“I saw many of the screechlings purposely destroying the sails, as well as the spars and the yardarms,” he said. “Why would they do that, when they could have been attacking the crew?”
“It seems they are both highly intelligent and well organized,” Scars answered for his captain as she took another sip of wine. “They know that if we are sufficiently crippled, they can return at their leisure and finish us off. And unless we can get these three vessels moving again, that is exactly what will happen.”
Tyranny looked up at her first mate. “How much undamaged sail did we liberate from the slavers?” she asked hopefully.
“Not nearly enough to do a proper job,” Scars answered. “Especially considering the fact that we have three vessels to repair. I have taken the liberty of ordering all three ships lashed together, so that we might share resources and not drift apart on the nighttime sea. Dawn will rise soon, and we can work faster then. But even when we are finished, the best we will be able to do is to limp along. If the screechlings find us again, we shall be easy prey.” He remained silent for a moment as he considered his next words.
“Our best bet is to make for the Isle of Sanctuary and hope that we reach it before they return,” he suggested. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we are already wounded, Captain. Unless we reach the isle in time, the deathblow may not be far off.”
Tyranny scowled. Then she looked up at her gigantic first mate. “Please leave us now,” she said. “I have issues to discuss with our new friend here. In the meantime, make all the repairs you can with what we have available, and then set course for the Isle of Sanctuary. Even limping along, as you put it, is better than sitting dead in the water as live bait for the screechlings.”
After nodding to his captain and casting a questioning glance at the prince, Scars left the cabin, closing the door behind him. A combination of anger and confusion crossed Tristan’s face.
“What is this Isle of Sanctuary you are taking us to, eh?” he protested. “I, for one, have never heard of it!”
“You can still trust me, I swear it,” Tyranny assured him. “Our bargain remains intact. The reason you have never heard of the Isle of Sanctuary is because it is a secret, known only to a very few.”
“Enlighten me,” he said shortly.
Tyranny took another sip of wine. “Please go to my desk and bring me back my charts.”
Tristan skeptically did as she asked, placing the parchments on her lap. Rifling through them, she finally selected one and spread it out.
“We are here,” she said, pointing to a section of the chart displaying open sea. “Or at least that’s where we were when we were attacked. Dead on course for the delta, just as I had agreed. Our current position has no doubt changed a bit since we have been adrift. But not by much, since the winds have remained light. Anyway, the Isle of Sanctuary is not far off our direct course to the delta. Look.”
Running one finger west toward the Cavalon Delta, she stopped it near a small island shaped like a long, crooked finger. According to the scale it was about four leagues long by two wide. Several natural harbors indented its coast. It was drawn in a darker ink, as if it had recently been added to her map.
“I give you the little-known Isle of Sanctuary,” she said. “Scars added it from memory.”
“But how is that possible?” Tristan asked. “And why must we go there?”
Sitting back, she looked him in the eyes. “You say that two of your wizards still live?” she asked.
“Yes. Wigg, the onetime lead wizard of the Directorate. And his friend Faegan, from Shadowood. What of it?”
“Because your Directorate, or should I say what’s left of it, is supposedly responsible for the isle’s existence,” she answered cautiously. “Or so the legend goes.”
Tristan sat back in his chair. “Even if what you say is true, why must we go there?” he asked. “Why can’t we just set a course straight for the delta?”
Tyranny took another puff of smoke and let it out slowly. “There is still a great deal of sea between us and home,” she answered. “Much of it is known to be infested with screechlings, as well as slaver ships. Provided we can pay the price, we should be able to procure both spars and sailcloth on the isle. Like it or not, we need those to get to the delta in one piece. Even with our layover, and taking into consideration the time it will take to make our final repairs, we will still arrive at the delta faster than if we simply continued to plow along in our current state. You must trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about.”
Her face grew dark again, and she reached out, taking his hands into hers. It was the first time she had ever done so. “I don’t like the idea of taking us there, either. I would never have given such an order unless it was absolutely necessary. Nor would Scars have suggested it, brave as he is. It’s a very dangerous place. During previous visits there I have always lost good people—crew who chose to stay on the isle, rather than return to the sea with me. I wouldn’t like to lose any more of them to that place, but those here with me are here of their own free will. What will be will be.” She looked away for a moment. “But there is also a personal reason why I avoid visiting the isle . . .”
Seemingly resigned to her decision, she looked back at him. The commanding eyes of the daring privateer had somehow transformed into those of a lovely, desirable woman who suddenly seemed quite vulnerable in his presence.
“You must believe me,” she said, gently but insistently. “At this point, everyone on The People’s Revenge wants to get home as quickly as you do. But we must have the necessary sails to speed our ship, or we may never make it at all.” A small smile crossed her lips. “Unless you’d like to row again, of course.”
Tristan found his mood softening. Nonetheless, his mind was still full of unanswered questions. “But why do you say that this place has to do with the wizards?” he asked. “How could you possibly know that? Why is it so dangerous? Why did some of your men choose to stay there?”
She gave a short laugh. “You sound like a schoolboy!”
Tristan felt his face flush with embarrassment.
Suddenly the commanding, calculating expression returned to her blue eyes, and she let go of his hands. “No more questions now,” she said. “The Isle of Sanctuary is but one day’s sail from here, even in our current condition. You will have all of your answers soon enough. Now please help me up. I’m still dizzy, but I must get topside and look over my ships.” The wry smile came again. “The crewmembers need to know their captain is still able to pull her own weight.”
Standing, Tristan reached down to help her. As she rose to meet him, she winced at a pain in her left thigh and stumbled against him. For a long, uncomfortable moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Then he turned and helped her up the stairway to go look over her crippled ships.
It would be a depressing sight.
CHAPTER
Thirty-four
As Wigg and Faegan followed the ancient watchwoman through the portal, they were engulfed in darkness again, save for the light that came from the Paragon hanging around Faegan’s neck. Then the watchwoman stopped. Without turning around she raised one white, fleshless hand in a gesture of warning.
“Follow my footsteps exactly, and do not stray from the path,” she ordered. “The fall on either side is endless.”
She set off again, tapping her wooden staff against either edge of the stony path as she went along. Tentatively, the wizards followed behind her in single file. Fog loomed up on all sides, and the air was so cold that the wizards could see their breath streaming out before them. Although their minds were still brimming over with questions, neither of them spoke.
At one point, Faegan produced a gold coin from the pocket of his robe and tossed it over the side of the path. Using the craft, he trebled his wizard’s hearing and waited for the sound.
None came.
After that, both wizards picked their steps with even greater care.
Finally the watchwoman stopped and indicated that it was safe for the wizards to come up alongside her. When they did, she raised her hands.
Radiance stones lining the ceiling immediately began to glow with sage light. As they grew in brightness, the light from the Paragon faded, until at last the jewel returned to its normal state.
Faegan and Wigg saw that they were standing in a very large cavern. Within the boundaries of its walls lay a small lake, its waters glowing with the hue of the craft. Fog steamed up from the lake surface and encroached onto the jagged shoreline.
All around the lake rose tall, black rocks whose slick sides shimmered in the glow from the lake. On the edge of the shore lay a small rowboat. There were no oars to be seen. A slight breeze rippled the water and rustled the wizards’ hair; it felt good on their faces.
Looking out at the azure lake, Wigg was reminded of the azure waters he had seen in the Caves of the Paragon, just before he and Tristan had been bled and taken to Ragnar, Nicholas’ servant. He wondered how it was that such waters could exist here, as well.
Without speaking, the watchwoman walked to the boat, pushed it into the water, and climbed into its stern. Raising her staff, she then beckoned the two wizards forward to join her. After exchanging a quick, questioning look with Faegan, Wigg stepped into the boat first. Then Faegan levitated his chair up and over the side, joining him.
Still silent, the watchwoman began using her staff to pole them across the fog-shrouded lake. After a time the fog parted, and the wizards could see the far wall of the cavern, where it plunged down into the azure lake. Seven circular openings had been carved into it in a row, each filled about halfway with water. A light breeze emanated from each of them, softly disturbing the surface of the water.
The watchwoman carefully guided the little boat into the center opening and began pushing them down a long, dark tunnel. She paused only to raise her skeletal hands to illuminate the radiance stones that lined the roof of this place, as well, but though their light was very bright, they revealed little. It seemed to be a stone passageway, nothing more.
At last Wigg thought he could see an azure glow that signified the end of the tunnel. The watchwoman stopped poling the boat, and it slowly came to rest.
“You search for the way to untangle the herbs and precious oils of the craft, you say?” she asked in her raspy voice.
As Wigg turned around to face her, he saw that there was still nothing but empty darkness within the depths of her hood. “Yes,” he answered.
“Very well, then,” she replied. Pushing down on her staff, she levered the boat forward again. “Behold,” she said.
As they exited the tunnel, the wizards were faced with a vision of such serene majesty that it nearly made them weep.
The square, stone chamber was huge, stretching at least one hundred meters in all directions. There was no fog here. The waters of the tunnel spilled out into yet another large lake of glowing azure, this one so bright that its light filled the space and streamed across the stone walls and ceiling.
As they approached the far end of the chamber, a sloped, earthen embankment could be seen stretching completely from one of the side walls to the other. Its surface was covered with variegated vines and dark, strong-looking roots. The sharply sloped embankment rose upward in layered, horizontal tiers. Each wide, flat step of earth held what looked to be dozens of small pools of azure water. Water flowed from holes in the rock wall above the highest tier to tumble gracefully from one pool into the next, all the way down to the lake.
In each pool grew plants of the craft, their stems and blossoms rising just above the surface to create individual, floating gardens. These plants were bursting with every possible color, a vibrant rainbow of living energy. As the brilliant water coming from the wall above ran down and into each of the tiered pools, it burbled happily, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and the surface of the lake.
As the wizards stared, entranced, they became aware of the incredible scents in the air. Each mingled with the next, yet was somehow also singularly distinct to the nose.
If these gardens were not what they once had been, Wigg could not even conceive of what they might have looked like in their prime. As it was, their beauty was so great it made his heart ache.
“The floating gardens of the Chambers of Penitence,” Faegan breathed, hardly able to contain his joy. “The Tome was right. They really do exist!” But his delight faded as the watchwoman began pushing their boat away from the gardens, rather than toward them.
“Where are you taking us?” he asked anxiously. “What we require is back there, is it not, in the tiered gardens?”
“Indeed,” the watchwoman answered quietly, as her macabre hands continued to steer the boat toward the sheer rock wall to their right. “But before I give you what you need, one of you must pay the price. Then, and only then, am I allowed to grant you entrance to the gardens and provide you with what you seek.”
Wigg and Faegan looked at each other tentatively, but they said nothing.
Approaching the shore near the far wall, she gently beached the boat and indicated that they should disembark. Then she began walking along the rocky shoreline. The wizards followed.
She soon came to stand before a plain, square doorway carved into the rock wall. There she turned to them. The darkness within the hood of her robe was as impenetrable as ever.
“Only one of you shall be allowed to enter the chamber,” she said. She pointed her blanched, bony hand at Wigg. “It shall be you,” she added coldly.
“Why?” Wigg asked.
“The herbs you request are among the rarest in existence,” she answered. “Therefore the psychic price to be paid is exceedingly high. Of the two of you, the cripple has far less chance of survival. I can sense that his mind is always struggling to control the pain in his legs. The added burdens that await in the Chamber of Penitence shall be more easily borne by you—which is not to guarantee your survival, either. The choice remains yours: Decide.”
Wigg looked down at Faegan and nodded slowly. If he died here in this place today, then so be it. But no matter what else might happen, no harm could come to the Paragon.
Faegan looked up at Wigg with wet, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry, my friend,” he said, his voice cracking. Then he looked down at the stark wooden chair that was at once both his freedom and his prison. “I have far less to lose,” he added sadly.
Wigg placed a hand on Faegan’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “But if I never come back, please do all you can to help Celeste come to terms with her past. I have only just found her, and I would like to know that my oldest, best friend will be looking after her. Just as I know you will also care for Abbey and the Chosen Ones.”
Lowering his head slightly, all Faegan could do was nod.
Wigg looked back at the faceless woman. “I am ready,” he said.
She turned and walked through the doorway and into the darkness beyond.
Taking a deep breath, the lead wizard followed her inside.
CHAPTER
Thirty-five
You’re insane,” Wulfgar breathed softly, incredulously, as he stared at the wizard. “Even you, in the warped, twisted world of this bizarre island you command, cannot believe everything you have just said! And even if you do, such things are not possible! What you propose is monstrous, and I will have none of it, do you hear? None of it!”
Smiling slightly, Krassus stood from his chair and came to stand by Wulfgar’s side. Looking out over the nighttime sea, he saw the running lights of several slave ships approaching the underground pier. Counting them, he saw that there were five. He smiled again. With the exception of the ship Janus and Grizelda had just departed in, most of his fleet was now home. And here in the protection of the Citadel was where they would stay, at least for the time being.
With the discovery of Wulfgar, he had no further need for the taking of R’talis slaves. Even before the half sibling of the Chosen Ones had been
found, Krassus had already secured more of the endowed captives than he needed to fulfill the other, more esoteric part of Nicholas’ plans. Nor did the wizard need more Talis slaves, even though they had been brought here for an entirely different purpose. And so he had told Janus to order all of the slaving activities in Eutracia abandoned. Soon his entire fleet and most of his demonslavers and consuls would be back at the Citadel, awaiting his next orders.
From the moment he had first entered these rooms and looked Wulfgar over, Krassus had been pleased. Tall, broad shouldered, and muscular, Wulfgar had intense hazel eyes that burned brightly with both his innate intelligence and the strength of his uniquely endowed blood. His rugged good looks were not what one might have called classically handsome, but he carried with him a defiant sense of purpose, just as did the other two offspring of the late queen Morganna.
Krassus could barely contain his eagerness to discover just how strong Wulfgar’s blood would eventually prove to be.
But first he would need to consult the Scroll of the Vagaries.
For the last two hours Krassus had been explaining his plan in great detail to the unbelieving man seated beside him, telling him why he had been brought here and what was about to happen to all of the other slaves, both Talis and R’talis alike. Some of it, the wizard had said, was already going forward at the hands of the consuls under his control.
As Krassus had gone on talking, the look of extreme horror on Wulfgar’s face had turned to one of pure rage. At one point he had actually tried to attack the wizard. But Krassus had, of course, been able to control him, painfully but gently showing him the error of his ways. After that Wulfgar had simply paced, seething, knowing that there was nothing he could do but listen to the impossible-sounding plans of the wizard with the long, white hair and the strange gray-and-blue robe.
Krassus had fully expected Wulfgar to react this way. In fact, he would have been bitterly disappointed if the son of Morganna had not. But he also knew that Wulfgar’s feelings would change soon enough. And there would be absolutely nothing Wulfgar would be able to do to prevent it.
The Scrolls of the Ancients Page 33
