“We must examine his memories again,” one of the clerics said. “Because theJin’Sai lives, there is clearly more to learn about this mystery.”
“No,” another male cleric argued. “That has already been tried, and it revealed nothing. If he truly is in league with the Shashidans, his real memories might have been altered, forcing him to believe he is telling the truth. Besides, doing so again might kill him. If he dies, we will never have our answers. We must do all in our power to help Serena succeed.”
“What do you suggest?” a different female voice asked.
“Cleric researchers have nearly perfected the spell we need,” he answered. “You all know the one I mean.”
“The fabled nautilus effect?” another female voice asked. “That spell’s existence has been rumored for centuries. Do you mean to say that we are finally nearing its unraveling?”
“Yes,” the other answered. “It is supposedly linked to the rare gift of Consummate Recollection. If we are successful it will open entire new vistas about blood signature science. We should have it soon. I suggest we keep him alive and that Xanthus be its first recipient.”
One by one thePon Q’tar clerics announced their agreement. Without ceremony they left the room.
The azure bands binding Xanthus disappeared and he fell to the floor. Later he would awaken in the darkness of his cruel prison, only to again wonder why his masters would not believe him.
In three more days he would have his answer.
CHAPTER XLV
“BEWARE, OUR CHILD,”THEPON Q’TARCLERICS HADwarned. Their words had been haunting, urgent.“The Conclave fleet has survived the Necrophagians’ dying Forestallments. They approach the Citadel as we speak.”
Stunned by the unexpected warning, Serena had immediately gone to her knees.
“You must leave the Citadel at once to join Einar and Reznik at the Recluse,”the voices had gone on to say.“You will be safe there. Take the dead child’s body with you, and the Vagaries documents that you have prepared for travel. Just before leaving you must enact the four spells hidden in the bowels of the Citadel. Go quickly. Time grows short.”
Then the voices had vanished, leaving her no opportunity to answer.
Desperate with concern, Serena had immediately summoned the island’s most senior consul and issued urgent orders. The other consuls and Valrenkians had also been apprised of the imminent danger. As she ran across the inner ward, panic swept the island.
Docked at the Citadel’s underground pier, what few ships Serena still possessed were being frantically loaded with people, goods, and craft tools. Every Vagaries book, scroll, and parchment had been packed into crates days ago, awaiting the order to be moved. Today that frightening directive had come.
Serena reached one of the fortress porticoes and charged along its length until she found the old door. She called the craft and tore it open with such force that it nearly separated from its hinges. Hoping that she would be in time, she ran down the stairs.
When she reached the subterranean room, she quickly brought life to the wall sconces. As the room came alight, she stole precious seconds to reacquaint herself with what needed to be done. She rushed across the room to the far wall, touched it, then called the proper spell.
Soon the wall morphed into the black visage board she had seen before. Four separate formulas written in Old Eutracian hauntingly rose from its depths. Marshaling her concentration, she called on the first two spells simultaneously.
As she hoped, the wall’s left side started changing to show another panel. Then the familiar light appeared, illuminating the panel’s opposite side.
She was again looking deep into the Sea of Whispers. Its underwater beauty beckoned serenely, belying the frantic exodus taking place aboveground. Looking back at the visage board, she read and summoned the third spell.
Just like before, the shimmering seascape rushed toward her. Faster and faster it came, until it slowed to show the underwater cliff lying tens of leagues away. Dark and ominous, the centuries-old formation lay waiting to be called on.
Closing her eyes, Serena did her best to calm herself. When she felt sure, she opened her eyes, then summoned the fourth and final spell.
The final calculations, she thought. The ones the Heretics had said never to invoke without their blessing. Even she did not know what they would bring. She knew that she should not linger and watch. Even so, her curiosity demanded that she stay long enough to see what the unknown fourth spell would do.
Almost at once the giant underwater ledge started to shift. Rumbling mightily, it broke free from its resting place to go sliding forward, tumbling into the dark abyss lying before it. Then it was gone, leaving in its place nothing more than a gaping undersea cavern. The whirling debris slowly settled, and the view cleared again.
When it was over, she was sure that she had failed, and panic gripped her. Then she saw something miraculous start to happen. Entranced, she stepped closer to the panel.
A massive wave was being generated by the underwater landslide. Even though the seawater was transparent, the craft brought the wave’s form into such stark relief that she could discern it easily. Suddenly its length and depth seemed without limits as it extended west and started rising violently toward the surface. Only then did the Citadel queen fully understand what she had loosed on the world.
As the wave climbed from the seabed she started to turn away. But then she saw something from the corner of her eye, and she looked back toward the panel. In their infinite wisdom the Heretics had woven another facet into the spell.
Dark creatures rose from the cavern created by the cliff’s departure. Swirling higher and higher, they accompanied the terrible wave toward the ocean surface. As she watched them go, the Citadel queen smiled.
After causing the viewing panel to vanish, Serena ran back up the stairway to take her place aboard one of the departing ships.
AS TRAAX PULLED HIS DARK WINGS THROUGH THE SKY, HISthoughts turned to Duvessa. He was glad that she had come on the mission to take the Citadel.
But she had not been amused when he had insisted that she serve on a different vessel than theTammerland. Traax had his reasons for this decision-not the least of which was that he was always distracted when his betrothed was nearby. Duvessa was traveling aboard theCavalon, as were all the female warriors serving under her command. Her healers were divided equally between the ships, so that they could tend to the casualties that might be incurred during the quest.
Looking down at the ruby pin stubbornly attached to his body armor, he allowed himself a smile. She will be a wonderful wife, he thought. We will raise our children to be honorable and strong.
Traax was leading a scouting party east, high over the waves. Nine more warriors followed behind him in an arrowhead formation. It was their job to scout for enemy ships, and to try and sight the Citadel. Before sending them aloft, Tyranny had said that the fleet had traveled far enough to the east so that a scout patrol might sight the fortress.
But they had not found it, and they were nearing the point of no return for this patrol. Traax’s keen dead-reckoning skills told him that after no more than another half hour of flying, they would be forced to return to the ships. Trying to scan as much of the sea as possible, Tyranny had sent other scout patrols along northeasterly and southeasterly routes as well. Traax hoped that the others were having better luck. As he sensed a sudden change in wind direction, he veered a bit south to stay on course. The warriors behind him followed suit.
They had been lucky to survive the Necrophagians. That had been two days ago, and during that time theTammerland had been adequately repaired. With the acolytes rested, the fleet had again taken to the air and made good time. Traax guessed that without interference, what was once a thirty-day sail between continents in conventional frigates had been cut to a mere week in the Black Ships-even less if enough accompanying mystics could keep them in constant flight.
Just then he noticed something stra
nge. For as far as he could see to the north and south, the sea’s horizon was rising violently into the air. A huge wave was forming, dwarfing even those that had been created by the Necrophagians’ dying Forestallments.
But this wave was different in more ways than its great size. Rising to at least one hundred meters, its tumbling leading edge was heading due west, directly for the fleet. There was no doubt that this wave was a ship-killer of the highest order.
Stopping to hover, Traax held up one arm. The other warriors came to gather nearby. Saying nothing, Traax pointed east.
The wave was rushing toward them at an amazing speed. Traax knew that the swiftest Minion fliers could reach twenty-five leagues an hour and sometimes more. To his dismay, it seemed that the monstrous wave was moving at least that fast. Warning the Conclave meant that messengers would have to return immediately if they were to take advantage of their closer proximity to the ships. But if they couldn’t at least match the wave’s speed, it would roar beneath them and reach the unsuspecting fleet first. Traax understood that the craft was at work here. Serena had sent this thing at them, and somehow the Black Ships had to survive it.
His mind racing, Traax looked at his warriors. He would send only two, he decided. Should the awful wave change speed or course, he would need reserve warriors to inform the fleet.
“Axel and Valgard!” he shouted. “Return to the ships as fast as you can! Tell the Conclave about this new threat! Warn Tyranny that there is no use changing course to the north or the south to avoid it, because it stretches as far as the eye can see!” Knowing his next order would be difficult for them to obey, he gave them a commanding look.
“Should either of you collapse from fatigue and fall to the sea, the other is forbidden to save him!” Traax shouted. “I know that Minion custom dictates that no warrior be left behind! But as your commander I am countermanding that tradition! Go! The fleet’s survival depends on you!”
“We live to serve!” the two handpicked warriors shouted. Then they were gone, winging their way west.
Looking back, Traax and his remaining warriors saw strange beings exploding from the wave’s top to take to the air. The warriors were too far away to see what the things looked like. Traax decided that because the creatures were born of the terrible wave, they too must be products of the craft, and therefore a deadly threat.
As the beings collected in the air they circled busily into a dark swarm. Then they started soaring directly toward the hovering warriors.
Traax watched for a few moments, then drew his dreggan; the other warriors followed suit.
CHAPTER XLVI
PAUSING FOR A MOMENT, TRISTAN WIPED THE SWEATfrom his brow. The midday sun was hot, and Aeolus had refused to let him drink. Nor had he eaten since breakfast. His chest heaving, he tried to reclaim his breath. This was only the first day of his training, yet he already found Aeolus’ brand of discipline agonizing.
They had been at it all morning. Although Aeolus had been duplicating Tristan’s every move, the old man had hardly broken a sweat. Nor was his breathing labored. Seeing Tristan stop without permission, he scowled.
“Again,” he ordered.
Lowering his wooden staff, Tristan shook his head. “We have been at this for four hours without a break or anything to drink! Are you trying to kill me?” Leaning over, he put his hands on his knees to take a rest.
Aeolus walked closer and took the prince by the shoulders. He raised him up and looked him in the eyes.
“No, but others have tried, and it seems a safe bet that more will,” Aeolus answered. “Just what will you tell your enemy on a hot day, eh? That His Highness needs to stop for a cool drink?” Sighing, Aeolus calmly clasped his hands before him.
“It might interest you to know that there are students twice your age at the Serpent and the Sword who can do this sort of thing all day,” he added. “Before clay becomes brick, it must withstand the kiln.”
Tristan took another deep breath. “You’re starting to sound like Wigg,” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Aeolus answered emotionlessly. “Now then-back to work.”
“All we’ve done is trace patterns in the grass like foolish school-children!” Tristan protested. “I thought I was going to learn to fight!”
“Learning to move properly is the key to all that will follow,” Aeolus said. “First you must hone such skills as the one you practice now. Only then will we work with live blades. Have you forgotten your failure to strike me down yesterday? Or thatyou came tome, asking to be trained?”
“No,” Tristan answered grudgingly.
“Very well,” Aeolus answered. “Start again.” After backing away he clapped his hands, signaling that the exercises should resume.
Save for the Paragon and his gold medallion, Tristan stood naked from the waist up in the blazing sun. Sweat poured from him as he marshaled what energy he had left. Taking a deep breath, he collected his thoughts and recommenced the exercise.
Earlier this morning Aeolus had shown him how to become lighter on his feet as he moved. He had also demonstrated how to travel, swivel, and turn smoothly without bobbing his head and shoulders. The raising or lowering of an enemy’s upper torso was a telltale sign of attack, he had said. Learn to recognize its advent and you will gain your first defensive advantage. Learn to move your body without it, and you will have gained your first offensive one.
But Tristan quickly realized that seeing Aeolus do it, and doing it himself, were two very different things. Because he was forced to stay slightly bent at the knees, the exercise was excruciating to his thighs and calves.
Raising his staff for what seemed the thousandth time, Tristan again started a zigzagging path across the grass. The goal was to complete the circuit and end up in the exact spot from which he had started without once looking down. Aeolus had pulled some grass from the ground to mark the exercise’s starting and stopping point.
On coming to the circuit’s end, Tristan checked his location. He had done better this time, his boots landing less than a foot from the starting place.
Smoothly lowering his staff the way Aeolus had taught him, Tristan looked into his teacher’s eyes. Surely the old wizard would have something complimentary to say this time.
“When you can return to the exact starting point while blindfolded and performing perfect sword cuts along the way, you will have finally accomplished something,” was Aeolus’ only comment. “Even so, it will be but a baby step. Now do it again.”
Sighing, Tristan wiped his face and began the exercise anew.
Aeolus had surprisingly arrived at the palace gates before dawn. Tristan had ordered Ox to greet him, but neither of them had guessed that the old man would arrive so early. Ox had shown Aeolus to his quarters, and the master had insisted on waking the prince himself.
Not knowing what else to do, Ox allowed Aeolus entry to Tristan’s private rooms. As Aeolus noisily rousted Tristan from his bed, all Ox could do was to offer Tristan an apologetic look. From this day until the Conclave’s return, Aeolus had said, he expected the prince to be in the courtyard just before daybreak, ready and eager to train.
As Tristan finished the circuit he saw Abbey and Ox approaching. Hoping that he had just been saved, he let go a deep breath.
“We need to speak with you,” Abbey told Tristan. She turned to Aeolus and smiled. “Welcome back to the palace, by the way,” she said.
“Thank you,” Aeolus answered. “But my stay is temporary.”
“What is it?” Tristan asked Abbey. “Has the fleet returned?”
“No,” she said. Her expression soured. “It’s about Clan Kilbourne. They are nearing the city. Hector wisely flew on ahead of them, so as to inform us. He wishes to know whether you have any orders for him or for the highlanders.”
It wasn’t often that one saw surprise overtake Aeolus’ face. He gave the prince a questioning glance.
“Highlanders?”he asked.
Tristan nodded. �
�We have an arrangement. In return for a homeland of their own, their horsemen are going to temporarily join the Minion forces as cavalry.”
Pursing his lips, Aeolus shook his head. “Highlander cavalry…” he mused. He gave Abbey a wry look.
“If that’s the case, you’d best hide all the horses and tack, not to mention the palace silverware,” Aeolus added. “And a highlander homeland, no less? Wigg’s and Faegan’s reactions to this development should prove most interesting.”
Abbey shook her head. “They’re not all that way,” she protested. “I’ve often bought herbs from highlanders over the years and I’ve never been cheated or robbed.”
After giving Abbey an approving smile, Tristan looked at Ox. “How far is the clan from the city?” he asked.
“They be three leagues away to the northeast,” Ox answered.
Tristan thought for a moment. He knew that his agreement with the highlanders would be controversial among the Tammerland citizens. Three leagues was close enough, he decided.
“Tell Hector to fly back,” he ordered Ox. “He is to ask the clan elders to make camp where they are. Rafe and I will visit them after I bathe and get something to eat.” He thought for a moment. “Have a litter made ready,” he added.
Ox’s face screwed up. “It be only three leagues,” he said. “Jin’Saino take Shadow?”
His legs still burning with fatigue, Tristan shook his head. “No,” he answered simply. Out of the corner of her eye, Abbey saw Aeolus stifle a smile.
“We’re done for today,” Tristan told Aeolus. He handed the master his wooden staff.
Aeolus bowed. “Until tomorrow morning, Jin’Sai, ” he said.
Abbey walked to Aeolus and threaded one arm through his. “In the meantime, let’s you and I have some lunch, then I’ll reacquaint you with the palace and the Redoubt,” she offered. “Much has changed since you were last here. Even so, our tour should bring back many pleasant memories.”
Aeolus smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “Is your nerveweed tea still as good as I remember?”
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