs in a rush.
Sensing Wigg’s apprehension, Tristan looked tentatively to the tunnel entrance.
“What’s wrong?” he asked weakly. “Why aren’t we going inside?”
“The warp guarding the entrance to the tunnel is gone,” Wigg said hesitantly.
“How can you tell?” the prince asked. “It looks the same to me.”
“That’s because it was invisible. You would not have been able to see it during your first trip here. Nor could you see it now, because you are still untrained. The Directorate designed it so that it could not be seen by anyone except by us. We had hoped that this would make it less subject to tampering by unknown forces. That strategy has apparently failed. But what I do not understand is how it could have been dismantled without my sensing it.”
“Wigg,” Tristan whispered, “you must either take us down the tunnel, or carry me back outside. I will not be able to last much longer, this close to the falls . . . I have begun to hear my own heartbeat in my ears, despite how loud the falls are, and I . . .” His voice trailed off as he collapsed into unconsciousness. His face was bright red, reflecting the exertion being placed upon his heart by being so close to the waters. Wigg picked him up and carried him quickly, desperately through the entrance to the tunnel.
Holding both the torch and the prince, he ran down the length of the passageway, continuing until he estimated Tristan would be a safe distance from the falls. He put the prince down against the tunnel wall and checked his condition.
The redness in the prince’s face was starting to dissipate, and his breathing was coming back to normal. Wigg looked up at the torch in his hand, not happy with what he saw. The flame was fading.
Tristan finally opened his eyes to see the wizard looking concernedly down at him. Beyond the circle of the sputtering torch, the silent, impenetrable darkness of the tunnel completely surrounded them.
“How do you feel?” Wigg asked cautiously.
“Better,” Tristan answered slowly. “But I have never been so intensely affected by the waters of the Caves.” He shook his head back and forth, trying to regain his focus. “Will I be all right?”
“Yes,” Wigg answered, smiling for the first time since they came underground. “But right now we have a bigger worry.”
“And that is?” Tristan asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
“The torch,” Wigg said simply.
Tristan looked up to see that the ancient, oil-soaked torch was beginning to fade. Soon they would be engulfed in total darkness, a prospect that was less than reassuring.