Knowing that he could not defeat both wizards at once, Khristos cursed aloud. He realized that if he was to escape with the Illendium, his best course would be to board her quickly and spirit her away. While the Cavalon burned, Khristos quickly made for the riverbank.
As they neared the Illendium, Faegan and Aeolus understood the unfolding disaster all too well. The Cavalon was burning, and their badly outnumbered and exhausted Minions couldn’t retake the Illendium without suffering unacceptable losses. Cursing his decision to leave half the warriors behind in the center of Tammerland, Faegan looked at Aeolus.
“If we deal with the Illendium first, do you believe that we can then save the Cavalon from destruction?” he shouted.
As the fires raged aboard the Cavalon, Aeolus anxiously tried to decide. He desperately wanted to save the burning ship, but the threat from the viper-laden Illendium was great. If the Illendium turned to attack the palace, the vipers aboard might well take it. Of equal worry, the ghostlike Viper Lord might escape them yet again. While Traax and the throngs of exhausted warriors hovered alongside the wizards’ litter, they desperately hoped for an order that would send them to attack the vile creatures that had commandeered the Illendium.
“Perhaps!” he shouted back at Faegan. “With Shailiha incapacitated, you are in command! What are your orders?”
Faegan decided that there was but one course of action. It was drastic, and once he set the needed spell into motion there could be no going back. Clearly the vipers must be dealt with first, and in a way that would cost the fewest Minion lives. The Conclave could continue battling Khristos without the Black Ships, but not without enough warriors. His mind made up, he looked at Aeolus.
“I’m going to call the spell!” he shouted. “There seems no other choice!”
Aeolus gave Faegan a grim look, then nodded. Harsh as the crippled wizard’s decision was, Aeolus could also see no other way.
“Very well!” he shouted back. “But you must allow me and the warriors to start trying to save the Cavalon! If the fires advance farther we will surely lose her!”
“I understand!” Faegan shouted back.
Looking over at Traax, Faegan barked out a series of sharp orders. Unable to believe what he just heard, Traax gave Faegan a searching look.
“You want us to retreat?” he demanded. “But the enemy hovers directly before us. They’re taunting us to attack! I beg you to let us finish this here and now!”
“No—you will follow my orders!” Faegan angrily shouted back. “There are not enough of you to win, and Khristos knows it! Take Aeolus into your arms and then order all your forces to obey him! You must do your best to save the Cavalon! Leave only my litter bearers behind! You are to also order a patrol into the palace to see if it is safe! If so, the princess must be immediately taken to the Redoubt!”
Although he could not fathom Faegan’s logic, Traax had no option but to obey. “I live to serve!” he shouted. Scooping Aeolus up in his arms, the Minion commander shouted a series of orders to his troops, and they all flew toward the stricken Cavalon as fast as their wings could take them.
Left hovering in the night air with only Shailiha and his litter bearers, Faegan looked across the night sky toward the Illendium. Soon after the discovery of the subtle matter and the decision that two of the Black Ships would try to sail across the Azure Sea and find Shashida, Tristan had insisted that his Conclave mystics combine their knowledge to devise a unique spell—one he hoped he would never be forced to use. Even so, he ordered that it be infused into every Black Ship and readied for immediate use should their path lead them to Rustannica and the Pon Q’tar rather than to Shashida and the Ones. It was that same spell that Faegan would now be forced to call forth. It remained untested, for summoning it successfully would have produced the direst of consequences. As he hardened his heart, Faegan raised his arms.
Summoning all his power, he recalled the elegant series of calculations. Straining and shaking, he finally loosed the spell that had been laid deep into the age-old timbers of the Illendium.
The resulting explosion seemed to tear apart the heavens. Bursting from the inside out, every rib, beam, mast, spar, and other bit of wood that was the Illendium ruptured mightily in a massive azure detonation of the craft. As the shock wave and debris reached Faegan’s litter, for several awful moments the wizard was sure that the warriors bearing it would lose their grip. Yet despite the awful concussion, the warriors held fast.
When the great ship exploded, so too did every Blood Viper aboard her. Soon blood and bits of flesh rained down, and Faegan, Shailiha, their litter, and the warriors bearing it were covered with the awful stuff. Leaving behind no surviving part of the Illendium larger than a matchstick, the cacophony finally subsided as tons of debris fell to the ground. As the smoke cleared and the Minion bearers regained control of the litter, only the nighttime sky remained where the mighty Illendium had hovered moments before.
Lowering his hands, Faegan sadly looked around. The enchantment for the Illendium’s self-destruction had worked well. Although he had killed every Blood Viper aboard her, he felt little sense of accomplishment. Shouting out a new set of orders, he told his bearers to take him and Shailiha to the palace as quickly as he could.
From his place by the river’s edge, Khristos watched the unexpected explosion with mixed emotions. He had lost many vipers this night, and he had failed to take the Illendium for his own. But the Conclave he so hated had lost much more. Many of their warriors had been slaughtered; one Black Ship was destroyed, and fires still raged aboard the other. Had he also known that the wounded Jin’Saiou lay near death, he would have judged the night a near total success. Smiling, he walked down the riverbank and entered the Sippora to join the rest of his forces waiting downstream.
Moments later he was gone.
CHAPTER XXXVI
AS TRISTAN FOLLOWED THE FOUR WOMEN DOWN THE elaborate hallway, his mind reeled with unanswered questions and tempting possibilities. Having lived his entire life in the royal palace, he was well acquainted with opulence. But that had been in Eutracia, and this was a different world. The farther he walked, the more he realized that nothing in his experience could have prepared him for Shashida.
The room in which he awakened was amazingly luxurious, and he guessed that it was only a brief taste of the splendor he would find elsewhere. The floor was made of solid onyx and the walls were built from an unfamiliar blue stone that sparkled with a life of its own. The bed had been fitted with sumptuous silk sheets, and a diaphanous canopy was stretched from its four marble posts. Fluted pilasters adorned the walls and an elaborate fountain graced the center of the room, its tumbling water creating a wonderfully soothing sound. Dappled sunshine streamed in through skylights in the gilded ceiling overhead.
After Tristan rose from the bed, the four women graciously asked that he follow them. On leaving the room, they began walking down a long hallway. The women had not told him what purpose this wondrous building served or where they were headed, only that he was being taken to their masters. As he walked, he was glad to realize that the dizzying effects of the vortex were gone and his eyesight had returned to normal. Eager to finally come face to face with the supreme masters of the Vigors, he dutifully followed the mysterious women onward.
Each of the women sent to fetch him was young and beautiful, with long black hair that hung down to her shoulders like strands of pure silk. Colorful long-sleeved embroidered robes wrapped their bodies and reached all the way to their ankles. Open-toed wooden thong sandals graced their feet, and their faces had been lightly brushed with a pale powder. Tristan found their appearance immensely attractive, and he admired their polite but commanding behavior.
The hallway down which they trod was opulent. The walls were white and the elaborately patterned carpet dark red, its luxurious fibers so thick that it seemed he was walking on soft grass. Golden candelabra graced the walls every few meters, and an enticing aroma of fresh-cut mint hung in the
air. Tristan hoped to see more Shashidans along the way, but aside from himself and the four women, the hallway was deserted.
After a long walk they reached an intersection where eight hallways joined. On one side stood a pair of tall black lacquered doors, their intricately carved panels adorned with representations in gold of exotic birds and animals the likes of which Tristan had never seen. On reaching the doors, the four women turned and bowed.
The one who had addressed Tristan earlier stepped forward to look at him. Her large, dark brown eyes seemed full of mystery.
“They await you,” she said simply. “On behalf of all Shashidans, we welcome the Jin’Sai into our midst. We have anticipated your coming for aeons.”
With a wave of one hand she called the craft, and the lacquered doors swung open. As they did, she stepped back among the other women, and they again bowed.
Still unsure of how to behave in the women’s presence, the Jin’Sai bowed in return. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Eager to learn what lay beyond, he walked into the room, and the doors closed behind him. The moment he stepped into the magnificent chamber he knew that he was about to learn the answers to his many questions.
The room was large, about twenty meters square. In its center stood a magnificent round table fashioned from exotic wormwood. Twelve men and women sat there. Several more chairs stood empty.
Like the room where Tristan had awakened, this room had a high gilded ceiling pierced with skylights through which dappled sunshine streamed. The walls were of flecked alabaster, and the floor was made of highly polished interlocking hardwood strips. The entire far side of the room was an open colonnade, revealing a courtyard that held winding garden paths, exotic plants, meandering streams, and burbling fountains. Exotic paintings hung on the walls, along with ornate tapestries. Gold vases and other priceless decorative items also adorned the room, and crystalline wind chimes hanging in the garden trees sent a soothing melody into the chamber. It seemed apparent that this room served as a meeting place.
As if they were of one mind, the twelve strangers stood and bowed deeply to him. Tristan counted six men and six women. Each was dressed in an elaborate robe much like his own, with two exotic-looking swords held against their waists by silk sashes. The swords were unlike those he had seen on the wrecked ship, reaffirming that the armor and weapons he saw there had been Rustannican. Most of the people looked very old, with gray hair and deeply lined faces, but two of them looked his age.
Still unsure of the proper etiquette, Tristan bowed in return. As eleven of the people sat down, one of the older men remained standing. Their leader, Tristan guessed.
The man’s hair was stark white and pulled back from his forehead to form a short queue secured with a gold ornament. A large white mustache graced his upper lip, its ends drooping downward past his chin. The deep lines carved in his weathered face spoke of a fully experienced life. His body appeared muscular and lean, and his blue eyes gleamed with wisdom.
He was dressed differently from the others, his more elaborate clothing further suggesting his status as their leader. His magnificent silk robe was deep red with bright yellow cranes embroidered into its fabric. Over the robe he wore a sleeveless long black silk tunic, its wide, pointed shoulders extending past his body on either side. Like Tristan he wore dark socks with open-toed wooden thong sandals.
The two swords secured at his left hip were beautiful creations. The upper sword was short, and the lower one longer than its brother by about one-half its length. Each gently curved wooden scabbard was lacquered in black and adorned with intricately painted red butterflies resting on delicate tree branches. The swords’ oblong hilts were made of onyx, and their ivory handles were slim and intricately wound with black cord. In the spaces among the crisscrossed cords lay small, finely crafted gold ornaments that Tristan guessed would allow for a better grip and tell the sword’s owner when his hands were properly situated for fighting. As the man looked at Tristan, he smiled warmly.
“Welcome, Jin’Sai,” he said reverently, his voice strong and firm as an old oak tree. “My name is Mashiro of the House of the Yellow Cranes. So that you can understand us, while in your presence we will speak only your native Eutracian dialect. Like your fellow countrymen we have chosen to recognize ourselves by mentioning our family house, even though those living in Rustannica have long since abandoned that custom. In the name of our people, we twelve humble Vigors mystics welcome you to Shashida. Collectively, you know us as the Ones Who Came Before. You have endured much to reach us, and you and your two friends are the first from your side of the world to do so. We are immensely grateful for the suffering that you have endured to help ensure the survival of the Vigors.”
Tristan was about to reply when the doors behind him swung open. Turning to look, he saw Wigg and Tyranny enter the room. Each of them was dressed as he was. When they stepped into the room, their faces quickly mirrored the same awe and wonder that Tristan’s had shown when he first entered.
Relieved, he hurried toward them. “Are you all right?” he asked urgently.
The First Wizard and Tyranny nodded. “Yes,” Wigg answered for both of them, “but it took time to overcome the effects of the portal. I have never experienced such an overpowering use of the craft. When we awoke we were dressed in these clothes. Then some women escorted us here. It also seems that my pain is gone and my burns are fully healed.”
After looking around the room, Wigg’s eyes settled on the twelve people at the great table. “Are we in Shashida?” he asked reverently. “Are you the Ones Who Came Before?”
Mashiro bowed. “You may call us that,” he answered, “although we prefer another name for our humble group. You have our apologies, my friends. We understand that you are unaccustomed to our higher uses of the craft, but once you reached the channel’s dead end, our portal was the only safe way to help you complete your journey. It is much like the portal your wizard called Faegan uses, but ours is infinitely more powerful. We also took the liberty of treating the First Wizard’s injuries.”
“You know who we are?” Wigg breathed. “How can that be?”
Mashiro smiled again. “In truth, we know all about you,” he answered, “and we are intimately familiar with the many trials you have suffered. There is much to discuss, and at long last your questions will be answered. Please come and sit at our modest table.”
The three visitors did as they were asked, with Tyranny sitting on one side of Tristan and Wigg on the other. Tristan looked over at Tyranny to see that for the first time since he had known her, she seemed truly dumbstruck.
As Mashiro took his seat, Tristan wanted to pose question after question, but he realized there was no hurry. He had finally reached Shashida, and his heart told him that everything he so hungered to know would come to light soon enough. Forcing back his need to speak, he looked around the table.
Regardless of age or gender, the twelve ultimate masters and mistresses of the Vigors were immensely imposing. Mystics like Wigg, Faegan, Aeolus, and Jessamay all projected a sense of calm power. The Ones were also august, Tristan realized, but far more so. Ten of them looked immensely old, like Mashiro, but one woman and one man looked more like Tristan’s age. As Tristan focused his attention on the younger-looking woman sitting across from him, he took a sharp breath.
She was a truly arresting creature. Parted on one side, her hair was long, straight, and black, lying atop her shoulders in undulating waves. Her face was sensual, with even features and a strong jawline. Sleek eyebrows rested above dark brown irises that lay partly hidden beneath their upper lids, and her lips were full and finely drawn. Rather than cheapening her natural beauty, her faint blue eyeshadow and deep red lipstick accentuated her loveliness. The light blue robe that crisscrossed the swell of her breasts was embroidered with graceful images of multi-colored flower blossoms.
“Forgive me, Jin’Sai,” Mashiro offered. “I must introduce you and your friends to the other members of the Ch
ikara Inkai. Because we usually speak an advanced dialect of Old Eutracian, our names will no doubt sound odd to you.”
“This group is called the Chikara…Inkai?” Tristan asked.
Mashiro nodded. “In your dialect it means Vigors Council. Just as you have your Conclave and the Rustannican Empire has its Pon Q’tar, we have our Chikara Inkai, or simply the Inkai. One or more members of the council can also be referred to as Inkai. The people you see here are the world’s greatest Vigors mystics, duly elected by the Shashidan populace to oversee the nation and to conduct the War of Attrition. Shashida is divided into ten provinces that we govern. Each of the people here represents one such area, and the designs you see on their robes portray something for which their prefectures are particularly well known.”
As Mashiro introduced each Inkai member, the names did seem strange to the three visitors. When the time came to name the beautiful woman sitting directly across from Tristan, Mashiro called her Hoshi of the House of Lotus Blossoms, and he said that she was the supreme commander of the Shashidan armies. The young man seated beside her was introduced as the first admiral of the Shashidan armada.
At first Tristan was surprised that younger people held such important posts. Then he reminded himself that in the maze that was the craft, one’s perceived age was meaningless. When Hoshi was introduced to the Jin’Sai, she bowed slightly, but she did not speak.
As if suddenly embarrassed, Mashiro’s expression darkened. “Forgive me, Jin’Sai,” he said. “You and your fellow Conclave members must be hungry and thirsty. Would you like to dine as we talk?”
Not wanting to delay the conversation, Tristan shook his head. “We can eat later,” he answered. “But we could do with some wine, if it please you.”
Smiling, Mashiro nodded. “We have something better,” he said.
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