“From what we have learned, it seems that endowed, left-leaning blood must somehow have entered the river that Failee mentions in her grimoire,” Faegan said. “With no formula of reversal to neutralize it, the spell keeping the embryos and the Viper Lord alive survived to this day. We suspect that the amount of blood entering the river needn’t have been large. In fact, the forestallment might have been activated by only a few random drops. We do not know whose blood it was or how it came to be in the river. In truth, we might never know. The blood might even have entered the water by accident rather than with malicious intent. We suspect that if Failee had been able to have her battle there, if she saw that it was going badly she would have released some of her own blood into the stream. Even if she had died, she would thus still have had her vengeance. After all these years the problem has become ours to deal with.”
Thinking about Faegan’s explanation, Tristan sat back in his chair. Failee’s plan had been brilliant. It had finally been put into action, perhaps by one or more persons of endowed blood who had no idea of the ramifications of what he or she had done. Despite the many loose ends regarding all of this, one thing was certain. The rampaging monsters and their wizard lord had to be killed. And it must be done soon, before more Eutracians died and before the Viper Lord’s depraved cannibalism perhaps increased his powers to such a degree that even the Conclave and the Minions could not overcome him.
Deciding to change the subject, Tristan momentarily shelved his concerns about the Blood Vipers. He gave Faegan a commanding look.
“What about the subtle matter?” he asked. “Do you have word about that as well?”
For the first time since the meeting started, Faegan smiled. Tristan knew that smile-it always appeared whenever the crippled wizard possessed a secret that others were eager to learn. Before answering, Faegan lifted Nicodemus from his lap and gently placed the cat on the floor, where he began affectionately winding his body and tail around Wigg’s legs. The First Wizard scowled.
“What we have learned about subtle matter will surely amaze you-perhaps even more than did our news about the Blood Vipers,” Faegan said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down for emphasis. “Prepare yourselves,” he warned, “for the tale that you are about to hear astonished even us old wizards.”
As Faegan talked, Tristan leaned forward, hungering for every word. In the end, the crippled wizard would be right.
CHAPTER XVI
MY WINGS ARE SO HEAVY, SIGRID THOUGHT. HOW I WOULDlove to give the order to land so that my warriors could rest and warm themselves beside a roaring fire. I have led this patrol for the last sixteen hours straight, and still we have not found the man-serpents. But we are Night Witches-we never surrender, we never give up. So I will lead my warriors onward until dawn. When the sun comes up, perhaps then we will have better luck finding the monsters that plague Eutracia.
Banking to the west, Sigrid knew that she needn’t confirm whether all her fellow Night Witches still followed her. They were among the best fliers that the Minion ranks had to offer, and each warrior’s resolve and talents equaled her own.
Forming these special reconnaissance groups had been Commander Duvessa’s idea, and theJin’Sai had heartily approved. Three such groups existed, and the moment one group landed, another took flight. Each consisted of thirty female Minion warriors who had volunteered from Duvessa’s elite fighting cadres. Specially trained in long-distance reconnaissance, the women had been chosen for their stamina, fighting skills, and sharp eyesight.
Since learning of the existence of Rustannica and Shashida, Tristan had used the Night Witches to check on Eutracia’s far-flung borders should thePon Q’tar mystics somehow find a way to cross the Tolenkas and attack Eutracia. News of the Night Witches’ exploits traveled fast, and the patrol groups were quickly becoming legendary. Even the few remaining Minion males who stubbornly grumbled about fighting alongside females had been heard whispering that if something needed to be found, send a Night Witch to find it, for she would not come home empty-handed.
Sigrid was cold and nearly exhausted. She knew that the warriors following her would be equally spent. Closing her eyes for a moment, she did her best to stretch her tired back muscles as she pulled her strong wings through the air, then used her stiff fingers to clear the gathering frost from her face and eyelashes.
It is so cold at this altitude, she thought, shivering slightly. But the higher we fly the farther we can see. If the man-serpents are ransacking another town, they might have set it ablaze as they did Birmingham. So it is the fires that we seek rather than the creatures themselves. At this altitude and in the dark of night, finding the man-serpents on the ground would be nearly impossible.
She let go a quick smirk. Even for Night Witches, she realized.
At twenty-five Seasons of New Life, Sigrid was young to command one of the newly formed reconnaissance groups. That was partly because she was highly qualified and partly because of the high attrition rate suffered by the Minions in their service to theJin’Sai. Although the warriors had fought well, their battles against Nicholas, Wulfgar, and Serena had taken a great toll. It would take many generations of peace to replace their numbers. And like many warriors, Sigrid believed that true peace would not prevail for a long time, if ever.
Duvessa formed the three groups because of her conviction that if Eutracia’s borders and coastline could be better watched, future battle losses might be averted. She had never agreed with the Conclave that all the Vagaries threats east of the Tolenkas had likely been quashed. She had been saddened to learn of the man-serpents, even though their sudden appearance had proved her right.
Because the duty would be hazardous, Duvessa insisted that only unattached females from her fighting cadres be allowed to volunteer for the new units. After selecting and training the ninety women herself, she had conducted a short ceremony during which she awarded each new scout a pair of silver threaded wings to be sewn onto her body armor at the right shoulder. The women wore them with pride, and the approving glances that soon came from unattached male warriors had been a welcome side effect. Being a member of the Night Witches quickly became a great honor.
Sigrid smirked again as she remembered how the name “Night Witches” had come into being. They did not patrol only at night, but the name had stuck anyway. It was Traax who had unwittingly granted them the title. Sigrid and her group had just returned from a long night patrol to descend near the massive Minion camp lying just outside the palace walls. As it was tonight, the sky had been dark and cloudless and the patrol had been a long one.
Landing tiredly on the dewy grass, Sigrid and her group had looked around to see Duvessa and Traax standing nearby, waiting to perform a surprise dawn inspection on the unsuspecting camp. Traax had walked over to speak with Sigrid. Eager to hear how Sigrid would comport herself, Duvessa accompanied him. Despite their great fatigue, Sigrid and her warriors came to swift attention.
Traax walked up and down their lines, looking them over with a steely gaze. He finally stopped before Sigrid and stared into her dark eyes. As she had been trained to do when approached by a superior officer, Sigrid squared her shoulders and focused her attention on a spot somewhere just above Traax’s left shoulder. As the Minion second in command admired the silvery wings embroidered into her leather body armor, Sigrid remained emotionless.
“Impressive,” he said simply. He turned to look at his wife. “So this is what you’ve been doing with your spare time, eh?” he asked. He looked back at Sigrid. “How long was your patrol?”
Sigrid promptly clicked her heels together. “Twenty consecutive hours, my lord,” she answered. “Nineteen of which were flown at an altitude of three thousand meters over the slopes of the Tolenka Mountains.”
“Why do you fly so high?” he asked.
Sigrid was no fool. Traax was a member of the Conclave-he would already know the answer. Just the same, she was duty-bound to reply.
“Since learning of the nations west of the
Tolenkas, theJin’Sai wants us to be on guard against a Rustannican invasion force that might somehow cross over the mountains,” Sigrid answered. “We patrol the coastline as well, searching for seaborne threats. Should we discover an incursion, flying high will grant us a broad view of the enemy force, allowing us to better gauge its size.”
Taking another step forward, Traax raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that you’re not embellishing, subcommander?” he asked. “There is little breathable air at that height. So little, in fact, that I can think of fewmale warriors who can fly for so long at such altitudes. And we all know that our male warriors are stronger, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sigrid immediately bristled at that remark, but aside from a slight narrowing of her eyes she didn’t flinch. But she did break with protocol and look at Traax directly, putting him on notice. “It’s the truth, my lord,” she answered sternly. “If you would like to consult with any of my fliers to confirm our height and speed-”
Traax waved one hand. “That will not be necessary, subcommander,” he answered. Then he grinned widely, telling her that he had only been teasing. It seems that the Minion second in command is in a good mood this morning, a relieved Sigrid thought. Perhaps he hopes to catch some lazy warriors still sleeping in their cots after reveille has sounded…
“I believe you,” Traax added, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Duvessa has told me all about your exploits. Well done. You and your sisters do a great service to theJin’Sai. ”
Traax turned to smile at his wife. “They are indeed as proud as you say,” he offered. “And just as arrogant, I might add! Given the way that they can fly, perhaps they are all Night Witches!” He turned back to look at Sigrid. “You and your group get some rest,” he ordered. “You’ve earned it.”
Sigrid abruptly clicked her heels again. “Thank you, sir,” she answered.
Just then everyone heard the camp bugler sound reveille. Turning away, Traax and Duvessa eagerly hurried through the encroaching sunrise to begin their surprise inspection. They will be ruthless with anyone they find still asleep, Sigrid thought. Good. They need to be.
Traax hadn’t realized it, but every warrior in Sigrid’s group had heard the name he had called them. And like all good names, this one stuck. By now many more females had offered to join the Night Witches and new patrol groups were being formed. But no matter how many Minion women joined, Sigrid would always be proud that she had been among the first. During the early days, Duvessa led this group; then she had promoted Sigrid to the rank of subcommander.
Banking south this night, Sigrid changed course again. This new line would take her patrol directly across the southern fields of Farplain, skirt the western boundaries of Shadowood, and return them to Tammerland. It will be good to be home, Sigrid thought. I will grant each of my witches an extra ration of akulee for flying so well. Her customary smirk emerged again. I doubt that anyone will refuse, she thought. Not only can my witches fly and fight as well as most Minion males, they can outdrink some of them, too.
Picking up the pace, she continued leading her group on this line for another quarter hour. Still she saw nothing unusual. A quiet patrol, she thought. Just then she saw an orange-red light twinkle against the dark ground some leagues ahead.
Narrowing her eyes, she pressed on harder, wondering whether she was seeing things. Sometimes at great altitudes Minion warriors imagined things that weren’t there. Such false visions were usually depictions of things that they desperately wished to see, such as shimmering oases when the warriors were near death from thirst. When airborne, the warriors called such teasing phantoms “sky mirages,” and they were known to be caused by prolonged exposure to the thin air found at high altitude.
Duvessa had taught the Night Witches well about sky mirages, for she too had experienced them. This would not be Sigrid’s first encounter with the seductive apparitions. Because they were seen while airborne, sky mirages were more deadly than land mirages. They could cause the death of an unsuspecting warrior as surely as any weapon made of steel, and nearly as fast.
There was but one way to deal with these phantoms. Duvessa had taught them. You must dive as though your life depends on it. If not, you will suffer lightheadedness, followed by unconsciousness. The fall to earth will be a quick one, with little hope of recovery before the end comes.
Wasting no time, Sigrid snapped shut her wings and dived straight down. Every Minion knew that the quickest way to bleed off altitude was to perform a free fall. As she watched the dark earth come barreling toward her, each of her fellow Night Witches followed suit.
The cold wind was blinding at this speed, causing her eyes to water mercilessly. This made seeing the ground even more difficult, creating a special danger all its own. “Watch carefully!” she heard Duvessa’s voice call out to her again.“Pull up before you get too close! Only then will you know whether the image that you questioned was real or imaginary!”
As the wind whipped by her and the air warmed, Sigrid’s labored breathing eased. She strained to see the ground. Suddenly a treeline materialized out of the darkness, the tops of its branches approaching far too quickly.
She snapped open her wings and pulled up hard, as she had done so many times while training under Duvessa’s watchful gaze. Missing the tops of the trees by only a few meters, she leveled off, then finally looked behind her. Seeing all twenty-nine of her Night Witches perform the same heart-stopping maneuver was always an impressive sight. Reaching up with one hand, she wiped the melted frost from her face and eyes, then swerved to change course again and she gained a bit more altitude. Now we shall see, she thought.
Several minutes later the mystery was partly answered when Sigrid smelled dark smoke, pungent and sickly sweet. Having already seen far too many Minion funeral pyres during her young life, she quickly recognized the telltale odor.
Suddenly another stand of very tall trees loomed up ahead, their black branches nearly indistinguishable from the dark blue sky. Pulling up hard, she narrowly missed them as they brushed against her body armor. Just then she again saw the orange-red glow, telling her that this had been no sky mirage after all.
Tanglewood was on fire.
Swooping lower, Sigrid waved one arm, signaling that she wanted her second in command to fly up alongside. Valda came quickly. She was a strong and especially brave Night Witch, and Sigrid trusted her with her life. Her hair was a lighter color than most. Like that of the other Night Witches, it had been tightly braided and tucked beneath her body armor so that it wouldn’t harass her during flight.
“What are your orders?” Valda shouted.
Reaching to one hip, Sigrid unsheathed her dreggan. Even with the night wind whipping by, she could hear the blade briefly ring out as it cleared its scabbard. To a Minion warrior, that sound was always a comforting, exciting thing to hear. Immediately after, she heard another welcome sound as twenty-nine more dreggans simultaneously cleared their scabbards, their ring unmistakable. With the light of the three Eutracian moons highlighting her face, Sigrid turned to look at her number two warrior. The smile Valda saw was predatory.
“Take half the witches and start a search!” Sigrid shouted. “You curve to the east! I’ll curve to the west! Take no direct action unless you are attacked! May the Afterlife be with you!”
Raising her free hand, Sigrid waved her fist first in one direction and then another, signaling that the force should divide into predetermined halves. Each Night Witch knew with which half she belonged, and the well-practiced maneuver was over almost as quickly as it started.
Sigrid looked over to see that Valda and her fourteen witches were gone. Then she quickly turned to look behind her. Those witches still following her were close behind, their dreggan blades shining in the moonlight. Her face grim, Sigrid led them directly over the heart of the city.
Most of the buildings had collapsed from fire. Black smoke and the sickening odor of burning flesh rose into the air, limiting the witches’ ability to
see and turning their stomachs. Soot soon darkened their faces, their body armor, and their weapons. Sigrid reached up to wipe it from her face, only to wonder a few seconds later whether the soot had once been part of a living human being. Hysterical men, women, and children ran everywhere at once, some of them bloodied and naked. The insane screams of the tortured and the dying seemed to fly alongside her through the smoky air.
It’s like Birmingham all over again! she realized. The man-serpents must be here-but where?
Changing course, she led her witches toward the town square. Suddenly the grisly impalements came into view along with the thousands of horrific man-serpents and the human victims on whom they were doing their terrible work.
Sigrid clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on the dreggan. What was happening here easily rivaled the atrocities that the Minions had been ordered to commit against the helpless citizens of Parthalon when they served the iron will of the Coven. As in those terrible days, the brutality she saw this night was heinous, and total in its depravity. Then she saw a lone figure in a dark robe, standing in the center of the square. Swooping lower yet, she took her witches down for a better look.
The bloody square was something straight out of some madman’s nightmare. Thousands of citizens had been impaled; in many cases their organs dangled from their ravaged bodies. Most looked dead, while others still writhed in agony, waiting for the reaper to come and gather up their souls. Swooping closer, Sigrid took a good look at the figure in the dark robe.
What she saw stunned her. The being’s face wasn’t quite human, nor could it be called fully reptilian. The tattered black robe that he wore spilled down over his wrists and boot tops. In one hand he held a silver staff.
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