approaching creature would be so close that it would present a point-blank target. As he finished his turn he automatically shoved his blade forward, even before he saw his enemy.
Traax’s guess had been right. The dreggan impaled the creature squarely in the chest, then stopped short as it struck against the thing’s backbone. Screaming in agony, the monster gripped the blade with its talons and frantically scratched at it in an attempt to free itself.
Without hesitation, Traax pressed the hidden button on the dreggan’s hilt. The clanging blade shot forward. Arching wildly, the impaled monster lifted its head, then screamed again. Holding the sword deep in the thing’s gaping wound, Traax viciously rocked the blade up and down, then gave it a savage twist. He felt the thing’s backbone crack apart and saw the light die in its eyes. Sneering, he lifted one boot to push the corpse off his sword.
He quickly looked around. Save for one other warrior, the sky was empty. His friend Aldaeous hovered weakly nearby, wounded badly. Deep cuts from one of the thing’s barbed tails completely encircled his right thigh.
Flying to him, Traax sheathed his dreggan, then produced a tourniquet band from beneath his body armor. He quickly wound it high around Aldaeous’ leg, high near the warrior’s groin. As he cinched it tight, Aldaeous grimaced. Seeing his friend’s blanched pallor, Traax quickly realized that Aldaeous had lost much blood. He then cinched a tourniquet around his own upper left arm.
Traax took another quick look around. Blessedly, the sky remained empty. They had done it! Eight brave warriors had killed twenty of those awful things, and two warriors had lived to tell the tale. When he and Aldaeous were graybeards, what a story they would have to tell their grandchildren! Then his face darkened as he remembered that they were wounded, and a long way from the fleet.
Without speaking, the warriors instinctively turned westward. The sun was setting in earnest, soon to be replaced by the three red moons and thousands of twinkling stars. Traax knew that he could navigate his way back as well by the stars as by the sun. Then he looked far into the distance, and his heart fell.
He could just see the huge wave and its accompanying black swarm as they continued heading west. During the airborne battle, the wave had roared beneath them and traveled far. Traax could only pray that Axel and Valgard were still ahead of it.
Just then he saw Aldaeous faint and start tumbling through the air. Swooping down, Traax caught the wounded warrior. Aldaeous’ eyes fluttered open again.
“Let me perish,” he whispered. “You’ll never get back if you carry me.”
“Be still,” Traax said. “We’ll make it back, I promise you.”
Drooping weakly in Traax’s arms, Aldaeous gave him a knowing smile. “What about your order, m’lord?” he asked. He coughed, spitting up some blood that ran down his body armor and dripped toward the sea. Worried for him, Traax clenched his jaw.
“Should one of you collapse, the other is forbidden to save him!”Aldaeous repeated sternly. Closing his eyes, he smiled again. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
“Consider that order countermanded,” Traax answered. He gave Aldaeous a quick smile. “And your insubordination is noted,” he added.
“Privileges of rank, sir?” Aldaeous asked weakly.
“Something like that,” Traax answered. He watched Aldaeous faint away.
Traax could easily have let Aldaeous fall, which would vastly improve Traax’s chances for survival. But he didn’t.
Unsure of their futures, he carried the stricken warrior back toward the unsuspecting fleet.
CHAPTER XLVIII
CALLING THE CRAFT, WIGG LEVITATED ONE OF HIS WHITErooks, then caused it to hang inverted from the game board’s underside. “Check,” he said.
Faegan smiled. “Too obvious, First Wizard,” he answered. After some thought he judiciously moved his threatened king one space rightward. Now it was Wigg’s turn to worry.
The two mystics were sitting in Faegan’s quarters aboard theTammerland, playing wizard’s chess. The game was much like ordinary chess, but with two important differences. First, the black-and-white game board was suspended in the air. Each of the board’s sides held the same number of black and white squares.
Second, each player commanded two armies rather than one. Thus two opposing armies lay atop the board, and another two clung to its underside. Pieces could be moved from one of the board’s sides to the other and back again, with the proviso that the player’s next move must take place from that board’s side.
Smiling, Faegan used the craft to turn over the three-minute sand globe resting near his elbow. As the trapped sand poured down, he looked at Wigg and sipped some more tea.
“I believe that you might be done for this time,” he said. “If you aren’t careful, I will take one of your kings in four moves.”
“Be still!” Wigg demanded. “I’m trying to concentrate! And don’t be so cocky! You might win more often than I, but that doesn’t mean you will today!”
Suddenly suspicious, Wigg pursed his lips. “Why would you warn me about my king?” he asked.
Faegan cackled softly. “Because it doesn’t matter,” he answered. “You won’t figure it out until it’s too late.”
Narrowing his eyes, Wigg looked at the board’s two sides and considered his options. Faegan smiled as he watched the telltale vein in Wigg’s forehead start throbbing-a sure sign that the First Wizard was feeling stressed.
As the two wizards concentrated on their game, all seemed normal with the Conclave fleet. The night sea was calm, and clouds slipped gently across the sky, occasionally blocking the moonlight. Each of the six Black Ships was sailing atop the waves in the traditional way while their empowering mystics rested. For the last two days the fleet had forged ahead without incident.
Tyranny’s plan was to wait until all three of her roving scout patrols returned before again ordering the ships into the air. If one of the patrols sighted the Citadel, a course correction might be needed. With the fleet’s slower speed atop the waves, an adjustment would be smaller, thus saving time. Two of the patrols had returned but had seen nothing. Traax’s group was overdue, but was not so late as to cause concern.
Wigg again called the craft, this time moving a knight from the board’s underside to its topside. He reached out and inverted the timing globe.
Faegan scowled. “What in blazes are you doing?” he asked. “That was perhaps the most foolish move I have ever seen!”
Smiling, Wigg sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Time will tell,” he answered.
As Faegan concentrated on the game, Wigg stared thoughtfully at his old friend. Despite his normally jocular nature, Faegan always seemed obsessed about something. Everyone who knew him understood that. More often than not, the crippled wizard’s fixations involved some craft mystery that he was trying to unravel. As soon as he succeeded at deciphering one, he always managed to find another to brood over.
But Wigg sensed that there was something else on the crippled wizard’s mind-something that bothered him deeply. Moreover, he thought he knew what it was. Faegan had unfinished business to complete, and Wigg guessed that he would not rest until it was done.
Deciding to broach the subject, Wigg first took another sip of red wine. After placing the glass back atop the table he laced his long fingers together.
“You want him, don’t you?” he asked. “That’s the real reason you decided to come on this mission, rather than wait at the palace for Tristan to return home. You want to find him and kill him with your own hands, and you won’t rest until you do.”
Faegan reached out to gently tip the three-minute glass on its side, meaning that he wanted a break from the game. After taking another sip of tea, he looked into Wigg’s face.
“I thought I was the only one who knew,” he said.
“I don’t believe that the others realize it,” Wigg answered. “They haven’t known you for three centuries like I have. But I gather that Jessamay suspects. Little escapes her sorceress’s acumen, you know.”
