But today he felt no such life-threatening symptoms. Smiling, he again turned to look at the waterfall. Not being affected by the water was a wonderfully liberating feeling.
Just then Wigg approached. Raising one eyebrow at Tristan, the wizard placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe.
“You seem to remain well this time,” he mused.
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “It’s amazing. Why do you think that is?”
Wigg scowled with thought. “I can only guess that this unexpected development has to do with your unique blood,” he answered.
“In what way?” Tristan asked.
Wigg shook his head. “Unknown,” he answered. “It might be because your blood was once azure, but a better explanation eludes me. Yet another question for the Ones, it would seem.”
Tristan turned to look at the Minion warriors still descending the stairs. Two full phalanxes had accompanied him here-one phalanx for each Black Ship-for a total of four thousand. He then looked around the massive stone room and back at the First Wizard.
“We need to make a decision,” Tristan said. “The tunnel entrance is only about fifteen feet across, yet every warrior must follow us in. Even so, this first chamber seems large enough to accommodate everyone at once. Should we wait until all the warriors have assembled, or shall we enter the tunnel while they are still descending the stairs?”
Wigg turned to look at the tunnel entrance, thinking. Then he looked at the seemingly endless parade of warriors still entering the Caves. It would take many hours for them all to assemble, he realized. And even then only a certain number could enter the tunnel at once. He turned to look at Tristan.
“The Conclave members should go now,” he said, “followed by the first group of warriors. We’ll leave Ox in charge here to oversee the flow of remaining warriors into the tunnel and then bring up the rear. In any case, it’s important that-”
“Wigg!” Jessamay shouted from somewhere behind them. “Come here-I need you!”
The Conclave members turned to see Jessamay standing before the tunnel entrance. There was a strange, searching look on her face. When her eyes met Wigg’s she hurriedly waved him over. As the Conclave members neared her, she hushed them into silence.
“Do you hear that?” she asked Wigg.
Wigg called the craft to augment his hearing. Soon the look on his face told Tristan that whatever sound Jessamay was talking about, the First Wizard now also heard. Unable to detect any noise but the rushing waterfall, the others simply stood there, baffled.
“I do,” Wigg answered. “How odd…”
Taking a step backward, he looked into the depths of the tunnel. “It’s coming from in there,” he said. “But this sound is something new. I have never heard it before.”
“What are you talking about?” Tyranny demanded. “I can’t hear anything except our voices and the waterfalls.”
“Nor is it likely that you would,” Wigg answered the privateer. “Only a craft practitioner could detect this.”
“What does it sound like?” Tristan asked.
Wigg looked at Jessamay. “Help me,” he said simply. Guessing Wigg’s intentions, Jessamay nodded.
The two mystics turned to face the vibrant waterfalls. After looking at one another, they raised their hands and again called the craft. To Tristan’s amazement, the waterfalls stopped producing any sound, even though the water still tumbled down into the stone pool as vigorously as before.
Tristan was about to speak again when he too heard the new sound. At first he couldn’t identify it. But he finally recognized it for what it was. It was the sound of wave after wave crashing against some distant shore.
Is this the Azure Sea we hear? he asked himself. But how could that be? The sea supposedly lies far away from this first chamber. And even if it is the Azure Sea, why do I hear it this time but never before?
Tristan looked at Wigg with unbelieving eyes. “How…” he breathed.
Wigg shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. His expression was worried. “But two things are certain. First, this sound is being carried here by the craft. Given how far away the sea probably lies from this chamber, that must be the case. And second, the sound is meant to draw us in and to help us find the sea.”
“But who would do this?” Tristan asked. “Few craft practitioners know about this place. Fewer still would have the ability to enact such a spell.”
Wigg turned to again look at the tunnel. The ocean noises continued unabated. Come to us, the distant waves seemed to whisper. Come to us, for your destinies lie this way.
After thinking for a time, the First Wizard looked at the Conclave members.
“There is but one likely answer,” he said. “The Ones did this. I believe that they left this spell behind to be activated when the subtle matter message was released in the Redoubt. While it’s true that the message did not mention this phenomenon, I believe that the coincidence is too great to be anything else. In any event, we have no choice but to enter the tunnel. Take heart-following the sound should make our quest an easier one.”
Tristan glanced over at Tyranny to see her shoot him a decidedly skeptical look. Tristan shared her suspicions, but he also understood that they had no choice but to follow the sound wherever it led them.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll go.”
Tristan turned to look at the growing number of eager Minions milling behind him. “Ox!” he called out. “Come here!”
A few moments later the stalwart warrior appeared by Tristan’s side. He came to attention and clicked his boot heels together. “I live to serve,” he said.
Tristan gave him a commanding look. “Have the two crates brought forward,” he ordered. “Make sure that they are handled carefully!” Ox quickly disappeared into the crowd to do his duty.
Soon the huge Minion’s bellowing voice could be heard again as he led the way back, roughly parting the warrior crowd as he came. Behind him walked two pairs of hand-picked male warriors, each pair bearing a wooden crate hung between two poles. On Tristan’s order they gently set the crates down near his feet. Tristan gazed at the crates, part of him still unable to believe what they contained.
Each crate held one miniaturized Black Ship that rested securely in its cradle. The empty space surrounding each ship had been enchanted to hold the vessels in place and to buffer them against jostling or-Afterlife forbid-dropping. One of the crates also held the jar containing some of the remaining subtle matter, the rest left behind in the Redoubt for safekeeping.
Each dark wooden crate stood about three feet high by two feet wide and was divided in half down its center. The bottom seams were connected by brass hinges, and the halves were held together by leather straps with brass buckles. Stout poles ran beneath the straps so that each pair of warriors could carry a crate by placing the poles atop their shoulders, the crates suspended between them as they walked along. Each crate glowed hauntingly with the hue of the craft.
Tristan looked at the four warriors who would carry the precious crates. Each was a battle-scarred graybeard carefully selected for his strength and loyalty. Although Arron, Taredd, Rhun, and Rafal were older than many, Traax had heartily recommended each of them, and Ox and Duvessa had agreed. Tristan gave each warrior a hard look.
“These crates and their contents are your responsibility,” he warned them. “You will guard them with your lives. They are the keys to getting across the Azure Sea and back alive. Not only do the ships and the subtle matter rest in your hands, but so too does the fate of everyone taking part in this expedition. Do you understand?”
At once all four warriors came to attention. “Yes!” their leader answered sternly. “We will make sure that theJin’Sai will not regret the trust he has placed in us.”
Tristan nodded. “See that you do,” he answered.
Tristan looked back at the tunnel entrance with suspicion. There was very little about this imminent journey that he liked, but they must undertak
e it if they were to reach Shashida. Ragnar had poisoned Tristan and blinded Wigg in those murky depths while Nicholas prepared to raise the three Gates of Dawn. In the end Nicholas had failed, but the savage horrors inflicted on Tristan in these caves still lingered in his heart and gave him pause.
Worse yet was the inescapable fact that so many warriors would be moving through many passageways at the same time, creating a logistical nightmare. If Tristan’s group was attacked, there would be little fighting room, and those warriors following behind him would be nearly powerless to help. But there was nothing to be done about it.
Tristan was about to give the order to enter the tunnel when he looked up at the inscription, probably placed there by the Ones. The elegant Old Eutracian script meant nothing to him. He turned toward Wigg and pointed at the words.
“You never told me what that means,” he said.
Wigg smiled. Without needing to read it, he solemnly recited the ancient inscription:
“Quicumque ambulare semtae accipere veritas,” the wizard answered. “Whoever walks these paths shall learn the truth.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” Tyranny protested.
Wigg shook his head. “On the contrary,” he answered. “The search for the truth is why we’re all here, is it not?”
Saying nothing more, the wizard raised one arm and called the craft to illuminate the millions of radiance stones embedded in the tunnel ceiling. At once the passageway glowed with a pale sage-green light. Tristan looked far into the tunnel but could see no end to its depths.
After nodding to Wigg, Tristan stepped inside, and the other Conclave members followed. As Ox waited behind to direct the flow of warriors into the tunnel, Taredd, Rhun, Arron, and Rafal lifted the poles bearing the crates atop their shoulders and also entered. Watching them go, Ox clenched his jaw.
Go safe, Jin’Sai, he thought, as Tristan’s back finally became lost in the crowd. This time Ox will be too far behind to protect you.
CHAPTER XXVII
IN TWO MORE HOURS THE SUN WOULD RISE, MAKING IT more difficult for the lead cleric to hide his face.
As Gracchus skulked through the dark war camp, his need to be anonymous was irritating. It made him want to rebel, to stand erect, to announce his august presence to these lowly legionnaires. But to succeed in his plan, thePon Q’tar lead cleric would have to swallow his pride for the moment and do what he must. And so he hurried on, bent over like some nameless, crippled beggar trying to avoid wandering centurions as he navigated the camp.
The war procession had halted for the night among broad, rolling fields well south of Ellistium. Behind Gracchus the luxurious tents of the emperor, the Tribunes, and thePon Q’tar retreated into the distance, the oil lamps inside each tent casting their soft glow through the canvas and into the night. Between him and his destination were thousands of legionnaires ringing the camp’s center, not to mention the caged animals and the thousands of carts, chariots, and wagons that always accompanied great Rustannican campaigns.
Hurrying on, Gracchus put as much distance between himself and the Blood Royal’s compound as he could. For a moment he regretted the decision to leave the secret structure so far from the center of the camp, only to realize again that he had little choice if he was to visit it without others knowing. He had explained the decision to Vespasian by insisting that the structure would be safer by making it invisible and not circling it with centurion guards, just as it had been when it secretly left Ellistium with the war procession. Vespasian had at first been skeptical of the idea but he finally agreed, largely because his forces had not yet entered enemy territory.
Gracchus had wisely replaced his white and burgundyPon Q’tar robe with the drab brown one he now wore, but it added to his grating sense of ignominy. Pulling the hood higher, he continued to cloak his endowed blood as he hurried across the dewy grass, circumventing yet another group of tired legionnaires as they sat drinking beside a roaring campfire.
There were tens of thousands of empire soldiers in these two accompanying legions alone, and each one knew Gracchus by sight. Worse, there would be many more of them to avoid once Vespasian’s group joined up with the forces waiting at the head of the Six Rivers. Their added numbers would make his visits to the secret building far more difficult, but the die was cast and there could be no going back.
Above all, Vespasian, Persephone, and Lucius must not learn of his secret assignations. Should legionnaires challenge him, Gracchus would silently kill them with the craft, then magically dispose of the bodies. Although desertion among the legions was rare, it was not unheard of, But even Gracchus hoped that that would not be needed-not because he would shrink from murder to achieve his ends, but because it would further complicate his already devious plan. Should the Oraculum give him unwelcome news, he surely didn’t want Vespasian aware of his visits beforehand.
Finally exiting the camp without incident, he scrambled down a small gully, then traveled up a dry river bed for about fifty meters. The great oak tree standing on the riverbank served as his landmark. He stopped and looked around.
The night was still, the three red moons casting their magenta glow over everything with their customary beauty. The night creatures that had stopped singing when he neared gradually took up their songs again as he stood motionless, his endowed senses searching for a sign of human life. When his surroundings finally returned to normal, Gracchus decided that he was at last alone. He raised his arms and called the craft.
Soon a temple appeared in the center of the riverbed, its structure gleaming serenely in the moonlight. Small and low, it was made of white alabaster with a peaked roof and seven steps leading to its columned portico. Heavy marble doors locked from the outside stood high and broad in the facing wall. Although the temple had but one purpose, it was vital to Gracchus’ plans. Despite being a huge encumbrance, the entire Suffragat had agreed that it should come on the campaign. But Gracchus had his own reasons for insisting that the temple be brought along, for there were secrets that only thePon Q’tar must know if the Vagaries were to rule this side of the world as well as the other.
The lead cleric hurried up the stone steps, then called the craft. At once the massive doors swung wide. He walked into the temple, and the doors silently closed behind him. Had anyone been watching, he would have seen the temple start to shimmer, then disappear from sight, leaving only the night creatures to attest that it ever existed.
Lowering his hood, Gracchus walked midway across the highly polished floor. Looking at the far wall he was relieved to see that thePon Q’tar ’s wondrous construct had survived the journey intact. The inside of the temple was simple and bare, with only a handful of enchanted wall torches providing light. The air was warm and odorless.
As he had hoped, the far wall glowed with a soft azure hue. Its depths seemed limitless. Curved shards of white light wheeled and streaked through the azure aura. The strange masterwork of the craft emitted a soft roaring, crackling sound like that of a blazing fire. Raising his hand, Gracchus again summoned the craft. At once the shimmering wall slid closer, causing the familiar glowing cube to take form. The cube came to a stop a few meters from his boots.
“Come to me,” he ordered.
As the Oraculum emerged, a strange look showed on her face, and her dark eyes searched the unfamiliar room. Her tattered gray gown flowing about her in the mist, she said nothing as she hung weightless in her endowed prison.
“Do you know where you are, Matsuko?” Gracchus asked almost politely.
“I know that this room is not the one in which I have been imprisoned for so many centuries,” she answered. “I could sense that this structure was moving and that until only moments ago it was surrounded by the workings of the craft-a spell of invisibility, perhaps. But I do not know where we have come or why.”
“We are on a great campaign against Shashida,” Gracchus answered. “You are now housed in temple built of solid alabaster and especially enchanted to keep you imprisoned. I cau
sed a spell of forgetfulness to pass over you while you and your cube were moved from belowground. We call this place the Oraculum Tempitatum. But you need be told no more than that.”
“A great campaign,” Matsuko mused. At first the news stunned her, but soon a slight smile crossed her lips. “This is the first time that you have taken me from my underground prison. Your reasons for bringing me with you must be important, considering that you could simply have left me in Ellistium and touched my mind to hear my pronouncements. Why am I here, Gracchus?”
The cleric’s jaw hardened. Bringing the Oraculum along on the campaign was a great hardship, but a necessary one. With Vespasian’s blessing, this temple had been hastily constructed by thePon Q’tar to move the Oraculum without fear of her escaping imprisonment.
Moving her glowing cube from one locale to another without encasing it within another strongly walled object was unthinkable-she remained far too powerful for Gracchus to trust such pedestrian measures of confinement as mere chains or barred cages. Only solid, enchanted stone might keep her trapped should she somehow slip the bonds of her azure cube. That was why she had been imprisoned beneath the ground so long ago and why she and her glowing cube were being transported in this gleaming temple, its alabaster sides enchanted by the craft to strengthen them and to cloak the presence of her highly endowed blood.
Causing the temple to become invisible and to float through the air among the advancing legions had been a huge drain on several of the cleric’s gifts. The strain in the coming days would be no less severe. But it was needed because the legions would soon be linking up, then entering Shashidan territory, the Oraculum’s onetime home world. Moreover, the Oraculum was unknown to anyone other than the Suffragat, and so she had to be spirited from the capital in secret. If her pronouncements could be secretly used to their advantage in the war, the clerics’ and emperor’s victories would seem all the more inspired.
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