Gripping the shoulder folds of his robe, Gracchus turned to face the Suffragat.
“The Oraculum brings excellent news,” he announced. “Our prayers to find a way to continue our fight with the Jin’Sai on his side of the world have been answered. It seems that we again owe much to the failed First Mistress of the Coven. After more than three centuries, the Eutracian Viper Lord has risen. He and his servants have already started their rampage. In due course, all resistance in Eutracia might well be eliminated. If the Viper Lord is victorious one can only guess that he will then sail to Parthalon to wreak his mistress’s special brand of vengeance there as well. We might see the death of all right-leaning blood east of the Tolenkas. This is indeed a glorious day.”
Pausing for a moment, Gracchus looked straight at Lucius Marius, then smiled. “For those military personnel who might be unschooled in the legend, I will provide a brief explanation.”
The Suffragat listened as Gracchus explained at some length the coming of the Viper Lord. Happy expressions surfaced all around. Even Lucius momentarily forgave Gracchus’ thinly veiled insult and went so far as to stand and start the raucous applause. As the ovation gradually subsided, Gracchus returned to his seat.
Vespasian stood and looked toward Julia Idaeus. Despite the affirmative vote on the war plan, one more hurdle remained before the emperor could pronounce the campaign official.
“Are you prepared to perform the auspicium?” he asked.
The Priory Femiculi stood. “I am,” she said. “The sacred birds await us.”
Vespasian nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Let us all adjourn to the courtyard.”
By custom, Persephone was the first to leave her seat and approach the emperor. As the remaining Suffragat members followed her, Vespasian led the group across the floor.
Raising one arm, Vespasian pointed toward one of the many onyx wall pilasters, and it soon glowed with the familiar azure color of the craft. Then the pilaster vanished to show a secret tunnel in the Aedifficium wall. The courtyard beyond was called the Rustica, and it was known only to the Suffragat. Built at the same time as the Aedifficium, it had been constructed in secrecy and at great expense. The sacred ritual of the auspiciums was the Rustica’s sole reason for being.
Taking Persephone by the hand, Vespasian led her into the arched tunnel and out through the far end. When they emerged into the Rustica, dappled sunlight and the pleasant warbling of songbirds greeted them.
The Rustica held marble seats arranged against one of its four walls. Another, far less grandiose throne for Vespasian sat on the floor before them. While the members found their places, Vespasian beckoned Persephone to take her seat. As he settled into his throne, the emperor looked around. Vespasian loved the Rustica, for he always sensed a measure of intimacy here that he found lacking in the Aedifficium.
The closed courtyard was square, measuring twenty meters on each side. As a tribute to the azure glow of the craft, the walls and floor were built of turquoise blocks, polished to a high sheen. There was no roof. Over time, lilac and crinkleberry vines had become so overgrown that the walls could scarcely be seen. The combined scents of the hardy vines wafted pleasantly on the afternoon air. The sky was bright blue and without a hint of cloud.
Vespasian turned to look toward the wall opposite the Suffragat. As Julia had promised, ten white birds sat atop a golden rail. The birds’ feet were tethered to the rail. The auspicium would produce a foretelling of either good or bad fortune and was always performed before a major event such as the trying of an important new craft formula, the implementation of a new law, or the advent of a major military campaign.
During the empire’s earliest days, the Pon Q’tar had insisted on performing the ritual themselves. Later, they graciously bequeathed that honor to the reigning Femiculi. It had remained that way ever since. Because her heart was known to be pure, the Femiculi could be relied on to perform the ritual honestly and without prejudice.
How the sacred birds could divine either good or bad fortune was a secret of the craft that only the clerics knew. Even Rustannica’s emperors were never informed. Vespasian did not object to this, because in the entire history of the empire, the birds had never been wrong. By mutual agreement of the Suffragat, an auspicium decreed whether a proposed event should go forward.
If the birds foretold bad fortune, the impending event was quickly canceled. If the decree was good, the event was carried out with confidence. During the early days of the empire, a few quarrelsome military tribunes had refused to believe an auspicium warning of bad fortune. The secret campaign they launched proved disastrous, and Shashidan forces had slaughtered them to the last man. Since then, not one member dared doubt the validity of the ritual.
Vespasian knew that the fate of the campaign to take the Shashidan gold mines rested on what happened here. If the auspicium went badly, his magnificent plans would be canceled. Even he would be unable to change that. If the decree was for good fortune, the campaign would be launched. Once in the field, Vespasian would order yet more auspiciums to help him lead his forces to victory.
Each of the sacred songbirds was pure white, like the gowns and veils of the Priory maidens. The maidens tended the birds carefully, always ready for the day when the Pon Q’tar would notify them that another auspicium was needed. Like the Pon Q’tar clerics, the birds had been granted time enchantments, and they were thousands of years old. These same ten birds had been used in every auspicium ever conducted.
As Julia waited for Vespasian to summon her, her heart pounded. This would be the most important auspicium of her life—perhaps the most important in all of Rustannican history. As Vespasian turned her way, she felt the weight of his gaze.
“You may begin,” he said simply.
Julia rose from her seat and walked toward the far wall. Save for the soft cooing of the birds, the Rustica was bathed in silence. After stopping before the birds, Julia pointed in their direction. At once the tethers binding the birds’ feet to the golden rail vanished. Even so, the birds knew better than to fly away until their mistress willed it. Julia raised her arms and closed her eyes.
After the Femiculi recited the sacred chant, the birds would be free. They would wing their way home to the Rotunda and enter the building through the oculus. If they turned north first, the decree was favorable. If they turned south before flying for home, the decree dictated ill fortune. Julia took a deep breath and bowed her head.
“O sacred flame of the Vagaries, grant us the wisdom to receive this auspicium, and to be guided by its decree,” she said. “Allow your divine magic to drive the sacred birds skyward to show your servants which path is best. We ask for your guidance in the upcoming campaign. In your name we offer our thanks and our continued servitude.”
With that, Julia opened her eyes and raised her arms higher. Among a quick flurry of white wings, the birds took to the sky.
For several tense moments the birds circled overhead, giving no inkling of their decree. Then suddenly, as though of a single mind, they wheeled around to soar in one direction before finally turning toward the Rotunda. Vespasian held his breath as the birds chose their path.
They flew due north. With every person’s gaze trained on the birds, no one saw that Gracchus had narrowed his eyes slightly.
The Suffragat erupted into cheering. Letting go a deep sigh of relief, Vespasian looked at Persephone. She gave him a reassuring smile. Then tears started forming in her eyes as she hoped that when they said goodbye to one another it would not be for the last time.
For Vespasian the moment was bittersweet. As he watched Persephone’s eyes well up he made a silent pact with himself that he would treat each remaining moment with her as though it were their last. He then looked at Lucius. Already eager to be in the field, the beaming First Tribune gave his emperor a rapacious wink.
And so it was that the campaign to take the Shashidan gold fields had been officially ratified and could be put into motion. It would take time to
assemble the needed troops and materiel. Even so, nothing could stop the attack now.
Persephone came to join her husband and he escorted her from the Rustica. By custom, each time an auspicium decree was favorable, a great banquet was served in the royal palace to celebrate the joyous event. Tonight would be no exception, and Vespasian was looking forward to it.
As the Suffragat left the courtyard, two Pon Q’tar clerics remained behind. Gracchus looked up at the sky and he smiled. Aegaea Mithridates, one of Gracchus’ most trusted Pon Q’tar confidants, came to stand beside him. She had a pleasant face and flowing gray hair. As if she could again see the sacred birds winging home, she too looked to the sky.
Only hours ago Gracchus had informed the Pon Q’tar of the Oraculum’s complete vision. Unlike Vespasian, Persephone, the Priory, and the Tribunes, nothing that the lead cleric had told the Pon Q’tar during today’s Aedifficium session had come as a surprise. As had been so often the case over the centuries, once again their playacting had been flawless.
“And so you have succeeded once more, Gracchus,” Aegaea said.
“Don’t I always?” he asked in return.
Taking her gaze from the sky, Aegaea looked the lead cleric in the eyes. “Tell me,” she asked, “had you not intervened, which way do you believe that the birds would have flown?”
Gracchus looked at her. “We’ll never know,” he answered. “Nor does it matter. All that matters now is that we have our war.”
“And what is to keep the Jin’Sai from crossing the Azure Sea?” she asked.
Gracchus smiled. “I will address that issue shortly, my dear,” he answered. “Do not fret. Tonight our only concern is to enjoy our emperor’s renowned hospitality.”
As Gracchus escorted Aegaea from the courtyard, the late afternoon sun slipped down behind the Rustica’s western wall.
II
TERROR AND MAGIC
CHAPTER XIII
Although revenge will taste sweet, it is not so much for
myself that I do this thing as for my lost beloved.
—KHRISTOS
WIPING THE SWEAT FROM HIS BROW, TRISTAN TOOK A break from his labors and reached down to grasp a nearby stone jug. He raised the vessel to his lips and drank greedily of the cool water before pouring some onto his head. Smiling, he ran the fingers of one hand back through his salt-and-pepper hair, then tossed the jug to Ox.
Ox caught the jug between his huge palms and drained its remaining contents in a single draught. After letting go a wet belch, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and dropped the jug to the ground.
“Not good as akulee, but Ox thank Jin’Sai,” the huge warrior said. “The day be hot, but work almost done. Then ships can come.” Tristan responded with a smile.
It was midafternoon on the third day following Tyranny’s return to Tammerland. The sky was hot and bright. As he stood amid the great hustle and bustle, Tristan shook his head, thinking. So much had happened in such a short time that he hardly knew what to make of it all. He wasn’t alone in his confusion, for every Conclave member felt the same.
His mystics had been secluded in the Redoubt for the last two days, trying to unravel the strange mysteries that had recently appeared. So far they had sent no word about their findings. To dispel his nervous energy, Tristan had come to help the Minion workers and engineers with the massive project that he had assigned to them several months ago. He was glad that the job was nearly done.
The Jin’Sai took another deep breath. Raising his sledge high, he brought it down squarely against an iron spike that would help seat another of the great laminated timbers into place. Hundreds of Minion workers were also pounding away in various areas on the same project. After driving six more spikes home, Tristan again stopped to catch his breath.
The huge construction area was a beehive of activity, with hundreds of male and female Minion warriors working tirelessly toward one goal. Tristan had selected a spacious field just outside the palace walls as the permanent resting place for the Black Ship fleet. Of all the Conclave mystics, only Jessamay was here to apply the craft when needed. Tristan wanted the fleet returned home as soon as possible, for his heart told him that he would soon need them.
He had seen the horrific creature and the impaled corpses that Tyranny brought back, and their surprising existence caused him great concern. He realized that many such wicked beasts would have been needed to commit the thousands of grisly atrocities that Tyranny found at Birmingham. Despite Tristan’s earlier hopes that the Vagaries had been vanquished east of the Tolenkas, another strange threat from the craft’s dark side had somehow risen. Every fiber of his being told him that the danger needed to be dealt with quickly.
Moreover, the Conclave’s confirmation of subtle matter and learning that Shashida could be reached by crossing the Azure Sea had been astounding. But Tristan had absolutely no idea how to accomplish such a daunting task. Ships would be needed to cross that strange sea, and in the depths of the caves there were no raw materials from which to build them. Nor did Tristan dare order his warriors to try to cross the sea by air, for he knew nothing about the distance involved.
Tristan shook his head again. Only three days ago he had been dead certain that he should leave for the Caves straightaway. But with the grisly impalements and the coming of the man-serpents, his next course of action became unclear. As was often the case, his mystics’ advice would figure prominently in his decision.
Even so, he had ordered that Minion phalanxes start flying over Eutracia to search out the deadly monsters. He knew that it would be akin to finding a thimble in a sneezeweed stack, as Abbey was so fond of saying, but he had to try. Because the Conclave still knew so little about the beasts, even if they were found, he had ordered that the warriors were to take no action unless citizens were again being threatened. It chafed at the Jin’Sai to give his troops such cautious instructions. Not leading them himself chafed even more. But other matters commanded his duty now.
Placing one palm above his eyes to shield them from the blazing sun, he again looked out over the huge construction site. Three of the massive cradles were finished and the fourth was nearly so. Because so many warriors had been freed after building the first three, the final cradle was swiftly nearing its completion.
The cradles’ frameworks were shaped exactly like the Black Ships’ hulls, only larger, so that the vessels could fit into them. Great laminated timbers that formed the cradles’ spines lay on huge stone foundations so that the cradles wouldn’t shift in the soft earth. The cradles pointed east, ensuring that when the ships lay in them, their bows would face into the prevailing wind coming off the Sea of Whispers. Each massive spine measured just over one hundred meters long and curved skyward for fifty meters at each end. Huge timber braces curved away from the spines at regular intervals and also rose upward for fifty meters. Buttresses made of more stout wood stood angled against the braces, their opposite ends shoved deeply into the earth for support.
Wigg had searched high and low for the original Black Ship plans, and he had finally found them buried among the countless other documents that had been scattered about in the Archives of the Redoubt. With the plans at their disposal, Jessamay and the Minion engineers could ensure a perfect fit when the four Black Ships finally came home to roost. The aft ends of the cradles were left open so that the huge stern doors of the ships could be easily lowered for the loading and unloading of supplies, weapons, and troops.
Tristan would be greatly relieved to have the vessels stationed so near to the palace rather than moored at the Cavalon Delta. With the ships constantly supplied and their Minion crews and acolyte pilots always at the ready, the ships could be ordered airborne at a moment’s notice. Tristan had read Tyranny’s sea trials report and he had accepted her suggestion about permanently assigning the four Minion phalanxes to Black Ship duty. He had also told the acolytes Astrid, Phoebe, and Claire that they were to be the ships’ permanent pilots. But Tristan believed that Sister
Adrian was too valuable to be assigned to the flagship Tammerland on a permanent basis. When Adrian returned with the fleet he would order her to select and train another acolyte in her place.
Tristan laid down his sledge and turned to look at Ox. “I’ve had enough of pounding these spikes for a while,” he said. “Shall we go and see how Jessamay is doing?”
The giant warrior smiled. If ordered by Tristan, he would gladly swing his heavy sledge until his heart gave out. He gave his Jin’Sai a wide grin.
“Ox glad to quit,” he said. Reaching down, he retrieved Tristan’s weapons from the ground and handed them to him. As Tristan strapped his sword and throwing knives into place, Ox looked around the construction site.
“Minions do well here,” he said. “Me hope Jin’Sai be proud.”
Tristan smiled and laid one hand atop the warrior’s shoulder. Ox had saved his life more than once, and there were few souls in the world that he trusted more.
“Since entering my service that fateful day in Parthalon, the Minions have always given me pride,” he answered, “and sometimes you above all.”
As though Tristan had just given Ox the keys to the kingdom, the warrior puffed his chest out with pride. Without further ado the pair started over to where Jessamay was working.
Cutting the thousands of trees needed to build the ships’ cradles had been a daunting enough task. But carefully heating and bending the massive, freshly laminated braces so that they would exactly conform to the Black Ships’ hulls was another matter entirely. Tristan knew that given enough time, the Minion warriors could probably have done the job. But he wanted ships home soon, so he had decided to speed the process via the craft. Intrigued by the challenge, Jessamay had eagerly volunteered. For the last three months she had done little else but toil on the massive cradles.
The Vigors sorceress stood about thirty meters away, occasionally waving her arms and shouting out orders to the warrior engineers assigned to help her. With her long blond hair tied behind her back and dressed as she was in leather trousers, scuffed knee boots, and a simple white linen peasant’s blouse, she looked more like a Eutracian commoner than a valued member of the Conclave. Tristan smiled as he approached. Jessamay was many things, but commonplace wasn’t one of them.
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