Everyone was eager to return to Tammerland, but Traax’s wish to make his way home ran especially high. Just three months ago he had become a husband. His new wife, the warrior-healer Duvessa, eagerly awaited him at the palace. These sea trials had been the first time he had left her side since the wedding, and he missed her keenly.
The couple had been wed by the Jin’Sai personally. During the ceremony, Shailiha’s daughter, Morganna, had been the bearer of the two jeweled pins that symbolized the betrothed warriors’ love for each other. Traax was a member of the Conclave, and Duvessa commanded all the female warrior-healers, an elite cadre of fighting women who were expert healers as well. As Tyranny looked into Traax’s eyes she understood how badly he wanted to get home. But there was still work to do.
“Traax, when we reach the sea, have your warriors take soundings,” she ordered. “I want the depth called out in one-fathom intervals. Have all the sails furled and tied off.”
Traax nodded. Tyranny knew the waters of the Cavalon Delta like the back of her hand. By the changing depths alone, she would be able to gauge the fleet’s nearness to the coast and keep the ships from running aground.
“Send three warriors aloft and have them deliver a message to the other acolyte pilots,” she continued. “Tell them that we are going to descend through the fog and land on the waves. When they see us start down, they are to follow. They must stay close enough to continually see us.” She shot a sly smile at Adrian, then looked back at Traax.
“This maneuver will need some tricky flying to prevent the ships from colliding,” she added, “but I think that the acolytes can handle it. Tell them to consider it their final test. When we drop anchor, they are to do the same.”
“As you wish, Captain,” Traax answered. He turned on his boot heels and hurried off.
Tyranny turned back to Adrian. “You may start your descent,” she ordered. “Take us down slow and level.”
“Aye,” the First Sister replied. “Slow and level as she goes.”
Adrian altered her hold over the craft and the Tammerland started a slow vertical descent. The First Sister kept the ship perfectly level, so that the entire length of her keel would touch the water at once and keep the ship from heeling over.
Tyranny looked at the sky. The sun had finally risen in earnest, and it would soon start burning away the fog. Until now the Tammerland had been flying in the clear, but she would soon enter the fog bank below.
Like Scars, Tyranny guessed that the fog did not reach all the way to the sea and that they would soon break clear. Even if they were wrong, at this slow rate of descent the Tammerland’s landing might be blind, but it would be gentle. The privateer glanced again to starboard to confirm that the other three ships were following the Tammerland’s lead.
Soon the great ship entered the dense fog. As the fog crept higher it engulfed the hull, then the topside, and finally the masts, furled sails, and spars. The fog soon grew so thick that Tyranny lost sight of the other three ships, causing her concern. Perhaps I place too much confidence in the acolytes’ abilities, she worried. Then she heard Minion voices hauntingly calling out in the gloom. For the benefit of the four acolytes, they were announcing the distances between the vessels. That must have been Traax’s idea, she thought, and it was a good one.
As the Tammerland descended, Tyranny, Adrian, and Scars grabbed hold of some nearby rigging to steady themselves. More tense seconds ticked by. Without warning, the great vessel hit the waves. She listed hard to port for a moment before settling down. Soon they heard the other three Black Ships splash down, and it was over.
As the Tammerland started to drift, Tyranny turned to Scars. “Drop anchor!” she shouted. Scars immediately ran to carry out her order.
Soon the two women heard the anchor chain rattling across the foredeck, and the anchor splashed into the sea. The Tammerland swiveled hard to port before settling down again. Then she tugged hard on her chain, digging the anchor blade deep into the sea floor.
Exhausted, Adrian closed her eyes and let go a deep breath. She had no doubt that her sister acolytes were equally spent.
“Well done,” Tyranny said. “You have earned a well-deserved rest.”
Just then Traax and Scars reappeared. “The other three ships are successfully moored,” he said, “and they are far enough apart so that they will not strike each other as they turn in the wind. Shall we take our first sounding, raise the Tammerland’s anchor, and head for shore?”
Before answering, Tyranny turned and gazed westward. She smiled.
“That won’t be needed,” she answered.
The others turned to look. The fog was slowly parting. As it did, shafts of golden sunlight streamed down here and there from the sky above, spotlighting the ships and the waves. It was a welcome sight. Tyranny saw that the coastline was starting to appear. Raising her spyglass again, she turned its lenses to the west.
The fleet was moored about a hundred meters from shore. She could see the lush foliage of the delta and one of the three major tributaries that poured the Sippora River’s fresh water into the sea. Several fishing villages clung to the delta coast, one of which lay dead ahead. Birmingham, she realized.
Then she saw something odd on the rocky beach, and she froze. Hurrying forward, Tyranny leaned hard against the gunwale and again raised her spyglass. At first she refused to believe her eyes. But as she looked further, the terrible reality sank in. She slowly lowered the glass.
“I beg the Afterlife,” she whispered, her face contorting in cold rage.
Of her three officers, Scars knew Tyranny best. Even so, he had rarely seen such a look overtake his captain’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously.
Tyranny quickly beckoned them all forward. Reaching out, she took Traax by his shoulders and pulled his face to within inches of hers.
“Save for a skeleton crew left aboard each Black Ship, I want every warrior armed and aloft this instant!” she ordered. “Have them circle above until I order differently! I want my litter made ready, and bring the other three acolytes here immediately! We’re all flying ashore!” Traax clicked his heels and was gone in an instant.
Scars gave Tyranny another questioning look. The privateer’s only response was to remove the spyglass strap from around her neck and thrust the scope into Scar’s beefy hands. The first mate raised the glass and turned it toward the coast. After a time, he swallowed hard.
“Tyranny…” Adrian breathed. “What’s going on?”
The hard-nosed privateer reached for her gold case. After stabbing another cigarillo between her lips and lighting it, she finally answered the acolyte.
“I suggest that you employ the craft and look for yourself,” she growled.
Adrian hurried to the gunwale. As he looked toward the coast, Scars stood stock-still beside her like some great marble statue. Calling on the craft, Adrian augmented her eyesight and looked westward.
Like Scars and Tyranny, the acolyte had already experienced much during her relatively short life. But what she saw this day froze the blood in her veins.
CHAPTER X
WITH EVERY STEP GRACCHUS TOOK, HIS CONCERN mounted. The Oraculum had reached out to touch his mind less than one hour ago, and he feared that her latest vision might be disturbing. The war plan to take the Shashidan gold mines was nearly ready to submit to the Suffragat, and he had worked, schemed, and killed for far too long to let his dream die now. With one hand gripping the opposite shoulder of his white and burgundy robe, he hurried on.
The subterranean hallway he trod was dank and mildewed. Wall torches, enchanted to burn forever and without smoke, showed the way and lent the twisting passageway a haunted feel. Specially chosen centurions sworn to secrecy on penalty of death stood guard at every turn. As the lead Pon Q’tar cleric hurried by, they snapped to swift attention.
The secret hallway that Gracchus navigated lay far below Ellistium. Aside from the guards, only the Pon Q’tar and the Suffragat knew of its existenc
e. Aeons ago, after selecting the site for the new capital city, the Pon Q’tar had secretly built this subterranean labyrinth. It had come into being while the magnificent capital had risen so many meters above it.
Gracchus soon came to a large square room built from cut stones. Before him lay a granite landing that overlooked a wide subterranean lake. More torches burned in iron wall brackets. The lake was dark, dirty, and deathly still. Three more centurions stood guard there. As they came to attention, Gracchus hurried to the edge of the landing.
“Bring me the boat,” he ordered.
At once a centurion saluted, then walked to the far end of the room. Reaching down, he untied the line that secured a common wooden rowboat to the landing. He towed the boat to a place before the lead cleric.
Gracchus walked down a short series of steps cut into the landing and climbed into the boat. The centurion tossed the line into the boat, setting it free. Gracchus took up a wooden staff from the bottom of the boat and started to pole his way across the dank lake.
As he went, here and there the putrid water rippled ominously. Good, he thought. The deadly creatures that he and his fellow Pon Q’tar members had conjured so long ago to protect what lay on the other side still lived. So far, their savagery had not been needed. Still, he was glad to know that they were there, constantly searching the water for intruders.
The boat trip would not take long. He knew the way well, for he had come here thousands of times before. Soon he saw his destination. As he reached the opposite side he tied off the boat and walked up another series of short steps.
Like the preceding chamber, this one was square in shape and built from rough-hewn stone blocks. More wall brackets held burning torches. As Gracchus mounted from the landing, a startled rat squeaked and scurried off into the gloom.
Finally alone, Gracchus walked to the far wall. A casual observer would have seen nothing unusual about its many rough-hewn stones. After choosing one unremarkable block from among thousands, Gracchus summoned the craft.
At once the stone glowed bright azure. Gracchus then caused a small incision to form in his right wrist. As he liberated one drop of his endowed blood, it hovered before him and twisted itself into his unique blood signature. He calmly watched the incision close and the resulting scar disappear. He then sent the blood signature flat against the glowing stone.
The enchanted stone quickly recognized the cleric’s blood. Soon a bright azure line formed down the center of the wall and the two halves parted, allowing Gracchus access to the chamber beyond. He hurriedly entered, and the walls scratched closed behind him. The subsequent chamber was as pristine as the preceding one was dank.
As Gracchus walked into the room he was comforted to see that nothing had changed. And why would it? he asked himself. I have been the only visitor to this place for thousands of years. The being I imprison here will never reclaim her freedom, despite the immense power she once commanded.
The chamber was large and well lit. Its four walls and ceiling were built from finely hewn alabaster blocks. The floor was solid onyx, polished to a magnificent sheen. Solid gold wall brackets held engraved oil globes, their flames combining to cast a soft glow over the room, and the air was warm and odorless. But the chamber’s beauty meant little, he knew. The real reason for this secret place stood across the room.
The entire far wall glowed with a soft azure hue. Its depths seemed limitless. Curved shards of swirling white light continually wheeled and streaked amid the azure aura that imprisoned them. The strange masterpiece of the craft emitted a soft roar and a crackling sound, much like a blazing fire.
As he regarded the mesmerizing sight, Gracchus was reminded of how long it had taken him and his fellow Pon Q’tar clerics to create it. Fifty years, to be exact—ten years of ceaseless toil to refine the formulas, then forty more to construct this chamber, the two landings, the lake, and the secret tunnel that led here from aboveground. The skeens who had been forced to do the construction were long dead and had taken this place’s secrets with them to the Afterlife.
The lead cleric raised his hands and called the craft. At once the glimmering wall started to slide closer. As it neared, a transparent roof and equally glassy sidewalls formed, ensuring that the azure light remained imprisoned. The amazing construct slowed, then stopped about three meters from where he stood.
The result was a glistening cube that measured eight meters square, the entire space within it filled with azure light and darting white shards. Despite how many times Gracchus visited here, he always found the cube a wondrous thing to behold.
The lead cleric stepped closer. “Show yourself,” he ordered.
From the foggy depths a woman emerged. Her eyes and wrinkled skin were so old that they were nearly dust. Her long, brittle hair was the purest white and flew about wildly. Her dark eyes darted about the room, then stared straight at him, boring their way into his own. The tattered gray gown she wore had once been pure white. Like her hair, its tattered ends swirled in the azure mist. Wrinkled arms and hands lay quietly by her side while her bare feet dangled just below the hem of her tattered gown. As she hung weightless in the cube, she said nothing.
“You touched my mind,” Gracchus said calmly. “What have you seen on the other side?”
“The Orb of the Vigor has shown me much, lead cleric,” she said. Her ancient voice was tremulous, hollow. “Two more important manifestations of the craft have occurred east of the Tolenkas. You are fortunate—I had barely enough energy remaining to witness each. You will be pleased to learn of one. The other will doubtless cause you great distress.”
Gracchus eagerly stepped forward. “Tell me,” he ordered.
A short smile crossed the Oraculum’s lips. Gracchus guessed that she would deliver the distressing news first, because she would enjoy it. He and the woman had been enemies for aeons. Even so, in a perverse way they needed each other.
“The Conclave has discovered subtle matter,” she said. “Although the Jin’Sai’s mystics cannot yet employ it, it seems only a matter of time until they learn. It might become a potent weapon for them.”
Gracchus was stunned. “How did this happen?” he breathed. “Their knowledge of the craft is not sophisticated enough to have done this on their own!”
“It was revealed to them through a secret spell incorporated by the Shashidans into the Tome and the Scroll of the Vigors aeons ago,” the Oraculum answered, her gown and hair floating about her as she hovered in the azure light. “Even I did not know of its existence. When Faegan placed the three relics side by side for safekeeping, the subtle matter was released.”
“Subtle matter is never released without need,” Gracchus mused. “What purpose did it serve?”
Reveling in his discomfort, the Oraculum smiled again. “You’re right,” she said. “The ancient spell that was enacted did far more.” She went silent again, purposely allowing the tension to build.
“Tell me, you half-dead bitch!” Gracchus raged. “Or I will kill you here and now!”
“No, Gracchus,” she answered. “We both know you won’t do that. You might torture me. But you can’t afford to kill me—especially not now, when there is so much left for you to learn.”
Seething with rage, Gracchus shook his fist at her. “Tell me!” he screamed, “or I will torture you! And I’ll enjoy it!”
“Very well,” she said. “The subtle matter has told the Jin’Sai that he must traverse the Azure Sea to reach Shashida. As yet, he and his Conclave do not know how that is to be accomplished. But the Jin’Sai’s wizards are clever. If they learn enough about subtle matter, they might devise a way to cross the sea. The Tolenka Mountains on which you have so long relied to keep the Jin’Sai and the Jin’Saiou trapped on the other side of the world might no longer be the obstacle that they once were.”
“But how can that be?” Gracchus breathed. “Its expanse is too vast and its dangers too great! Even our strongest spells cannot overcome its many obstacles!”
&n
bsp; “I can only guess that the subtle matter will somehow lead the way,” the Oraculum explained. “If the Jin’Sai finds it, I do not know what might follow. Nor does the Jin’Sai know. But there is more to it. The subtle matter also supplied the Conclave with a detailed map of the territories west of the mountains. My guess is that the map is aeons old and might well be flawed, given the shifting changes in the boundaries that you say have taken place over time. Even so, it should be of great help to them should they somehow cross the sea.”
For several moments all Gracchus could do was to stare blankly down at the onyx floor, his mind a whirl of misgivings. He could not have imagined worse news. He finally collected himself and looked the Oraculum in the eyes.
“And because all my Vagaries allies in the east have been defeated, there is no way for me to stop the Jin’Sai from trying,” he whispered, half to himself.
At first the Oraculum did not answer as she floated silently before him, imprisoned in the mist. “That is not entirely true,” she finally replied.
Her heart broke as she said the momentous words. Even so, she had no choice but to tell him. Gracchus could easily torture the information from her, and he had often done so by magically altering the environment of her bizarre prison. Many centuries ago when she was younger and stronger, she had tried lying to him about what she saw on the other side of the world. But he had always found out and the torture started. Now she was too feeble to survive it. To stay alive, her only course of action was to tell the truth—no matter how much it grieved her to do so.
“You’re referring to your second sighting, aren’t you?” Gracchus demanded. “Tell me of it!”
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