The fifth sorceress, p.61
The Fifth Sorceress, page 61
Recalling that the point of his scabbard was damaged from his mishap in the tunnel, Tristan found the scabbard belonging to the Minion he had killed with the dirk and traded it for his own. He was just adjusting the baldric when he noticed the returning wheel.
Immediately he recognized the vicious saw-toothed disc that had killed Evelyn of the House of Norcross and several of the wizards of the Directorate. Tristan removed the wheel from the belt of the dead warrior and, using the hook from the man’s belt, attached it to his own. In addition he removed the leaded glove from the corpse’s left hand, the glove that safely allowed the wheel to be caught upon its return to its owner. He put the glove on his own left hand, not really knowing why he was taking these things, knowing only that for some reason his endowed blood had directed him to do so. Somehow, it just felt right.
Wigg was probably right, the prince thought as his breathing began to return to normal. This may have been unnecessary, but I will not apologize for honoring my vows. He looked at the twisted bodies of the two men he had just killed, wondering whether either of them had been in Eutracia that day. Whether either of them had killed any of the wizards of the Directorate. And whether either of them had contributed to the rape and murder of his mother. No matter how many of them I kill, he thought, I will not rest until Kluge stands before me. Stands before me and dies.
Turning toward the Vale of Torment, he began walking down toward the six wheels.
When he finally reached the Pentangle Tristan slowed his gait and approached cautiously. Glaring around in revulsion at the work of the Minions, he wondered if this insane cruelty had been under the orders of the Coven or was simply an amusement of the winged monsters. It also occurred to him that if the Minions were a product of Failee’s craft, so then, even if obliquely, were the Gallipolai. Perhaps that is the reason the Gallipolai are always killed unless their hair and wings turn dark, he thought. Their continued existence in this form would illustrate an imperfection in the sorceresses’ use of the craft.
He walked around the perimeter of the Pentangle, examining the five men who had been woven into the wheels. Each of them appeared to be dead, the blood that had once streamed down their many wounds now dried to a dark crimson in the midday sun. Each was young and blond, with wings that were constructed of the most delicate of feathers. The wings were smaller than those of the Minions – and suddenly he realized why. They had been severely clipped back, presumably to make it impossible for them to fly, and therefore to escape. The work was reminiscent of his father’s practice of trimming the wings of his hunting falcons when they were young and not yet reliably trained. But this procedure had been much more severe. The dead Gallipolais’ feet were much smaller than normal, and looked deformed. Not only have those bastards clipped their wings, he snarled silently, they have also bound their feet. These men could neither run nor fly. Growing more angry by the second, he walked to the center of the Pentangle to examine the dead woman.
Upon reaching the wheel, he found himself looking up at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The long blond hair that hung down between the spokes of the wheel was thick and lustrous, an amazing combination of colors that resembled corn tassels laced with the palest of honey. The similarly colored eyebrows were long and arching; he imagined her eyes were blue. She had a slim, straight nose; pink lips; and a smooth, strong jawline. There was no blood on her face, and Tristan could see the dried rivulets of tears that had run from her eyes, then to her cheeks, and down onto the ground.
Her wings, like those of the men, had been severely clipped back. Her feet, too, were small and deformed, the product of the same cruelty the men had obviously suffered. And yet she was beautiful. Truly amazing, he wondered to himself. Such incredible beauty born of such intense hideousness and cruelty. How could such a creature have been produced by a Minion warrior and his brothel whore?
When he finally lowered his eyes from the woman, it was only then that he saw the final horror of this place.
His eyes caught a glimmer of white off in the distance, just at the edge of the surrounding woods. Walking over, he was aghast at what he saw.
It was a gigantic display of Gallipolai wings.
Impossibly white and artfully arranged, they had been carefully nailed into the branches of the trees, where they were blown softly back and forth in the breeze, their beauty belying the savagery that had taken place here. There were thousands of them, no doubt the result of centuries of torture. He began to back away, eager for the first time to be gone from the disgusting display of Minion butchery.
‘Grotesque, aren’t they?’ Geldon called out to him from behind. ‘The Minions do this to the females only, as a sign of their conquests. Many of them are hundreds of years old. Failee was so taken by them that she sends one of the Coven here each time a new pair is added, to enchant them to remain beautiful forever.’
Tristan immediately felt his endowed blood rise, the amputated wings a reminder of the dead Eutracian women and girls he had seen literally thrown into piles after the Minions had taken their pleasure from them. The insanity never ends, came the whisper in his mind.
Tristan turned to see the wizard and Geldon standing near the wings, the three horses’ reins in the hands of the dwarf. Wigg folded his arms upon his chest and slowly looked the prince up and down, taking in the bloodstained clothes and the returning wheel hanging from Tristan’s belt. Faegan’s words, uttered that night in Shadowood, came back to the Lead Wizard: ‘ “And the Chosen One shall take up three weapons of his choice and slay many before reading the Prophecies, and coming to the light.” ’ ‘Did you accomplish what you wanted?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes,’ Tristan said, the memory of the fight keeping his endowed blood churning. ‘But sometimes I feel that no matter how many of them I kill, it will never be enough.’
Wigg’s eyebrow came up. ‘Geldon tells me there are more than three hundred thousand of them, Tristan.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I doubt you can kill them all.’
Tristan said nothing. As he took his horse’s reins from Geldon, he noticed more than a little awe registering upon the dwarf’s face.
Geldon swallowed hard. ‘I have never seen a Minion killed by anyone other than a fellow warrior,’ he said tentatively. ‘I thought it was impossible to kill one in battle.’ He stood there nervously fingering the chain from his collar, as if seeing the Chosen One for the first time.
‘One should not believe everything he hears,’ Tristan said angrily. He had had enough of this place, and was anxious to be on his way again.
Then, from behind them, they heard a moan.
Immediately the three of them whirled around, wondering what or who had made the noise. But everything was still the same as before, the bodies motionless upon the wheels, deathly silence reigning once again, the only movement that of the birds of prey as they continued to turn menacingly above them in the morning sky. Suspicious, Tristan walked back to the wheel that held the woman. Drawing his dreggan, he pushed the point of the sword up to press lightly against the top of her right foot.
She moaned again, soft and low, and twisted slightly in her bonds, her eyes still closed.
‘Geldon! Wigg!’ Tristan shouted, his eyes riveted on the woman’s face. ‘Come quickly! This one’s alive!’
The dwarf and the wizard ran to the wheel, and Tristan asked Wigg to go down on one knee. The prince replaced his dreggan in its scabbard and pulled a dirk from his quiver. Stepping up on Wigg’s one raised knee, he hoisted himself up to stand on the wizard’s shoulders, beneath the spokes. He quickly cut through the rope that bound the woman’s feet and then the ones that held her hands. Reaching up, he maneuvered her limp body to where he could hand her down to Wigg, then finally jumped to the ground.
He turned to Geldon. ‘Go and get some water. And bring back my robe. Hurry!’
Immediately the dwarf began to run back toward the horses. Still holding the woman, Wigg sank to the ground and cradled her in his lap. Transfixed, Tristan bent over the amazingly beautiful creature to examine her. It was then that her sapphire-blue eyes snapped open.
The result was unexpected.
At the sight of the prince’s dark hair and the dreggan that protruded behind his left shoulder, she immediately panicked, struggling desperately to free herself from the grip of the wizard. She began trying to scratch Tristan with her nails while beating her wings viciously against the wizard’s face.
‘Tristan!’ Wigg shouted, barely able to hold on to the struggling Gallipolai. ‘Back away! She thinks you’re one of the Minions, and I cannot use the craft to control her!’
Tristan immediately retreated, removing the dreggan from its scabbard and tossing it to the ground some distance away. ‘Look at me,’ he said, turning his back to her. Then, facing her again, he opened his palms in a gesture of friendship. ‘I have no wings. I am not of the Minions. We are not here to harm you; you must believe that. I hate the Minions as much as I’m sure you do.’
As quickly as she had begun her struggle, she became strangely quiet. Wigg relaxed his grip on her upper arms, keeping his hands there to control her again if necessary. But the woman had become stone still. It was not out of fear, nor was it a sudden understanding of the prince’s words that had broken through her panic. Tristan could see that it was a different, yet equally powerful emotion now at work within her mind.
It was awe.
She dropped her hands to her breasts, covering herself. Her mouth flew open, her sapphire-blue eyes wide and unbelieving. She continued to stare at the prince as if he had just come from another world. After what seemed an eternity, she tore her eyes from Tristan and craned her head around as best she could to look at the wizard who was holding her. The result was the same: complete and utter disbelief. She turned back to face the prince, a strange combination of wonder and surprise still in her eyes.
Tristan gazed down at the beautiful face. ‘Do you understand what I am saying to you?’ he asked.
She nodded tentatively, her arms still covering her breasts. Tristan looked impatiently around to see what had been keeping Geldon. Just then the dwarf approached, carrying the water flask and the dark robe in his arms. At the sight of the hunchback with the collar around his neck and the chain that led from it the woman’s eyes went even wider, and she began looking back and forth between the dwarf and Tristan as though she could not decide which of the two of them was the most bizarre.
‘Why does she act this way?’ the puzzled prince asked Geldon.
‘It is simple,’ the dwarf answered. ‘All of their lives the Gallipolai are imprisoned within the walls of the Minion fortress, waiting to see whether their wings and hair will turn dark. She has never before seen a man without wings.’
Tristan held out the water flask. ‘Are you thirsty?’ he asked gently.
Quick as a flash she snatched the water from his hands and began drinking greedily. Tristan waited patiently until she had drunk her fill, and then decided to try to speak with her.
‘Do you have a name?’
‘I am Narrissa,’ she said quietly, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her voice was soft and had a sweet huskiness to it that he found attractive. ‘Narrissa of the Gallipolai.’
Tristan looked at Wigg and said, ‘Let her go.’
‘Tristan,’ Wigg began, ‘I don’t think that this is the time to—’
‘Let her go,’ Tristan said more forcefully. Taking a long, exasperated breath, the Lead Wizard released Narrissa. She rose shakily to her feet, still covering her breasts with her hands.
Tristan took the robe from Geldon and held it out to Narrissa. ‘Put this on,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.’
‘I have never seen men without wings,’ she said cautiously, looking at him with narrowed eyes. ‘But I have heard about you. The Minion warriors laugh at your weakness. Keep your clothing. I do not wish to be known as one of you.’
‘You must wear it, my child,’ Wigg said. He walked out from behind her to stand with the prince and the dwarf. ‘No one here will hurt you, nor will the simple wearing of it make you one of us.’
Narrissa walked closer to Tristan and looked directly into his dark eyes. As she approached, he felt an unexpected wave of compassion go through him. ‘Do you really hate the Minions as much as you say?’ she asked. She watched his face darken in anger.
‘Yes,’ he said, frowning. ‘They murdered my parents. I killed the two who apparently brought you here.’ And then, in a kinder voice, he asked, ‘Did any of them abuse you before placing you upon the wheel?’
She lowered her head slightly, shaking her head no. Finally she reached out to take the robe from him. ‘You did that for me?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I have never heard of anyone with the skill to kill a Minion other than one of his own brothers.’ Her face began to soften as she looked at him. ‘You carry Minion weapons, but your eyes are kind. I will do as you ask. But first, tell me, what is your name?’
The prince thought for a moment. He was well aware of the need for secrecy, but something inside him wanted this woman to know his real name. ‘My name is Tristan,’ he answered. ‘But I must tell you that what I did to those Minions I did as much for myself as for the people on the wheels.’
Wigg and Geldon helped her as she struggled to put on the robe. Tristan was pleased that it was several sizes too large for her – otherwise it never would have provided the extra space needed to cover her wings. Of course, giving it to her meant that he would not have one to wear, but he didn’t care. He had hated the robe; it had prevented him from quickly reaching his knives.
He stood back a little from the group, still looking at the Gallipolai as he made his decision. ‘She’s coming with us,’ he said simply. He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for the inevitable explosion from the wizard. It didn’t take long.
‘Are you mad?’ Wigg shouted at him. ‘We are on the way to a place that may be the end of us all, if we are even lucky enough to gain entrance, the likelihood of which I still seriously doubt!’ He spoke cryptically in front of Narrissa, not wanting to reveal too much of their plan. ‘What are we supposed to do, just ask them if they would like to take her in, too?’
Although deep in his heart he could understand Tristan’s reasons, the Lead Wizard was beside himself with anger. It is all I can do to hide our blood from the Coven, he thought furiously, and Tristan knows full well that while I am struggling with that I cannot use my power to overrule him. This is maddening. Just imagine what he will one day be like, when that stubborn streak of his is finally combined with his training in the craft and he has become an adept. This soft spot deep in his heart has gotten him into trouble before, and is about to do so again.
Tristan knew that he might be making a very bad decision, especially considering his experience with the one he had known as Lillith. He had no reason to trust this Gallipolai. But at the same time he knew that, having cut her down, he could never allow her to be put back upon that hideous device. Nor could he leave her to wander alone, to be found by the Minions again. Deep down, he also realized that part of this decision was due to the fact that this woman reminded him of Shailiha. Somehow, however illogical it might seem, helping her furthered the desperate hope that he might also help his twin sister. No matter the consequences, his mind was made up.
Tristan retrieved his dreggan and slid it slowly back into place in its scabbard. Then he placed his hands defiantly on his hips and scowled at the old wizard. ‘And what then do you propose, eh?’ he asked. ‘If you turn her loose, the Minions will find her and no doubt torture the story out of her – along with my name and a description of each of us. Not to mention subjecting her to the abuse for which she was originally intended. We certainly cannot put her back up on the wheel and leave! And no matter what we do, there is the small matter of the two dead Minion warriors up there. When other warriors come looking, as they’re sure to do, they will find their dead comrades.’ He paused, glaring at Wigg and Geldon. ‘Then what do you suppose will happen?’
Upon hearing these words, Narrissa moved closer to the prince. She had no desire either to be left here in this place or to have to fend for herself in the world outside of the Minion fortress, a world she had never known. Instinctively she thought that the tall man with the dark hair and no wings would help her.
Geldon cleared his throat and smiled briefly at the Lead Wizard. ‘I’m afraid he’s got you,’ he said. ‘There seems to be little choice but to do this his way. I do believe, however, that I can help the situation.’
Wigg’s eyebrow came up. ‘And just how is that?’
The dwarf looked at Narrissa. ‘How long were you on the wheel?’
‘I’m not sure, but I think this was the second day,’ she said. Tired and weak, she reached out to hang on to the prince’s arm. He placed his right arm around her waist to support her.
‘The Minions sometimes take their pleasure of the women right here, but often they take them elsewhere, out of sight, to abuse them,’ Geldon explained, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. ‘If we were to dispose of the guards’ bodies, when their brothers come looking they will see both the warriors and the woman gone, nothing more. Nothing will seem out of place to them at first, and no alarm will go out, at least for a while. It will buy us time.’
‘Very clever,’ Wigg said. ‘But what do we do with her when we get close to our destination?’
‘I know of some caves on our way,’ Geldon replied. ‘They’re quite deep, and not well known. We can leave her there with some food and water until we can return for her.’ A sudden darkness came over his face. ‘And if we fail, none of this will matter anyway.’
Narrissa clutched the prince more tightly, struggling to remain upright. His arms around her, Tristan lowered himself to the ground, allowing her to rest with her head in his lap. She looked up into his eyes. ‘Please don’t leave me here,’ she begged. Tears welled out of the sapphire-blue eyes and began to trickle down her cheeks. ‘Not here, Tristan. Not in this place.’
