The strain showed clearly on the wizard’s face, forcing Tristan to wonder how much longer Wigg could keep them aloft. No one knew what effect the azure water might have on humans should they crash into the channel, and the prospect terrified him. Inching closer, he placed his mouth near Wigg’s ear.
“Can you see the subtle matter?” he shouted.
“Yes!” Wigg shouted back, the wind whipping violently at his hair and robe. “But it still gains ground! When we reach the wreck we must decide!”
“I know—we must either carry on after the subtle matter or stop and view the wrecked ship!” Tristan answered. “But the ship is going nowhere! We must keep after the subtle matter at all costs!”
“Perhaps!” Wigg answered, every fiber of his being trying to summon yet more power into the speeding the litter. “But I’m nearly exhausted! If we crash into the azure water, no one knows what will become of us!”
As another sharp bend approached, Tristan considered Wigg’s warning. The subtle matter was important, he decided, but it wasn’t worth their lives.
“Then put the litter down alongside the wreck, if you must!” he shouted.
Still trying to keep the subtle matter in view, Wigg nodded, then threw the litter around another sharp bend, nearly driving the litter into the rock wall on the left-hand side. Then came another quick series of sharp turns. During the third turn, the right leading corner of the litter struck the rock wall, smashing part of the litter to bits. Most of the litter’s right side suddenly gave way and tumbled into the azure water with a great splash. As Wigg desperately negotiated the next few blind turns while also trying to keep up speed, the damaged litter rocked sickeningly, threatening to throw everyone from its meager safety and into the sea.
As the litter rounded the next bend, the sidewalls started to narrow dangerously, adding another threat to the pursuers’ plight. Then they were suddenly around the bend and chasing down another length of straight channel. As the litter carried them along above the waves, Wigg, Tristan and Tyranny finally saw the shipwreck in the distance. Looking farther, they saw something else—something disheartening and totally unexpected.
They were fast approaching a dead end.
Like the channel walls, the rocky edifice at the channel’s end rose straight up out of the sea. Its craggy surfaces reached all the way to the radiance stones lining the channel ceiling, and it stretched from one side to the other, leaving no option but to stop the litter in midair. As Wigg slowed the litter, Tristan scanned the wall. He could find no cracks or caves in it, telling him that their journey to Shashida had reached an abrupt and unsuccessful end. Tristan and Tyranny looked around for the subtle matter that had led them here, but it had vanished.
Using his last bit of energy, Wigg gently set the litter down atop the huge rock ledge in the right-hand channel wall. The litter was dwarfed by the ledge and the great wrecked ship that lay on it. As the three passengers left the wrecked litter, the two hundred armed Minions finally reached this strange place. At a hand signal from Tristan they drew their dreggans and landed warily atop the rocky shelf.
Tristan gave Wigg a sad look. “It seems that this is where our dream ends,” he said. “I had such hopes…”
“You’re right,” Tyranny said. “We can do nothing but go back. If Khristos still waits for us on the far shore, we will have to fight our way out of the Caves.”
“So it would seem.” Wigg replied. “But for now let us finish what we came here to do.” As Wigg turned to look at the great wrecked ship, so did Tristan, Tyranny, and the hundreds of warriors.
Despite her ravaged condition, the vessel remained magnificent. Easily the size of the Tammerland, she rested on her port side, just as the young Night Witch had reported. Her hull seemed cannibalized, as though her hull ribs and timbers had been chewed on by some great unknown beast. In some places, parts of her ribs still arched away from her gunwales like wizened fingers. Broken masts and sail spars lay everywhere atop the rocky ledge, and battered and torn sailcloth draped her topside like dingy burial shrouds.
Like those of the Tammerland and the Ephyra, her timbers were dark as night. Seeing such a once magnificent vessel looking as if it had been fed upon by some ravenous creature was an eerie feeling. As the wind blew through her wooden bones it whistled hauntingly, as if trying to warn the audacious visitors to flee before they too came under the spell of whatever had done this terrible deed.
Tristan walked to the wreck and reached up to touch one of the few remaining hull ribs. Ashen flakes loosened from it to drift away on the channel breeze. Hoping to find more clues to the ship’s history, he led Wigg and Tyranny on a long walk down her side and toward her stern. An elaborately carved plaque affixed to her stern read Intrepidus.
“Is that Old Eutracian?” he asked Wigg.
The wizard nodded. “In our modern tongue, she would be known as the Intrepid.”
“She is easily as large as the Tammerland, and she shows similar lines,” Tristan said. “I think that she was built from the same plans that you and the Directorate members used so long ago to build your fleet against the Coven. Could she have been one of yours?”
Wigg shook his head. “No,” he answered. “We had no Black Ship by this name—although her name could have been changed, I suppose. But I agree that she is much like the Tammerland and the Ephyra.”
“You’re right.” Tyranny agreed. “But who built her? And how did she come to be wrecked on this ledge?”
Wigg pursed his lips. “There are two possibilities,” he answered. “Either some great force threw the ship here, or her crew purposely beached her.”
“Why would they beach her?” Tristan asked. “They could simply have reversed course.”
“Perhaps they didn’t have the chance,” Tyranny offered. “If they were being chased by something, they mightn’t have had that luxury. One doesn’t exactly turn these great ships quickly. Besides, the dead end meant that they couldn’t go on.”
“Well said,” Wigg replied. “But there might be another answer as well.”
“Such as…?” Tyranny asked.
Raising one arm, Wigg called the craft to send a narrow azure beam against one of the few remaining hull ribs. He held the beam in place for a time, then moved it back and forth with a sawing motion. Soon an end of the rib fell to the rocky ledge.
The three visitors and a host of curious Minions walked nearer. Nodding, the First Wizard pointed at the smooth end of the rib. To everyone else’s surprise, its freshly exposed interior glowed brightly with the distinctive hue of the craft.
“So the spells used to strengthen the Intrepidus remain in place,” Tristan said. “That’s surprising after all this time, but it doesn’t explain your other reason why she might have been deliberately beached.”
Wigg lifted an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?” he asked. “I suggest you think again.”
Tyranny grasped the frightening possibility before Tristan. “It’s because of the azure water in the channel!” she exclaimed. “What we feared might happen to our ships happened to this one! The water seeped into the Intrepidus’ hull and destroyed it little by little! That’s why it looks like it’s been eaten away!”
Wigg nodded. “It would explain a great many things,” he said. “And if this is truly what happened to the Intrepidus, the future doesn’t bode well for the Tammerland and the Ephyra.”
“But we can fly our ships back,” Tristan argued. “With any luck, we won’t have to put down in the water again.”
“True,” Wigg answered. “But for all we know, the Intrepidus was in the water for no longer than were our ships—perhaps less. If this is what happened, I suspect that the damage is insidious, eating the wood from the inside out. And if that’s true, then by the time the damage is seen it might already be too late.”
“That could be what happened,” Tristan agreed. “But it still doesn’t explain how she came to be beached this way.”
“As Tyranny said, if they were bein
g chased and they encountered this dead end they might have had no choice but to set her down on this rocky shelf,” Wigg replied. “In any event they would have done everything in their power not to set her back down on the water. But when they landed her on the ledge, her rotting hull gave way and she rolled over on her port side, marooning her here forever. If her crew was being chased, they might all have been killed. If not, they probably starved to death.”
“A precious Black Ship and her gallant crew, all lost,” Tristan mused. “What a terrible waste.”
Wigg placed his hands into opposite robe sleeves, then cast his discerning gaze up the side of the great vessel that lay there like some monstrous beached whale.
“Don’t be so quick to mourn either this ship or her crew,” Wigg replied quietly.
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked.
“Although the Intrepidus was likely built and skippered by mystics, who’s to say that they were Vigors practitioners?” the First Wizard asked.
“Do you have reason to believe that this ship was manned by Vagaries worshippers?” Tyranny asked.
“Unknown,” Wigg answered. “But the possibility seems equally likely.”
“All of which raises other questions,” Tyranny said. “What freed the subtle matter? Or did it somehow free itself? Why did it lead us here, and where is it now?”
Tristan took a quick look around but could see no trace of the beautiful material that had a mind all its own. “It’s gone,” he said. “We can presumably fly our ships back through the channel and reach the sandy shore, but what then? Without our subtle matter or a way to produce more, the Tammerland and the Ephyra must be left behind. With no way to build cradles for them, they will be forced to sit atop the waves and later suffer the same fate as the Intrepidus.”
“And if the Intrepidus perished because of the water, we dare not salvage anything from her, because it might only make matters worse,” Tyranny said.
Wigg shook his head. “I disagree,” he countered.
“Why?” Tristan asked.
“Probably the only damaged parts of her were those that touched the water,” Wigg answered. “As one looks at the ship from the waterline up, she seems sound.”
Before Tyranny could protest, the wizard quickly raised a hand, stopping her.
“But do not assume for a moment that we might dare to start dismantling her and taking her lumber back to our ships,” he added. “I’m fully aware that such drastic measures would require much fore-thought.”
Tristan was about to reply when a Minion officer came forward to salute him. “Pardon, Jin’Sai,” he said, “but there is something you need to see.”
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
“Human remains,” the warrior answered solemnly. “And some that don’t look as human as the others. We also found unfamiliar weapons and other war materiel.”
“Show us,” Tristan ordered.
As the officer led the way back across the rocky ledge and toward the the Intrepidus, Tristan soon realized that the Minions must have flown up along her damaged hull and entered through one of the many smashed windows to gain entrance to the ship’s interior. He resolved to do the same.
“I want three of you to fly us up the side and help us enter through the windows,” he said. “Then you can lead us toward what you’ve found.”
The warrior saluted and beckoned two others near. They soon had Wigg, Tyranny, and Tristan in their arms and were soaring up the black sides of the great ship.
Tristan found that viewing the ship from this perspective was an eerie sensation. He also guessed that trying to navigate their way through the stricken ship would be even more disorienting, for they would have to walk along the inside of the port hull as they searched her. Finally reaching the first row of windows, the warriors helped the three explorers inside. They let Wigg, Tristan, and Tyranny go and watched them slide down the interior wall until they reached the deck below.
Tristan was the first to go. Narrowly missing some overturned crates along the way, he skidded down the wall feet first and landed with a thud against the joint where the wall met the deck. He came to his feet to find that he was standing directly in the floor joint, and staying upright was difficult. He then saw Tyranny and Wigg come skidding into the room in the same fashion. Finally the Minion search party followed. As Tyranny and Wigg collected themselves and the warriors formed ranks, Tristan looked around. Because of the brightly lit radiance stones shining down from the cavern ceiling, the interior of the ship had ample light.
The room they had entered was huge, and its odd angle gave one the sensation of being drunk. Because the Intrepidus lay on her port side at about a forty-five-degree pitch, everything was cockeyed. Tristan realized that one could attempt to scale the sloping walls to reach the windows, but after reaching only so far, he or she would invariably slide back down again to land in the joint where the ship’s sides met the deck. Nearly all the objects in the room had tumbled toward the joint to create a long line of debris that was piled high in many places.
It seemed that they had entered the ship’s armory. Tristan easily recognized the uses for the war weapons he saw scattered about, but their designs were unfamiliar to him. Covered in dust and dumped along the length of the floor joint lay examples of the most beautiful and exotic craftsmanship he had ever seen. Some of the longer weapons like lances and spears still lay in their holding racks lining the ship’s sides.
Then he saw some of the skeletons that the Minion officer had spoken of. They lay about in strange poses as if they had been tossed there by the fates, their joints often broken and lying at unnatural angles. To a man they wore magnificent gold breastplates and matching greaves and gauntlets. Iron spears, metal shields, and odd-looking gold helmets with cheek guards could be seen lying about. Strangely, the dust-laden images on the shields appeared to be eagles with outstretched wings. The skeletons’ leather battle sandals and warriors’ skirts had long ago fallen to dust, leaving little behind but faint imprints to tell Tristan what they had once been.
As everyone started exploring, Tristan walked a few paces forward while trying to keep his balance. The task was not an easy one. Spying a sheathed sword still in the grasp of a skeletal hand, he reached down to pick it up. As he did, the hand bones fell apart and the leather tooled scabbard turned to dust, leaving behind only the metal weapon it had once protected. Wiping the dust from the sword, Tristan held it to the light of the windows and regarded it with an expert eye.
The sword was beautiful and marvelously crafted. It was shorter than his dreggan, leading Tristan to believe that it was made more for stabbing than for swinging. It seemed to be forged of soft iron that had been strengthened with coal powder, a swordsmith’s technique that was also common in Eutracia. But this was no Eutracian sword.
The two-sided blade still remained exceptionally sharp and had a V-shaped tip. Rather than a blood groove running down the blade’s length, as on a dreggan, each edge of the blade sloped gently upward to form a ridge running down the center, which would cause blood and offal to slough off during battle. The rectangular hilt resting just above the silvery blade was made of solid onyx. The handle was a cylinder of solid ivory with carved finger grooves that perfectly fit Tristan’s grip. At the end of the handle was a round ball of shiny onyx that prevented the sword from slipping from the bearer’s grip.
Lifting the sword higher, Tristan spun it several times through the air. It produced a distinctive hum not unlike that of his dreggan, and because of its shorter length it whirled faster. The sword was impressive, perfectly balanced and no doubt very costly to produce. To whom this sword had once belonged he could not know, but one thing was certain. From the looks of their weapons and armor these dead soldiers had once been a force reckon to with, perhaps easily rivaling the expertise and savagery of his Minions.
As he lowered the sword, Tristan noticed an inscription on the blade. It read:
CARNIFEX MARCUS
LEGION
US XXIII
The inscription had no meaning for him. Looking across the tilted room, he saw Wigg examining one of the many dusty skeletons.
“Wigg!” Tristan called out. “Please come here!”
Wigg looked up and carefully wended his way over to where Tristan stood. As the wizard neared, Tristan held the sword up.
“What do you make of this?” he asked.
Wigg shrugged. “They’re everywhere,” he answered. “They’re finely crafted, but that one doesn’t look different from the others.” It seemed clear that Wigg found the skeleton he had been examining far more interesting than the sword and that he wanted to return to it. “Is this the only reason you called me over?” he asked.
“This one has writing on the blade,” Tristan answered. “Can you tell me what it says?”
His interest piqued, the First Wizard took the sword into his hands and held it up to the light.
“Carnifex Marcus, Legionus Twenty-three,” he muttered thoughtfully. After thinking for a few moments he handed the sword back to Tristan.
“The root of the word carnifex likely signifies ‘murderer’ or ‘scoundrel,’” he said. “And the word legionus clearly means ‘legion,’ or some other variant of a word describing a sizable military force. ‘Marcus’ would be a man’s name. These markings doubtless identify the sword’s owner—one Marcus, the great murderer of the Twenty-third Legion, or words to that effect. I suspect that if we took the time to inspect all of these dusty old swords, we’d find that each one bears a similar inscription. Where did you find it?”
Tristan pointed to the skeleton from which he had taken the sword. Wigg walked to it, then beckoned Tristan to come nearer. Noticing what was going on, Tyranny wended her way through the debris to join them.
Tristan and Tyranny grimaced as Wigg calmly bent down, grasped the skeleton’s head, and gave it a sudden, twisting yank. After the neck vertebrae snapped, Wigg lifted the skull high and blew the dust from it.
Rise of the Blood Royal Page 40