CHAPTER

Forty-seven

Tristan stood on the balcony of one of the great rooms of the palace, Traax and Ox on either side of him. Light, fluffy snow was falling gently through the slowly brightening sky; he hoped the weather would warm as the sun rose. Pulling his gray fur jacket closer to him, he stared down intently at the war maps that covered the marble conference table before him. He had been studying them most of the night, trying to discern the best strategic point at which to attack Nicholas‘ hatchlings. He knew that his first, highly concentrated assault would have to be as devastating as possible.

For as outnumbered as he and his warriors were, they would most likely be denied the opportunity of a second one.

He reached out to bite down into one of the rich, brown rolls he had requested from the gnome wives, following it with their strong tea. The comforting warmth felt good going down. One corner of his mouth came up as he remembered Shawna the Short berating him for remaining out in the cold when he could have just as easily been inside. ―You‘ll catch your death,‖ she had said, one of her small fingers waggling before his face. He had simply smiled, knowing that standing here on the snowy balcony was surely not what was about to kill him.

Remembering a technique from his days at the royal war college, Tristan had remained here to try to become more accustomed to the frigid temperatures. He would need every advantage possible if he was to lead the Minions in the manner to which they were accustomed. They will expect me to endure all the hardships that they must.

Taking his eyes away from the maps for a moment, he looked out over the balcony and to the amazing scene outside. In the last two weeks it seemed the entire world had come strangely alive with the winged warriors he had once so hated.

Their campsites now stretched almost as far as the eye could see. Yesterday the wizards had sadly informed him that there would be no more Minions arriving from Parthalon. Due to his vastly decreased powers, Faegan could no longer hold the portal open. The truth, Tristan realized, was that the wily wizard was trying to preserve his remaining powers to help those still living below escape. And with this the prince had no argument.

Tristan rubbed his sore, severely weakened right arm. Each of our warriors must kill two of the enemy, simply to survive the struggle, he realized. And to win, many of them must kill three. Long odds against our survival, indeed.

It was his plan to attack the following day. Unless, of course, the hatchlings appeared earlier, forcing him into action. But in his heart, Tristan knew there was another, even more compelling reason that was keeping his son from unleashing his creatures against them.

Nicholas was waiting, still hoping that Tristan would join him in his struggle to return the Heretics to the earth.

For the thousandth time he attempted to fathom how things could have ever come this far.

Both his family and the Directorate of Wizards were now many months dead, and he, impossibly, was the new lord of the ones responsible for their murders. The land he so loved had been made virtually barren of the craft of magic; the only remaining wizards willing to help him had become mere shadows of their former selves. And all of them here, at one time deadly enemies but now wary allies, were struggling to defeat a son he had believed to be dead.

―Chosen One all right?‖ Ox asked. He looked concernedly into the prince‘s face.

Tristan smiled slightly. ―Yes, Ox,‖ he answered. He and the two Minions had spent most of the night talking about their battle plans. Hearing footsteps in the adjoining room, Tristan turned. Wigg and Faegan were making their slow way out to the balcony, Wigg holding weakly onto Faegan‘s chair for guidance.

As he looked at them, Tristan felt a great measure of sadness. The once-vibrant, powerful wizards appeared much older now. Their faces were sallow, and their bodies seemed sunken, almost hidden beneath their robes. The Paragon"s power will soon be gone, and then they will turn to dust, vanishing forever. And no doubt I will shortly follow them into the Afterlife.

Tristan, Traax, and Ox spent a good deal of time showing the wizards their plans. Wigg and Faegan listened intently. On more than one occasion the two wizards gave them advice resulting in a few minor changes in geography and tactics. But overall the wizards agreed with the strategies.

At last Faegan cleared his throat, something else apparently on his mind. ―If you would be so good as to leave us,‖ he said to Traax and Ox, ―we have private business with the prince. It shall not take long.‖

The Minion warriors looked to Tristan. When he nodded, they each went to one knee. ―We live to serve,‖ their strong voices said in unison. Then they flew off the balcony and were gone.

Tristan beckoned the ancient wizards into the adjoining room and closed the cracked, stained-glass doors to the outside. After guiding Wigg to a dusty chair, he took one himself.

―We have made a decision,‖ Wigg began softly. ―One that we are hoping you can agree with.

But agree or not, we still feel it must be done.‖

―I will make it easy for you, old friend,‖ Tristan answered before the wizard could continue.

He leaned forward in his chair, placing his arms upon his knees. ―You are going to flee the palace, and take everyone, including Shailiha, with you.‖

―Yes,‖ Faegan said. ―How did you know?‖

―Your usefulness here is now very limited,‖ Tristan answered. ―And I have long believed that you would eventually want to get the Paragon, the Tome, and my sister as far away from the danger as possible.‖ He looked down at his hands for a moment, trying to find the words.

―Given the fact that my death is certain, your first concern, and rightfully so, must be the preservation of the craft.‖ He looked back up to the wizards. ―But if there are additional reasons for your leaving,‖ he added, a hard edge to his voice, ―I would like to know what they are.‖

Tristan did not mean to be harsh with them, but he had long been of the opinion that they were not telling him everything. And if they were indeed holding anything back, he was determined to find out what it was, and why.

―Our reasons are exactly as you have just described, and no more,‖ Faegan replied. He coughed—a small, ragged sound—and pulled his gray robe closer about him. ―First and foremost is the preservation of magic, if such a thing is still possible. To help protect us, we request that you grant us litters, and a host of Minions to carry them.‖

Tristan thought for a moment. ―It‘s a pity the portal has become so unstable. You would no doubt be safer in Parthalon.‖ He remained silent for a moment. ―You just mentioned my fate,‖ he finally said, looking down at the ominous veins running through the back of his hand. ―There will be no antidote, will there?‖ Already knowing the answer, he did not immediately look back up.

―No,‖ Faegan answered sadly. ―I am truly sorry.‖ He looked away, one of the few times in his long life he was completely unsure of what to say. It seems I have failed yet again, he thought sadly.

Wigg lowered his head and rubbed his white eyes, then leaned his forehead on his fist in obvious despair. ―And ironically, I will actually be glad to have lost my sight,‖ he said softly.

―The death of the Paragon is not something I wish to watch.‖

Tristan sat back in his chair and regarded his friends—the once-imposing practitioners of the craft. They had changed so much it almost seemed as if he no longer knew them. ―You will go to Shadowood, will you not?‖ he asked quietly.

―Yes,‖ Wigg answered. ―We will flee to Tree-Town. That makes the most sense.‖ He looked into Tristan‘s dark eyes, not knowing how to say farewell to the one he had loved for so long.

―We have also come to say our good-byes.‖ Wigg continued haltingly, ―for we think it prudent that we leave as soon as possible. In fact, the Tome is already transformed, and ready to go. Shailiha and Celeste have asked to see you next, so that they might say good-bye in private. We all know you will do your best to keep Nicholas and his creatures at bay for as long as you can. You are the last hope Eutracia has. Fare thee well, Chosen One. Please know, for as long as you have left, that you shall forever remain in my heart.‖

Wigg raised his arms, beckoning the prince to come to him.

Tristan rose from his chair, tears in his eyes. But with his very first step toward the wizard came the horrifying, sinking feeling.

He fell to the floor, tremors jangling his body like a marionette. Spittle foamed from his mouth as his tongue slipped down the back of his throat.

Then everything went black.