“Why?” Abbey asked.
“The orb is in constant motion. In its natural state, it is invisible,” he explained. “To be seen, it generally must be called into view by a practitioner of the craft—or, at least, that is how things used to be. But since the orb was wounded, it seems to be in view much more often. If it is randomly disappearing and reappearing, it must be giving fits to the warriors who were assigned to follow it.”
“Wulfgar must be marching toward the Tolenkas by now,” Shailiha said. “Only the Afterlife knows what havoc he is causing while we sit here and speculate. We have to do something!”
“Agreed,” Faegan said. “We must send another force to attack him. Perhaps we can do on land what we could not do on water. I will have Traax organize the Minion forces and we will make a battle plan. If Wulfgar breaches the pass and unleashes the Heretic hordes, then nothing can stand in his way.”
“Except perhaps for the blood of the Jin’Sai,” Shailiha said softly. “Or mine. If we learn that Tristan is”—she faltered for a moment, then rallied—“dead, you must train me as fast as possible. I will do whatever it takes to stop Wulfgar and avenge my brother’s death.”
“Wulfgar would have anchored as deep as possible in the huge bay that stretches from Shadowood to Malvina Watch,” Tyranny said. “Several Minion outposts dot that section of coastline, don’t they?”
The wizard nodded. “Yes, and the outposts are already on alert. But given what I have heard here today, I can’t hold much hope that they will be able to stop him by themselves.” His face was very grave.
“May the Afterlife care for their souls,” he said.
CHAPTER LXXIV
_____
AS WULFGAR STOOD ON THE EUTRACIAN SHORE, THE SEA wind brought the stench of death to his nostrils. It was midday, and the Black Ships lay anchored in the bay. Six of the seven members of his macabre council remained aboard their vessels, awaiting further orders.
The sky was clear and bright, save for the pungent smoke that curled toward the heavens. Even though the Minion warriors had fought well, their outpost had fallen quickly. The Enseterat, his seven dark captains, and the crushing number of demonslavers had overwhelmed the garrison easily.
The rough-hewn structure’s four long log walls rose nearly twenty meters into the air. Numerous scorch marks and gaping holes were all that remained where azure bolts had exploded against them. Lookout posts stood at each of the four corners, and several crude buildings occupied the spacious grounds inside. Parts of the outpost still burned.
Wulfgar knew that the entire Eutracian coast was dotted with such garrisons. He would not bother to attack them; it was unnecessary. Nor would they be immediately alerted to his presence, for not a single Minion warrior had escaped to tell the tale.
The ground was soaked with Minion and demonslaver blood. Hungry flies had already begun to feast. Eleven surviving warriors hung nearby, tied by their thumbs to the horizontal beam that stretched across the opening where the outpost gates used to stand. One of them was Olaf, the commander of the garrison. Saying nothing, they all looked down at Wulfgar with hatred, their eyes glazed with pain.
Captain Merriwhether approached and gave his master a short bow.
“If my lord is interested, I have a suggestion about the survivors,” he said. “I believe our troops would find it amusing.”
“What is it?” Wulfgar asked.
“During our examination of the compound, our demonslavers found several barrels of pitch. I suggest that we put them to good use.”
Wulfgar smiled. “You may proceed.”
With another bow, Wulfgar’s skeletal captain went off to give his orders.
Several demonslavers emerged from the compound rolling two large barrels before them. Two more carried ladles and brushes. When they reached the hanging captives they stopped and upended the barrels.
Using the hilts of their swords, they smashed open the barrel tops. After a sign from Merriwhether, they dipped the ladles and brushes into the barrels.
Wulfgar raised one hand, and used his power to lift the demonslavers into the air. Wulfgar guided them closer to the hanging warriors, and the slavers began slathering the helpless Minions with the dark, sticky pitch.
The prisoners screamed out curses and kicked uselessly at the slavers. When his servants had completed their work, Wulfgar lowered them to the ground and walked over to look up at Olaf.
The large, gray-bearded Minion commander carried more than enough scars to prove that his worth had been well tested. Olaf had served with the Jin’Sai during both the air campaign over Farplain and during the sea battles when Wulfgar had first returned to Eutracia to pollute the Orb of the Vigors.
Wulfgar only smiled.
“I have a request of you and your warriors,” he said. “I want to hear you all scream.”
Olaf looked down the line of warriors who were hung alongside him. To a man, their eyes carried the same defiance that his did. He looked back at his tormentor.
“Never,” he said. “Minion warriors know how to die well, and perhaps this is as good a day as any. But mark my words, you bastard. When the Jin’Sai hears of this, he will kill you all.”
Wulfgar reached up to touch the sole of the warrior’s boot. Casually examining a sample of the pitch, he rubbed it between his fingers for a few moments. Then he narrowed his eyes and caused the pitch to vanish, leaving his fingers clean. He looked back up at Olaf.
“The Jin’Sai will somehow kill me?” he asked. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. I have nothing to fear from my half brother—or his twin sister, for that matter. But you, on the other hand, have a great deal to fear from me.”
Turning his back on the Minions, Wulfgar went to Merriwhether and asked, “Would you like to do the honors? After all, it was your idea.”
As Merriwhether smiled, his white teeth showed brightly against his dark skull.
“Of course, my lord,” he answered. He raised the blanched bones of one arm and pointed at Olaf.
“Goodbye, you winged freak,” he said softly. “May your soul rot in whatever place you call the Afterlife.”
He shot an azure bolt at Olaf’s pitch-laden boots. The Minion’s feet burst into flames. The fire fed quickly on the pitch and roared up his body and wings.
Merriwhether did the same to the others. In mere moments, all of the warriors were ablaze.
Wulfgar looked at Olaf, already smelling the sweet, sickly odor of burning flesh as the smoke darkened and took to the sky.
Olaf didn’t scream or beg for his life. Nor did any of the others hanging there with him. They died as they had lived, warriors to the end. Eventually their charred carcasses proved too heavy for the burning ropes that suspended them, and what remained of their lifeless bodies crashed to the ground.
Wulfgar suddenly felt the touch of the Heretics on his mind. He turned toward the shore and went to his knees.
“You have done well,” sang the heavenly chorus of voices. “Now, release one of the creatures that waits in the hold of your ship and turn it against the remains of the Minion garrison. You have but to think of the command and it shall obey you—just as the others shall also obey your dark captains in your absence. It will be a paltry use of their formidable talents, but from this you shall learn their amazing gifts. Then send six of your Black Ships to lay siege to the palace. While they do that, you must go west, toward the azure pass through the mountains. From there you will turn south, to Tammerland. But you must hurry. As we speak, the Jin’Sai and his First Wizard attempt to unravel the secret of his azure blood.”
Wulfgar raised his eyes skyward. “It shall be as you command,” he replied. He rose and walked back over to Merriwhether.
“Your orders, my lord?” his captain asked.
“Bring the ships,” he said. “It is time to unleash one of the beasts. We are to finally learn th
e secret of their power.”
Merriwhether walked to the shore and sent an azure bolt soaring through the air.
Almost at once, the ships’ anchors were pulled up, and the ships rose above the waves, turned, and approached the shoreline sterns first.
The first ship finally crossed over dry land. As her massive hull settled, crushing all of the rocks and vegetation beneath her, she groaned and came to rest a bit toward her starboard side.
The massive ship’s stern door lowered to reveal an impenetrable darkness.
From deep within the ship, one of the Earthshakers emerged. No demonslaver rode atop its back. First its great skull appeared, its long, dark horn protruding from the center of its forehead. Then the huge body followed. Finally came the massive, bony tail—a gigantic paddle that swayed back and forth as the beast stopped and stood upon the lowered stern door. For a moment the door threatened to buckle beneath the thing’s great weight, but it held.
The creature looked around, saw Wulfgar, and let go a terrifying scream. Wulfgar held out his hands.
“Come to me,” he ordered.
The Earthshaker stepped onto the shore and lumbered toward its master. As it walked, the ground trembled beneath its feet. It stopped about five meters away. Wulfgar pointed to the Minion outpost.
“Destroy it,” he told the creature. With another earsplitting scream, the Earthshaker walked over to the garrison, lifted its tail, and gave it a mighty snap. The air erupted with a massive, sonic boom.
The wall exploded. Pieces of wood flew everywhere, and the dust raised by the blast obscured everyone’s vision for several moments. When the scene finally cleared, even Wulfgar was stunned by what he saw.
The entire wall was gone. Pieces of wood no larger than toothpicks rained down, covering everything. The monster screamed once more and lumbered into the compound.
With another swipe of the thing’s tail, the first of the Minion buildings exploded into nothingness. Then another, and another. Soon nothing of consequence stood in the inner yard.
The creature walked to one of the remaining walls and, with another concussive blast, tore it apart. The other two walls and the remaining lookout posts quickly followed. Shards of wood drifted down slowly, and all became quiet once more.
“Come to me,” Wulfgar ordered the beast.
The Earthshaker returned to its master, and Wulfgar affectionately rubbed the front of its face. The beast moaned softly.
“Return to the ship,” Wulfgar ordered.
The Earthshaker walked slowly back to the vessel from which it had come. Once it was aboard, the demonslavers hauled the ship’s stern door back up into place. Wulfgar turned back to look at where the Minion outpost had once stood. Nothing remained.
“Come here,” Wulfgar ordered Merriwhether. The captain obeyed.
“I leave for the azure pass,” Wulfgar said. “Take six of the Black Ships and make for Tammerland. Whatever remains standing, once the polluted Sippora has set the city ablaze, have the Earthshakers blast it to ruins. Make your way to the palace and begin the siege. I will meet you there after I have released the Heretic hordes and overseen the destruction of the orb. If you can take the Jin’Sai alive, then do so. He and I have unfinished business. But feel free to make an example of the populace in whatever manner you see fit.”
Wulfgar took another step closer.
“Do not fail me, Merriwhether,” he added with menace. “It was I who plucked you and your brothers from the icy depths of the Sea of Whispers, and I can just as easily oversee your return.”
Merriwhether bowed his dark head. “Have faith, my lord,” he answered. “Everything shall be as you order.”
“Good,” Wulfgar said. “Go now, and may luck be with you.”
Merriwhether walked to the first of the great vessels and boarded, barking out orders. As Wulfgar watched, six of the massive ships slowly righted themselves. Their black sails snapped open and their hulls rose into the air, heading south over dry land, toward Tammerland.
Soon they were gone from sight, leaving the Enseterat with one ship, one captain, and a host of demonslavers. The remaining captain was Cathmore. As his dark heart beat within the tattered folds of his uniform, he smiled at the honor of escorting his savage messiah to the pass in the Tolenkas.
“Make way,” Wulfgar ordered. “We leave at once.”
As the ship lifted into the air, Wulfgar and Cathmore levitated themselves onto her black decks. Her sails snapped open and she turned toward her mission and her destiny.
CHAPTER LXXV
_____
WHY DOES MY SHOULDER HURT SO MUCH? HE WONDERED. CAN’T WHY DOES MY SHOULDER HURT SO MUCH? CAN’T they just leave me alone? I wish they would stop talking and let me sleep. Don’t they know that I’m the Jin’Sai?
With a groan, Tristan opened his eyes. At first everything was out of focus. Soon things became clearer. Celeste’s lined face looked down at him, and her gray hair brushed against his cheek.
Wigg and Ox’s faces appeared behind her. Celeste and Ox smiled broadly. Wigg wore the typically condescending scowl that seemed always reserved for castigating him.
“So you have finally decided to return to us,” the First Wizard said. “By the time we reached you, you had lost a great deal of blood. How do you feel?”
Tristan tried to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder forced him back down. He was in his tent, lying on several Minion blankets.
Wigg pressed a wooden cup against the prince’s lips. “Drink,” he said.
“What is it?” Tristan asked thickly.
“If you must know, it is ground root of canckleberry, sliced blossom of synthia, and boiled water. It will help you to recover your strength. It will also aid the spell of accelerated healing that I granted over your wound. Out here in the wilderness, it was the best I could come up with.”
Tristan took a gulp of Wigg’s potion; it tasted awful. He winced.
“Your cure is worse than my injury,” he said.
Smiling, Celeste bent to kiss him. “We were so worried about you,” she said. “For a time, I thought I was going to lose you forever.”
Tristan smiled back and gingerly raised himself up onto his elbows.
Suddenly it all came flooding back. Satine, the fight in the meadow, his wound, her death…He twisted to look down at his left shoulder. The arrow shaft had been removed. Bandages had been wound around the joint, and spots of azure blood dotted the fabric. The front of his black leather vest was streaked with dried azure blood. Pain momentarily overwhelmed him, and he settled back down upon his makeshift bed.
“It was Satine,” he said.
“We know,” Wigg answered. “Her body matched the description given to us by Uther. We buried her in the meadow. I found some interesting items hidden in the lining of her cloak. Faegan was right about her methods of killing. I found something even more interesting in one of her boots,” he added wryly.
“And what was that?” Tristan asked.
“A list,” Wigg answered. “I haven’t made complete sense of it yet, but I think it might be a list of safe houses. I recognize many of the names matching the addresses—all onetime Consuls of the Redoubt. It appears torn at the bottom, as though she wanted part of the list removed for some reason. I suppose we’ll never know.”
“She hesitated,” Tristan said, more to himself than to the others. Then he looked up. “She had me dead to rights, and then she hesitated. Why would she do that?”
Wigg shook his head. “Perhaps it was a sudden lapse in resolve. Who knows? In the end, all that matters is that you survived and she did not.”
“How did you find me?”
“I wake up by fire to see you gone,” Ox said. “Other warriors say they see you go off to horses. I go to find you. Just as I first see you, you kill Satine. I call out for wizard and other warriors.”
“Midafternoon,” Wigg answered. “Do you feel well enough to travel in a litter? We’re losing valuable time.”
Tristan raised himself up again. “I’ll ride.”
“Oh, no,” Wigg answered adamantly. “I can’t take the chance of your wound opening up again. Besides, we’re down to Shadow and one other horse.” He gave Tristan a critical look. “You managed to get my mare killed, remember?”
Tristan nodded. “Very well,” he answered. “And I’m sorry about your horse.”
“If Tristan travels by litter, then so do I,” Celeste announced.
“Very well,” Wigg said. “Let’s go.”
Wigg looked over at Ox. “Tell the warriors to strike the camp,” he said.
As Ox went to follow his orders, Wigg and Celeste helped the prince to his feet.
THREE HOURS LATER, TRISTAN LOOKED DOWN FROM HIS MINION litter. They were traveling through the flat grasslands of Farplain, as they had been for the last two days. Wigg’s spells had helped his shoulder greatly, but it still throbbed from time to time. As a precaution he periodically flexed his muscles to keep them from stiffening. The exercise hurt like the blazes, but he knew that later he would be glad he had done it. His weapons were back in place over his right shoulder. At least the arm I rely on the most was spared, he thought.
Ox flew alongside the litter. He looked over from time to time, as if he were expecting the prince to do something foolish—like dive out to the plain below, perhaps. One corner of Tristan’s mouth curled into a smile. After the scare he had given them all last evening in the meadow, he really couldn’t blame Ox for being so protective.
Celeste lay asleep on the floor. Her hair was completely gray now, and her skin was lined with wrinkles. Her face had an unhealthy pallor, and it was growing difficult for her to move. Even so, he loved her as much as ever.
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