About fifteen meters down the lakeshore, a shrew stood glaring at him. Its coat was wet and steaming in the cool night air. The beast’s breathing was ragged, and blood dripped from a wound in its right shoulder. Garvin quickly gathered that the wound had probably been incurred during yesterday’s failed try to probe the Recluse. Another bloody gash form a Minion dreggan ran vertically between the beast’s dark eyes.
Garvin quickly guessed that the shrew had stayed behind to lick its wounds. Worse, it might be just one of many such wounded monsters taking refuge in the lake. Not one member of the Conclave had taken this possibility into account.
As the shrew stood there snarling at him, Garvin wondered why it didn’t attack. Perhaps it was wounded too badly, or its eyesight had been adversely affected. He had no idea whether shrews could communicate with their masters, but he couldn’t take the chance. The beast had to die. But his mission must come first.
Deciding to risk it, he took a step closer to the shore.
The shrew immediately snarled, louder this time. But it did not move. As he held the shrew’s gaze, Garvin took another step.
The unpredictable shrew snarled, then charged a few paces and stopped again. Despite its wounds, its speed was incredible. As the terrible thing glared at him, its teeth glinted in the moonlight and more blood ran from its shoulder to drip lazily onto the ground.
If he could steal one more pace, Garvin knew that he would be close enough. Holding his breath, he took the final step. Reaching slowly across his body with his sword arm, he tried to uncork the tube without laying down his dreggan. After a few moments the cork wiggled free and Garvin dropped it to the grass. He held the tube at arm’s length and started gradually pouring the wizards’ formula into the lake.
That was when the shrew’s instincts took over, and it charged.
Garvin sidestepped and quickly put his thumb over the open end of the tube. Then he brought his dreggan down and around, aiming for the preexisting wound in the monster’s shoulder. As the shrew went past him he felt a searing pain in his sword arm. The shrew skidded to a stop about five meters away in the slippery grass.
When the shrew turned to face him, Garvin could tell that his aim had been true-the beast’s wound was far deeper and longer than before, and blood was literally spurting from it with each beat of the thing’s dark heart. In truth he didn’t know what was keeping the monster’s front leg attached to its shoulder.
He stole a precious second to glance at the tube. Most of its formula had gone into the lake, but a bit remained in the tube’s curved bottom. With one eye locked on the shrew, he starting dribbling the rest of the formula into the water. But before he could finish, the thing attacked again.
Again he tried to sidestep the shrew, but this time he wasn’t quick enough. The monster brushed against his body, throwing him to the ground on his stomach. To his horror, the tube slipped from his hand but blessedly landed upright in the grass. He lunged for it, but at the same time the shrew bit viciously into his right thigh.
Desperate to recapture the vial, he tried crawling forward. In retaliation the monster thrashed his leg viciously about, and bit deeper into his flesh. He knew that the beast’s strength and size would soon win out, but he had to somehow finish his mission.
Lunging forward with everything he had, he felt his thigh muscles tear away, but the vial finally came into his hand. Turning it upside down, he poured the remaining formula into the lake.
I can die now, he thought, like the warrior I was trained to be.
But then the beast did something amazing. It let him go.
Garvin turned as best he could to look at the shrew. The monster wobbled drunkenly as its jaws loosened from around his thigh. For several tense moments it slowly lifted its awful head and glared at him. Then it collapsed onto its wounded side, dead from blood loss.
His chest heaving, Garvin did his best to stand. The searing pain nearly caused him to faint away, and he dropped the vial. Much of his outer right thigh was gone, some of it still lodged between the shrew’s pointed teeth. His right arm was bleeding badly. He reached under his chest armor to produce two tourniquets, then wound them tightly around his wounds.
He was terribly weak from blood loss, but his wings had not been injured and the fleet was close. Suddenly remembering what Faegan had said about not leaving any evidence behind, Garvin nearly fainted again as he picked up the empty vial and returned it to his waist pouch.
It was all he could do to get airborne. He knew that a direct flight path back to the Black Ships would probably mean the difference between him living or dying. But he dutifully chose to follow orders and backtrack along the more circuitous route that had brought him here. His mind light-headed and his muscles feeling like they were made of lead, Garvin did his best to head west.
After finally crashing to the deck of theTammerland, he lived just long enough to tell his tale.
CHAPTER LXIV
AS DAWN BROKE THE FOLLOWING DAY, TRISTAN NERVOUSLYpaced the bow of theTammerland. The Conclave’s plan was clever, but not without its weaknesses. Everything would have to go exactly as planned, and each player in the scheme would have to do his or her job perfectly. This time Tristan would commit all his forces. If the attack failed, there would be no second chance.
He sadly looked down toward the deck. Black sailcloth had been wound around the corpse lying there. Tristan had known Garvin for only a few hours, but he had liked him. Garvin had finished his mission successfully, but that didn’t guarantee that Faegan and Abbey’s formula would work. Either way, the sailcloth was a fitting burial shroud. Later on, Garvin’s corpse would be cremated, alongside the other warriors who would fall this day.
Carrying two cups of hot tea, Shailiha appeared by Tristan’s side. She gave him one and they stood together drinking for a time, watching the fog lift from the blood-soaked killing field. Dark and foreboding, the castle seemed to crouch threateningly atop its mist-shrouded island like a giant spider. Shailiha gave her brother a supportive pat on one arm.
“Soon,” she said simply.
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “Your idea is brilliant.”
“As is yours,” she answered. “But for us to take the castle, both plans have to work, don’t they?” After taking another sip of tea, she gave him a short smile. “We make a good team,” she added softly. Tristan smiled back at her, then looked down the length of theTammerland.
Thousands of warriors stood topside, waiting to attack. Far more filled theTammerland ’s lower areas. Gathered on the ship’s bottom deck, the highlander horsemen waited nervously astride their mounts. The ship’s giant rear hatch had been lowered, allowing them easy access to the ground. The Minions aboard theEphyra, theFlorian, and theCavalon were also waiting, and ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
Tristan cast his gaze toward the rising sun. Although attacking at night was tempting, the Conclave members knew that it had to be done in sunlight. Even if Serena’s flying creatures could be marked, they would be difficult to find in the dark. And so the Conclave had nervously waited for the sun’s rays to break over the eastern horizon before launching the attack.
Tristan watched as the remaining Conclave members wended their way through the warrior and highlander throngs. As they crowded around, he smiled at them. Each had his or her own special skills, and they would all be needed today. Tristan again looked at the sun and decided that the time was right. He turned back to face the Conclave.
“Each of you knows your orders,” he said, “so there is no need for me to repeat them. Faegan, Aeolus, and Jessamay, it is time to take to your ships. Wait for the signal before starting your spells.” The three mystics gave the prince a farewell look, then left to command their respective vessels.
Wigg came to stand beside theJin’Sai andJin’Saiou. The look on his face was concerned, thoughtful.
“We of the craft have never tried anything like this before,” he said. “Our plan might easily fail. But I can think of no finer practitioners to attempt this than Faegan, Aeolus, and Jessamay.” He placed his gnarled hands on Tristan’s and Shailiha’s shoulders. “We will try our best,” he said.
“We know,” Tristan answered. “In the end, that’s all any of us do. It’s time to get started.”
Tristan turned toward Traax and Rafe. “Take your forces afield and form your ranks,” he said. “You know your orders. Remember, we are committing everything to this attack. It will be all, or nothing. Once your advance
