The Scrolls of the Ancients

CHAPTER

Sixty-eight

A s Tristan paced back and forth across the deck of his flagship, his mind was overcome with concerns both new and old. The scout ships had gone farther east into the Sea of Whispers days earlier, but still their patrolling warriors had little to tell. There was nothing to see but water, they kept on reporting as they tiredly returned to their vessels.

Have I ordered us all out here for nothing? he found himself wondering. Had the herbmistress Grizelda lied to them, simply to throw them off track? And if she had, then where was Wulfgar? Were Wigg and Faegan even correct in their assumption that his bastard brother was out to destroy the Orb of the Vigors?

The prince had gone to join the fleet as soon as he had learned that two of his warriors had gone missing. Although their disappearances proved nothing, he could sense that Wulfgar was out there somewhere. Soon, very soon now, things would come to a head.

It felt good to be at sea again. His newly acquired love of sailing was truly a part of him now-a part he hoped he would never have to give up completely. As the brisk westerlies moved through his hair, he casually grasped a line of rigging and leaned against the gunwale, his mind lost in thought.

Wigg, Shailiha, Traax, Abbey, and the warrior K'jarr were all here aboard the Savage Scar with him. Two days had passed since Wigg had accepted the acolytes into the Redoubt. Geldon had been left in charge, to greet any others of the sisterhood who might also make their way to the palace. Shawna the Short and a Minion warrior continued to watch over Marcus, Rebecca, and Morganna, while Ox and the remainder of the Minion forces had also been left behind as a palace guard. Faegan and Celeste, too, remained at the palace, in case their gifts were needed to protect the Scroll of the Vigors. These measures gave Tristan a modicum of comfort. But as he continued to look out over the deep blue sea, the prince was both anxious and worried.

Traax came to stand next to Tristan. The Minion second in command laced his fingers and leaned his muscular forearms on the gunwale. As the Savage Scar cut through the waves, for several long moments neither of them spoke.

"Where in the name of the Afterlife are they?" Tristan finally breathed, his gaze still locked on the waves. "Are Wulfgar and his fleet of slavers really on the way, or is this all just some kind of elaborate ruse designed to draw the bulk of our forces away from the palace? Could they have already gotten by us?"

Looking for answers, he finally turned and searched the warrior's face. He valued Traax's opinion greatly, and he needed to know his thoughts.

"I do not know, my lord," Traax answered solemnly. "All I can say is that if the roles had been reversed, I would be doing exactly what you are now. Only time will tell. As Wigg said, we have no choice but to believe what the dead herbmistress told us, because it is far too dangerous not to."

"Yes, yes, I know," the prince replied. "But I just can't escape the feeling that-"

He stopped short as he realized that his breath was streaming out of his mouth in the form of a short, white, vapor trail. The temperature had dropped so quickly that neither he nor Traax had noticed at first, but now it was so bitterly cold that both of them had begun to shiver. Then the Savage Scar lost all of her forward momentum.

Fearing the worst, Tristan looked up to the sails. They had all gone completely limp, their lower hems nearly touching the decks. Turning, he desperately looked out over the sea and was horrified to find that its surface had become as smooth as glass. His flagship and every other vessel in the Minion fleet were dead in the water.

By now Shailiha, Abbey, and Wigg had come running, and the decks were awash with sword-wielding warriors, all shouting to one another and wanting desperately to help, but not knowing what to do.

From out of nowhere, Tristan was suddenly reminded of something Tyranny had said to him during their first meeting together, that day in her private quarters aboard The People's Revenge. As he replayed it in his mind, his blood ran cold.

Speed is the one thing that keeps us alive out here.

Tristan turned to Traax. The expression on the warrior's face had become as hard as granite.

"What is it?" the prince breathed. "What is happening?"

"It is the Necrophagians, my lord," Traax answered sternly. "The Eaters of the Dead. They have somehow found us. And nothing I know of can stop them."

Then another cold realization shot through the prince-the Necrophagians had never been known to venture this far west! Wasting no time, he reached out and grabbed Traax by both shoulders. As he did, he could see that a strange, dark gray fog had already begun to form. It was snaking its way up from the sea to surround his fleet. Soon the enemy would be here, he realized. And they would be more than just the Eaters of the Dead.

"Order all of the sails furled!" he shouted. "And signal all of the other ships in the fleet to do the same!"

"But my lord!" Traax exclaimed in a rare display of protest. "That will do no good! It would be a waste of precious time! With no wind, it does not matter!"

"Don't argue with me!" Tristan shouted angrily. "Just do it! And have K'jarr found and brought to me immediately!"

Traax snapped to attention. After going to bark out the orders, he returned to stand resolutely at his master's side, his dreggan drawn.

"What is it?" Wigg called urgently. "What's going on?"

But before Tristan could answer, the fog began to coalesce into hundreds of pairs of huge, gnarled hands that came rising up out of the sea. As he watched in horror, they began to cut their way silently through the smooth, still ocean, positioning themselves in pairs near each of the Minion vessels. Then the hands reached out and grasped the bows and sterns of the ships, holding them helplessly in place. Sections of gunwale and railing began to crack apart under the immense pressure.

Tristan felt his heart sink. He looked up urgently to the masts and spars to see the Minion crewmen trying to furl the sails as fast as they could. Some were done already.

Suddenly, the sea all around them seemed to come alive. As it began to burble and roil, he looked over the side and saw the horrible faces of the Eaters of the Dead surfacing. Then he saw the first of the maelstroms.

From beyond the Eaters of the Dead, dozens of glowing waterspouts rose from the sea, turning with a speed so fast he found it dizzying. Their great heights soon dwarfed his ships. The maelstroms flattened out at their tops, then dissolved into thousands of individual, flying creatures. There could be no mistaking them.

Screechlings.

And then Tristan gasped as he saw the first of Wulfgar's demonslavers. The white-skinned monsters had seemingly materialized out of thin air to land crouching on the decks of his ships, their swords and tridents at the ready. Screaming wildly, they began hacking into the surprised Minion warriors with suicidal fury.

Tristan tried to shout orders out to Wigg and Traax, but each of them was already locked in individual combat. Pulling his sword from its scabbard, Tristan raised it just in time to ward off a blow from a demonslaver that appeared from nowhere. Then he slipped to the right and slashed his dreggan low, tearing the flesh of the monster's left thigh with the point of his double-edged blade. As the slaver bent over in agony, Tristan raised his blade again and took the thing's head off with a single blow.

Using a few precious seconds, Tristan turned desperately to look for Shailiha. When his eyes finally fell on her, he saw that she had drawn her sword and was fighting off a slaver. But the monster was gaining ground on her, pushing her backward across the already bloody deck. Reaching behind his shoulder, Tristan grasped the first of his throwing knives and sent it spinning end over end. The dirk buried itself into the slaver's neck and the monster fell over.

Across the deck, Wigg was throwing azure bolt after azure bolt against the demonslavers, killing as many of them as possible the moment they materialized. Then there seemed to be a short lull in the fighting, and for a wonderful, fleeting moment Tristan almost believed they might somehow survive the carnage. But he had forgotten the screechlings.

The thousands of large, three-winged, brightly colored flying fish descended on the Minion fleet all at once. Deftly avoiding the demonslavers, they soared over the decks, and tore into sails, spars, and Minions alike with their razor-sharp teeth. Many of the warriors took to the air and tried to hack the deadly things from the sky. But it soon became clear that they were outnumbered.

Spars and rigging came crashing down, and whatever sails had not already been furled were systematically shredded. Minion warriors by the dozens were being viciously torn apart by the screechlings and then hoisted ruthlessly over the side, to be consumed by the wailing, ravenous Eaters of the Dead. Despite all of the screaming, clanging sword blades, and mayhem, the sickening tearing of Minion flesh could be heard rising from waters that were quickly turning red with the crimson stains of death.

Traax and K'jarr reached Tristan's side, and the three of them slashed violently with their dreggans. Tristan was about to shout to Traax, when he saw the warrior's face suddenly fall-a rare sight indeed, even in combat. Whirling around, Tristan looked to see what had so stunned his second-in-command. As he did, his mouth fell open.

All around them, the warships of Wulfgar's fleet were materializing. There must have been hundreds of them, Tristan realized, and they had clearly been the launching points of the demonslaver attacks. As endless swarms of demonslavers continued to use swinging lines and gangplanks to land on his decks, Tristan saw that his troops were not only hopelessly outnumbered, but completely surrounded, as well.

The prince's heart fell at the thought of how easily they had been led into the trap. Wulfgar must also be here, he thought as he struggled with a screaming slaver, pausing only to raise his dreggan to slash a screechling out of the air. But if Wulfgar was there, then why hadn't Wigg detected his blood?

There was only one thing to do now. It had only a small chance of success, and if it was ever to happen it would have to be soon, for the odds against their survival were climbing by the second. The prince shouted out his orders to Traax and K'jarr.

"Traax, I want you to find Wigg, Abbey, and Shailiha and get them safely into one of the litters! Leave the other litter empty! Tell them it is time, and they will understand! I will join you soon!"

With a nod, Traax was gone. Reaching down into the top of his right knee boot, Tristan withdrew a small oilskin pouch and carefully handed it to K'jarr.

"Do you remember your orders?" he shouted to the Minion.

"Yes, Jin'Sai," K'jarr shouted back. "It shall be done!"

Despite the madness and turmoil going on all around them, Tristan took a few precious seconds to look deeply into K'jarr's dark eyes. "All of our lives and the life of your nation depend on what it is you now do," he said. "You must not fail us in this!"

K'jarr unflinchingly returned Tristan's gaze. "I live to serve!" he shouted.

With a final nod from his lord, the warrior hid the small package beneath his leather body armor, took to the air, and slipped over the side of the ship. Tristan ran toward the bow, desperately fighting his way through demonslavers and screechlings as he went.

By now the situation had become so critical and the number of demonslavers so great that a thick horde of Minions had to surround him simply to ensure he would reach his goal. Many of them died. Blessedly, by the time he made it there the others were waiting for him inside one of the litters.

With Tristan finally aboard, the Minion bearers lifted the litters into the sky and soared upward, just as they were overrun. Some of the screechlings tried to follow, but were cut down by Minion escorts. Then the remainder of the warriors soared from their stricken vessels and followed suit, climbing into the sky after them. As they did, the demonslavers left on the bloody decks cheered and waved their swords in celebration of their great victory.

Wondering whether his plan would work, Tristan looked silently over at his sister. She was dirty and disheveled and her left arm was bleeding, but Wigg had apparently been able to close the wound for now. Tristan gave her a small smile, and she smiled back.

Looking down at the fleet he had just ordered abandoned, Tristan desperately wondered whether he had done the right thing. It was out of his control now, he knew. As he waited and watched, he closed his hands tightly around the hilt of his dreggan.

K' jarr soared low over the waves, desperately staving off the screechlings that tried to force him down into the dark, waiting maws of the Eaters of the Dead. Four times they nearly took him, and four times he fought them off. But the battle on the decks had tired him, and he wasn't sure how long he could continue searching for the right opportunity.

Finally, after several long moments of circling the waterline of the Savage Scar, he found a place clear of screechlings and Necrophagians.

Hovering near the bowsprit he took a supreme chance and turned his back to the sea. Reaching into his body armor he withdrew the oilskin pouch, then carefully stuffed its contents into the gap between the bowsprit rail and the hull, taking extra care to make sure it would not come loose.

Turning away from the hull he soared up and away, in search of the Jin'Sai's departing litters.

W hen Wigg thought they were finally high enough, he nodded to Tristan. Then the prince gave his litter bearers a prearranged signal and they stopped climbing, instead hovering in place. They were high in the sky, directly above the two opposing fleets. The bloody Minion decks were now empty of warriors, and the demonslavers were still swarming over their decks, raucously rejoicing in their victory.

Tristan anxiously waited for Traax to lead the remainder of his forces up. As they came, he was dismayed at how few of them had survived. Then K'jarr finally caught up with them.

"Is it done?" Tristan shouted out nervously.

"Yes, my lord!" the Minion answered proudly. "All is as you requested!"

A look of relief crossed the prince's face. Wasting no time, he gave orders for the two litters to separate and to put a good distance between one another. Then he looked back over at Wigg and Abbey. It was time.

"You can do this," he told them.

"If I can both hold the litter in place long enough and also sustain a warp, and if the process will actually work in reverse," Wigg replied. "But as Faegan and I told you before, there are so many variables-"

"This is no time for a lecture about the craft!" Tristan countered quickly. "We're out of time! You need to start now!"

Nodding, Wigg looked over at Abbey, and then out at the distant litter the Minions were still holding. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and raised his arms in its direction.

Azure bolts shot from his hands and flew toward the other litter. As the azure glow engulfed the litter, the bearers let it go and flew away from it. Two of the warriors were badly burned, but it couldn't be helped.

It was plain to see that the lead wizard was straining with all his might to keep the empty litter from crashing into the sea, while at the same time maintaining the azure warp he had placed around it. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his arms shook.

Glancing over into Abbey's terrified eyes, Tristan gave her a look of encouragement. Then he looked out of the litter toward Traax.

"Now!" he shouted at the warrior.

Traax flew around to Abbey's side. The herbmistress stood up shakily, and Traax lifted her into his strong arms. Then he flew her toward the empty litter.

As she lay hundreds of feet above the waves in Traax's arms, Abbey carefully opened the leather cinch bag that hung from a strap around her neck. It held the ingredients required to start a gazing flame. Removing a pinch of herbs from it, she reached through the warp, dropped them over the side of the litter, and watched them fall onto the hot embers already burning on its specially constructed, metal floor. She then bowed her head.

As expected, almost immediately the familiar, golden flame came alive and started to burn away the sides and roof of the litter, leaving only the metal floor. Abbey cast a few more of the herbs into the flame and it roared higher, gaining color and strength. Raising one arm, she silently commanded the flame to split into two separate branches. The smaller of the two then obediently angled itself over toward her.

After carefully placing the first bottle of herbs back into the cinch bag, she removed the second one. Opening it, she took another pinch of herbs and dropped them down into the nearest of the two branched flames. The two branches rejoined, returning to the vertical. Placing the second bottle back into the cinch bag, she gently removed yet another precious item. Closing her eyes, she held it high.

It was a piece of vellum recently taken from the Scroll of the Vigors.

When the viewing window in the gazing flame started to form, Abbey opened her eyes again. Looking into the window she saw what the piece of vellum in her hands was searching for and had finally found: the same item K'jarr had just hidden in the gap between the bowsprit and the hull of the Savage Scar.

It was the other half of the vellum that Krassus had enchanted and hidden in Tristan's boot-the vellum the wizard of the Vagaries had hoped would destroy them all, but hadn't. It was also the item Tristan had shown the wizards that day on the balcony, when he had outlined his battle plan for them.

As Abbey watched, the vellum in the window-the twin image of the one on board the Savage Scar-began to emit pinpricks of azure light. With the birth of the lights came great screeching sounds, their noises so great that she and Traax could barely stand the pain in their ears.

Knowing the time had come, Traax immediately turned around and flew them both back to the waiting litter. As he did Wigg lowered his hands, and the remains of the other litter and Abbey's gazing flame fell into the sea. After Abbey was helped back inside, everyone looked down at the Savage Scar. Hoping against hope, Tristan held his breath.

From the bow of the flagship the screaming shafts of light broke free of the enchanted vellum and tore into everything around them. They lit up the sea and sky with massive, azure strikes, twisting and turning relentlessly as they sought out whatever they could find and destroy.

The Savage Scar went up first. The shards of light shot through her from stem to stern, and with a great, torturous shudder, she blew apart. Her masts and spars came crashing down, her decks ruptured mightily, and what was left of her rolled over, capsizing in the sea.

As she went down, the hordes of screaming demonslavers still on her decks fell overboard. The careening shafts of azure light struck them, killing them instantly, providing fresh carrion for the hungry Necrophagians below the surface of the water. Finally, the Savage Scar slipped beneath the waves.

The shards continued on, tearing into the remaining ships, both Minion and demonslaver alike. One by one the other vessels exploded and turned over, spilling the slavers into the sea. The blood on the ocean seemed to stretch on forever.

Meanwhile, the azure lights had found the screechlings and were tearing into them in midflight. As the shards struck them the screechlings exploded, torn offal and thin red blood tumbling sloppily into the sea to join the carnage.

And then, finally, it seemed to be over. The faces of the Eaters of the Dead had vanished, and all the ships of both fleets had sunk, leaving only wooden debris bobbing up and down on the restless, crimson waves.

But as the occupants of the litters and the warriors hovering alongside it were about to learn, Krassus' enchantments were not finished. Pausing for a moment, the azure shards began to regroup and hover just above the surface of the waves, as if still searching out life-forms to destroy.

And then they began soaring upward, directly toward Tristan and his companions.

"Get us out of here, now!" the prince shouted to Traax.

Traax ordered the warriors to fly the litters higher in a desperate attempt to escape the twisting, screaming shards.

Climbing ever higher, the litter ripped through an oncoming cloud bank. Tristan held his breath, looking back to see whether the deadly shards were still following them. Then the hundreds of light streaks also tore out of the cloud, still racing unerringly toward the litter.

Tristan gritted his teeth. Krassus' shards were gaining on them, and in a matter of moments it would all be over.

Then he felt Wigg push him to one side, and the wizard looked out of the litter. His robe flying in the wind, Wigg raised his arms, ready to throw his own bolts at the relentlessly pursuing shards.

But just as Wigg was about to attack them, the shards started to fade. One by one, as their power died, Krassus' enchantments finally slowed, then tumbled end over end into the waiting sea. As they struck the waves they caused the ocean to bubble and roil for a time, and then they were gone. Closing his eyes, Tristan took a deep breath and sat back in his seat.

When he opened them again, he found the lead wizard staring at him. Saying nothing, Wigg raised an eyebrow. Tristan smiled at him, then ordered the litter to turn west, toward home.