“Even the Black Ships cannot fly on their own. It takes one skilled in the craft to make each do so. The training is long and arduous—and was known only by a few.”
Wigg looked grimly around the table. “Aside from Jessamay and me, everyone who knew how to fly a Black Ship is long dead—and yet there are these seven mysterious captains. Then there is this business about their uniforms looking eerily familiar. Our naval uniforms during the Sorceresses’ War looked much like those worn by the late royal guard. Given all of that, who else could these captains be, eh? It all fits!”
Turning, Wigg looked into the aging face of his beloved daughter. Every time he gazed upon her now, his heart broke a little more.
“And now, too, we may at long last have a clue to the riddle of the Necrophagians,” Wigg said. For several long moments the room was quiet.
“Please explain,” Faegan said.
“For as long as we can remember, no vessel has been able to sail more than fifteen days into the Sea of Whispers,” Wigg answered. “But when the Directorate banished the Coven three centuries ago, Failee found a way to cross—by way of her so-called bargain of tenfold times four. She promised that in the future she would pay forty dead bodies to the Necrophagians every time she wished to traverse the sea. But there has always been a part of this tale that bothered me.”
“And what is that?” Traax asked. Wincing a bit, he adjusted the sling that supported his right arm.
“Why would the Necros agree, when they could have just as easily devoured the Coven right then and there?” Wigg asked. “For all they knew, her promise was no more than a trick, and Failee might never return. Indeed, it took a full three centuries for her to prepare for Succiu’s return to Eutracia to steal the Paragon and to kidnap Shailiha. By then, the Necrophagians must surely have thought they had been duped.”
“So what is the answer?” Jessamay asked.
“At the time we banished the Coven, Failee already knew that the Necrophagians were there,” Wigg answered. “And she must have had some kind of partial hold over them.”
Slapping one hand upon the arm of his chair, Faegan cackled. “By the Afterlife, you’ve figured it out!” he shouted. “Finally—after all of these years! Well done, I say!”
Tristan scowled at them both. “Figured what out?” he demanded.
“It’s really quite simple,” Faegan answered, wiggling his bushy eyebrows up and down. “The current-day Necrophagians were at one time the captains and crews of Wigg’s Black Ships. Failee caught them at sea and she used the craft to condemn them to an eternity deep below the waves, forever feasting on the dead for their sustenance. And that has been their punishment ever since. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Partially,” Wigg said. “But how do you explain the fact that even long before the Sorceresses’ War, no vessel could sail for more than fifteen days across the Sea of Whispers? The Necrophagians must already have been there; Failee only added to their numbers.”
“But then how did the first Necrophagians get there?” Adrian asked.
Suddenly everyone heard Faegan take a quick breath. “But of course,” he said. “It’s all so clear now.”
All eyes turned to look at him. Even he seemed stunned by his sudden conclusion.
“It’s all a part of the War of Attrition that the preface of the Tome speaks of,” he whispered. “The great struggle that took place aeons ago between the Heretics of the Guild and the Ones Who Came Before. There is a passage about that ancient war—one that had long eluded my comprehension. Now I understand.”
Closing his eyes, Faegan called upon his gift of Consummate Recollection. The members of the Conclave watched and waited. Eyes still closed, Faegan began to recite a passage.
“During the War of Attrition, many of us practicing the Vigors were resigned to the sea by those who would seek to divide us and attempt to cause the rise of the dark side of the craft. Those vanquished souls were left with no recourse except to exist in the cold depths and to feed upon human carrion. But one day those of endowed blood—either of the Vigors or of the Vagaries—may acquire sufficient knowledge of the craft to bring them up and turn them to their cause.”
Faegan opened his eyes. “Do you understand now?” he asked. “The original Necrophagians were members of the Ones who were captured by the Heretics of the Guild during the War of Attrition. Instead of being killed outright, they were condemned to eternal torture.”
Astounded, Tristan sat back in his chair. Suddenly another thought hit him.
“And if the captains of the Black Ships can be recalled after three hundred years, then perhaps…” The prince didn’t dare give voice to his suspicion.
“Then perhaps members of the Ones still suffer as Necrophagians to this very day,” Shailiha finished for him. “They await their descendants of the Vigors to acquire sufficient knowledge to free them.”
Wide-eyed, she looked first at Faegan, then at Wigg. “Could it really be true? Could there really be members of the Ones still living among us, albeit in an entirely different form?”
“Very possibly,” Wigg answered. “But even if it is true, we do not have the knowledge required to free them.”
“But Wulfgar was apparently able to free the captains of the Black Watch,” Shailiha countered. “And despite the quality of his blood, he is still very new to the craft. So where did he acquire such training?”
“Presumably from the same source he has acquired all of his other gifts,” Wigg answered. “The Scroll of the Vagaries. Remember, the Scrolls were written to supply ‘shortcuts,’ if you will, to one’s training in the craft in the form of Forestallments. Your ability to commune with the fliers of the fields is a perfect example of this, Princess. You have never been classically trained, yet you are able to perform that feat. And unlike us, Wulfgar has an entire group of highly trained consuls to research the Scroll for him. While it’s true that we have the acolytes to help us wade through the Scroll of the Vigors, their skills don’t yet match those of the consuls. And don’t forget that at least one third of our scroll was burned when Wulfgar tried to pollute the Orb of the Vigors. There is no telling how many secrets turned to ash that night. I must say that I fear that Wulfgar is far ahead of us in his understanding of the Scrolls—at least the one in his possession.”
Wigg gave Adrian a little smile. “No offense meant about your abilities, First Sister,” he said. “The acolytes simply haven’t studied and practiced the craft for as long as the consuls.” Then he gave her a wink. “But your time will come.”
Adrian smiled back. “No offense taken,” she said.
“But some of this still doesn’t make sense,” Celeste argued. “Why bother to condemn the captured Ones to the sea at all? Why not just kill them outright? The Ones and the Heretics were mortal enemies, were they not?”
“I think I may have the answer to that,” Jessamay said. This was the first time the sorceress had spoken during the meeting, and everyone turned to look at her.
“The Heretics wanted to protect the Citadel,” she said. “It is supposedly one of the aeons-old birthplaces of the craft, is it not? I propose that it was upon that island that the Vagaries were first conceived and then perfected. What better way for the Heretics to guard their precious knowledge than to ensure that the Ones could never reach it? Unless they were in Heretic vessels, of course—in which case it’s quite reasonable to assume that if they could create the Necrophagians, they could demand safe passage from them as well.” She looked around the table.
“I agree with Wigg,” she added. “The Citadel holds far more secrets of the craft than even Wulfgar may realize. True, he is the Enseterat. But his future powers—and even those still unrealized gifts of the Jin’Sai and the Jin’Saiou—may pale in comparison to what was once accomplished by the Ones and the Heretics. The truth is that we simply don’t know.”
Tristan was about t
o speak when an urgent pounding came on the doors. He looked over to one of the Minion guards and he nodded. They swung the double doors open to reveal Ox.
The giant warrior looked worried. Another warrior unfamiliar to the prince stood beside him. The second Minion looked totally exhausted. With a wave from Tristan, the two of them walked briskly into the room and they came to attention.
“This be Dax,” Ox said. “He be the captain I leave in charge to watch orb. He fly all night to bring news.”
Ox turned to look directly at his lord and master.
“All news very bad,” he added.
Tristan and Traax both came to their feet and walked over to Dax. Tristan gave him a chair. Traax poured him a goblet of wine. The warrior drank deeply. After sitting down and taking a few moments to collect himself, Dax told his tale.
It was clear to everyone that Ox was right: The news was very bad indeed.
CHAPTER LX
_____
WULFGAR WAS UNEASY AS HE LOOKED OUT OVER THE SEA OF Whispers. The sun was setting. Much of the demonslaver fleet and all seven of the Black Ships sat at anchor in the horseshoe-shaped bay, waiting for their lord to join them. The rest of the fleet dutifully patrolled the waters surrounding the island. Two days had passed since Tyranny’s raid on the Citadel, and the Enseterat remained concerned.
Einar and Serena stood beside him. The seven skeletal captains of the Black Ships stood at attention to one side, awaiting their orders. Today Wulfgar and his forces would sail for Eutracia. And this time he knew he would not fail.
He wasn’t particularly worried about the captured demonslaver. The slaver had been only one of many such guards of lower rank, and he did not possess information that would be of great use to the Eutracian wizards.
What concerned him was that the sanctity of his home had been violated—the very place where he had vowed to keep his queen and unborn daughter safe. The demonslavers who had failed him had paid for their mistake with their lives. Extra precautions had been taken to protect the fortress, and he was reasonably sure that its security would not be breached again. Without informing his consuls, he had granted Serena’s blood signature a host of additional Forestallments, should she need them in his absence. Even so, he had mixed feelings about leaving.
Yesterday the soothing voices of the Heretics had come to him again, bringing words that had slowly salved his concerns. He had been in the throne room with Einar and Serena, poring over maps of Eutracia and briefing them about the impending campaign.
Wulfgar had been in midsentence when he heard the chorus of voices. Recognizing their timbre, he walked to the edge of the room that looked out over the sea. Lowering his head, he went down on both knees.
“Wulfgar,” the voices whispered.
“I am here,” he answered.
“The wizards of the Redoubt have violated the Citadel. But remain strong of heart, for they have gained little. The wounded Orb of the Vigors has succeeded in cutting its way through the mountains that lie on the western side of Eutracia. When you reach Eutracia, you and a measure of your forces must immediately travel to the pass. Send another group under the leadership of your captains to find the orb and keep it safe from the Jin’Sai and his wizards. Nothing must be allowed to stop its decay. Allow the female assassin to continue her work, for it will prove useful. But if she is unable to kill the Jin’Sai and the Jin’Saiou, then that shall become your task.”
The voices paused for a moment. Sensing that his mind should remain still, Wulfgar waited reverently.
“Under no circumstances are you or any of your servants to attack the capital until you have first secured the mouth of the pass. Proceed with caution, because the forces of the Jin’Sai guard it and they must be dealt with. Once the pass is yours, we shall again reveal ourselves to you. Do not be alarmed by what you will see there, for it will be wondrous and will further aid you in your cause. Go quickly, Wulfgar, and have faith. All will be revealed.”
“I shall obey,” he answered.
Stunned, he slowly walked back to Einar and Serena. They looked at him curiously.
“What troubles you, my lord?” Serena asked. She took his good hand. It felt cold, as though all of his blood had somehow left him.
Wulfgar cast his gaze westward toward Eutracia—the land that had once been his home. “The Heretics have spoken to me once more,” he said. He told Einar and Serena the news and instructions.
“Is it true?” Wulfgar asked Einar, unsure he believed what he’d been told. “Could a pass to the other side truly exist? What wonders might await us there?”
Einar lowered the hood of his robe. He seemed as stunned as his master—perhaps more so. He considered the question for a moment.
“If the Heretics themselves have told you of this, then it must be true,” he answered. “It must be a vision without equal in our history! How I wish I were going with you, my lord! How my eyes hunger to witness all that you are about to see! Even so, I know that in your absence my place is here, guarding your queen and your unborn child. But tell me—did the Heretics say what would be required of you once you reach the pass?”
Wulfgar shook his head. “Only that I am to crush the Jin’Sai’s Minions who guard it, then await their word.”
Einar smiled. “Given your captains, the demonslavers still under your command, and the Earthshakers that have already been boarded upon the Black Ships, your dealings with the Minions should be swift. Also quite rewarding, I might add. Who knows, you may even face the Jin’Sai himself on the battlefield. I envy you the impending struggle. It will be glorious.”
Serena moved her husband’s hand to place it on her swollen belly. As though she could have somehow willed it so, the baby gave a gentle kick. The ravaged skin of Wulfgar’s face contorted in a smile.
“Do not forget us,” Serena said softly. “And do not forget the magnificent side of the craft for which we all struggle.”
Wulfgar gave her a kiss, then turned his good eye back to the sea.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the wind was freshening. They would make good time during this first night of their adventure.
He turned to his queen. “I have something for you,” he told her. He reached into his jacket and produced a single red rose. She smiled as he handed it to her.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “While you are gone I shall treasure it.”
Wulfgar looked into her eyes. “It is more than a simple rose,” he told her. “It is bound to the craft, just as you and I are. As long as I am alive, it will bloom. But should it wither and die, you will sense the change wherever you are, and know that the unimaginable has occurred.”
Serena reached out to touch the ravaged side of his face. “I am sure that this flower will continue to bloom until the day you return to our shores,” she said softly.
Wulfgar nodded. “Goodbye, my love,” he said quietly. “Take good care of our child.”
Having suddenly lost her voice, Serena tried to smile. As she did, a tear traced a path down her cheek. When Wulfgar kissed her, he tasted salt, like the sea he would soon be sailing upon.
“Guard my queen and my child with your life,” he told Einar. Then he smiled wickedly. “While I am away, find a suitable place to display the heads of the Jin’Sai and his two wizards. I intend to bring them home with me.”
CHAPTER LXI
_____
AS DAX FINISHED TELLING HIS TALE, A HUSH DESCENDED over the Conclave. Tristan looked first at Faegan, then at Wigg, but the wizards were at a loss for words.
For a long time no one spoke. Finally, Faegan broke the silence. His face stern, he trained his gray-green eyes upon the warrior. Dax could almost feel the power in the wizard’s gaze burrowing its way into his own.
“The azure wall that guards the entrance to the pass,” Faegan began.
“What does it look like?”
“It is flat, and stretches from one side of the pass to the other,” Dax answered. “It rises high into the sky, so high, in fact, that one cannot see its top because it stretches into the fog that always lies upon the peaks of the Tolenkas. White shards of light shoot about within its depths. It is not solid; instead, it is like a liquid, though its surface is as smooth as glass. My dreggan plunged through it as though it were made of water. When I pulled the dreggan out, the wall immediately sealed itself. It is the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”
Scowling, Faegan sat back in his chair. Wigg looked at Faegan and then, when the crippled wizard nodded, turned to the prince and Shailiha.
“I need to ask you both a question of the utmost importance,” Wigg said. “You will no doubt find my inquiry odd, but this is no joke, I assure you.”
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
Pursing his lips, Wigg placed his gnarled hands flat upon the inlaid table.
“Have either of you been hearing voices?” he asked. “Voices carrying messages that you didn’t understand, and were perhaps reticent to tell us about?”
After shooting each other puzzled looks, the prince and princess turned back to stare blankly at the wizard.
“No,” Tristan answered flatly.
“Nor have I,” Shailiha said. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Because of the sudden existence of this azure wall,” Faegan answered. “The Tome contains a prophecy mentioning the appearance of such an edifice, an ominous prediction that Wigg and I have discussed many times. It was deemed of such great importance that for decades many of the late members of the Directorate attempted to research it further, but to no avail. This sudden appearance of the wall marks one of the greatest turning points in the history of the craft. And yet—and I believe I speak for Wigg as well as myself—it brings us no joy. The fact that no voices have come to commune with the prince or the princess does not bode well for any of us.”
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