spell to command the Necrophagians. Or perhaps Wulfgar simply bartered with them to do his bidding, as Failee did. He would have been in a position to offer them far more than she could have at the time. In any event, once the Vagaries scroll is in our grasp, we’ll know more.” Faegan paused for a moment, thinking.
“As you also know, we believe that the Necrophagians are transformed members of the Ones Who Came Before, captured by the Heretics during the War of Attrition,” he added. “Instead of killing them outright, our guess is that the Heretics condemned the Ones to the depths, forcing them to do their bidding. We have further theorized that the Heretics did this to add yet another layer of protection to the Citadel. What better way to defend an island than with endowed underwater beings, perpetually lying in wait to devour anyone who came near? But all this remains pure conjecture. Only on reaching and taking the Citadel can we be sure. And you can bet that Serena will have more than one nasty surprise waiting for us when we arrive.”
“Ifwe arrive,” Adrian added. “As you said, first we must deal with the Necrophagians.”
Tyranny stood up from the table. “I’ve heard enough,” she said. “I will immediately give the order to furl our sails. I will also order the other ships’ crews to do the same. It will put us off schedule, but for the time being it seems that there is no other choice.” Shaking her head, Tyranny scowled.
“But allowing warships to aimlessly drift in such a time of danger goes directly against every fiber of my being,” she added. She looked at Shailiha. “With your permission, Princess, I will take my leave.”
Shailiha nodded. “Be quick,” she said, “and return. We still have need of your counsel.”
After giving the members a short bow, Tyranny hurried out the double doors. Almost immediately the Conclave heard her loudly calling out for Scars.
“She’s a good woman,” Wigg said. “Now then, let’s discuss how to deal with the Necrophagian threat. As we have done before, we can ask for Minion volunteers to fight to the death, to supply the Necrophagians their usual bounty of forty dead bodies as payment to sail across their territory. But I think that-”
His face suddenly blanching with surprise, Wigg’s eyes went wide. At first Shailiha and the others wondered why. But when Wigg spoke again, they quickly got their answer.
“I beg the Afterlife,” Wigg said.
The wizard’s breath was coming out in white, vaporous clouds. Then everyone suddenly realized that the temperature had plummeted, causing their breath to also become ghostlike vapors in the unexpected coldness.
Suddenly theTammerland lurched to an abrupt stop. Tilting hard on her bow, the ship’s stern literally lifted from the sea. She came to a standstill so quickly that all the furniture slid across the room, the oil chandeliers swung violently, and Adrian and Wigg were launched from their chairs to go tumbling to the floor.
With a tortured groan theTammerland ’s black timbers stressed agonizingly against one another as she crashed back to the sea. Then the huge ship rocked back and forth violently, finally finding her equilibrium again. No sooner had Wigg and Adrian scrambled to their feet than a dense fog started rolling in through the stern windows.
Thick and gray, the fog slithered in like predatory snakes. It quickly covered the floor and stuck fast to everyone’s clothes and skin. It soon was knee-deep, and everyone became awash in its velvety embrace. Then the unthinkable happened. Out over the sea, more fog formed, then started morphing into a gigantic hand.
Shailiha watched speechlessly as the hand’s fingers reached their way in through the stern windows. Glass broke, solid iron window casings snapped apart, and ornate wall carvings went tumbling to the floor. Then the hand closed around theTammerland ’s stern to start crushing it like an eggshell.
Splitting into hundreds of shards, the stern’s upper section came crashing apart, partly exposing the room to the sea. Salt water immediately started pouring in, threatening to engulf the entire room. Screaming and waving his arms, Wigg ordered everyone to run for their lives. The Conclave members finally reached the door.
Wigg ushered Jessamay, Shailiha, and Adrian through first, followed by Traax. Then the First Wizard and Faegan went through. As the rushing seawater poured into the hallway, Wigg spun around to face everyone.
“Go!” he screamed. “Try to climb the stairway to the top deck! Jessamay, you stay here! Faegan and I need your gifts!” As the sorceress stayed behind, Traax and Adrian started working their way down the flooded hallway.
“What are you going to do?” Shailiha shouted.
“We will try to seal the meeting room from the sea!” Wigg shouted. “But this is no place for you! Go with the others!”
Realizing that she could not help them, Shailiha gave each mystic a supportive look. “Be careful!” she shouted. The rising water in the hallway was nearly at her knees.
“Get out of here while you still can!” Wigg shouted. “Do it now!” Turning away, Shailiha started wading down the hall as fast as she could go.
The seawater rapidly approaching his waist, Wigg turned to look first at Jessamay, then Faegan. As the crippled wizard hovered in his wooden chair just above the rushing water, there was desperation in his eyes.
“We have to try to seal this doorway!” Wigg shouted. “Are you with me?” They both nodded.
“There is no time to discuss this; just follow my lead!” the First Wizard shouted. “If we can contain the water in the meeting room, we might have a chance!” Wigg raised his arms and pointed them at the open door.
At once twin azure bolts streamed from the wizard’s hands, pouring their power over that part of the door’s surface that was still above the rising seawater. Faegan and Jessamay followed suit, their bolts adding strength to Wigg’s.
“Now!” Wigg shouted. “And with everything you have!”
Just as the three mystics started straining to push the door closed, a strange sound came to their ears. Soon it became earsplitting, rising even above the noise of the rushing water.
From somewhere on the mysterious Sea of Whispers, the Necrophagians could be heard making their demands to Tyranny. But unlike every other time the Conclave had encountered the Eaters of the Dead, this time the beings were not demanding the usual forty dead bodies as payment to cross their territory.
They were demanding the lives of everyone aboard.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
TRISTAN HELD HIS BREATH AS HE WATCHED HIS DIRKbury itself into the shoulder of Yasmin’s attacker. His eyes wide with surprise, the Zorian highlander started to pull the knife free, but Yasmin was quicker.
Reaching up, she grasped the dirk’s handle, then pulled the knife free and plunged it into her attacker’s throat. When she felt the blade tip strike her attacker’s neck bones, she pushed it again, then gave it a savage twist. The highlander fell atop her. With a sneer, Yasmin shoved the body off her and onto the ground.
Tossing his dreggan back into his right hand, Tristan ran to her. As he lifted Yasmin to her feet, he saw deep appreciation in her eyes. But this was no time for talk. Standing protectively before her, he quickly cast his eyes around the camp.
The scene was even more desperate than before. Many of the wagons were on fire, and the screams of the dying and wounded filled the night. Dark smoke drifted through the clearing, making things difficult to see. Fighters from both sides struggled everywhere, darting in and out of the smoke like spectral ghosts.
Although they fought valiantly, Rafe’s ambushed clansmen were losing the battle. To his dismay, Tristan saw no sign of the Minions. Bending down, he quickly pulled the bloody dirk from the dead highlander’s throat, then shoved it into Yasmin’s hands. He had no doubt that she knew how to use it.
“Take this!” he shouted. “And stay near me!”
Yasmin shook her head. “I fight my own battles!” she shouted back.
Before he could stop her, Yasmin ran to attack a Zorian highlander who was about to bring his sword down on an old woman. He died quickly, his sliced throat spilling blood into the thirsty dirt.
Tristan was about to shout at Yasmin again, but he wasn’t given the chance. Raising his dreggan, he narrowly parried a highlander sword flashing toward him in the moonlight. The two blades struck each other with such force that sparks went flying. Backing up, Tristan tried to gain some maneuvering room. But his attacker was very good, constantly keeping Tristan on the defensive. Time after time their swords clashed, with neither fighter able to find an opening. Finally Tristan feinted with an overhead strike, then quickly changed his sword’s direction, swinging its
