The Caves had supposedly been carved out of living rock aeons ago by the Ones Who Came Before, but no one on the eastern side of the Tolenkas knew for sure. The Conclave believed that a previous Jin’Sai and Jin’Saiou had used the caves as a hiding place for the Tome and the Paragon after their unsuccessful bid to secure their destinies, and one could only assume that they were long dead.
More than three hundred years ago, Wigg had found the Caves quite by accident. The Paragon had been suspended amid the rushing red waterfall, the vibrant waters supporting the life of the stone while it awaited its new masters. Those new masters were to become the Directorate of Wizards, the Vigors mystics aligned against Failee, her Coven, and the forces of the Vagaries in the struggle known as the Sorceresses’ War. Had the two precious artifacts come into the possession of Failee rather than the Directorate, the world east of the Tolenkas might have become a far darker place.
As Tristan watched, Wigg raised one hand and called the craft to bring flame to the many torches lining the cavern walls. With the added light came a better view of this amazing first room.
Tristan and the others were standing on the floor of a huge, irregular underground cavern that was at least several hundred meters long in each direction as well as high. Stalactites of every color and description hung from the ceiling, some so long they almost reached the floor. Many of their older brothers had found the floor some time ago, creating here and there the impression of marvelously beautiful stone columns.
As yet more Minions cautiously entered the cave, the roar of the nearby waterfall continued to assault Tristan’s ears, and he turned to look. The waterfall was nearly the same height as the stone steps—about forty feet—and at least as wide. Springing from a tunnel in the opposite wall of the cavern, the water traveled about twenty feet across a smooth stone slab before finally falling gracefully over a precipice into a large stone pool at the bottom. At the far end of the pool, the water ran out through a low tunnel in the rock, ensuring that the basin would never overflow. Looking at the other walls, Tristan noticed a great variety of plants and flowers growing on them that he had seen nowhere else, and the floor was also covered with thick green foliage. Every plant was huge, its colors amazingly vibrant.
Against one stone wall stood a large, square-cut tunnel entrance, and Tristan knew by experience that entering it was the only way to penetrate deeper into the Caves. It was obviously man-made and at least ten feet high and fifteen feet across. A smooth rectangular panel carved into the stone wall above it contained an inscription in Old Eutracian. As Tristan thought about what lay beyond it, he recalled the many added passageways and confusing intersections that his late son Nicholas had excavated while preparing to construct the Gates of Dawn.
But there was more about the Azure Sea that confounded Tristan and Wigg besides the seemingly impossible task of finding it again. Ragnar, the traitorous consul who had served Nicholas, had told them that the sea was a byproduct of Nicholas’ excavation of the Caves to house his hatchlings as they matured. Ragnar had gone on to say that another underground river ran through that area, not unlike the falling red waters of the first chamber that had for so long supported the life of the unattended Paragon. During the excavation, the unusual spring was laid bare, he claimed, flooding the entire area around it and creating the strange sea. But rather than being red, these waters were azure—the color generated during a significant manifestation of the craft.
Even so, with the discovery of the subtle matter message claiming that the way to Shashida lay across the Azure Sea, Ragnar’s explanation suddenly made no sense. The message was supposedly aeons old, yet Nicholas’ excavation of the Caves had occurred fewer than three years before.
So who was telling the truth? the Conclave wondered. Had the consul lied knowingly? Had the madness caused by his partial transformation into a Blood Stalker caused him to believe the lies he told? Or was he simply playing some twisted prank on Tristan and Wigg while he had abused them? The Conclave mystics had discussed the matter for hours and arrived at no satisfactory conclusion. In the end they agreed that the only true answer lay with the Ones in Shashida. And to get there the Conclave must first cross the Azure Sea.
No matter what the truth might be, our path is clear, Tristan thought. We must enter that forbidding tunnel. But from the first confusing intersection to the last, we will be walking into uncharted territory.
Just then Tristan realized something else. Every other time that he had come here, the red waters of the caves had exerted a strange effect on him, causing his heart to beat rapidly, his breathing to become labored, and a feeling of faintness to overpower him. More than once these symptoms had nearly killed him. Wigg and Faegan had long assumed that the high quality of Tristan’s blood caused the cave water to affect him adversely whenever he neared it. He had in fact been dreading his entrance into this first chamber for just those reasons.
But today he felt no such life-threatening symptoms. Smiling, he again turned to look at the waterfall. Not being affected by the water was a wonderfully liberating feeling.
Just then Wigg approached. Raising one eyebrow at Tristan, the wizard placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe.
“You seem to remain well this time,” he mused.
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “It’s amazing. Why do you think that is?”
Wigg scowled with thought. “I can only guess that this unexpected development has to do with your unique blood,” he answered.
“In what way?” Tristan asked.
Wigg shook his head. “Unknown,” he answered. “It might be because your blood was once azure, but a better explanation eludes me. Yet another question for the Ones, it would seem.”
Tristan turned to look at the Minion warriors still descending the stairs. Two full phalanxes had accompanied him here—one phalanx for each Black Ship—for a total of four thousand. He then looked around the massive stone room and back at the First Wizard.
“We need to make a decision,” Tristan said. “The tunnel entrance is only about fifteen feet across, yet every warrior must follow us in. Even so, this first chamber seems large enough to accommodate everyone at once. Should we wait until all the warriors have assembled, or shall we enter the tunnel while they are still descending the stairs?”
Wigg turned to look at the tunnel entrance, thinking. Then he looked at the seemingly endless parade of warriors still entering the Caves. It would take many hours for them all to assemble, he realized. And even then only a certain number could enter the tunnel at once. He turned to look at Tristan.
“The Conclave members should go now,” he said, “followed by the first group of warriors. We’ll leave Ox in charge here to oversee the flow of remaining warriors into the tunnel and then bring up the rear. In any case, it’s important that—”
“Wigg!” Jessamay shouted from somewhere behind them. “Come here—I need you!”
The Conclave members turned to see Jessamay standing before the tunnel entrance. There was a strange, searching look on her face. When her eyes met Wigg’s she hurriedly waved him over. As the Conclave members neared her, she hushed them into silence.
“Do you hear that?” she asked Wigg.
Wigg called the craft to augment his hearing. Soon the look on his face told Tristan that whatever sound Jessamay was talking about, the First Wizard now also heard. Unable to detect any noise but the rushing waterfall, the others simply stood there, baffled.
“I do,” Wigg answered. “How odd…”
Taking a step backward, he looked into the depths of the tunnel. “It’s coming from in there,” he said. “But this sound is something new. I have never heard it before.”
“What are you talking about?” Tyranny demanded. “I can’t hear anything except our voices and the waterfalls.”
“Nor is it likely that you would,” Wigg answered the privateer. “Only a craft practitioner could detect this.”
“What does it sound like?” Tristan asked.
Wigg looked at Jessamay. “Help me,” he said simply. Guessing Wigg’s intentions, Jessamay nodded.
The two mystics turned to face the vibrant waterfalls. After looking at one another, they raised their hands and again called the craft. To Tristan’s amazement, the waterfalls stopped producing any sound, even though the water still tumbled down into the stone pool as vigorously as before.
Tristan was about to speak again when he too heard the new sound. At first he couldn’t identify it. But he finally recognized it for what it was. It was the sound of wave after wave crashing against some distant shore.
Is this the Azure Sea we hear? he asked himself. But how could that be? The sea supposedly lies far away from this first chamber. And even if it is the Azure Sea, why do I hear it this time but never before?
Tristan looked at Wigg with unbelieving eyes. “How…” he breathed.
Wigg shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. His expression was worried. “But two things are certain. First, this sound is being carried here by the craft. Given how far away the sea probably lies from this chamber, that must be the case. And second, the sound is meant to draw us in and to help us find the sea.”
“But who would do this?” Tristan asked. “Few craft practitioners know about this place. Fewer still would have the ability to enact such a spell.”
Wigg turned to again look at the tunnel. The ocean noises continued unabated. Come to us, the distant waves seemed to whisper. Come to us, for your destinies lie this way.
After thinking for a time, the First Wizard looked at the Conclave members.
“There is but one likely answer,” he said. “The Ones did this. I believe that they left this spell behind to be activated when the subtle matter message was released in the Redoubt. While it’s true that the message did not mention this phenomenon, I believe that the coincidence is too great to be anything else. In any event, we have no choice but to enter the tunnel. Take heart—following the sound should make our quest an easier one.”
Tristan glanced over at Tyranny to see her shoot him a decidedly skeptical look. Tristan shared her suspicions, but he also understood that they had no choice but to follow the sound wherever it led them.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll go.”
Tristan turned to look at the growing number of eager Minions milling behind him. “Ox!” he called out. “Come here!”
A few moments later the stalwart warrior appeared by Tristan’s side. He came to attention and clicked his boot heels together. “I live to serve,” he said.
Tristan gave him a commanding look. “Have the two crates brought forward,” he ordered. “Make sure that they are handled carefully!” Ox quickly disappeared into the crowd to do his duty.
Soon the huge Minion’s bellowing voice could be heard again as he led the way back, roughly parting the warrior crowd as he came. Behind him walked two pairs of hand-picked male warriors, each pair bearing a wooden crate hung between two poles. On Tristan’s order they gently set the crates down near his feet. Tristan gazed at the crates, part of him still unable to believe what they contained.
Each crate held one miniaturized Black Ship that rested securely in its cradle. The empty space surrounding each ship had been enchanted to hold the vessels in place and to buffer them against jostling or—Afterlife forbid—dropping. One of the crates also held the jar containing some of the remaining subtle matter, the rest left behind in the Redoubt for safekeeping.
Each dark wooden crate stood about three feet high by two feet wide and was divided in half down its center. The bottom seams were connected by brass hinges, and the halves were held together by leather straps with brass buckles. Stout poles ran beneath the straps so that each pair of warriors could carry a crate by placing the poles atop their shoulders, the crates suspended between them as they walked along. Each crate glowed hauntingly with the hue of the craft.
Tristan looked at the four warriors who would carry the precious crates. Each was a battle-scarred graybeard carefully selected for his strength and loyalty. Although Arron, Taredd, Rhun, and Rafal were older than many, Traax had heartily recommended each of them, and Ox and Duvessa had agreed. Tristan gave each warrior a hard look.
“These crates and their contents are your responsibility,” he warned them. “You will guard them with your lives. They are the keys to getting across the Azure Sea and back alive. Not only do the ships and the subtle matter rest in your hands, but so too does the fate of everyone taking part in this expedition. Do you understand?”
At once all four warriors came to attention. “Yes!” their leader answered sternly. “We will make sure that the Jin’Sai will not regret the trust he has placed in us.”
Tristan nodded. “See that you do,” he answered.
Tristan looked back at the tunnel entrance with suspicion. There was very little about this imminent journey that he liked, but they must undertake it if they were to reach Shashida. Ragnar had poisoned Tristan and blinded Wigg in those murky depths while Nicholas prepared to raise the three Gates of Dawn. In the end Nicholas had failed, but the savage horrors inflicted on Tristan in these caves still lingered in his heart and gave him pause.
Worse yet was the inescapable fact that so many warriors would be moving through many passageways at the same time, creating a logistical nightmare. If Tristan’s group was attacked, there would be little fighting room, and those warriors following behind him would be nearly powerless to help. But there was nothing to be done about it.
Tristan was about to give the order to enter the tunnel when he looked up at the inscription, probably placed there by the Ones. The elegant Old Eutracian script meant nothing to him. He turned toward Wigg and pointed at the words.
“You never told me what that means,” he said.
Wigg smiled. Without needing to read it, he solemnly recited the ancient inscription:
“Quicumque ambulare semtae accipere veritas,” the wizard answered. “Whoever walks these paths shall learn the truth.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” Tyranny protested.
Wigg shook his head. “On the contrary,” he answered. “The search for the truth is why we’re all here, is it not?”
Saying nothing more, the wizard raised one arm and called the craft to illuminate the millions of radiance stones embedded in the tunnel ceiling. At once the passageway glowed with a pale sage-green light. Tristan looked far into the tunnel but could see no end to its depths.
After nodding to Wigg, Tristan stepped inside, and the other Conclave members followed. As Ox waited behind to direct the flow of warriors into the tunnel, Taredd, Rhun, Arron, and Rafal lifted the poles bearing the crates atop their shoulders and also entered. Watching them go, Ox clenched his jaw.
Go safe, Jin’Sai, he thought, as Tristan’s back finally became lost in the crowd. This time Ox will be too far behind to protect you.
CHAPTER XXVII
IN TWO MORE HOURS THE SUN WOULD RISE, MAKING IT more difficult for the lead cleric to hide his face.
As Gracchus skulked through the dark war camp, his need to be anonymous was irritating. It made him want to rebel, to stand erect, to announce his august presence to these lowly legionnaires. But to succeed in his plan, the Pon Q’tar lead cleric would have to swallow his pride for the moment and do what he must. And so he hurried on, bent over like some nameless, crippled beggar trying to avoid wandering centurions as he navigated the camp.
The war procession had halted for the night among broad, rolling fields well south of Ellistium. Behind Gracchus the luxurious tents of the emperor, the Tribunes, and the Pon Q’tar retreated into the distance, the oil lamps inside each tent casting their soft glow through the canvas and into the night. Between him and his destination were thousands of legionnaires ringing the camp’s center, not to mention the caged animals and the thousands of carts, chariots, and wagons that always accompanied great Rustannican campaigns.
Hurrying on, Gracchus put as much distance between himself
and the Blood Royal’s compound as he could. For a moment he regretted the decision to leave the secret structure so far from the center of the camp, only to realize again that he had little choice if he was to visit it without others knowing. He had explained the decision to Vespasian by insisting that the structure would be safer by making it invisible and not circling it with centurion guards, just as it had been when it secretly left Ellistium with the war procession. Vespasian had at first been skeptical of the idea but he finally agreed, largely because his forces had not yet entered enemy territory.
Gracchus had wisely replaced his white and burgundy Pon Q’tar robe with the drab brown one he now wore, but it added to his grating sense of ignominy. Pulling the hood higher, he continued to cloak his endowed blood as he hurried across the dewy grass, circumventing yet another group of tired legionnaires as they sat drinking beside a roaring campfire.
There were tens of thousands of empire soldiers in these two accompanying legions alone, and each one knew Gracchus by sight. Worse, there would be many more of them to avoid once Vespasian’s group joined up with the forces waiting at the head of the Six Rivers. Their added numbers would make his visits to the secret building far more difficult, but the die was cast and there could be no going back.
Above all, Vespasian, Persephone, and Lucius must not learn of his secret assignations. Should legionnaires challenge him, Gracchus would silently kill them with the craft, then magically dispose of the bodies. Although desertion among the legions was rare, it was not unheard of, But even Gracchus hoped that that would not be needed—not because he would shrink from murder to achieve his ends, but because it would further complicate his already devious plan. Should the Oraculum give him unwelcome news, he surely didn’t want Vespasian aware of his visits beforehand.
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