A March into Darkness dobas-2

by Robert Newcomb

  “Very well,” Shailiha said. “Lead the way.” Traax turned and hurried off with the women in tow.

  Finally reaching the stern, Traax led Tyranny and Shailiha down a series of hatchway steps. Three decks down he left the stairway to continue along a lamplit hallway, then continued on toward the ship’s stern. Finally he stopped before mahogany double doors. Even before Traax knocked, the women could hear shouting coming from the other side. Without waiting for a response, the Minion commander opened the doors and the three of them walked into the room.

  The chamber stretching before them was large and sumptuously decorated. Each Conclave member knew this place. Long ago, this suite of rooms had served as the captain’s quarters, when the ship had sailed against the Coven in the service of the Directorate. The arrangements were the same aboard each Black Ship. But here on theTammerland, Tyranny had graciously given these chambers over as the Conclave’s meeting place.

  The room’s large rear wall was also the ship’s stern. It was laden with opened, wood-slatted windows and intricately carved artwork. A rectangular meeting table sat in the room’s center, around which all of the other Conclave members were already seated. Patterned rugs lay atop the hardwood floor, and upholstered furniture had been strategically placed around the room. A doorway in the right-hand wall led off to a bedroom, sitting room, and washroom. Soft light was provided by oil lamp chandeliers, each swinging gently in opposite rhythm to the rocking ship.

  As she walked to take her seat at the table, Shailiha was surprised to see Faegan scowl and angrily bang his fists down atop his chair arms. The princess gave Tyranny a questioning glance, but all the equally confused privateer could do was to sit down and shrug her shoulders.

  “And I’m telling you that this is my fault and mine alone!” Faegan shouted at Wigg. “I can’t believe I was so stupid! We simply aren’t prepared! If they were to attack now, our entire fleet might be done for!”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jessamay countered. “Not one of us realized it, either.”

  “What’s all this ruckus about?” Shailiha shouted, quickly taking control of the meeting. “Has something happened?”

  Wigg laced his long fingers on the table top. “Not yet,” he answered. “But we just realized how perilous our situation might already be. Before we explain, you must order that each ship’s sails be furled, and that the fleet come to a standstill. If we drift, we drift. It can’t be helped. We must not travel any farther east until we have devised a proper plan.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tyranny demanded. “After making such good progress, why on earth would you want us todrift? That is when a warship is at her most vulnerable!”

  “Not in our case,” Wigg answered cryptically.

  “Please explain,” Shailiha said.

  “It’s about the Necrophagians,” Faegan answered for the First Wizard. “We believe it possible that they might attack at any time. We must not move farther east until we have devised a plan to deal with them. How foolish we were not to see it before now!”

  “We all understand the threat,” Shailiha said. “But surely we do not have to worry about it just yet. Everyone knows that Necrophagian territory is in the middle of the sea, a good fifteen days’ sail from either coast. With the acolytes empowering the fleet, we have made good time so far. But even I am sea dog enough to know that we couldn’t possibly have reached the ocean’s midpoint this quickly.”

  “Normally we would agree,” Jessamay said. “But during Wulfgar’s second invasion attempt, things changed. In truth, we might already be in Necrophagian territory.”

  Tyranny leaned forward and gave Jessamay a hard look. “How is that possible?” she asked.

  “You’re forgetting something,” Wigg answered. “Something that the rest of us also neglected before we sailed. During Wulfgar’s second invasion of Eutracia, we defeated theEnseterat, but not all his servants. When last we saw the Necrophagians, they were still alive. They had followed Wulfgar to a point near the Eutracian coast, where the climactic sea battle between the Minion fleet and the Black Ships took place. If they did not return to their old territory, we might already again be in Necrophagian waters. Either way, we must quickly form a battle plan to deal with them.”

  “But how did Wulfgar manage to bring the Necrophagians that far west in the first place?” Tyranny asked Wigg. “To call them into his service, he must have had some power over them. Where did that come from? Even Failee didn’t seem to control them to such an extent. I don’t remember you, Faegan, or Jessamay telling us the answer.”

  “That’s because we don’t have one,” Faegan said. “At least not one that we believe we can rely on. Because of the relatively short time Wulfgar lived at the Citadel, we can only assume that all of his gifts were granted to him by way of the Vagaries Forestallments. If that is true, then the Scroll of the Vagaries must contain the needed spell to command the Necrophagians. Or perhaps Wulfgar simply bartered with them to do his bidding, as Failee did. He would have been in a position to offer them far more than she could have at the time. In any event, once the Vagaries scroll is in our grasp, we’ll know more.” Faegan paused for a moment, thinking.

  “As you also know, we believe that the Necrophagians are transformed members of the Ones Who Came Before, captured by the Heretics during the War of Attrition,” he added. “Instead of killing them outright, our guess is that the Heretics condemned the Ones to the depths, forcing them to do their bidding. We have further theorized that the Heretics did this to add yet another layer of protection to the Citadel. What better way to defend an island than with endowed underwater beings, perpetually lying in wait to devour anyone who came near? But all this remains pure conjecture. Only on reaching and taking the Citadel can we be sure. And you can bet that Serena will have more than one nasty surprise waiting for us when we arrive.”

  “Ifwe arrive,” Adrian added. “As you said, first we must deal with the Necrophagians.”

  Tyranny stood up from the table. “I’ve heard enough,” she said. “I will immediately give the order to furl our sails. I will also order the other ships’ crews to do the same. It will put us off schedule, but for the time being it seems that there is no other choice.” Shaking her head, Tyranny scowled.

  “But allowing warships to aimlessly drift in such a time of danger goes directly against every fiber of my being,” she added. She looked at Shailiha. “With your permission, Princess, I will take my leave.”

  Shailiha nodded. “Be quick,” she said, “and return. We still have need of your counsel.”

  After giving the members a short bow, Tyranny hurried out the double doors. Almost immediately the Conclave heard her loudly calling out for Scars.

  “She’s a good woman,” Wigg said. “Now then, let’s discuss how to deal with the Necrophagian threat. As we have done before, we can ask for Minion volunteers to fight to the death, to supply the Necrophagians their usual bounty of forty dead bodies as payment to sail across their territory. But I think that-”

  His face suddenly blanching with surprise, Wigg’s eyes went wide. At first Shailiha and the others wondered why. But when Wigg spoke again, they quickly got their answer.

  “I beg the Afterlife,” Wigg said.

  The wizard’s breath was coming out in white, vaporous clouds. Then everyone suddenly realized that the temperature had plummeted, causing their breath to also become ghostlike vapors in the unexpected coldness.

  Suddenly theTammerland lurched to an abrupt stop. Tilting hard on her bow, the ship’s stern literally lifted from the sea. She came to a standstill so quickly that all the furniture slid across the room, the oil chandeliers swung violently, and Adrian and Wigg were launched from their chairs to go tumbling to the floor.

  With a tortured groan theTammerland ’s black timbers stressed agonizingly against one another as she crashed back to the sea. Then the huge ship rocked back and forth violently, finally finding her equilibrium again. No sooner had Wigg and Ad
rian scrambled to their feet than a dense fog started rolling in through the stern windows.

  Thick and gray, the fog slithered in like predatory snakes. It quickly covered the floor and stuck fast to everyone’s clothes and skin. It soon was knee-deep, and everyone became awash in its velvety embrace. Then the unthinkable happened. Out over the sea, more fog formed, then started morphing into a gigantic hand.

  Shailiha watched speechlessly as the hand’s fingers reached their way in through the stern windows. Glass broke, solid iron window casings snapped apart, and ornate wall carvings went tumbling to the floor. Then the hand closed around theTammerland ’s stern to start crushing it like an eggshell.

  Splitting into hundreds of shards, the stern’s upper section came crashing apart, partly exposing the room to the sea. Salt water immediately started pouring in, threatening to engulf the entire room. Screaming and waving his arms, Wigg ordered everyone to run for their lives. The Conclave members finally reached the door.

  Wigg ushered Jessamay, Shailiha, and Adrian through first, followed by Traax. Then the First Wizard and Faegan went through. As the rushing seawater poured into the hallway, Wigg spun around to face everyone.

  “Go!” he screamed. “Try to climb the stairway to the top deck! Jessamay, you stay here! Faegan and I need your gifts!” As the sorceress stayed behind, Traax and Adrian started working their way down the flooded hallway.

  “What are you going to do?” Shailiha shouted.

  “We will try to seal the meeting room from the sea!” Wigg shouted. “But this is no place for you! Go with the others!”

  Realizing that she could not help them, Shailiha gave each mystic a supportive look. “Be careful!” she shouted. The rising water in the hallway was nearly at her knees.

  “Get out of here while you still can!” Wigg shouted. “Do it now!” Turning away, Shailiha started wading down the hall as fast as she could go.

  The seawater rapidly approaching his waist, Wigg turned to look first at Jessamay, then Faegan. As the crippled wizard hovered in his wooden chair just above the rushing water, there was desperation in his eyes.

  “We have to try to seal this doorway!” Wigg shouted. “Are you with me?” They both nodded.

  “There is no time to discuss this; just follow my lead!” the First Wizard shouted. “If we can contain the water in the meeting room, we might have a chance!” Wigg raised his arms and pointed them at the open door.

  At once twin azure bolts streamed from the wizard’s hands, pouring their power over that part of the door’s surface that was still above the rising seawater. Faegan and Jessamay followed suit, their bolts adding strength to Wigg’s.

  “Now!” Wigg shouted. “And with everything you have!”

  Just as the three mystics started straining to push the door closed, a strange sound came to their ears. Soon it became earsplitting, rising even above the noise of the rushing water.

  From somewhere on the mysterious Sea of Whispers, the Necrophagians could be heard making their demands to Tyranny. But unlike every other time the Conclave had encountered the Eaters of the Dead, this time the beings were not demanding the usual forty dead bodies as payment to cross their territory.

  They were demanding the lives of everyone aboard.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  TRISTAN HELD HIS BREATH AS HE WATCHED HIS DIRKbury itself into the shoulder of Yasmin’s attacker. His eyes wide with surprise, the Zorian highlander started to pull the knife free, but Yasmin was quicker.

  Reaching up, she grasped the dirk’s handle, then pulled the knife free and plunged it into her attacker’s throat. When she felt the blade tip strike her attacker’s neck bones, she pushed it again, then gave it a savage twist. The highlander fell atop her. With a sneer, Yasmin shoved the body off her and onto the ground.

  Tossing his dreggan back into his right hand, Tristan ran to her. As he lifted Yasmin to her feet, he saw deep appreciation in her eyes. But this was no time for talk. Standing protectively before her, he quickly cast his eyes around the camp.

  The scene was even more desperate than before. Many of the wagons were on fire, and the screams of the dying and wounded filled the night. Dark smoke drifted through the clearing, making things difficult to see. Fighters from both sides struggled everywhere, darting in and out of the smoke like spectral ghosts.

  Although they fought valiantly, Rafe’s ambushed clansmen were losing the battle. To his dismay, Tristan saw no sign of the Minions. Bending down, he quickly pulled the bloody dirk from the dead highlander’s throat, then shoved it into Yasmin’s hands. He had no doubt that she knew how to use it.

  “Take this!” he shouted. “And stay near me!”

  Yasmin shook her head. “I fight my own battles!” she shouted back.

  Before he could stop her, Yasmin ran to attack a Zorian highlander who was about to bring his sword down on an old woman. He died quickly, his sliced throat spilling blood into the thirsty dirt.

  Tristan was about to shout at Yasmin again, but he wasn’t given the chance. Raising his dreggan, he narrowly parried a highlander sword flashing toward him in the moonlight. The two blades struck each other with such force that sparks went flying. Backing up, Tristan tried to gain some maneuvering room. But his attacker was very good, constantly keeping Tristan on the defensive. Time after time their swords clashed, with neither fighter able to find an opening. Finally Tristan feinted with an overhead strike, then quickly changed his sword’s direction, swinging its tip across the highlander’s legs.

  His thigh muscles severed, the highlander screamed and fell to his knees. As his sword slipped from his hands, he dazedly looked up into the face of the man he knew would kill him. Without hesitation Tristan swung his dreggan again, taking the highlander’s head off at the shoulders. The dead man’s eyes still open, his head toppled to the dirt.

  But there would be no time for the prince to consider his victory, or to try to find Yasmin again. As soon as he looked up, another screaming highlander was on him.

  HIS DREGGAN IN ONE HAND AND HISJIN’SAI’S MESSAGE STILLringing in his ears, Hector took to the sky. Eager to join the fray, the nineteen other warriors followed.

  Nothing would ever assuage their shame at having been captured. And Balthazar’s strange warning that they attack only those fighters dressed in all-black garb was surprising. But if he and his warriors could kill enough of the enemy, perhaps they might partly redeem themselves in theirJin’Sai ’s eyes.

  Seeing the fighting in the highlander camp’s center, Hector led his warriors down.

  HIS EYES FLASHING, TRISTAN’S SECOND OPPONENT RUSHEDtoward him. The prince soon found that this man was an even greater threat than the one he had just killed. Nearly the size of Balthazar, he was far stronger than Tristan. His technique was simple but brutally effective: He rained nonstop blows down on the prince, knowing that Tristan would soon tire, and be forced into a mistake. Then, like a big cat that had finished toying with its prey, the huge highlander would rush in for the kill.

  Backing up desperately, it was all Tristan could do to parry the bigger man’s blows, say nothing of going on the offensive. Using his quickness, Tristan tried to side-slip the highlander and seize on an opening. But despite his huge size the man moved nimbly, matching the prince’s every step. Finally the highlander sensed the growing tiredness in Tristan’s arms. Screaming wildly, he raised his sword high, then brought it down with everything he had.

  The strategy worked. The sharp blow resonated through Tristan’s sword blade and into its hilt so sharply that it stunned his hands, painfully forcing the dreggan from his grip. Tristan frantically dived to the dirt, scrambling to pick the sword up again. But that was just what the highlander wanted. Taking his sword into both hands the Zorian raised it vertically, readying its blade to plunge straight down into Tristan’s back.

  With the dreggan in his hands again, Tristan quickly rolled over. But when he looked up he knew that he was too late. As the highlander blade came streaking down, a
final thought flashed through his mind. So this is how it ends, he thought.

  Just then Tristan saw something flash through the air, and the highlander’s eyes went wide. What was left of his face had become bloody, deformed. A Minion returning wheel had embedded itself into the highlander’s face. Starting at the top of the man’s forehead, its teeth lay deeply buried diagonally between his eyes and down the length of his face, ending in his chin.

  Like time suddenly had no meaning, the highlander dropped his sword to stand there stupidly as blood cascaded down his destroyed face. For a moment his mouth tried to work. But the deadly wheel held his jaws fast, causing his lips to tear even more as he tried to speak. Then he fell over onto his back, dead where he lay.

  Tristan scrambled to his feet and looked around. He soon saw Hector, hovering in the air about ten meters away. Tristan gave him a nod. Hector nodded back, then eagerly went about killing more Zorian highlanders in the service of his lord.

  The Minion presence finally turned the tide. Hector’s warriors were doing just what Tristan would have ordered, had he been given the chance. Hovering above the fray, they used their tactical advantage to hack down every fighter dressed all in black that they could find. As the Minion’s bloody dreggans and returning wheels sliced through the air, one by one the enemy highlanders fell. Before it was over, two more died by Tristan’s hand.

  Finally the battle ended. Physically exhausted and his hands smeared with blood, Tristan wearily drove his dreggan into the ground and leaned down on its hilt. Looking around, he saw that the carnage and destruction were even worse than he had imagined.

  Every wagon in sight was afire. Running about the camp, Rafe’s men shouted out urgent orders. The healers among them were working furiously, trying to save as many of their stricken clansmen as they could. Other Kilbourne clansmen were systematically searching the campsite, driving their swords into Zorian bodies to ensure that they were finished. Sometimes terrible screams rang through the night from those who had been faking death.