A March into Darkness dobas-2

by Robert Newcomb

  “Angle her back into the air!” Wigg screamed at Faegan and Jessamay. “We must get airborne again, before she floods with seawater!”

  Faegan and Jessamay quickly obeyed. Her bow rising, theTammerland slowly took to the air, struggling against the relentless wind. Wigg looked back to see seawater again pouring from her stern. To his great relief he saw theCavalon also rise. Amazingly, she seemed to have suffered little damage. That was probably because of the iron strip each Black Ship bore along her keel, he realized.

  Finally the terrible weather accompanying the Necrophagians’ dying Forestallments quieted. The wind returned to normal, and the sea below theTammerland calmed. The sun had started peeking over the eastern horizon, bringing with it the advent of a new day. Seeing that no more seawater was pouring from theTammerland ’s stern, Wigg gratefully returned the ship to level flight.

  Exhausted beyond measure, the First Wizard looked around. Blessedly, all six Black Ships were airborne. At first glance it seemed that only theTammerland had suffered significant damage. As he set an easterly course, the fleet followed. The other Conclave members ran to meet him.

  “It seems we’ve made it!” Shailiha said. “But what do we do now?”

  Tyranny looked commandingly at Traax. The expression on her face told everyone that she was in a foul mood. Nothing incensed her as much as damage done to her precious fleet. She gave Traax a hard look.

  “While theCavalon is still airborne, I want you and several others to fly up and check her keel!” she ordered. “Under no condition is her acolyte captain to put her back onto the sea until she has permission from you! When the acolyte can no longer sustain flight, she is to send us a warrior telling us so. If needed, Faegan, Jessamay, or Adrian will relieve her.”

  Traax immediately snapped his heels and ran off to select several warrior shipwrights whom he trusted. Moments later, he and six others took to the air. Tyranny urgently waved Scars forward.

  “Get as many warriors as our stern can hold and get to work on this ship!” she ordered. “Just a few moments ago, you told me that eight hours would suffice! I don’t care how much new damage has been done! I want this vessel atop the waves in that same time frame, or else!”

  Scars knew that when Tyranny was like this, there was nothing to say about it. He immediately ran aft, shouting out threats and orders that would have reddened the cheeks of Tammerland’s most hardened brothel madam.

  After angrily tousling her hair, Tyranny took a cigarillo from her vest pocket. Striking a match against one knee boot, she cupped her hands to light it. She took a deep lungful of smoke, then glared angrily at Faegan.

  “That was fancy work,” she said, “killing the Necrophagians that way. I must say that I’ve never seen anything like it. But then I heard you castigating yourself. So what in the world just happened out here? Did your wizardly solution make things worse?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned her glaring attention toward Wigg. “I was told that these endowed ships were impervious to damage!” she said.

  Wigg raised an eyebrow. “For the most part, they are,” he answered quietly. “But not against each other, or the power of the Necrophagians.”

  Sighing, Faegan looked up at Tyranny. He was still soaked and shaking from the cold. He knew that Tyranny didn’t mean to be harsh with everyone; that was just her way of getting rid of frustration. Even so, she deserved an explanation. His teeth still chattering, he coughed before answering.

  “I forgot to take something into account,” he answered.

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  “The Heretics apparently controlled the Necrophagians with Forestallments, laced into their blood centuries ago,” Wigg answered for Faegan. “When we killed them, their Forestallments died with them. The resulting reaction is always the same-amazing lightning, thunder, and wind. The more powerful the practitioner, the more powerful are the atmospheric events when he or she dies. These were the strongest we have ever seen. We were lucky to survive.”

  After taking another drag on her cigarillo, Tyranny seemed calmer. Sighing, she tousled her hair again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that as the fleet’s captain, it’s my job to get these ships to the Citadel in one piece. Once we’re there, the rest of you may give me all the orders you like. But until then these ships are mine.”

  “I understand,” Faegan said. “You carry much on your shoulders. We all do. Even so, in a way, I’m sorry to have killed them.”

  “Why?” Shailiha asked.

  “Because if our assumptions about them are correct, the Necrophagians were once members of the Ones Who Came Before,” Jessamay answered. “Given enough time we might have been able to find a way to set them free. They would have been invaluable allies. But we’ll never know.”

  As the sun rose in earnest, a respectful silence fell over the Conclave members. Tyranny dropped her cigarillo to the deck and crushed it beneath her boot. Faegan looked wistfully out to sea.

  Shailiha walked over to put one arm around Faegan’s shoulders. As she did, the old wizard turned to look at theTammerland ’s ravaged stern. He shook his head.

  “What have I done?” he breathed.

  Squatting down, Shailiha took his hands into hers and looked into his eyes. “You did what you do best,” she answered. “You cheated death and gave us the chance to fight the Vagaries another day.”

  Faegan finally smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Wigg. “The Necrophagians mentioned a group of Vagaries mystics called thePon Q’tar, ” he mused. “Have you heard the phrase before?”

  Wigg shook his head. “No,” he answered.

  “Nor have I,” Jessamay added.

  “How much longer can you keep us aloft?” Faegan asked Wigg.

  “Two hours at best,” Wigg answered. “That’s all I have left in me.”

  Faegan nodded. “When you can do no more, one of us will relieve you. In the meantime I suggest that we all get some rest. I fear that what we just experienced will pale compared with the greeting we will get at the Citadel.”

  Just then they all heard saws and hammers working, and Minions urgently ordering one another about. Although the noises were chaotic, they also sounded hopeful.

  But as the Black Ship fleet flew east into the rising sun, Faegan’s warning about the Citadel clawed at every Conclave member’s heart.

  CHAPTER XLIII

  “WHEN WE GET THERE, OX WANT GO INSIDE WITHJin’Sai,” the giant warrior said. His barrel chest puffed out with pride against his body armor. “This may be dangerous place. Me protect you.”

  Tristan shook his head. “From what Abbey tells me, that’s not true. I’ll be fine. Even so, this isn’t the best of neighborhoods. Someone needs to guard the carriage, and I can think of no one better qualified than you.”

  A disappointed look came over the warrior’s face. “Ox obey,” he said. “But Ox no like it.”

  Tristan gave him a reassuring smile. “I know,” he said. “But that’s an order.”

  The prince looked out the carriage window. It was midday, and the sky was sunny. Shannon the Small sat up top, driving the team and doing his best to follow the directions Abbey had given him.

  Two days had passed since Tristan had arrived in Tammerland, and he was glad to be home. To save time, he and Rafe had come by Minion litter. The entire Clan Kilbourne was following with their wagons. Hector and the other warriors were traveling with them, providing protection and helping them make the journey. Shaking his head, Tristan found himself wondering for the hundredth time whether he was doing the right thing. Then his mind turned to Yasmin.

  Their night together had been wonderful, but it hadn’t been love. Rather, it was the urgent, needful joining of two people who wished, however briefly, to explore and possess one another. She had again reached for him in the cozy embrace of her shopworn wagon, and he had obeyed. After awaking in each other’s arms, she changed the dressing on his wound and fixed him a hea
rty highlander breakfast. She had then kissed him and bid him good-bye.

  She gave me more than just her companionship, he realized as he watched Tammerland’s busy streets go by. Without knowing it, she also set me free. I will always treasure my time with Celeste. But my heart is again my own.

  Soon his mind turned to other matters. Abbey had been overjoyed to see him, as had Ox and the palace gnomes. But when Tristan had introduced Rafe to the herbmistress and explained his agreement with the Kilbourne clan elders, he had thought Abbey might have a heart attack. She had angrily pulled Tristan aside to demand if he had suddenly gone crazy.

  Tristan had been polite but firm. In the end, all Abbey could do was roll her eyes and mutter, “Just wait until Wigg and Faegan get home!” Tristan had smiled at that, saying that her matronly admonishment reminded him of the kind of warning his mother had often given him. It had the same lack of effect then too, he had told her with a smile.

  Tristan had refused to argue about the highlanders further, and asked Ox to assign Rafe quarters in the palace. But the prince was no fool. Although he wanted Rafe where he could easily confer with him, he had no plans to allow him access to the palace’s many treasures. In the end he had granted Rafe the run of the place, provided he was accompanied by a Minion warrior. Rafe had understood. In his customary style, he laughingly told Tristan that if the roles were reversed, he would do the same.

  Over dinner that night, Tristan and Abbey had traded tales. Their talk had gone on for hours. As she listened, Abbey’s eyes had grown to the size of hen’s eggs. Even though the amazing story came directly from theJin’Sai, she’d found much of it simply too unbelievable for words. Tristan had understood her skepticism. Had these things not happened to him personally, he would have been equally incredulous.

  He’d been immensely glad to learn that Faegan had recovered from Xanthus’ attack, and that the Conclave possessed the index to the two scrolls. But he was desperately worried for the fleet as it neared the Citadel, and he felt powerless because he could not warn them. He’d been astonished to learn that a Forestallment calculation existed forK’Shari, and that some Fledgling House survivors had returned. But what had intrigued him most was Aeolus. With little else to occupy him until Clan Kilbourne arrived or the fleet returned, Tristan had resolved that he would try to meet him.

  To that end he had sent a warrior to the Serpent and the Sword with a handwritten parchment, asking for a personal audience the following day. Aeolus had sent word back that he accepted.

  Tristan suddenly felt the carriage jerk to a stop. He and Ox climbed out to look up and down the street. The neighborhood had clearly seen better days, forcing Tristan to wonder why a man of Aeolus’ character would choose to live here.

  After tying the reins around the carriage’s brake handle, Shannon left his ale jug behind for once and clambered his way down from the seat. As he came to stand by Ox, his head barely reached the warrior’s knee. They were an incongruous pair, to say the least. Even so, Tristan would have been hard-pressed to guess which was the most stubborn. He gave them a commanding look.

  “Don’t go wandering off,” he warned. “I want this carriage here when I return.”

  Ox obediently clicked his heels together. Shannon’s only answer was a sudden puff of smoke coiling up from his corncob pipe.

  Tristan turned to look at the house’s weathered sign. As Abbey had said, it carried a serpent on one side and a sword on the other. Without further ado he climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

  The door opened to show an attractive middle-aged woman. She was dressed in a white long-sleeved blouse that crisscrossed her chest. Her black split skirt spilled down over bare feet. Although her garb wasn’t bizarre, Tristan couldn’t recall seeing anything quite like it.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “I am Prince Tristan. I have an appointment with your master.”

  As the woman looked him up and down her eyes lingered briefly on the dreggan hilt and dirk handles showing just above his right shoulder. A martial student’s curiosity, he assumed. She seemed unimpressed.

  “We are aware of your appointment,” she answered emotionlessly. “Come in.”

  As the door shut, Ox clenched his jaw and stared moodily at the forlorn building. Shannon snickered at him.

  “What are you so worried about?” the gnome asked. “He was taking care of himself long before he met you! Best swordsman in the kingdom, he is!”

  Ox grumpily folded his arms over his chest, then leaned back against the carriage, giving Shannon the impression that he would wait forever, if need be.

  Tristan followed the woman down a long, paper-paned hallway. Everything was just as Abbey had described. But the house’s exterior had been deceiving, belying the spaciousness inside. When they reached the hallway’s end the woman opened another door and beckoned Tristan through.

  Surprisingly, the door led outside again. A beautiful courtyard lay just beyond. The woman turned to Tristan.

  “Wait here,” she said.

  She went down another set of steps and into the courtyard proper. As she did, Tristan took in the interesting scene.

  The rear courtyard was spacious and surrounded by a high stone wall. Most of the area was taken up by a perfectly manicured lawn. Pebble pathways snaked through it here and there. A large dogwood tree stood in one of the far corners, its leaves casting welcoming shade. Beneath the tree sat a table and four chairs. But what Tristan found most interesting were the people, and what they were doing.

  About forty students of varying ages and both sexes were in training. Everyone was dressed the same way as the woman who had led him here. Standing in strict lines, each person held a wooden staff. A man dressed in similar garb stood before the students, his broad back toward the prince and his bald head shining in the sun. That would be Aeolus, Tristan reasoned. As Tristan watched Aeolus move with effortless grace, something told him that the old master already knew he was there.

  Raising his staff high, Aeolus took a practiced step forward, then cut the staff through the air in a perfect circle. At once, every student followed suit. Tristan watched respectfully as the sword training went on for several more minutes. Then the woman walked up to Aeolus and whispered something in his ear. Without turning around, Aeolus nodded.

  He laid his staff in the grass, then clapped his hands. With military precision, the students quickly sat on their knees, then bowed deeply at the waist. Aeolus clapped his hands again; then the students disbanded to enter the house through a separate doorway.

  Without looking at Tristan, Aeolus took up his staff. He walked to the table beneath the shade tree and sat down. The woman returned to Tristan’s side.

  “He will see you now,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he answered. A sudden thought crossed his mind. “Shall I give you my weapons?” he asked.

  For the first time since meeting him, the woman smiled. “That won’t be necessary,” she answered. “You couldn’t kill him on your best day.”

  As Tristan raised an eyebrow she gave him another smile, then entered the house, leaving him and Aeolus alone in the courtyard.

  Tristan crossed the grass to come and stand by the table. Aeolus came to his feet and bowed. Unsure of the school’s etiquette, Tristan decided to bow in return.

  Aeolus smiled. “At long last theJin’Sai is among us,” he said. “I have met theJin’Saiou, but I’m sure you already know that. It is a pleasure to be in your company.”

  “And yours,” Tristan answered.

  Aeolus beckoned Tristan to sit while he did the same. The prince was glad of the shade.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Aeolus asked.

  Tristan was already impressed with the centuries-old wizard and martial expert sitting across from him. Even so, he had questions. He decided to come straight to the point. He settled into the chair and crossed one leg over the other.

  “It isn’t every day that
Wigg offers someone a seat on the Conclave of the Vigors,” he said.

  Aeolus nodded. “I’m sure,” he answered. “So you came to see me for yourself.”

  “Yes,” Tristan answered. “And I wish to ask you some questions.”

  “By all means,” Aeolus answered.

  “Please understand that I welcome your membership, provided my concerns are answered,” the prince said. “Your wisdom would be of great help. Our current foes are the deadliest we have ever faced.”

  “I have yet to decide,” Aeolus said, “but I thank you for the offer. What troubles you?”

  “Satine,” Tristan answered simply. “I was the one who killed her.”

  A touch of sadness crossed Aeolus’ face. “I know,” he answered. “I couldn’t persuade her from straying from my teachings.”

  “So I have been told,” Tristan said. “I want you to know that I had no choice but to kill her. She was the best I ever saw. I was lucky to keep my life.”

  Leaning forward, Tristan looked deep into Aeolus’ eyes. “I must know that no bitterness lingers in your heart about her death,” he said. “If it does, I must oppose your membership. It would be disruptive to the Conclave, and we need all the cohesiveness we can muster right now.”

  As he sat back in his chair, Tristan remembered what the Envoys had told him about the Heretics’ mad plan. Even he could scarcely believe it. Serena had to be stopped at any cost. Should Aeolus choose to join them, he wanted to be absolutely sure about the old wizard’s feelings.

  “I hold no bitterness toward you,” Aeolus answered. “You have told me that you did what you had to do, and I believe you.”

  Relieved for the time being, Tristan took up his next question. “Tell me,” he asked, “are you really as good as they say?”