After the main body exited the water to engage the Minion street patrols, the alarms would go out, bringing the palace grounds to life and summoning the Minions into the heart of the city to deal with the sudden threat. With the palace and its grounds nearly unguarded, Khristos and his viper group would exit the river and start their work. The savage killing of any Minion skeleton force left behind to guard the palace would serve as a welcome bonus.
With all his vipers waiting in the river, Khristos dived into the water and began leading his forces on the trek toward Tammerland.
FORTY-EIGHT HOURS LATER, KHRISTOS AND HIS FORCES had reached the heart of Tammerland undetected. Because of Failee’s spell, despite the murkiness of the river water he and his vipers could see one another plainly. Using hand signals, Khristos ordered some of his servants to stride up the sloping riverbanks and to enter the unsuspecting city. It was evening in Tammerland, and many citizens would still be walking the streets.
Good, Khristos thought. The more mayhem that is caused, the better things will go for us.
As half of his servants crawled up the underwater banks on opposite sides of the river, the Viper Lord ordered his remaining force to wait behind. They would travel on to where the river branched. By the time he reached the area bordering the palace grounds, he knew that his vipers exiting the river in the city would have caused so much death and destruction that the palace would be nearly abandoned, as would the prizes that he sought. Motioning his forces forward, they traveled on.
Dripping water as they came, the thousands of hissing Blood Vipers entered the city, and with them came the first screams.
CHAPTER XXXIV
SITTING AT HIS DESK IN HIS PRIVATE QUARTERS ABOARD the Tammerland, Wigg heard the ship’s bell, telling him that it was midafternoon. Putting down his quill, he stopped to listen. Wafting through the open starboard windows from three decks above, the bell’s chimes were reassuring yet frustrating. Tristan had been right when he said that time had no meaning in this underground labyrinth of azure water, rock walls, and bright radiance stones. Despite all that he had experienced during his more than three centuries of life, Wigg was forced to admit that the absolute lack of nighttime was something truly extraordinary.
After placing the quill into its holder and closing the leather-bound volume before him, Wigg put the book to one side. Since the final defeat of the Coven he had been writing almost daily in his private journal, recording all the amazing things that he had witnessed. Part of him wished that he had been doing so since he was a boy, because the idea of being able to revisit any previous day of his choosing held a certain attraction for him. But as with so many of life’s projects, the needed resolve had come late. Because his life had been so hectic in recent years, his journal often went unmarked. But it was a worthwhile project, he reasoned, even if parts of it were written days or weeks later. He smiled wryly as he thought about Faegan and the crippled wizard’s gift of Consummate Recollection. He had no need for such a mundane tool as a daily journal.
As Wigg rose from his desk, his burns unexpectedly snapped at him again. Wincing, he nearly cried out. He took a deep breath and called the craft, forcing the pain back into its lair. Only then did he walk gingerly to the room’s starboard side and recline on the upholstered bench lying beneath the row of open windows. Reaching out to the table before him, he poured a glass of wine, then turned to gaze outside.
The Tammerland and the Ephyra were making good time, or so he supposed. But because the monolithic rock walls surrendered few clues about how fast the Black Ships traveled, gauging the ships’ speed seemed as pointless an endeavor as trying to measure the passing time. Like the others aboard, Wigg found that sleeping in perpetual light was nearly impossible. Three days had passed since the channel walls had arisen and Tristan’s little fleet had escaped Khristos and the Blood Vipers. Because of the constant light and the mind-numbing sameness of the scenery, those three days had seemed like three weeks.
Tristan kept ordering Night Witch patrols out ahead of the ships, a decision with which Wigg heartily agreed. But with the return of each patrol the report was always the same: Nothing lies before us except this endless channel. Even so, everyone kept hoping that the devoted witches would sight something that might give the conclave an inkling about where they were headed and what they were facing. Gingerly placing his legs atop the bench, Wigg sighed and took another sip of the excellent wine.
Just now Astrid was piloting the Ephyra. Jessamay was topside, piloting the Tammerland from the comfort of an upholstered chair near the ship’s bow. Wigg smiled again as he supposed that the ever watchful Tyranny was surely standing by Jessamay’s side, second-guessing every course adjustment the sorceresses made.
Although her burns were worse then Wigg’s, Jessamay insisted on fulfilling her share of the piloting duties. So far there had been no mishaps, but the rocky walls always loomed near, and not one of the four mystic pilots could afford to let his or her guard down when empowering the vessels. It was exhausting work, and Wigg knew in his heart that it would be a miracle if the ships didn’t eventually strike the walls, or—Afterlife forbid—collide with one another.
As soon as the ships left the waves, Minion shipwrights had performed airborne inspections of the ships’ hulls. Everyone was relieved when the warriors reported that they saw nothing suspicious. The ever-skeptical Wigg had insisted that one of them carry him in her arms and let him see for himself, but even the First Wizard could find no apparent damage.
Still, Wigg remained concerned. He knew that these first inspections might mean little, for if azure water had seeped into the ships’ timbers, it could be doing damage sight unseen. Because there was no way to be certain, all he could do was wait and continue to order regular inspections. Of perhaps even greater concern was the supposedly great distance to Shashida—if indeed that was where they were headed. But other worries also gnawed at the old wizard—concerns that had less to do with the perpetual light, the monotonous view, or the state of the ships’ hulls.
Like Tristan, Wigg was bone-tired and sick of seeing so much death and destruction. The three centuries since the end of the Sorceresses’ War had given him a long time to reflect. Then the Coven had unexpectedly returned, and with them yet another period of violence, political uncertainty, and upheaval in the craft that had persisted almost without pause right up to the present day. Although he tried his best not to show it, the defeat of the Coven and the powerful Vagaries servants who followed them had taken their toll on him. There had been little time in which to simply laugh, live, and love—the truly important things that make life worth living. Moreover, he adored Abbey and missed her keenly, every passing day forcing him to wonder whether he would ever see her again.
But even these concerns paled when compared with the singular worry that had troubled him from the moment the subtle matter had been so unexpectedly released in the Redoubt and tempted him and his friends into this strange quest. More than anything, he worried about what they might find in Shashida and what effect it would have on Tristan.
Wigg was not Tristan and Shailiha’s father. Even so, since their births he had carefully watched the Jin’Sai and Jin’Saiou grow to adulthood. He had done all that he could to shape their values and beliefs according to the principles of the Vigors, and had he been their real father he could not be prouder. He had witnessed their nearly simultaneous births while using the craft to help their mother, Morganna, deal with her pain, and he had comforted Nicholas I as he watched his wife suffer. As had been foretold in the Tome, an azure glow surrounded the blessed event, assuring all that the Chosen Ones had finally come. And since the deaths of the king, the queen, and the other members of the Directorate of Wizards on that tragic day of Tristan’s aborted coronation, Wigg knew that he alone could best serve as the Chosen Ones’ mentor. As his responsibility grew, so did his worry for them.
This is what vexes me so, he realized—the loss of so many loved ones and friends to the horrors
of the Vagaries. The loss of the Chosen Ones would be felt by us all, to be sure, but such a catastrophe would tear my heart in two.
In truth he had always worried more for Tristan than for Shailiha, and there were ample reasons why. Tristan was the impulsive one, the headstrong one, the one who always challenged every answer with yet another question. Shailiha was more thoughtful and better able to harness her emotions. She was every bit as capable a leader as her brother had come to be—perhaps even more so, given her greater proclivity to think before acting. But because Tristan was prophesied to be the first of them to try and bring peace to the warring nations of Rustannica and Shashida, Wigg’s worry for him was the greatest.
Every soul aboard these two ships was risking his or her life to find Shashida, and not knowing the nature of its culture was also deeply unsettling. If the Ones truly were the world’s greatest masters of the Vigors, it should follow that they would be compassionate and understanding. But what if they were not, and their only interest in Tristan was some arcane use of his blood to win their terrible war for them? Wigg wondered. Could this be what the Tome referred to when it said that Tristan’s blood would serve some higher purpose than had ever been seen before? After so many aeons of war, had the Ones become like the Pon Q’tar, and were they now willing to win at any price—including Tristan’s death? Or in the end would they—
Suddenly an urgent pounding was heard on the doors. Pushing aside his thoughts, Wigg placed his wine glass on the table.
“Enter!” he called out.
The doors parted and Scars stood there. Without invitation the first mate hurried into the room and approached Wigg, a concerned look on his face.
Wigg sat up quickly. “What is it?” he asked. “Has something happened?”
“One of the Night Witch patrols found something ahead in the channel,” Scars answered. “Tristan wants you to come right away.”
Wigg came to his feet, his eagerness temporarily brushing aside his pain. “Is it Shashida?” he asked breathlessly.
“I wasn’t told,” Scars answered. “Come—we must hurry!”
Just then Wigg felt the Tammerland stop in midair, telling him that Jessamay was causing the ship to hover. Wasting no time, Wigg and Scars headed for the cabin door.
When they reached the bow topside they found Tristan, Tyranny, and Jessamay there, huddled around a lone Night Witch commander and simultaneously bombarding her with questions. Many warriors had also rushed forward to hear what she had to say. Wigg approached and elbowed his way through the crowd.
“A ship, you say?” he heard Tristan ask. “What kind of ship? Where is she?”
The Night Witch Tristan was questioning looked rather young, and she seemed intimidated by her anxious superiors. She looked at her Jin’Sai with an expression of subservience.
“Yes, a ship,” she answered. “She looks very old and her timbers are black. I daresay she’s easily the size of ours.”
Seeing Wigg, Tristan asked, “Could she be another Black Ship? Did Black Ships exist before those that you and the other wizards built to serve in the Sorceresses’ War?”
Wigg scowled. “It’s possible, I suppose, although I never considered it. The plans and accompanying enchantments for the Black Ships were found in the Caves of the Paragon, so someone might have used them before we did and then returned them to their hiding place. We always assumed that the documents were left behind by the Ones, but we could never be sure.”
Wigg gave the Night Witch a commanding look. “What is the condition of this ship?” he asked. “Is anyone aboard her?”
The Night Witch shook her head. “We saw no one,” she answered. “Nor did we board her, for fear that craft use might be afoot. Her hull is nearly gone, and she lies beached on a huge rock shelf along one channel wall. She rests on what remains of her port side. Much of her is smashed beyond salvage.”
Wigg nodded. “You were right not to board her,” he said. “Can you tell us anything else?”
“Only that if you wish to view her, you should do so from a hovering litter,” she answered. “The channel narrows up ahead and it looks barely large enough for our ships to pass through. From here on, the channel zigzags. Trying to keep the ships away from the rock walls while also inspecting the wreck from the ships’ decks would be difficult.”
“How far away is she?” Wigg asked.
The young Night Witch thought for a moment. “Distance is difficult to gauge here, but I would guess that the site is about two leagues off our bow. Fresh warriors should be able to keep a litter hovering for a sufficient time as you search the wreck and then bring you home without difficulty.”
“Thank you,” Tristan said. “You have done well. Go and rest.”
After clicking her boot heels together, the tired young warrior gave Tristan a short bow, then went off to go belowdecks and find a place to sleep.
Tristan gave Wigg a wry smile. “What say you?” he asked. “Do you feel up to a little adventure?”
Perhaps it was only his earlier thoughts come back to haunt him, but Wigg sensed peril up ahead. The discovery of a vessel resembling a Black Ship gone aground in this newly birthed channel seemed impossible. Of even greater concern was whatever terrible force had tossed her onto the rocks, and that the channel narrowed markedly. Even so, he knew that this find must be seen.
“Very well,” he answered Tristan. “But we must be careful.”
Tristan looked over at Scars. “Wigg, Tyranny, and I will go,” he ordered. “Have a litter made ready at once. Two hundred armed warriors will accompany us. Tell them to stay alert, because we cannot know what awaits us. You and Jessamay will stay here to mind the Tammerland. And send a messenger to the Ephyra, informing Astrid and Phoebe what’s going on.”
As Scars rushed off, Tyranny gave Tristan a grateful look. “Thank you for taking me along,” she said. “Truth be told, if you hadn’t asked me, I’d be pitching a fit right now.”
Tristan let go a short laugh. “I know,” he answered. “But don’t chalk it up to kindness. I will need a maritime expert out there, and that’s you.”
He turned to see a litter being untied from the deck and a host of warriors rushing to man it. “Let’s go,” he said to Wigg and Tyranny. “If nothing else, this should prove interesting.”
Wigg raised an eyebrow in Tyranny’s direction and the privateer smiled back, acknowledging Tristan’s gift for understatement. They climbed into the litter, and the Minion bearers took it aloft.
No sooner had the litter become airborne than its passengers heard a great tumult from the Tammerland’s crowded decks. As hundreds of Minion warriors cried out in wonderment, Tristan, Wigg, and Tyranny turned to look.
The subtle matter secured in Wigg’s quarters had somehow freed itself from its glass vial and come soaring through one of the open windows on the Tammerland’s starboard side. The amazing substance twinkled brightly in the light of the radiance stones as it flew in a long stream to find its freedom in the air above the water. Everyone stood gaping as it collected near the departing litter for a moment, then streamed away over the water and down the length of the channel.
Knowing how important the magical substance was to their safe return home, Tristan shouted out orders to the litter bearers to follow it and keep it in their sight. Like Wigg, he was terrified that they might lose possession of the subtle matter forever.
What is it doing? Tristan asked himself as he felt the litter lurch forward and pick up speed. And what in the name of the Afterlife caused it to so suddenly free itself? Suspecting correctly that the ride was about to become a wild one, Tristan gripped one side of the litter for dear life, then shouted to Wigg and Tyranny to do the same.
As they tore down the length of the channel in pursuit of the subtle matter, the oncoming wind ripped at their hair and clothing and caused their eyes to water. Tristan had never seen Minion warriors fly so strenuously, and he knew that they couldn’t keep this pace up for long. But the priceless subtle matte
r was pulling away from them, despite how hard the straining Minions pulled the litter through the sky. Knowing that they would soon lose track of it, Tristan made a decision.
“Despite your injuries, can you empower this litter and fly it faster?” he shouted at Wigg. “We’re falling behind!”
“Yes!” Wigg shouted back, trying to be heard above the rushing wind. “But if I do, the litter bearers must release us and then follow as best they can! That means we will arrive at the shipwreck unguarded, and there is no guarantee that I can keep pace with the subtle matter! I won’t be able to keep this speed up for long, but it seems that I must try if we are to have any chance of staying with it!”
“Then do it!” Tristan shouted back.
He immediately worked his way to one side of the litter, then the other, as he barked out identical orders to the bearers. On his hand signal, the Minions simultaneously let go of the litter, then started trying to keep pace alongside.
To Tristan’s horror, the litter plunged straight down toward the azure waves. Just as it was about to hit, Wigg’s use of the craft blessedly took hold and the litter lurched upward again and gained more speed. But as he strained to look ahead, Tristan could see that their maneuver had cost them precious time and that the subtle matter had gained even more ground in its chase toward the unknown.
Suddenly a sharp right turn loomed up ahead. The subtle matter veered effortlessly to negotiate it, then disappeared around the bend between the two rock walls. Hanging on as best they could, Tristan and Tyranny nearly fell from the careening litter as Wigg banked it hard to the right, trying to make the dangerous turn. Zooming through the narrow bend, the litter righted quickly and tore on in pursuit of the fleeing subtle matter.
Tristan strained his vision to try to make out the subtle matter, but the oncoming wind made seeing difficult. Holding onto the litter for dear life, he inched his way closer to Wigg.
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