Just give me two more days, and the others will be trained.”
Wigg put down his fork and wiped his mouth, then looked across the table at Adrian. The First Wizard respected her immensely, but this was the first time he had heard about needing extra acolytes to empower the Black Ships.
“There are only six vessels,” he said. “Why have you decided that we will need more than six acolytes?”
“There are two reasons,” Adrian answered. “First, we must cross the sea without using Faegan’s portal. The ships are too large. The last time he tried, Faegan could barely transport Tyranny’s lesser frigates. When I explained my concerns to him, he agreed. We concluded that the Black Ships must sail part of the way to the Citadel atop the waves because the sisters will tire. It will mean a slower trip, but there it is.”
“What is the other reason?” Shailiha asked.
Picking up her teacup, Adrian thoughtfully cupped it in one palm. “Attrition,” she answered grimly. “I understand that Wigg and Jessamay will be accompanying us. Even so, if we lose more than two acolytes in battle, I will need other craft practitioners to take up the slack. The last thing we want is to leave Black Ships behind for Serena to capture and turn against us.”
Shailiha was impressed. Looking at the others, she saw that they were equally glad to have the young acolyte in their midst. Smiling, Abbey leaned over to place her lips near Wigg’s ear.
“That little scenario escaped you, didn’t it, old man?” she asked chidingly. “It’s a good thing there are some intelligent women around to advise you two wizards! Only the Afterlife knows how an all-male Directorate managed to operate for so long!”
Abbey’s words had not escaped Faegan. He cackled a bit, then winced from his burns. Pushing his tongue against an inner cheek, Wigg sighed.
“Except for training the extra acolytes, are the ships ready to sail?” Shailiha asked.
“Yes,” Adrian answered. “As you already know, Tyranny’s crewmembers have returned to their civilian lives.”
Shailiha understood. Several days before the Darkling’s appearance, at Tyranny’s suggestion Tristan had issued an order. Tyranny’s crewmembers had been released from service, then replaced with Minion troops.
Because so many warriors had been lost in past campaigns, Tristan had at first rejected the privateer’s suggestion. But then she’d reminded him that her crewmembers were volunteers, who could quit at any time. Their ranks were already thinning. Besides, Tyranny added, the Minions handled the Black Ships equally well if not better than her men-not to mention that they had vastly superior fighting skills. Tristan had finally agreed.
During the last few days, Tyranny had not only been overseeing the ships’ provisioning, but had also been selecting the warriors who would crew the vessels. Scars, her loyal first mate, would remain by his captain’s side. Before bidding her crew good-bye, Tyranny had given each one a handsome bonus. The ceremony had been tearful.
It had also been decided that while at sea Tyranny would command the vessels-provided Shailiha concurred with her orders. The attack on the Citadel would fall under Shailiha’s direction. Every Conclave member save for Tristan, Abbey, and Faegan would be sailing with them.
“What about the Necrophagians?” Shailiha asked the table at large. “We will surely pass through their territory. When we meet them they will demand the usual forty dead bodies before we can cross. I simply refuse to ask the Minions to train to the death to provide payment, as we have done before.”
“I am hoping that we acolytes will be able to fly the Back Ships high enough so that the Necrophagians will not be able to reach us,” Adrian answered. “But that theory remains untested. We will know once we arrive.”
Two more days, the princess thought. Then we go to the Citadel. It is such a secret, foreboding place. I pray that this time we will find the answers we seek. After taking another sip of tea, she looked at Faegan.
“Have you learned anything more about your new Forestallment?” she asked.
His expression thoughtful, the crippled wizard placed his palms flat on the tabletop. “Yes and no,” he answered. “Although I can use the index easily, as you know, the scroll does not mention the formula needed to install the spells into endowed blood. I employed my Consummate Recollection to discover whether the Tome mentions it. It does not. With each passing day I become more convinced that the formula was written on the scroll section that was burned away. Having all these Forestallment formulas at my fingertips but being unable to use them is maddening! If we are right about the other scroll and you can bring it home, our abilities will be enhanced beyond description.”
A thought came to the princess. Her expression suddenly keen, she leaned across the table.
“Xanthus commands the craft,” she mused. “He said that if Tristan agreed to accompany him through the pass, they would travel great distances in the space of a single heartbeat. It’s entirely possible that his Heretic masters granted him the ability to safely cross over and back by Forestallment, is it not?” Suddenly realizing her logic’s full ramifications, she gazed hard at the wizard.
“Does the Vigors scroll index refer to such a spell?” she asked.
Smiling broadly, Faegan laced his fingers. “I thought you’d never ask,” he answered softly. “It does indeed.”
For several moments no one spoke. Wigg found his voice first. “Do you mean to say that-”
“That’sexactly what I mean,” Faegan interjected. “If you can bring me the spell making Forestallments usable, we might be able to safely enter the pass, then follow Xanthus, should he lead Tristan into its depths. Moreover, we might finally conquer the Tolenka Mountains-provided the Vigors orb cut its way through to the other side before returning to Eutracia. But the truly intriguing question is why a Heretic servant would provide us with the Vigors scroll index. It simply makes no sense.”
Insistent pounding suddenly came on the door. Shailiha turned.
“Enter!” she called out.
The doors parted to show two Minions. Between them they supported a stricken warrior. It was Traax. He appeared to be unconscious. Shailiha quickly beckoned the warriors to bring him into the room.
Traax seemed near death. His body was soaked with sweat and his wings drooped so weakly that they dragged across the floor. Traax’s eyes were closed and his head lolled uselessly on his chest.
“Put him on the bed!” Wigg shouted.
The warriors quickly obeyed. Hurrying over, Shailiha looked down at the unconscious warrior. For the first time she saw the ruby pin attached to his body armor. Like her brother, she understood its meaning.
“How did this happen?” she demanded of the two warriors.
“We watched him tumble from the sky to the palace courtyard,” one warrior answered. “He struck the ground with such force that I find it hard to believe he still lives. Even so, we could find no broken bones. We immediately sought out your guidance.”
“Bring Duvessa here at once!” Shailiha ordered the warriors. After clicking their heels, the Minions ran from the room.
Everyone crowded around the bed. Wigg placed a palm on Traax’s forehead. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the First Wizard seemed encouraged.
“He will live,” Wigg said. “But he suffers from extreme exhaustion and dehydration. We need to bring him back to consciousness quickly. If he remains this way much longer he might never return.”
Wigg turned to Abbey. “Do you have anything that might help?” he asked. “I would prefer to use the craft only as a last resort.”
Hurrying back to the table, Abbey took up her herbmistress’s satchel. After rummaging through the bag she produced a vial, then hurried back. Reaching out, Faegan took it from her, then held it to the light. There were several bright green leaves imprisoned inside. He looked up at Abbey.
“Fresh nosegay?” he asked. Abbey nodded. “A good choice,” Faegan said.
He handed the vial to Wigg. “This should work,” he said. “If not, you will need to summon the craft.”
Holding the vial at arm’s length, Wigg unscrewed its top. The First Wizard coughed. Even at that distance the leaves’ odor was potent. He gently held it under Traax’s nose.
With a great start, the warrior coughed loudly then gasped for air. After thrashing about a bit he finally calmed. “I live to serve…,” he said absently then collapsed again.
“Once more,” Faegan said.
Wigg returned the bottle to Traax’s nostrils. Groaning, the warrior sat up and angrily waved the bottle away. His eyes opened. Wigg smiled.
