As the legionnaires walked by, from time to time they reached up with their spears or gladii to poke at the dangling victims. Each of the countless jabs was to be short, clean, and expertly done. The goal was not to kill the victims straightaway but to see how long they could survive such exquisite pain. The stronger the subject was, the longer it took him. So as to prolong the spectacle, Vespasian ordered that only healthy men be subjected to this traditional brand of Rustannican butchery. The process was called mortem obirein incisurae, or “death by a thousand cuts.”
To Vespasian’s amusement, one victim had the courage to shout an epithet as the emperor drove by. Pulling his horses to a stop, Vespasian looked at him. The Blood Royal knew that he was a Shashidan soldier because his unique battle armor had been stripped from him and lay scattered by the roadside, and because of his unique hairstyle. Hundreds of bleeding wounds pierced the man’s torso, face, extremities, and genitals. If the cuts were done right, the victims died from slow exsanguination. But even the expert legionaries sometimes cut too long or too deep. If they did so, the victims’ internal organs became exposed and eventually slipped from the body cavity to fall earthward before their faces, making them the suspended prisoners’ last sight before dying.
So that the man might know his identity, Vespasian removed his helmet. Vespasian found that staring into the man’s upside-down bloody face was a disorienting experience. Like all tribunes, Pon Q’tar members, and Heretics, Vespasian spoke perfect Shashidan. Shaking his head with disgust, he turned to look at Lucius.
“Such subhumans these Shashidans are,” he said. “Do you see how they persist in shaving their heads? And what bizarre armor they wear!”
Vespasian again looked into the man’s eyes. “What is your name?” he asked in the man’s native dialect.
The prisoner seemed to be somewhere near thirty Seasons of New Life, and despite his wretched condition he possessed a modicum of vitality. Hatred filled his eyes as he stared back at Vespasian. Like all katsugai mosota, the top of his head was shaved. The gold ornament that usually held his queue in place had been stolen by some greedy legionary, allowing his long black hair to dangle earthward. Rather than being a war crime, stealing the traditional gold ornament was considered an extra payment for doing the dirty job of stripping filthy Shashidan barbarians and hanging them from the makeshift crosses. Some of the more industrious legionnaires owned hundreds of the gold trinkets, which they proudly displayed on their body armor or sent home to their wives, lovers, or mistresses.
When the man did not answer, Vespasian moved his chariot nearer.
“I demand to know your name!” he shouted.
“I am Akeno of the House of Bamboo,” the man answered. Much to the emperor’s and Lucius’ surprise, the man smiled, his bloody lips bizarrely curving earthward rather than upward. The effect was strangely chilling.
“I have recently come from the south,” Akeno said. “I prayed that I might live long enough to see you ride by, you illegitimate Vagaries bastard. I am an acquaintance of the Inkai, and I have a warning for you.”
Incensed by the Shashidan’s insult, Lucius immediately drew his gladius, but Vespasian grabbed his arm. Clenching his jaw, Lucius grudgingly sheathed his sword.
“What is your message?” Vespasian demanded.
Once more the bloody inverted smile appeared. “The Jin’Sai is coming to Shashida,” the captive answered. “He might already be among us. Rustannica’s days are numbered, Vespasian. If you value your life and the lives of your troops you will stop this mad invasion and go home. You will need every one of your vaunted legionnaires when the Jin’Sai comes for you and the barren whore that is your empress.”
Although the news was highly valuable and Vespasian would later curse himself for not interrogating the prisoner further, this time even he could not contain his rage. Summoning but a tiny fraction of his power, Vespasian raised one arm and sent an azure bolt tearing toward the dangling katsugai.
The bolt blew the man to pieces, sending blood and offal high into the air. The resulting noise was so great that even the disciplined legionnaires marching by stopped to look. For several moments Vespasian’s stallions reared violently, nearly sending the chariot tumbling sideways to the ground.
As the scene quieted, Vespasian glared angrily at the smoking, damaged cross. Save for wet bloodstains and glistening bits of flesh and bone that still clung to the wood, the man had been vaporized. Nor was there much left of the sturdy crossbrace from which he once hung. Vespasian and Lucius watched as what remained of the torture device fell apart and tumbled to the ground.
Realizing his mistake, Vespasian took a deep breath, then scrubbed his face with his hands. The Shashidan’s warning had shaken him, and he was stunned by what he had just heard. Perhaps it was only the Shashidan’s way of tormenting me before dying, he thought.
He turned to look at Lucius. “That was foolish of me,” he said angrily. “I should have ordered him interrogated before killing him.”
Lucius shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps,” he offered. “But before we started this campaign the Pon Q’tar assured us that the Jin’Sai cannot reach this side of the world. We must ignore the dead barbarian’s babbling for the tripe that it was. Let us continue onward to the battleground.”
Vespasian nodded and took up his reins. “You’re right,” he answered. “We have larger concerns than the mad ramblings of one dying katsugai who wished to insult me.” Taking up his whip, he prepared to get his stallions moving again.
But just as Vespasian raised his arm he again felt the dreaded, all too familiar sensation overcome him. Within moments his heart was racing wildly and cold sweat poured from his skin. His muscles trembled uncontrollably, forcing him to drop the reins and whip.
Persephone, he thought desperately as he sensed his consciousness fading. Only she understands…I must return to her before Lucius knows…and my troops…above all else, they must not see their emperor fall…
Sinking to his knees, Vespasian realized that it was already too late. He weakly reached up to grab at Lucius’ armor as the stunned First Tribune looked down at his lifelong friend in horror.
“My emperor!” he gasped. “What overcomes you so?”
“Take me back to Persephone!” Vespasian whispered. “Only she knows what to do! Hide me in the chariot and be sure that no one else sees me like this—my fate is in your hands—above all, do not let the Pon Q’tar see me this way…”
Finally losing consciousness, Vespasian collapsed to the chariot floor.
Nonplussed, Lucius looked around. Hordes of legionnaires still obediently passed by the chariot on their way toward the battle scene. Some had surely noticed what happened, Lucius realized. He also instinctively knew that whatever was wrong with his emperor, above all else, Vespasian must be hurried away from here.
With Vespasian’s desperate pleas still ringing in his ears, the First Tribune reached down and gently slid Vespasian’s limp body forward near the chariot’s riser where it would not be seen. Then he quickly took up the reins and slapped them hard across the stallions’ haunches.
Wheeling the chariot around, he charged back up the hill.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
IN THE END IT WOULD TAKE THE PRINCESS OF EUTRACIA twelve hours to regain consciousness. As her mind slowly sharpened, the last thing she could recall was looking up in terror as the Blood Viper’s talons slashed down toward her throat. Moments later, a lesser degree of the terrible pain that had ripped through her entire system, and especially her left eye, returned. As her acuteness continued to strengthen, she took stock of her surroundings.
It was nighttime in Eutracia, and she lay in her private quarters. The royal palace and the surrounding grounds were peaceful, with only the usual sounds of the night creatures wafting through the air to keep her company. She was dressed in one of her nightgowns, and as she came around, the pain that still racked her body, face, and left eye slowly rose. But I am alive, she thought grateful
ly, although I may have no right to be.
She soon realized that her vision was deeply compromised; everything looked darkly shadowed and her depth perception was markedly skewed. The effect was chilling. Because only one candelabrum on the far side of the room was in use, her chambers looked unusually dark. Perhaps that is why I cannot see as I should, she thought. Then she sensed an unfamiliar pressure against her left eye.
Moving as best her sore muscles and joints would allow, she leaned over toward one bedstand and grasped the hand mirror that always lay there. With a trembling hand she started to lift it before her face.
But just as she did, an unseen power forced the mirror down and away. As though her arm suddenly belonged to someone else, she felt an unearthly force press it down onto the bed. The sensation was not painful, and she soon realized that there was no point in trying to fight it, for it was born of the craft. Clearly she was not alone.
“I am sorry, Princess,” came a familiar voice from the shadows along the far side of the room. “I thought it necessary that we talk before you see your reflection. I apologize for not removing the hand mirror from your bedstand earlier. I should have guessed that it would be the first thing you’d reach for after you awakened.”
Although Shailiha desperately wanted to see her reflection, she knew that there was no use in arguing. The voice had been Faegan’s, and he would use the craft to enforce his wishes. Because of how much he cared for her, his decisions would surely be in her best interests. But unlike many times before, on this night she was not easily comforted by his presence. Clearly he was preventing her from seeing her face, causing her to wonder just how bad her injuries were. Like a spectator unable to take part in some drama she was watching, she saw the mirror slide from her grip and float across the room to disappear into the shadows. After taking a deep breath, she lay back on her silken pillows.
Moments later Faegan wheeled his chair from the shadows to come and sit by her bedside. He looked tired and drawn, and her hand mirror lay in his lap. Although he tried to smile, even with her hampered vision Shailiha could see that his cheerful expression was forced.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Twelve hours,” he answered, “the same as you. I have been with you every moment since Traax brought you to me. It was he who saved you from the viper.”
“How bad are my injuries?” she demanded. “You must tell me the truth if I am to lead Eutracia. Like each of us, I am only as good as my limitations.”
In the flickering candlelight Faegan smiled again, and this time she thought that his expression seemed more genuine. “You’re starting to reason like a sorceress,” he said. “I’m going to have to be more careful around you.” In a silent attempt to avoid her question, he grasped her down comforter and pulled it up a bit higher.
“You still haven’t answered me,” Shailiha insisted as she tried to sit up. But the strain of moving suddenly increased her pain and she was forced to again lie back. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment. As she did so, she felt the lashes of her left eye brush against something, and she knew.
She turned toward Faegan and looked into his face as best she could. “I’m wearing an eye patch, aren’t I?” she asked.
Faegan nodded.
“Is my left eye blind?” the princess asked quietly.
“Only you can answer that,” Faegan said. “In one more hour I will remove the patch and we will know.”
“Why must we wait?” she asked.
“The Shashidan Inkai said that the enchantment would do its best work in thirteen hours,” he answered. “The craft formula that they supplied to help heal you was the most elegant and convoluted that I have ever seen. It took Aeolus and me two hours to grasp it, and even now we’re not sure whether we applied it correctly.”
“The Shashidan Inkai?” Shailiha asked. “What are you talking about?”
Faegan smiled and placed his hand atop hers. “There is much to tell you,” he said. “And like most news, only part of it is good.”
“Is Morganna all right?” Shailiha demanded.
“She’s fine,” Faegan answered. “Shawna looks after her.”
“Did we defeat Khristos?” the princess asked.
Faegan shook his head. “The Viper Lord and many of his servants escaped us again. I wish that I could tell you that we gave as good as we got, but I can’t. The Illendium has been vaporized, and although the Cavalon is repairable, she was severely damaged by fire. Khristos’ goal wasn’t to take Tammerland or to see how many people he could kill. The attack on the capital was only a ruse designed to draw the Conclave and our forces away from the palace so that he could steal one Black Ship and destroy the other. I’m sorry to say that he nearly succeeded.”
Shailiha looked away in shame. “It’s my fault,” she said softly. “I ordered us straight into it.”
“No,” Faegan said. “We’re all to blame. Even Traax agreed that we needed to rush every available warrior into the heart of Tammerland. But there is other news, Your Highness, and it grieves me deeply to be its bearer.”
“Is it about Tristan?” she asked urgently.
“No,” Faegan answered. “He, Wigg, and Tyranny have finally reached Shashida and they are safe. The others remain aboard the Black Ships. But during the fighting in Tammerland we lost a valuable Conclave member.”
Shailiha closed her eyes. “Who…?” she asked.
“Abbey is dead,” Faegan answered. “I am sorry.”
Heartbroken, Shailiha sank lower in her bed. She had loved Abbey, as they all had. Then she thought about Wigg and how badly her death would hurt him.
“Does Wigg know?” she asked.
“I can’t say,” Faegan answered. “As we speak, he, Tristan, and Tyranny are conferring with Mashiro and the other Inkai members for the first time.”
“Mashiro…?” Shailiha asked. “That’s a strange-sounding name.”
“Indeed,” Faegan answered. “The Shashidan dialect contains far more idiosyncrasies than we had imagined. In any event, Tristan, Wigg, and Tyranny were rendered unconscious when the Shashidans took them into their portal to help finish their journey. While Tristan was unconscious they used his medallion to contact us. They told us much about themselves, including how they knew that you had been injured. But they cut the session short so that they could give us an enchantment to apply to your blood. They promised that after their meeting with Tristan they would contact us again.”
Despite all the bad news, a mischievous smile crossed Faegan’s face. “We’ve done it, Shailiha!” he said. Slapping his hand against one knee he let go a self-satisfied cackle. “At long last we’ve reached Shashida!”
Shailiha wanted to demand that Faegan tell her everything that he had learned about Shashida, but her sense of duty returned to insist that the situation in Eutracia take precedence. Putting her curiosity aside for the moment, she asked, “Has Khristos been sighted since the last attack?”
“No,” Faegan answered. “Even so, there’s good news regarding him.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Faegan gave the princess a conspiratorial wink. “The Inkai know much about him,” Faegan answered. “They explained how he appears and disappears at will and why he is trying to destroy the Conclave. Because he is a Vagaries wizard, he feels compelled to destroy the Vigors but the full answer goes far deeper than that. And as has so often been the case, the explanation has to do with Failee.”
For the next half hour Faegan told the princess about how Khristos and the embryonic vipers had been condemned into the river by Failee, how and why they had finally arisen after all this time, and that the Inkai suspected that Khristos was now in the service of the Pon Q’tar. The Jin’Saiou listened intently, hanging on the wizard’s every word. When he finished, she tiredly nodded her head.
“That explains much,” she said. “But because they can hide in Eutracia’s many rivers and use them to travel about unseen, finding and killing th
em will be very difficult. It’s no wonder that our Night Witches couldn’t find them. They can seek refuge anywhere a river runs.”
“There’s more to the tale,” Faegan said, “but the Inkai did not relate it to us. They wanted to be sure that you were looked after first. In any event, they said that they might be able to help us destroy Khristos and his vipers—not by direct intervention, but in some oblique way. I can only hope that they will tell us how when we next view each other.”
Just then Faegan and Shailiha saw an azure hue build on the room’s far side. The glow soon revealed a large hourglass sitting atop a table. As Shailiha looked at it, she saw that a few remaining sand grains were tumbling from the top globe into the bottom one. When the last grain fell, the azure hue disappeared.
“The thirteen hours are up,” Faegan said. “It’s time to check your vision. Close both eyes. Do not open them until I tell you.”
Shailiha’s heart hammered in her chest. With her eyes shut she saw only darkness. Is this all that my left eye will ever see again? she wondered. Knowing that she must resign herself to whatever Faegan wanted, she took a deep breath, then nodded her assent.
Faegan moved his chair closer and gently removed the dark patch and its strap from her face and head. As the patch was lifted away, the temptation to open her eyes gripped the princess, but she did as she had been told and kept them shut.
For several moments she felt Faegan’s fingertips gently explore her left cheek and eyelid. Waiting in silence this way was torturous, and she desperately wanted to open her eyes and learn the truth. Then she remembered that this was Faegan she was dealing with and that only what he wished to happen would come to pass. As the maddening seconds went by she could only wait and wonder. Finally his probing fingers left her skin.
“You may now open your eyes, Princess,” Faegan said. “Tell me what you see. Allow your vision to adjust, and be in no hurry to answer.”
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