A deathlike silence gradually descended over the room, marble dust choking their eyes and lungs as it fell delicately to the floor like the finest of snow. And then all became silent again.
“Aftershocks!” Wigg shouted urgently. “Sometimes it is the same following the death of a blood stalker! We must leave before the entire building comes down around us! We have waited too long already!”
He and Geldon reached for Shailiha as Tristan rose to his feet.
It was then that they heard the hissing begin.
They turned to look at the far end of the Sanctuary, the end that Failee had opened earlier to reveal her “children.” The tremors had caused the wiktor pit to become uncovered, and the wiktor that Tristan had fought in Eutracia was coming up the stone steps. It stopped at the edge of the pit, its tail snaking back and forth anxiously as it stared at the bloody bodies of the dead sorceresses now half buried amidst pieces of marble and the dust of the wreckage.
It turned its head toward the four survivors, green drool slipping from around its teeth and dripping down to the floor. Tilting its head toward Tristan, the wiktor smiled.
“And so the Coven is no more,” the monstrosity hissed, its tone a mixture of both sadness and a quiet kind of delight. “You have somehow managed to destroy them, but in doing so you have unwittingly released us for all time.
“Feeding upon the populace had always been our greatest pleasure, and after disposing of you we shall all be free to do so throughout eternity, protected by time enchantments as we go,” it said, the long, yellow teeth flashing. “I thank you for our freedom. And before we leave the Recluse, I shall take all of your hearts for the murder of our mother and our sisters.” The slanted eyes focused upon Shailiha. “Including the heart of the newest mistress.”
As it took yet another ominous step forward, Tristan could hear the many hundreds more below it in the pit as they began to clamber up and out. Pushing Geldon and Shailiha behind him, Wigg stepped forward to stand alongside the prince and face the wiktor.
Tristan drew his dreggan, the familiar, reassuring ring of the blade resounding off the Sanctuary walls, as if it meant never to fade away. It quieted eventually, though, leaving only the sound of hissing from the pit. In an unusual move, the prince tossed the sword to his left hand. Wigg narrowed his eyes in puzzlement.
Tristan turned his dark eyes to the wizard, silently telling him not to interfere. He wanted this moment for himself.
There are old scores to settle, even if he dies trying, Wigg thought. I should force him to obey me, but I won’t. He nodded shortly to Tristan and stepped behind him.
The wiktor took yet another step closer to the prince. Other pairs of slanted, yellow wiktor eyes could now be seen starting to peer menacingly over the edge of the pit. The hissing grew louder still.
This is where we die, Tristan told himself. There are simply too many of them to kill, even for a wizard. But I will kill this one before they take me, I swear it.
And then he did something unheard of in battle. He closed his eyes.
The wiktor smiled again. “I can see you have become too much of a coward to look death in the face. Apparently you realize that you were simply lucky the last time,” it hissed angrily, running one of its talons along the scar around its neck in a bizarre fondling motion. It licked more of the green drool from its teeth.
“Prepare to die, Chosen One,” it said simply.
Wigg now understood what the prince was doing. He is calling upon his fledgling gift, the old one thought, in the only way he knows how. He nervously looked at the wiktor, wondering how long it would wait before it struck. Wondering if Tristan could ready himself in time.
The answers were quick in coming.
Without warning the wiktor leapt at Tristan, covering half the distance between them in a heartbeat. Tristan’s eyes snapped open.
The wizard’s jaw fell open at what he saw next. He had seen Tristan use his knives before, but never had he seen him throw his knives with the aid of the craft.
Tristan threw two of his dirks, one immediately after the other, so quickly the wizard couldn’t see his arms moving, much less the knives as they whistled through the air with a shrill, shrieking sound.
They hit the wiktor simultaneously—one in each eye.
The impact of the knives was so great that they tore through the back of the thing’s head, heaving the screaming wiktor up into the air and back down over the edge of the pit, where it crashed into its brothers as it tumbled down the length of the stone steps, blood and brain matter running freely from its head.
Tristan looked quickly to the wizard. He had accomplished his goal, but the four of them were dead, and he knew it. Dozens of wiktors were clambering uncaringly over the body of their leader, seeking to satisfy their need to revenge his death.
And to feed.
Tristan looked into Wigg’s aquamarine eyes for what he was sure would be the last time. “Is this the day we finally die?” he asked.
The wizard’s face was hard as stone. “No,” he said softly, narrowing his eyes. “This is the day that they finally die.”
The Lead Wizard walked even closer to the edge of the pit just as some of the winged, green monsters were starting to land upon the floor of the Sanctuary. Taking the locket from his robes, he removed the stone and peered at it in the light. Then he poured a very small amount of water into the palm of his other hand. He stood there for a moment examining the water, collecting himself as the wiktors drew nearer. Leaving the locket open, dangling from its chain, he faced the edge of the pit as hissing wiktors continued to climb up and over.
Then Wigg held his palm up before his face and blew the water of the Caves into the air in the direction of the wiktors.
Tristan couldn’t believe his eyes.
The air over and inside the wiktor pit immediately caught fire and began to rage, searing everything around it. Instead of being red and orange the flames were azure blue, just as Tristan had seen with every other important use of the craft the old one had performed. But this time the azure contained streaks of white-hot bolts that shot through the fire as the wizard stood, arms raised, before the burning air.
Amazed, Tristan watched as the fire consumed everything in the pit. He could hear the wiktors screaming, and their bodies bursting as the gases inside them expanded in the sucking heat of the azure maelstrom. More blood splattered along the wall, so much that some of it mixed with the blood of the Coven that was already on the floor of the Sanctuary.
Slowly Wigg lowered his hands. As he did so, the fire subsided, leaving nothing but the smell of cinders and the stench of scorched flesh. Tristan walked to stand next to the wizard and looked down into the pit. He was joined by Geldon, who held Shailiha close at his side. The scene at the bottom of the wiktor pit was horrific.
Masses of organs and bones lay amidst piles of ashes and a sea of blood. Nothing moved, and the sickly sweet death smell that filled the Sanctuary was overpowering.
Tristan was the first to speak.
“So the stone is rejuvenated?” he asked hopefully.
“No, not entirely,” Wigg answered. “But when I removed the stone from the locket I hoped there would be enough regenerative power to perform some single act of the craft. Such a thing had never been attempted before. It was a gamble, but it worked.” He pursed his lips in thought, and once again the infamous eyebrow came up.
“We were indeed fortunate,” he continued. “And I now believe that the stone will completely reinvigorate, given enough time.” He returned the stone to the locket once again, replacing the top.
“Can the wiktors rejoin their limbs to come alive once again?” Tristan asked. He had no desire to face another such creature ever in his lifetime.