Scars nodded. “I am well,” he said.
“As are we,” Astrid answered for the two sisters. “We are all lucky to be alive.”
Tristan nodded appreciatively as he looked at the two acolytes. Astrid was short and plump, with a profusion of brunette ringlets. Phoebe was just the opposite—tall, with a willowy figure and straight blond hair. Each sister had been handpicked by Adrian to empower the Black Ships, and they had become very good at it. No one need tell Tristan how valuable these women would be in the days ahead. Like Wigg’s and Jessamay’s fingertips, the sisters’ were darkly charred from loosing bolt after bolt against Khristos’ forces. Tristan turned back to look at Tyranny.
“Your report?” he asked.
After pouring a cup of wine, the privateer sat back tiredly and crossed one long leg over the other. “The Tammerland is seaworthy,” she answered, “which is a bloody miracle, given all that she’s been through. I can’t speak for our sister ship, because I’ve been too busy keeping the Tammerland off the rocks to go and take a look at her.”
Tyranny took a long slug of wine, then looked over at her gigantic first mate. “What say you, Scars?” she asked. “Are you taking good care of my other boat?”
Tristan smiled. This wasn’t the first time he had heard her say that, nor was it likely to be the last. From the beginning, Tyranny considered all four Black Ships to be her vessels. It was a sentiment he didn’t try to discourage.
“Aside from her downed mast and spars she is fine, Captain,” Scars answered. “Some of her sails were torn, but they’re being mended. As I’m sure you know, keeping her straight in this damnable channel is a struggle. She’s slow and more than a little sluggish on the wheel because of her reduced sail surface, but the mast and spars should be repaired soon. It’s a good thing that we brought along spare timber. It takes up much space belowdecks, but it’s worth it. Because of Sister Astrid and Sister Phoebe’s help, my Minion shipwrights say that we’ll have everything set right in twelve more hours.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “We need to travel as fast as we can. We have much food and water aboard, but it’s not limitless.”
Tristan looked back at Wigg. “When can you and Jessamay empower the ships?” he asked.
“We have discussed it and we believe that we can start tomorrow,” Wigg answered. “It will be difficult for Jessamay to stand, so some sort of seat must be provided for her while she pilots the Ephyra. When we tire, Astrid and Phoebe will take over. We will then establish regular shifts.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “Once we are airborne we should make better time. But it is nearly impossible to gauge the rate of travel in this place. The Night Witches report that nothing lies ahead except more of the same. I will keep sending them out, because this channel must have an end somewhere. We can only hope that we reach it before we run out of supplies.”
Wigg nodded. “I know,” he answered. “But starvation was always a risk, wasn’t it?”
“And the azure water beneath us?” Tristan asked. “Have you analyzed it?”
“Such pursuits lie more within Faegan’s purview than mine,” Wigg answered, “but Jessamay and I did what we could. The water seems to possess an energy all its own. Truth be told, I’ve never seen anything like it. For now it should be used for no purpose whatsoever. We’ll keep trying to learn more, but you must continue your wise prohibition. You should also know that there’s something about the azure water that particularly disturbs us. It was a notion that we failed to consider before we left home.”
Tristan’s expression darkened. “What is it?” he asked.
“We fear that the azure water might be adversely affecting the ship’s hulls,” Wigg said. “When the Directorate built these vessels they enchanted them to withstand many things, but this azure water was not one of them. Because the Black Ships were originally designed to sail the Sea of Whispers, there was no need for such considerations.”
“But if we stay airborne most of the time, that shouldn’t matter,” Tyranny said.
“Not necessarily,” Jessamay replied.
“Why?” Tristan asked. “What Tyranny said seems logical enough.”
“True, but you two didn’t help build these ships,” Wigg answered. “If you had, you would know that part of what keeps a ship’s hull waterproof is the swelling that its timbers incur when it is first set atop the waves. The dry wood absorbs the water, locking the timbers tightly together. This effect is normal, and the shipbuilding process wouldn’t be complete without it.”
“That’s true,” Tyranny replied. “But the Black Ships are hundreds of years old. After spending so much time atop the Sea of Whispers, their hull timbers are the best seasoned I have ever seen. I’m sure that they have drawn in all the moisture that they ever will. If you’re worrying about them absorbing much azure water, I doubt that could happen.”
“You’re forgetting something, Captain,” Scars said quietly. “Wigg is right—we failed to consider it before we left Tammerland.”
At first a perplexed expression crossed Tyranny’s face. Then she suddenly grasped Scar’s meaning and her visage went ashen.
“I still don’t understand,” Tristan protested. “What is the threat?”
“We shrank the ships,” Wigg answered, “and the power that the subtle matter generated to perform that task was immense, unlocking high degrees of heat. Also, the ships sat landlocked in their cradles for days while Minion warriors loaded them with supplies. There can be no question that the hulls dried to some degree. How much so, we might never know. But if the dried hull timbers are absorbing azure water, the ships could be deteriorating as we speak. I’m sorry, Tristan, but no one expected this. Even Faegan would be surprised.”
Sighing, Tristan sat back in his chair. “When will we know?” he asked.
“As soon as the ships can be flown,” Wigg answered. “When the hulls are lifted from the sea we will send Minion shipwrights soaring down to examine them. Until then, there is only one sure way to tell.”
“And what is that?” Tristan asked.
“If either ship starts to take on water and list,” Tyranny said softly. “But by then the end will already be in sight. And as we already know, the channel seems bottomless.”
Like Tristan, Tyranny could hardly believe what she was hearing. Second only to her service on the Conclave, these ships had become her life. To lose one on the high seas during battle where the decisions and responsibilities were hers she could understand, even accept. But losing them to some unexpected and insidious aspect of the craft seemed cowardly and honorless. Worse, this was a foe that she didn’t know how to combat. She looked back at Wigg with angry eyes.
“Is there nothing we can do?” she asked.
Wigg pursed his lips, thinking. “We must get the ships airborne as soon as possible, then do everything in our power to keep them free of the azure water. But the best solution for all of our problems is to reach Shashida quickly.”
Tristan suddenly had a thought. “Please find some parchment, some ink, and a quill,” he asked Phoebe.
Wigg raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” Tristan answered.
“Very well,” Wigg answered. “Phoebe, you’ll find what you need at my desk.”
Phoebe went to Wigg’s desk and sat down. Soon she had collected what Tristan asked for.
“I’m ready,” she told him.
Tristan nodded. “I want you to take notes of this meeting,” he said. “Be concise, but also be sure to include all the important points. Start with the battle against Khristos and then go on to our new worry about the ships.”
“As you say,” Phoebe answered.
She dipped the quill into one of the ink bottles. Using the craft to speed her task, she started writing about the recent battle and the fresh concern about the ship’s hulls, the point of her quill noisily scratching across the page.
Jessamay shot Tristan a puzzled look. “Why do we
need notes?” she asked.
“You’ll understand soon enough,” he answered. “Right now there are things I need to learn.” He looked at Wigg again.
“I know how much it pains you to talk about Failee,” Tristan said. “But when I asked you about Khristos earlier, you also mentioned her. Why was that?”
Before answering, Wigg caused his wine cup to levitate, then grasped it and took a long swallow. The drink seemed to help prepare him for what he needed to say. Slowly rolling the cup between his palms, he looked Tristan in the eyes.
“Khristos is an ancient Vagaries wizard,” he said. “He is quite powerful. The call of his left-leaning blood enticed him to Failee’s cause. He soon became one of her best wizard-generals. But in the end he was much more.”
“What was that?” Tristan asked.
Wigg sighed deeply. “Failee’s lover,” he answered softly.
“I’m sorry,” Tristan said. “I didn’t know. But the Sorceresses’ War ended more than three centuries ago. Where has he been all that time? Why did he choose now to surface?”
After sipping some more wine, Wigg shook his head. “I have no idea,” he answered. “When the war ended and Failee’s forces surrendered, Khristos was not among the captured. The Directorate assumed he was killed. Seeing him on that bloody beach was one of the greatest shocks of my life.”
“Did Blood Vipers serve Failee during the war?” Astrid asked.
“No,” Wigg answered. “Like all of you, I had never seen one until Tyranny brought the captured one to the palace.”
“Khristos doesn’t look entirely human,” Tyranny offered. “He resembles the Blood Vipers at his command. It’s ghastly. Was he always that way?”
Wigg shook his head. “When I knew him, he was as human as we. Something happened to him in the meantime—something that I cannot explain. Clearly, his changed appearance has to do with the Vagaries. Perhaps Faegan and Aeolus can answer that.”
“They also knew him?” Tristan asked.
“Yes,” Wigg answered. The First Wizard paused to take another sip of wine.
“Khristos was a well-known wizard in his day,” he added. “But what strange course his life took after the war is a great puzzle. Even so, two things seem certain. After failing to stop us, he will soon go after Shailiha.”
“And what is the other?” Phoebe asked.
“Khristos took his army into the Caves to try and stop us from reaching Shashida,” Wigg said. “And I think I know who ordered him to do it.”
“So do I,” Tristan said. “It was the Pon Q’tar. They have found a way to commune with him. It’s the only answer that fits. For some time now it seems that they have been watching us. How can this be?”
Wigg rubbed his chin, thinking. “I don’t know,” he answered. “It’s all a great mystery.”
“Why did the rock walls suddenly rise?” Tristan asked.
“It might have to do with the sudden nearness of your blood,” Wigg answered. “Jessamay and I have discussed it, but we can attain no greater insight about it than that.”
Phoebe suddenly looked up from her parchment. “There might be another reason,” she offered from across the room.
Everyone turned to look her way. “What could that be?” Tristan asked.
As Phoebe put down her quill a thoughtful look came over her face. “The Ones tempted us to come here by way of their subtle matter message,” she said, “telling us that we must cross the Azure Sea. If that’s true, then the rock walls might exist for our benefit.”
Tyranny shook her head. “With all due respect, Sister, that can’t be true. Those walls are just waiting out there to destroy these ships. They’re far more of a threat than a help, I assure you.”
Phoebe shook her head. “Not necessarily,” she said. “Don’t you see? At first, the Azure Sea looked endless in every direction. Then the walls rose to create this channel.”
Wigg smiled. “Well done,” he said. “Well done indeed.”
“What is she talking about?” Scars asked.
“It’s all so clear now,” Wigg said. “Who knows in what direction we might have sailed had we had our choice? Like Tyranny says, the compasses and sextants don’t work here. We might have sailed in circles while using up all of our supplies. The coming of the channel ensured that only one course was available to us. We were forced to take it, like it or not!”
“To Shashida?” Tristan asked.
“Still unknown,” Wigg said. “Unless you want to go back, we must keep going through the channel.”
Tristan sat back in his chair. What Phoebe said made sense. But for now the time for talking was over and another task needed his attention. He looked back at Phoebe.
“Are you finished with the notes?” he asked. “Make sure that you include mention of the Minion losses.”
“Just a moment,” she answered, her hand still moving like lightning. “There,” she said a few moments later.
“Good,” Tristan answered.
He walked to stand beside the desk. Reaching out, he took up a blank sheet of parchment, then asked for Phoebe’s quill. After unrolling the parchment on the desk he loaded the quill with more ink. The acolyte watched with curiosity as Tristan scrawled two short words onto the paper:
FIND FAEGAN
Taking up Phoebe’s notes, Tristan walked to the other side of the room, then placed the parchments atop the meeting table.
“What in blazes are you doing?” Tyranny asked.
“Patience,” he answered.
Tristan took his gold medallion into his hands, then called forth one of his two forestallments. In his mind’s eye he pictured two medallions side by side. Soon they merged into one. Tristan opened his eyes to see the medallion hanging around his neck start glowing with the color of the craft. He then turned it over.
At first he saw only the shiny golden obverse. Then an image slowly started swimming to its surface to show Shailiha’s face smiling back at him. The scene’s outline was blurry, but it seemed that she was in the Archives of the Redoubt.
Reaching out, he took up the parchment asking her to go and fetch Faegan and he held it before the disk. But that wasn’t needed, for soon the crippled wizard’s face appeared alongside Shailiha’s. Wasting no time, Tristan dropped the first parchment, then took up the one with Phoebe’s notes and held it before the disk, knowing that if Faegan read them they would immediately be committed to his gift of Consummate Recollection and never be forgotten.
As the moments passed, Wigg’s quarters became deathly still, and the once happy expressions on Faegan’s and Shailiha’s faces slowly darkened.
CHAPTER XXXI
THOUSANDS OF LEAGUES SOUTH OF ELLISTIUM AND JUST across the Pon Q’tar–controlled Borderlands lay a gently rolling plain. Stretching for many leagues, its grasses waved gracefully beneath the midday sun. The only sounds came from the passing wind and the black and yellow striped honeybees buzzing about in search of their daily nectar.
A lone oak tree stood broad and tall in the midst of the plain. Its gnarled trunk had struggled skyward thousands of years ago from a single acorn carried there by some meandering bird. The tree’s thick branches and deep green leaves cast an irregular shadow over the grass, the ever-moving umbra slowly tracing a path around the trunk as the sun chased it from east to west. Dark mountain ranges loomed to the east of the field, their tops capped with ice and snow that melted each year to replenish the fountainheads of the Six Rivers.
Under normal circumstances the idyllic scene might have granted a place where lovers might couple unseen amid the waves of tall grass. But this day the tree and the rolling grassland surrounding it would serve a far darker purpose than providing some secret trysting place. Instead, it would soon become the staging area of Vespasian’s campaign against Shashida.
Had those imaginary lovers truly been there they would have seen a strange pinprick of azure light form in the air near the tree trunk. Soon the mysterious star broadened into a whirling spiral, i
ts outer edges gaining speed and size to form a circle many meters across. The azure spiral grew darker, then parted down the center to unleash the first of many horrors that would eventually mass in the quiet field.
While one rider led the way, ninety-nine more followed him out of the azure spiral. The one hundred mounted Blood Stalker scouts attached to the mighty Twenty-third Legion rode quickly across the grass to become the vanguard of Vespasian’s invasion force.
As their horses pawed and snorted, the riders formed one line. Each was eager to start the hunt, but first they would search the immediate area for right-leaning endowed blood. Only then would the main body of Vespasian’s forces start arriving by way of hundreds more vortices, each far larger than that which had just formed. The stalkers knew that their sweep of this place had to be thorough, for Vespasian’s forces must arrive unseen.
Unlike those that once served Failee, some Rustannican Blood Stalkers retained their intelligence and their powers of speech. But less than one in one thousand of them were high-functioning, because among their many other deformities, the vast majority always suffered irreparable brain damage and cleft palates during their forced conversions from captured Shashidan mystics to Blood Stalkers. Only those Shashidans mystics of great intelligence and inordinately highly endowed blood kept their ken and their vocal gifts fully intact. From the earliest days the Pon Q’tar clerics had recognized the usefulness of such superior stalkers and used them for a higher purpose than that of their drooling, less sentient brothers.
Because the lesser stalkers could be rebellious, only the intelligent ones were allowed to command patrols without the aegis of an Imperial Order Tribune. Known in Old Eutracian as “carnefiis,” or “tormentors,” a famous carnifex commanded this first reconnoitering. Some of the regular stalkers here with him today—also known as “vulgarium,” or common—had proudly taken part in the recent coliseum massacres during which Vespasian offered phrygian status to one of the Shashidan captives. It would be the task of the carnefiis to take charge of the individual groups formed when the stalkers split up to start their far-ranging search.
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