“But why?” she breathed.
“I can answer that,” Jessamay said. “During the Sorceresses’ War many Vagaries practitioners believed that devouring the fresh liver of an endowed person immediately granted the eater greater power in the craft. This was never practiced among Vigors mystics, but it was common among our enemies. The Old Eutracian phrase for this selective form of cannibalism is known as cannabae carnetorus, or simply carnetorus. Although the theory was never proved beyond a doubt, there is some lingering evidence indicating that it worked.”
His mouth still agape, Tristan sat back in his chair. “I beg the Afterlife,” he said. “But why eat only the liver?”
“Because the liver performs a unique function in the human body,” Faegan answered. “All one’s blood—be that blood endowed or unendowed—is filtered through it. The theory postulates that as this happens, certain aspects of endowed blood’s power are continually left behind and trapped there. The lost power is later regenerated as it courses through the bloodstream and is again exposed to the Paragon—or so goes the theory. Vagaries practitioners believed that if the liver was eaten raw, these filtered bits of errant power could be taken as one’s own. It logically follows that the higher the quality of the victim’s blood, the greater the purloined power will supposedly be.”
Pausing for a moment, Faegan thoughtfully pulled on his beard. “In truth, the idea is not as far-fetched as it sounds,” he added quietly. “The entire notion of using the endowed blood of others for various reasons has teased both sides of the craft for centuries.”
Tristan shook his head. “It’s monstrous,” he said softly.
“Yes,” Aeolus replied. “Like so many Vagaries practices.”
“Is it likely that the Viper Lord is also doing this?” Tyranny asked.
“Perhaps,” Wigg answered. “But there is an even larger question that must be answered.”
“And that is?” Jessamay asked.
“Whether the Viper Lord knows that Failee is dead,” Wigg answered. “If he has somehow been informed, then what becomes of his mission? And if not, will he continue to ravage Eutracia in an effort to continue her revenge? My guess is that he will, because that is what Failee would have wanted. Only a Vagaries mystic of far greater power might induce him to stop. And as far as we know, no such persons remain on this side of the world.”
Tristan reached out to pour a cup of tea. As he sipped it he could sense its stimulating effects take hold almost immediately. He nodded his appreciation to Abbey; the herbmistress nodded back.
Tristan put down his teacup. “Two things still need clarification,” he said. “First, is there a spell of reversal in Failee’s grimoire that might help us deal magically with these monsters and their lord? And second, do you have any idea what act initiated the forestallment allowing them to rise from the river?”
“The grimoire contains no reversal spell,” Faegan answered sadly.
“And what act triggered the forestallment?” Abbey asked.
Wigg again reached out to take up the grimoire. It is such a small book when compared to the Tome, Tristan thought. But its secrets can loom equally large. He watched Wigg open the book to another page beyond where the golden bookmark lay. Wigg placed the opened book onto the table, then beckoned everyone to view its pages.
Tristan leaned forward and saw that the pages were written in green ink. He had seen the book only briefly when he, Wigg, and his late wife, Celeste, had first found it deep in the bowels of the Recluse, the Coven’s onetime stronghold in Parthalon. Seeing it again reminded him of Failee’s elegant handwriting. These pages held only handwritten text, seeming to suggest that Wigg had opened the book to the section that held the First Mistress’s private memoirs.
Tristan again looked at the First Wizard’s face and saw that the sadness had returned. Despite Failee’s madness and her devotion to the Vagaries, Wigg had once loved her with all his heart. How much pain had it caused him, Tristan wondered, to have read these pages and to relive even so few moments from those terrible, heart-wrenching days?
Gathering himself up, Wigg pointed to a paragraph on the left-hand page. He cleared his throat.
“I will place the viper embryos and their morphed lord into a river flowing through Hartwick Wood,” he quoted from the grimoire. “And toward that river I will try and draw the bulk of the Directorate’s forces. That is where I and my sisters will make our final stand. Should we lose and the river run red with Vagaries blood, I will know that I have failed. Then and only then will the Blood Vipers and the Viper Lord arise to take vengeance in my stead.”
“What does it mean?” Traax asked.
“Hartwick Wood was where Failee wanted to start her final push toward victory,” Aeolus answered. “She needed the dense cover that the woods provide, and now we know that this other part of her plan was why she chose that place as well. But the Directorate didn’t take the bait. We chose to meet her out in the open on the fields of Farplain. It would prove to be the largest battle of the war, and we won the day. Even so, it was not the final conflict.”
“From what we have learned, it seems that endowed, left-leaning blood must somehow have entered the river that Failee mentions in her grimoire,” Faegan said. “With no formula of reversal to neutralize it, the spell keeping the embryos and the Viper Lord alive survived to this day. We suspect that the amount of blood entering the river needn’t have been large. In fact, the forestallment might have been activated by only a few random drops. We do not know whose blood it was or how it came to be in the river. In truth, we might never know. The blood might even have entered the water by accident rather than with malicious intent. We suspect that if Failee had been able to have her battle there, if she saw that it was going badly she would have released some of her own blood into the stream. Even if she had died, she would thus still have had her vengeance. After all these years the problem has become ours to deal with.”
Thinking about Faegan’s explanation, Tristan sat back in his chair. Failee’s plan had been brilliant. It had finally been put into action, perhaps by one or more persons of endowed blood who had no idea of the ramifications of what he or she had done. Despite the many loose ends regarding all of this, one thing was certain. The rampaging monsters and their wizard lord had to be killed. And it must be done soon, before more Eutracians died and before the Viper Lord’s depraved cannibalism perhaps increased his powers to such a degree that even the Conclave and the Minions could not overcome him.
Deciding to change the subject, Tristan momentarily shelved his concerns about the Blood Vipers. He gave Faegan a commanding look.
“What about the subtle matter?” he asked. “Do you have word about that as well?”
For the first time since the meeting started, Faegan smiled. Tristan knew that smile—it always appeared whenever the crippled wizard possessed a secret that others were eager to learn. Before answering, Faegan lifted Nicodemus from his lap and gently placed the cat on the floor, where he began affectionately winding his body and tail around Wigg’s legs. The First Wizard scowled.
“What we have learned about subtle matter will surely amaze you—perhaps even more than did our news about the Blood Vipers,” Faegan said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down for emphasis. “Prepare yourselves,” he warned, “for the tale that you are about to hear astonished even us old wizards.”
As Faegan talked, Tristan leaned forward, hungering for every word. In the end, the crippled wizard would be right.
CHAPTER XVI
MY WINGS ARE SO HEAVY, SIGRID THOUGHT. HOW I WOULD love to give the order to land so that my warriors could rest and warm themselves beside a roaring fire. I have led this patrol for the last sixteen hours straight, and still we have not found the man-serpents. But we are Night Witches—we never surrender, we never give up. So I will lead my warriors onward until dawn. When the sun comes up, perhaps then we will have better luck finding the monsters that plague Eutracia.
Banking to the west, Si
grid knew that she needn’t confirm whether all her fellow Night Witches still followed her. They were among the best fliers that the Minion ranks had to offer, and each warrior’s resolve and talents equaled her own.
Forming these special reconnaissance groups had been Commander Duvessa’s idea, and the Jin’Sai had heartily approved. Three such groups existed, and the moment one group landed, another took flight. Each consisted of thirty female Minion warriors who had volunteered from Duvessa’s elite fighting cadres. Specially trained in long-distance reconnaissance, the women had been chosen for their stamina, fighting skills, and sharp eyesight.
Since learning of the existence of Rustannica and Shashida, Tristan had used the Night Witches to check on Eutracia’s far-flung borders should the Pon Q’tar mystics somehow find a way to cross the Tolenkas and attack Eutracia. News of the Night Witches’ exploits traveled fast, and the patrol groups were quickly becoming legendary. Even the few remaining Minion males who stubbornly grumbled about fighting alongside females had been heard whispering that if something needed to be found, send a Night Witch to find it, for she would not come home empty-handed.
Sigrid was cold and nearly exhausted. She knew that the warriors following her would be equally spent. Closing her eyes for a moment, she did her best to stretch her tired back muscles as she pulled her strong wings through the air, then used her stiff fingers to clear the gathering frost from her face and eyelashes.
It is so cold at this altitude, she thought, shivering slightly. But the higher we fly the farther we can see. If the man-serpents are ransacking another town, they might have set it ablaze as they did Birmingham. So it is the fires that we seek rather than the creatures themselves. At this altitude and in the dark of night, finding the man-serpents on the ground would be nearly impossible.
She let go a quick smirk. Even for Night Witches, she realized.
At twenty-five Seasons of New Life, Sigrid was young to command one of the newly formed reconnaissance groups. That was partly because she was highly qualified and partly because of the high attrition rate suffered by the Minions in their service to the Jin’Sai. Although the warriors had fought well, their battles against Nicholas, Wulfgar, and Serena had taken a great toll. It would take many generations of peace to replace their numbers. And like many warriors, Sigrid believed that true peace would not prevail for a long time, if ever.
Duvessa formed the three groups because of her conviction that if Eutracia’s borders and coastline could be better watched, future battle losses might be averted. She had never agreed with the Conclave that all the Vagaries threats east of the Tolenkas had likely been quashed. She had been saddened to learn of the man-serpents, even though their sudden appearance had proved her right.
Because the duty would be hazardous, Duvessa insisted that only unattached females from her fighting cadres be allowed to volunteer for the new units. After selecting and training the ninety women herself, she had conducted a short ceremony during which she awarded each new scout a pair of silver threaded wings to be sewn onto her body armor at the right shoulder. The women wore them with pride, and the approving glances that soon came from unattached male warriors had been a welcome side effect. Being a member of the Night Witches quickly became a great honor.
Sigrid smirked again as she remembered how the name “Night Witches” had come into being. They did not patrol only at night, but the name had stuck anyway. It was Traax who had unwittingly granted them the title. Sigrid and her group had just returned from a long night patrol to descend near the massive Minion camp lying just outside the palace walls. As it was tonight, the sky had been dark and cloudless and the patrol had been a long one.
Landing tiredly on the dewy grass, Sigrid and her group had looked around to see Duvessa and Traax standing nearby, waiting to perform a surprise dawn inspection on the unsuspecting camp. Traax had walked over to speak with Sigrid. Eager to hear how Sigrid would comport herself, Duvessa accompanied him. Despite their great fatigue, Sigrid and her warriors came to swift attention.
Traax walked up and down their lines, looking them over with a steely gaze. He finally stopped before Sigrid and stared into her dark eyes. As she had been trained to do when approached by a superior officer, Sigrid squared her shoulders and focused her attention on a spot somewhere just above Traax’s left shoulder. As the Minion second in command admired the silvery wings embroidered into her leather body armor, Sigrid remained emotionless.
“Impressive,” he said simply. He turned to look at his wife. “So this is what you’ve been doing with your spare time, eh?” he asked. He looked back at Sigrid. “How long was your patrol?”
Sigrid promptly clicked her heels together. “Twenty consecutive hours, my lord,” she answered. “Nineteen of which were flown at an altitude of three thousand meters over the slopes of the Tolenka Mountains.”
“Why do you fly so high?” he asked.
Sigrid was no fool. Traax was a member of the Conclave—he would already know the answer. Just the same, she was duty-bound to reply.
“Since learning of the nations west of the Tolenkas, the Jin’Sai wants us to be on guard against a Rustannican invasion force that might somehow cross over the mountains,” Sigrid answered. “We patrol the coastline as well, searching for seaborne threats. Should we discover an incursion, flying high will grant us a broad view of the enemy force, allowing us to better gauge its size.”
Taking another step forward, Traax raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that you’re not embellishing, subcommander?” he asked. “There is little breathable air at that height. So little, in fact, that I can think of few male warriors who can fly for so long at such altitudes. And we all know that our male warriors are stronger, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sigrid immediately bristled at that remark, but aside from a slight narrowing of her eyes she didn’t flinch. But she did break with protocol and look at Traax directly, putting him on notice. “It’s the truth, my lord,” she answered sternly. “If you would like to consult with any of my fliers to confirm our height and speed—”
Traax waved one hand. “That will not be necessary, subcommander,” he answered. Then he grinned widely, telling her that he had only been teasing. It seems that the Minion second in command is in a good mood this morning, a relieved Sigrid thought. Perhaps he hopes to catch some lazy warriors still sleeping in their cots after reveille has sounded…
“I believe you,” Traax added, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Duvessa has told me all about your exploits. Well done. You and your sisters do a great service to the Jin’Sai.”
Traax turned to smile at his wife. “They are indeed as proud as you say,” he offered. “And just as arrogant, I might add! Given the way that they can fly, perhaps they are all Night Witches!” He turned back to look at Sigrid. “You and your group get some rest,” he ordered. “You’ve earned it.”
Sigrid abruptly clicked her heels again. “Thank you, sir,” she answered.
Just then everyone heard the camp bugler sound reveille. Turning away, Traax and Duvessa eagerly hurried through the encroaching sunrise to begin their surprise inspection. They will be ruthless with anyone they find still asleep, Sigrid thought. Good. They need to be.
Traax hadn’t realized it, but every warrior in Sigrid’s group had heard the name he had called them. And like all good names, this one stuck. By now many more females had offered to join the Night Witches and new patrol groups were being formed. But no matter how many Minion women joined, Sigrid would always be proud that she had been among the first. During the early days, Duvessa led this group; then she had promoted Sigrid to the rank of subcommander.
Banking south this night, Sigrid changed course again. This new line would take her patrol directly across the southern fields of Farplain, skirt the western boundaries of Shadowood, and return them to Tammerland. It will be good to be home, Sigrid thought. I will grant each of my witches an extra ration of akulee for flying so well. Her customary smirk emerged again.
I doubt that anyone will refuse, she thought. Not only can my witches fly and fight as well as most Minion males, they can outdrink some of them, too.
Picking up the pace, she continued leading her group on this line for another quarter hour. Still she saw nothing unusual. A quiet patrol, she thought. Just then she saw an orange-red light twinkle against the dark ground some leagues ahead.
Narrowing her eyes, she pressed on harder, wondering whether she was seeing things. Sometimes at great altitudes Minion warriors imagined things that weren’t there. Such false visions were usually depictions of things that they desperately wished to see, such as shimmering oases when the warriors were near death from thirst. When airborne, the warriors called such teasing phantoms “sky mirages,” and they were known to be caused by prolonged exposure to the thin air found at high altitude.
Duvessa had taught the Night Witches well about sky mirages, for she too had experienced them. This would not be Sigrid’s first encounter with the seductive apparitions. Because they were seen while airborne, sky mirages were more deadly than land mirages. They could cause the death of an unsuspecting warrior as surely as any weapon made of steel, and nearly as fast.
There was but one way to deal with these phantoms. Duvessa had taught them. You must dive as though your life depends on it. If not, you will suffer lightheadedness, followed by unconsciousness. The fall to earth will be a quick one, with little hope of recovery before the end comes.
Wasting no time, Sigrid snapped shut her wings and dived straight down. Every Minion knew that the quickest way to bleed off altitude was to perform a free fall. As she watched the dark earth come barreling toward her, each of her fellow Night Witches followed suit.
The cold wind was blinding at this speed, causing her eyes to water mercilessly. This made seeing the ground even more difficult, creating a special danger all its own. “Watch carefully!” she heard Duvessa’s voice call out to her again. “Pull up before you get too close! Only then will you know whether the image that you questioned was real or imaginary!”
Rise of the Blood Royal Page 18
