Now he stood before the Directorate of Wizards and King Nicholas in the rather dark but luxurious meeting room deep below the palace. This was one of the secluded places where the seven of them came to discuss matters of importance, and Wigg had specified this room because he knew he could allow no one to overhear, just as he could tolerate no interruptions.
He looked at the six of them seated at the highly polished circular conference table, the other wizards on either side of him and King Nicholas on the throne at the center of the far side. The king’s usually regal bearing was tense with concern for his son as he pulled with worry upon his iron-gray beard. He was already dressed in the ermine-trimmed dark-blue velvet robes of his office in preparation for the inspection ceremony. Wigg was comforted to see the ever-present Paragon hanging around Nicholas’ neck on the usual gold chain. The square-cut bloodred stone sent out shimmering highlights of deep scarlet even in the dim light of the subterranean room.
Wigg looked to the other five wizards, his friends of so long. Tretiak, Egloff, Killius, Maaddar, and Slike. Their traditional plain gray wizard’s robes stood out in stark contrast to the king’s richer clothing.
How do I begin this? the old wizard thought. What I tell them here today will forever change all of our lives. He took a breath to speak, but the king, no longer able to contain his worry, spoke first.
“Wigg,” he began quietly, “I can only assume that this meeting is of great importance, given the fact that the inspection ceremony is less than two hours away.” He looked around the table at the others. “And, since the prince has been missing all day, we can only assume that our presence here concerns him.” He leaned forward intently, the Paragon gently swinging back and forth on the chain around his neck, then looked Wigg dead in the eye. “I have asked the other wizards of the Directorate seated here about my son’s whereabouts today, but all I get in return are concerned, polite stares.” He slowly laced his fingers before continuing. “Tell me, Lead Wizard, is my son safe?”
“Indeed, Sire, he is well, as is your daughter, who was also with me today.” Wigg paused, wondering how to continue. “Yes, both your children are well, and back here at the palace awaiting your orders.” He looked down at his long, gnarled fingers, then raised his eyes back up to those of his king. “But as to whether any of us are to remain safe is a question that I truly cannot answer at this time.”
Before any of the others could ask him what he meant, Wigg turned and left the room. In a moment he returned holding the blood stalker’s battle ax and tossed it unceremoniously upon the conference table. It screeched and scratched its way along the varnished wood for a few feet before stopping in the center, some of its various brain-matter stains still visible. The head of the ax slowly tipped to one side and finally came to rest upon the sharp edge of one of its shiny blades.
Before any of the other six men could speak he dryly added, “For any of you who do not remember, I don’t recommend touching any of the places stained in yellow.” He sat down heavily in his high-backed wizard’s chair and let out a long sigh.
The room had become as silent as a tomb.
Nicholas’ eyes went wide. He seemed to be about to speak, but then apparently found his last remaining measure of patience and drew back, obviously deciding to wait for the explanation to come to him. The five other wizards of the Directorate initially showed surprisingly little outright emotion at the sudden appearance of the ax, but Wigg could see the color draining from their faces.
Tretiak was the most powerful of the Directorate next to Wigg. He was also Wigg’s best friend among the wizards and the man the Lead Wizard had known the longest. He was the first to speak.
“Where?” he asked simply, in his low, commanding voice.
“The Hartwick Woods,” Wigg replied. He had been sure that this would be the first question asked, just as he had been equally sure that Tretiak would be the one to ask it. Tretiak gave Wigg a hard look. There was a meaning to the location, and they both knew it.
“And we can presume that you killed him?” Tretiak calmly continued, turning his gaze from the ax back to Wigg.
“Yes,” Wigg said sadly. “But there is more that you must know. The stalker carried a red birthmark upon the inside of his left forearm.” He paused. “It was Phillius.”
At the mention of the dead stalker’s human name, mouths dropped open and several of the wizards turned to each other in disbelief. Wigg let only a moment slip by before commanding their attention by speaking again.
“As for the identity of the skull atop the ax, although it undoubtedly belonged to a wizard, there is, of course, no telling who he was. I suggest that, out of respect for Phillius’ first victim of endowed blood, the ax be taken apart and the skull be placed to rest in the Graves of the Unknown in the wizards’ crypt. As a precaution, I destroyed the body of Phillius by fire, as has always been the custom.” He looked down. “In addition, I know that all of you, including our king, are aware of the recent disappearances of a number of the lesser rural wizards over the course of the last several months. I do not profess to know whether Phillius acted alone, but I believe it fair to say that we at least have our answer regarding their recent vanishings.”
From the left side of the table next to the king, Slike looked up at Wigg, his green eyes full of questions. “Blood stalkers were maintained by time enchantments,” he said incredulously. A look very close to horror began to creep into his eyes. “Do you suppose it possible that—”
“I don’t know,” Wigg purposely interrupted, sure that he could guess the remainder of Slike’s question, but not ready to enter into the inevitability of that discussion. “Whether he somehow survived in hiding for over three centuries, which I doubt, or whether he was recently recalled no one can say at this time, and further speculation in this regard is pointless.” He folded his hands before him and looked solemnly at the others. As Lead Wizard he meant to have control of this meeting. “Besides,” he continued, “it is my unpleasant duty to inform you of an even more threatening occurrence this day.”
The old wizard began to steel his mind for what he knew must come next. These wizards have been my friends for centuries, he thought sadly. How do I tell them this? I beg the Afterlife, how will the king react to such news of his own son?
Controlling his composure as best he could, he decided there was no other way to say it. Looking at each of them in turn, he simply said, “I am certain beyond a doubt that Prince Tristan has discovered and entered the Caves of the Paragon.”
First came a deathly silence. But soon after it was replaced by the highly uncustomary sound of disorganization as the five wizards urgently began to talk to each other in a loud confusion of various conversations. Wigg was about to raise his voice and silence them when suddenly the flat of Nicholas’ hand pounded so hard and loud upon the table next to the ax that the gruesome weapon bounced several inches into the air, then landed back on the table, silencing them all.
The king was trembling in a combination of rage and fear. His last reserve of patience regarding his son was obviously gone, at least for today. The room was once again awash in a tense silence that seemed to permeate everyone and everything in it.
“Wigg, please tell me, how is it that you know this?” Nicholas asked. His normally strong voice was a barely audible whisper.
“Regrettably, Sire, there can again be no mistake. Even before I encountered the prince this afternoon, I could sense that something in his blood had changed, and the feeling became even stronger as the princess and I came closer to him. Then when he came out of the woods into full view I knew for certain. The azure glow is all about him, make no mistake, and it is a particular glow my eyes have not seen since the day of his birth. And until today I had not seen an azure aura that bright since the night I shattered the bowl to seal the fates of the sorceresses of the Coven.” This is the first time the sorceresses have been openly spoken of among ourselves in over three centuries, he thought. How strange it all seems to have them suddenly thrust into our thoughts once again.