Four hours had passed since they set sail. Or at least that was what the ships’ hourglasses said. But Tristan wondered whether even time could be confidently measured here. Not long ago he and Tyranny had guessed that the sage-colored light emitted from the radiance stones might never dim. If so, there would be no night, and that phenomenon would bring problems all its own. Sleep patterns would be disrupted, forcing the Minions to rest belowdecks in rotating shifts. Moreover, the great ships could not stop and weigh anchor, for although soundings had been taken, the channel bottom was never found.
Still, some encouraging signs remained. A water sample taken from the channel revealed that it was fresh, rather than salty, granting them an unlimited supply of drinking water. Even so, he ordered that the azure channel water not be used for any purpose until his mystics had assessed it.
Foodstuffs remained the other advantage, at least for now. Feeding everyone represented no immediate problem, for the ships’ lower decks held enough provisions to last for several months. Still, from what Tristan saw of this eerie place, there would be no chance to live off the land, and when the food was gone, his expedition would starve. No creatures or vegetation clung to the rocky walls or populated the azure water, nor had a single bird or insect been seen. Only the warm, odorless wind, the forbidding rocky walls, and the mysterious radiance stones existed here. Save for the usual noise made by busy Minion crew members, the only other sound was the crashing of the waves as they split against the ship’s bows. The environment was eerie, soulless, unsettling.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Tristan wearily ran his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. He was desperately tired, but the continually shining light made sleep elusive. His fatigue ran deeper than just in his mind and his muscles, he knew. For some time now it had been seeping its way deep into his soul.
He didn’t want to admit it, but the feeling could not be denied. The last few years of struggle had taken their toll, forcing him to wonder how much longer he could keep trying to fulfill the task that the late Envoys of Crysenium had explained to him during his first wondrous trip to the world’s other side. For a long time his mystics assumed that his destiny meant combining the Vigors and the Vagaries for the benefit of all mankind. But to his great surprise, the Envoys had said otherwise.
Instead, Tristan was to finally bring an end to the War of Attrition, the ongoing battle raging between Rustannica and Shashida. He would then unite the two nations and become their lone ruler, ensuring that they never again went to war. But the Envoys were savagely murdered by Rustannica’s Imperial Order before Tristan could learn how this great task might be accomplished. And so he struggled on to reach Shashida and to find the many answers still eluding him.
But it was more than just the uncertainty of it all, he knew. Since the return of the Coven of Sorceresses four years ago he had known little besides death, war, and personal loss. He was sick of killing and of seeing others killed, regardless of which side of the craft they served.
Nearly his entire family and the beloved Directorate of Wizards had died either by his hand or because of his personal destiny. That was to say nothing of the thousands of Minion warriors who had willingly perished while serving him, and the many enemies of the Vigors he had personally killed. The numbers were too great to count, and as the tally grew, so did his sense of guilt for leading so many souls ever deeper into his personal war.
But what else could he do? he wondered as he watched the rocky walls silently slide past. He was theJin’Sai. Like it or not, he had been born for this mission. His greatest hope was that if he could stop the War of Attrition, the lives he might save could somehow justify the deaths of all the others-a balancing of the Afterlife’s ledgers, if you will. But how many more would perish before he might somehow end that terrible war?
And when they died, how would that alter his imaginary balance sheet of death? Whom else might he lose in this struggle? Wigg, Shailiha, Faegan, Tyranny? Would he possess the strength, the spirit, the will to-
“Pardon, Jin’Sai, ” a familiar voice suddenly broke in. Tristan turned to see Ox standing there.
“Wigg and Jessamay conscious again,” he said. “They ask for meeting, and say all Conclave members must come. They also want Scars and acolytes there.”
Tristan nodded, then thought for a moment. The only way that Tyranny and Scars could attend would be to stop the vessels somehow, for he trusted no one else to sail them the traditional way through these treacherous straits, and allowing them to drift was unthinkable. Because the soundings had found no channel bottom, the ships could not be anchored.
“Return to Wigg and ask if he and Jessamay have regained enough strength to empower the ships and hold them still in the channel,” he told Ox. “If so, tell them that we will come. Send a messenger to theEphyra to inform Scars. When the ships stop, have that messenger bring Scars here. We will then furl both ship’s sails.”
“Yes, Jin’Sai, ” Ox said.
As Ox went to confer with Wigg, Tristan walked up theTammerland ’s main deck to stand behind Tyranny at the ship’s wheel. For a time he admiringly watched her thread the ship through the strait as if through a swerving needle’s eye. She did more than simply react to the changing wind and waves, he realized. She anticipated them, her marvelous seafaring skills a natural part of her being.
Walking nearer, he gently touched her on one shoulder. Despite her demanding task she turned and smiled warily at him before returning her sharp gaze to the ship’s bow.
“You might fancy yourself a pilot,” she said slyly. “But if you’ve come to relieve me, you can forget it! You’d have us up on those rocks in minutes!”
Tristan let go a short laugh. “I don’t doubt it!” he answered. “Anyway, I’m not going to relieve you-Wigg is. You and Scars could do with a rest.”
Tyranny nodded gratefully. Moments later theTammerland stopped dead in the water and held still in the center of the channel. No longer seeing the craggy walls slide dangerously by was a welcome relief.
After tying off the ship’s wheel, Tyranny ordered the Minions to furl theTammerland ’s many sails, lightening Wigg’s burden. Tristan looked astern to see that theEphyra had also stopped and that her warriors were scrambling up her masts. A female Minion could be seen flying back to the flagship with Scars in her arms.
Tristan gestured toward the ship’s bow. “After you,” he said. Tyranny nodded. After stretching her tired back muscles she led the way forward toward one of the many open deck hatches.
The air surrounding theTammerland was warm and humid, making the crowded atmosphere belowdecks even more uncomfortable. As he followed Tyranny down two gangways and along the length of deck three, he took in all the sights and sounds common to a busy warship.
Stacked crates of food, water barrels, and arms lockers lay all about, making traversing the decks difficult. Minion warriors were everywhere, busily going about their duties. As Tristan and Tyranny walked by, they snapped to attention, then pressed their bodies up against the walls to allow their superiors easier passage. Oil lamps enchanted to burn forever and without smoke lined the walls, giving the hallways an eerie appearance.
Coming to the end of one hallway, Tyranny opened a door and walked through. Following her, Tristan soon found himself in theTammerland ’s huge galley.
The place was a beehive of activity. There were so many warriors aboard that they were forced to eat in round-the-clock shifts, and so the galley never shut down. Warriors constantly chopped, stirred, cooked, and baked to provide enough food for their hungry brothers in arms. Tristan had long enjoyed Minion fare, and the enticing smells soon got his stomach growling, reminding him of how long it had been since he last ate.
At the far end of the galley Tyranny opened another door and they walked down another hallway. More busy warriors saluted and made way for them. Finally Tyranny stopped before a mahogany door on the hallway’s starboard side and double-knocked.
“Enter!” Wigg’s voice
called out. Tyranny opened the door and she and Tristan walked into the First Wizard’s private quarters.
Like the all the quarters assigned to Conclave members, Wigg’s private rooms were spacious and attractive. Patterned rugs lay atop the hardwood floor and tall leaded glass windows swiveled wide to catch the sea breeze along the starboard wall. A great four-poster bed stood in one corner and a desk in the other, its top littered with parchments, texts, scrolls, and other tools of the craft.
Although all the windows were open, Wigg’s rooms seemed little cooler than the passageways Tyranny and Tristan had just navigated. On the salon’s port side was another door leading to the wizard’s private washroom. Tristan also noticed that the flat glass vial containing the remainder of the subtle matter had been securely mounted onto the wall behind Wigg’s desk against the whims of the waves and the shifting breezes. A large gilded oil lamp hung from the center of the ceiling but remained unlit because of the bright light pouring through the many open windows.
Wigg sat gingerly in a chair on one side of the room while Jessamay lay on a sofa with her legs propped up. Between them sat a low table, its marble top covered with plates of cheese, fresh fruit, dark bread, and flagons of red wine. A rolled-up scroll lay there as well. Tristan noticed that Wigg had replaced his seared robe with a fresh one, and in order not to aggravate her burns, Jessamay had donned an oversized doublet and equally blousy breeches.
Wigg managed a smile as he beckoned Tristan and Tyranny into the room. Tristan walked to Jessamay’s side, and as Tyranny followed she pulled up a chair for her and one for the prince. After sitting down, Tristan gave Jessamay a concerned look.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
The Vigors sorceress nodded. “I am, but I’d be dead if Wigg hadn’t caught me in his warp. At first I thought that I had broken my back, but luckily I didn’t. Even so, every muscle throbs. I can’t recall anything after that until waking up in my quarters, but Wigg has kindly told me the tale. He has also granted me a spell to control my pain, and another of accelerated healing to help with my burns.”
The blond sorceress winced as she gingerly rearranged her burned legs, then gave Tristan a meaningful look. “We were lucky, you know,” she added quietly. “Khristos is a very powerful wizard, and his Blood Vipers are equally vicious. I know that we lost many warriors, but Wigg says that we likely killed an equal number of the enemy.”
“So, like Wigg, you know who Khristos is?” Tristan asked.
Jessamay nodded, but the look on her face said that Wigg should be the one to explain.
Tristan nodded, then folded his arms across his chest and looked into Wigg’s aquamarine eyes.
“And you, old friend?” he asked. “How are you faring?”
Wigg’s face was scalded, and painful-looking blisters showed on his hands and forearms. Even so, he seemed more energetic than did Jessamay.
“I’ll be all right,” he answered. “The important thing is that the subtle matter and the Black Ships were saved. I’m sure that you will want to know about our losses-I have the report right here.”
As Wigg reached for the scroll lying on the tabletop, he winced, then decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. Just as Tristan tried to help, the First Wizard called the craft and levitated the scroll into the air, eluding Tristan’s grasp.
Wigg raised an eyebrow in theJin’Sai ’s direction. “I might be burned, but I’m not helpless, you know,” he muttered. The scroll then unrolled in midair and Wigg started reading it aloud.
“Eight hundred thirty-seven male and female warriors were killed outright on the beach,” Wigg said solemnly. “One thousand two hundred thirty were wounded, of whom about seven hundred are expected to recover and fight another day. Another one hundred or so remain unaccounted for. Ox informs me that those warriors who do not heal sufficiently or who lost limbs will be restricted to duties that no longer include combat. So a full one-third of our fighting force has been neutralized, even after the wounded return to duty.”
The news was even worse than Tristan feared. Taking a deep breath, he slumped in his chair and laid back his weary head. Hearing Wigg read those numbers sadly reminded him of his imagined death ledgers. Yet more marks for the debit page, he thought. Putting his thoughts aside, he turned to Tyranny.
“What is the status of our ships?” he asked.
Just as the privateer was about to answer, another knock sounded on the cabin door. “Enter!” Tristan called out.
The door swung open to reveal Scars, Astrid, and Phoebe. As Tristan beckoned them into the room, Tyranny set out three more chairs.
Scars looked exhausted, a rarity for him. As usual he wore only his torn trousers. Astrid and Phoebe also looked tired and drawn, and their red acolyte robes needed some serious scrubbing.
“Are you all right?” Tristan asked them at once.
Scars nodded. “I am well,” he said.
“As are we,” Astrid answered for the two sisters. “We are all lucky to be alive.”
Tristan nodded appreciatively as he looked at the two acolytes. Astrid was short and plump, with a profusion of brunette ringlets. Phoebe was just the opposite-tall, with a willowy figure and straight blond hair. Each sister had been handpicked by Adrian to empower the Black Ships, and they had become very good at it. No one need tell Tristan how valuable these women would be in the days ahead. Like Wigg’s and Jessamay’s fingertips, the sisters’ were darkly charred from loosing bolt after bolt against Khristos’ forces. Tristan turned back to look at Tyranny.
“Your report?” he asked.
After pouring a cup of wine, the privateer sat back tiredly and crossed one long leg over the other. “TheTammerland is seaworthy,” she answered, “which is a bloody miracle, given all that she’s been through. I can’t speak for our sister ship, because I’ve been too busy keeping theTammerland off the rocks to go and take a look at her.”
Tyranny took a long slug of wine, then looked over at her gigantic first mate. “What say you, Scars?” she asked. “Are you taking good care of my other boat?”
Tristan smiled. This wasn’t the first time he had heard her say that, nor was it likely to be the last. From the beginning, Tyranny considered all four Black Ships to beher vessels. It was a sentiment he didn’t try to discourage.
“Aside from her downed mast and spars she is fine, Captain,” Scars answered. “Some of her sails were torn, but they’re being mended. As I’m sure you know, keeping her straight in this damnable channel is a struggle. She’s slow and more than a little sluggish on the wheel because of her reduced sail surface, but the mast and spars should be repaired soon. It’s a good thing that we brought along spare timber. It takes up much space belowdecks, but it’s worth it. Because of Sister Astrid and Sister Phoebe’s help, my Minion shipwrights say that we’ll have everything set right in twelve more hours.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “We need to travel as fast as we can. We have much food and water aboard, but it’s not limitless.”
Tristan looked back at Wigg. “When can you and Jessamay empower the ships?” he asked.
“We have discussed it and we believe that we can start tomorrow,” Wigg answered. “It will be difficult for Jessamay to stand, so some sort of seat must be provided for her while she pilots theEphyra. When we tire, Astrid and Phoebe will take over. We will then establish regular shifts.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “Once we are airborne we should make better time. But it is nearly impossible to gauge the rate of travel in this place. The Night Witches report that nothing lies ahead except more of the same. I will keep sending them out, because this channel must have an end somewhere. We can only hope that we reach it before we run out of supplies.”
Wigg nodded. “I know,” he answered. “But starvation was always a risk, wasn’t it?”
“And the azure water beneath us?” Tristan asked. “Have you analyzed it?”
“Such pursuits lie more within Faegan’s purview than mine,” Wigg answered,
“but Jessamay and I did what we could. The water seems to possess an energy all its own. Truth be told, I’ve never seen anything like it. For now it should be used for no purpose whatsoever. We’ll keep trying to learn more, but you must continue your wise prohibition. You should also know that there’s something about the azure water that particularly disturbs us. It was a notion that we failed to consider before we left home.”
Tristan’s expression darkened. “What is it?” he asked.
“We fear that the azure water might be adversely affecting the ship’s hulls,” Wigg said. “When the Directorate built these vessels they enchanted them to withstand many things, but this azure water was not one of them. Because the Black Ships were originally designed to sail the Sea of Whispers, there was no need for such considerations.”
“But if we stay airborne most of the time, that shouldn’t matter,” Tyranny said.
“Not necessarily,” Jessamay replied.
“Why?” Tristan asked. “What Tyranny said seems logical enough.”
“True, but you two didn’t help build these ships,” Wigg answered. “If you had, you would know that part of what keeps a ship’s hull waterproof is the swelling that its timbers incur when it is first set atop the waves. The dry wood absorbs the water, locking the timbers tightly together. This effect is normal, and the shipbuilding process wouldn’t be complete without it.”
“That’s true,” Tyranny replied. “But the Black Ships are hundreds of years old. After spending so much time atop the Sea of Whispers, their hull timbers are the best seasoned I have ever seen. I’m sure that they have drawn in all the moisture that they ever will. If you’re worrying about them absorbing much azure water, I doubt that could happen.”
“You’re forgetting something, Captain,” Scars said quietly. “Wigg is right-we failed to consider it before we left Tammerland.”
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