As though it had read her thoughts, the man-serpent suddenly stopped to listen. When it heard nothing, it used its long tail to propel it nearer the center of the room, scattering more objects as it went. Sigrid tried to calm her heartbeat, but suddenly her broken left arm shouted at her again, making her wince. Steadying herself once more, she watched the awful thing come nearer.
That’s right, she begged silently as the thing slithered closer yet. The red tongue appeared again to quickly taste the air, then disappeared back into the grotesque mouth.
Come to me, Sigrid thought. Come closer and taste my sharp surprise.
Still the monster neared. The time had come.
Throwing the wheel with everything she had, Sigrid held her breath and watched it go spinning across the room.
The monster’s reflexes were amazing. As the throwing wheel flashed through the beam of moonlight shining down through the hole in the roof, the beast moved with unheard-of speed and dropped straight to the floor. Sigrid watched in horror as her wheel flew harmlessly above the beast only to bury itself in the far wall.
Knowing that she had no other choice, the night witch drew her dreggan and quietly stepped from the shadows. Hearing Sigrid’s blade ring out, the monster snapped its head around and let go a vicious hiss. It quickly coiled upright again, its yellow eyes flashing greedily as they finally sighted their prey. Without hesitation it reared back, then launched straight for her.
As the creature sped near, Sigrid swung her dreggan in a flat arc, hoping to separate the monster’s head from its body with one swing. But again the man-serpent was too fast.
The beast deftly sideslipped the blow, and the dreggan severed nothing but air. Before Sigrid could summon another swing, the monster dropped flat to the floor again, this time raising its powerful tail. The tail cracked through the air like a bullwhip, its far end wrapping tightly around the hilt of Sigrid’s dreggan. The beast quickly snapped its tail again, ripping the sword from Sigrid’s grip and sending it flying across the room.
The precious dreggan skidded across the floor and disappeared into the shadows, putting the man-serpent squarely between Sigrid and her fallen weapon. The Night Witch nearly panicked as she realized that her sword might as well be ten leagues away for all the good it did her now.
As the beast hissed and glared at her, Sigrid quickly reached down to unsheathe her Minion dagger, but it wasn’t there. She had no time to mourn the loss, for the terrible creature suddenly launched itself at her again. Sure that she was about to die, Sigrid charged forward to meet it.
As the two enemies clashed in the center of the room, the monster swiftly took each of Sigrid’s wrists into his hands. The pain in her broken left arm lashed out and Sigrid screamed, exposing her injury. Seizing on its unexpected advantage, the monster let go of her right wrist while tightening his grip on her left one. Screaming again, Sigrid had no choice but to drop to her knees.
Helpless, she watched the awful thing move its face near hers. The terrible mouth opened again. Sigrid tried to turn away as the monster sent its tongue sliding over first one of her cheeks and then the other, exploring them, tasting them. Finally the awful tongue retreated into the waiting mouth.
Knowing that Sigrid was beaten, the thing finally let go. Pointing to the front door of the shop, it hissed again. There could be no question about what it wanted, Sigrid realized. She was to leave the shop as his prisoner. Like Valda and the other Night Witches, she would soon be impaled at the viper master’s pleasure.
There was only one more weapon available to her. It was one that all Minions were born with, one that they carried forever after, and one that Sigrid knew how to use with deadly expertise. It was her last hope, but she was too close to the beast to use it. Everything depended on her gaining some distance from the monster, and the timing had to be perfect.
She nodded submissively, suggesting her surrender. The monster smiled and pointed toward the door, silently ordering her to go first. Clearly he had no intention of turning his back on her. Putting on her best look of defeat, Sigrid shuffled past the beast, then quickly put some precious distance between them. The man-serpent hadn’t counted on her marching to her death so quickly, and that was just what Sigrid had hoped.
When she was about two meters away she abruptly stopped, then turned to the right, placing her at right angles with her captor. Summoning every bit of strength remaining, she snapped open her right wing.
The man-serpent never saw it coming. As Sigrid’s wing flew open, its hard-boned leading edge caught the monster directly across the throat. At first the thing just stood there, gasping and retching. Sigrid immediately retracted her wing and repeated the blow. This time it struck the beast in the forehead. As the light went out of its eyes, its neck made a cracking sound. The thing’s head fell rearward to dangle at an unnatural angle. Then the man-serpent collapsed like a house of cards, dead before it hit the floor.
Cradling her left arm, Sigrid hurried for the rear door. Hoping against hope, she grasped the rusty door handle and gave it a turn. Blessedly, it opened.
The alleyway beyond was dark, dirty, and deserted. Wasting no time, Sigrid ran a few quick steps, then did her best to launch into the air. Her left arm didn’t matter—nothing did, save for getting away. As she struggled to gain altitude she heard another of her Night Witches scream out.
As she curved her way south toward Tammerland, this time her watery eyes were not caused by the passing wind.
CHAPTER XVII
AFTER TAKING A SIP OF ABBEY’S ROBUST TEA, TYRANNY stabbed another cigarillo between her lips and lit it with a match. The Conclave meeting had been going on for some time and she doubted that it would conclude soon. As she casually blew the smoke out her nose, she turned her skeptical gaze toward Faegan.
“We’re listening,” she said drily. “By all means, amaze us with your acumen.”
Tristan smiled. He knew that Tyranny’s sarcasm was in jest. But like Tristan, she accepted nothing on faith, and she was quite comfortable with challenging the Conclave mystics and their theories.
Faegan let go a little laugh. “Very well,” he answered quietly. “I will try to do that very thing.”
Pushing away from the table, he wheeled across the room to a mahogany cabinet. He opened one of the cabinet doors and produced a cylindrical object. Cradling it in his lap, he returned to his place, then gently set the strange item on the table for everyone to see.
Tristan leaned forward to look. The glass jar was about a foot high and six inches in diameter. Its top was sealed with red wax, and it was nearly filled to the brim with subtle matter. The flickering firelight seemed to bring the microscopic bits to life. Such a wondrous and beautiful thing, he thought. I suspect that my venerable mystics have yet to unravel all its secrets.
Faegan pointed at the jar. “As best we know, this is all the subtle matter that exists on our side of the world,” he said. “There is no known way to produce more. But we have learned a little about how to use it.”
“This is the same material that formed the maps of Rustannica and Shashida, and the formulas and the written words that hovered below them,” Shailiha mused. “How did it get into the jar?”
“After the rest of you left the room, Wigg and I stayed behind talking,” Faegan answered. “To our surprise, something else started happening. For the last three days we have done little but try to unravel its secrets. We have made some meager progress, but there are many more riddles about subtle matter that are far from solved. But one use for the amazing substance has come to light.”
“And what is that?” Traax asked.
Wigg leaned forward over the tabletop. “A way to help us cross the Azure Sea,” he answered.
The room went silent. It seemed that no one wanted to ask the obvious question for fear that doing so might make the answer disappear. Finally Tristan placed one hand atop Wigg’s.
“Tell us,” he said softly.
Wigg pointed at the glass jar, causing
it to slide toward him. He picked it up and regarded it with great reverence. Then he looked over at the Jin’Sai.
“Before now, we believed that only three things could truly employ the power of the craft,” he said. “Can you name them?”
“Certainly,” Tristan answered. He looked at the jewel dangling against Wigg’s chest. “One is the Paragon.”
“And the others?” the First Wizard asked.
“Endowed blood and the red waters of the Caves,” Tristan answered.
Wigg gently placed the jar back atop the table. “Correct,” he said. “Our recent discovery of subtle matter makes four such things. These are indeed days of great importance in our understanding of the craft. But subtle matter holds rare properties that even the Paragon, endowed blood, and cave water do not.”
“What do you mean?” Shailiha asked.
“As you already know, the Paragon and endowed blood are tools by which the power of the Vigors and the Vagaries are made available for certain human beings to use,” Jessamay said. “This power comes from the two opposing orbs. But even the Paragon and endowed blood are mere conduits. Simply put, subtle matter is a unique form of pure magic that has been captured rather than simply empowered. Normally we do not see the magic itself, only its results. But this is magic that can be literally held in one’s hand. The treatise confirmed our suspicion that it is the light of an azure bolt, changed into a different physical form. It is no oversimplification to say that if there is such a thing as enchanted dust, this is it.”
Tristan again stared at the mysterious powder. How incongruous, he thought. So powerful a substance, trapped inside such a fragile vessel. He looked back at Wigg. “Is it alive like endowed blood?” he asked.
Faegan shook his head. “No,” he answered. Then he thoughtfully tugged on his beard, thinking. “Or perhaps I should say that it is not ‘alive’ by any definition of the word that we understand,” he added. “We now command one of its uses, but most of the others still escape us.”
“How did it become trapped in the jar?” Shailiha asked. “Was that the strange happening that you referred to?”
Wigg nodded. “Faegan and I watched in horror as the subtle matter unexpectedly scattered, breaking apart the map, the associated formulas, and the treatise. The subtle matter then coalesced into a cloud and began careening around the room. At first we couldn’t imagine why. Was it about to form another message, perhaps? The longer it flew about, the more it seemed to be searching for something. When it found what it wanted, we got our answer.”
“And what was that?” Tristan asked.
“It needed a resting place,” Wigg answered. “When it neared this ordinary glass jar sitting atop one of the Archives shelves, the jar magically emptied. It previously held several scrolls of small importance. As the scrolls drifted to the floor, the subtle matter immediately flew inside. The red wax seal formed immediately after.” Wigg raised an eyebrow. “It was an interesting process to behold,” he added. Wigg’s talent for understatement was far from lost on him, the prince smiled.
“What then?” Traax asked. “How did you come by all this newfound knowledge?”
“Part of the information hovering below the map was a craft treatise written by the Ones,” Faegan answered. “My guess is that it only scratches the surface of this particular discipline. Only a few uses for subtle matter were shown. No doubt the Ones wished that the entire discipline not be given away for fear that the Tome and the two Scrolls—the relics from which all this new information was so recently gleaned—had simultaneously fallen into the wrong hands. The information is sparse, and because the Tome and the two Scrolls were its originating source, it is aeons old. Because so much time has passed since the writing of the Tome and the two Scrolls, there is simply no telling how much farther the Ones have advanced the craft. Despite what we consider to be the treatise’s supreme complexity, for the Ones it might be little more than some schoolchild’s lesson. It was written in a complicated dialect of Old Eutracian that we have yet to completely decipher. But we have learned enough to know that it was a short discourse in several uses of subtle matter.”
“And because the subtle matter swirled its way into that jar, whatever hasn’t already been learned is lost forever,” Traax lamented.
Aeolus let go a soft cackle. “You’re forgetting something, my winged friend,” he said. “True, the message that the subtle matter briefly formed has been disassembled and transferred to that jar. But Faegan read it first! And in its entirety, I might add! Remember, he commands the gift of Consummate Recollection. The message is gone, but it will never be forgotten. Because of its highly important nature, Faegan recorded the entire treatise on parchment. He has done the same with the formulas and with the map of the territories west of the Tolenkas. Each document rests safe under lock and key in the Archives. Along with the Tome and the two Scrolls of the Ancients, I daresay that they rank among the Redoubt’s greatest treasures.”
Impressed, Traax glanced at Faegan. The crippled wizard’s only response was to smile and bounce his bushy eyebrows up and down.
“I’m confused,” Abbey said. “How can subtle matter help us to cross the Azure Sea?”
Cackling again, Faegan jabbed a bony index finger into the air. “How indeed?” he asked. “Allow me to perform a brief demonstration.”
Looking around the room, Faegan spied an unlit oil lamp resting on a nearby bookshelf. With a wave of his hand the lamp lifted into the air and came to land atop the meeting table. Then he commanded the jar full of subtle matter to slide toward him.
Faegan pointed his index finger at the wax seal. It soon disappeared, leaving the jar open at the top. Beckoning with the same finger, he caused some of the microscopic bits to leave the jar and float into the air. The individual particles were so tiny and few that had they not twinkled, the Conclave members would not have seen them. Faegan moved his finger again, causing the tiny particles to hover directly over the oil lamp. He placed his hands flat on the tabletop.
“Observe,” he said quietly. The wizard closed his eyes and called on one of the spells found in the treatise.
Tristan watched as the twinkling bits of dust descended toward the oil lamp. At first nothing happened. Then the twinkling stopped and the entire lamp started to glow. Tense seconds passed. Tristan’s mouth soon fell open with astonishment.
The oil lamp was shrinking.
Smaller and smaller it became until it was no larger than a thimble. As the lamp stopped glowing, a hush fell over the room.
His mouth still agape, Tristan looked first at Faegan, then at Shailiha. Faegan only smiled. The stunned look on Shailiha’s face mirrored her brother’s.
Tristan finally found his voice. “I beg the Afterlife…” he breathed.
“Oh, this has little to do with the Afterlife,” Faegan exclaimed, laughing.
Lacing his fingers together, Wigg leaned nearer. “Faegan is right,” he said softly. “The act of the craft that you just saw was true miniaturization. We mystics have long thought it possible, but until now it was quite beyond our knowledge.”
“Is the oil lamp the same in every respect save for its size?” Tyranny asked. She was still so amazed that she could barely speak.
“Yes,” Aeolus answered, “except for its weight. That property is now also reduced to a level commensurate with the lamp’s new size.”
As though still unable to believe, Shailiha leaned forward to touch the shrunken lamp. As she did, Faegan gave Tristan a knowing wink. Just as Shailiha’s fingertip touched the lamp, Faegan used the craft to set the lamp’s tiny wick alight. Jumping back, Shailiha let go a little shriek. As the other Conclave members laughed, Shailiha’s face reddened briefly.
Faegan reached out to pat her hand. “I’m sorry, Princess,” he said, “but I just couldn’t resist. As Aeolus said, save for its reduced weight and size, the lamp is the same in every respect.” He gave her a quick wink. “It can even produce light.”
Tristan’s tho
ughts soon returned to Abbey’s earlier question. He looked over at the First Wizard. “This is all very interesting, but how does it help us to cross the Azure Sea?” he asked.
Faegan gave him a little smile. “Can’t you guess?” he asked.
Tristan shook his head. He clearly remembered the Azure Sea. It was a vast, beautiful, and most likely very dangerous place. I can imagine only one way to cross it, he thought. But we can’t do that because… Suddenly understanding, he looked at Faegan as if the wizard had just gone mad.
“You must be joking,” he whispered.
“Oh?” Wigg countered. “And why is that?”
“You can’t do it, that’s all!” Tristan protested. “It would never work!”
“And just why not?” Aeolus countered. “After all, you saw what happened to the lamp.”
“But to shrink them to such a small size—could it really be done?” Tristan asked.
“Perhaps,” Jessamay said. “But the process wouldn’t be without its problems, nor would the ensuing journey.”
“What are you talking about?” Tyranny demanded.
Shaking his head, Tristan gave the Conclave privateer a look that said he was still stunned. “They mean to shrink the Black Ships to a size that can be carried into the Caves of the Paragon,” he said, hardly believing his own words. “We would then transport them to the shore of the Azure Sea—presuming that we can find it again. The vessels would be placed onto the water and set adrift. From there I can only guess that more subtle matter would be used to restore them to their original size.”
He turned to glare at Wigg. “Could such a thing really work?”
“Perhaps,” Wigg answered. “Unless we try, we might never reach Shashida. Remember, the Tolenkas cannot be crossed—even by the Ones and the Pon Q’tar. Sailing north or south on the Sea of Whispers will only bring us up against dangerous ice packs. We know—it was tried many times during the Sorceresses’ War while attempting to outflank the Coven’s forces. We could fly the ships over the ice, but for how long? That too has been tried without success. Worse yet, going in either of those directions might take us farther away from Shashida rather than toward it. Of even greater importance is the message formed by the subtle matter. ‘To reach Shashida you must first cross the Azure Sea.’ It seems that we might have found a way after all.”
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