choice but to enter the tunnel. Take heart-following the sound should make our quest an easier one.”
Tristan glanced over at Tyranny to see her shoot him a decidedly skeptical look. Tristan shared her suspicions, but he also understood that they had no choice but to follow the sound wherever it led them.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll go.”
Tristan turned to look at the growing number of eager Minions milling behind him. “Ox!” he called out. “Come here!”
A few moments later the stalwart warrior appeared by Tristan’s side. He came to attention and clicked his boot heels together. “I live to serve,” he said.
Tristan gave him a commanding look. “Have the two crates brought forward,” he ordered. “Make sure that they are handled carefully!” Ox quickly disappeared into the crowd to do his duty.
Soon the huge Minion’s bellowing voice could be heard again as he led the way back, roughly parting the warrior crowd as he came. Behind him walked two pairs of hand-picked male warriors, each pair bearing a wooden crate hung between two poles. On Tristan’s order they gently set the crates down near his feet. Tristan gazed at the crates, part of him still unable to believe what they contained.
Each crate held one miniaturized Black Ship that rested securely in its cradle. The empty space surrounding each ship had been enchanted to hold the vessels in place and to buffer them against jostling or-Afterlife forbid- dropping. One of the crates also held the jar containing some of the remaining subtle matter, the rest left behind in the Redoubt for safekeeping.
Each dark wooden crate stood about three feet high by two feet wide and was divided in half down its center. The bottom seams were connected by brass hinges, and the halves were held together by leather straps with brass buckles. Stout poles ran beneath the straps so that each pair of warriors could carry a crate by placing the poles atop their shoulders, the crates suspended between them as they walked along. Each crate glowed hauntingly with the hue of the craft.
Tristan looked at the four warriors who would carry the precious crates. Each was a battle-scarred graybeard carefully selected for his strength and loyalty. Although Arron, Taredd, Rhun, and Rafal were older than many, Traax had heartily recommended each of them, and Ox and Duvessa had agreed. Tristan gave each warrior a hard look.
“These crates and their contents are your responsibility,” he warned them. “You will guard them with your lives. They are the keys to getting across the Azure Sea and back alive. Not only do the ships and the subtle matter rest in your hands, but so too does the fate of everyone taking part in this expedition. Do you understand?”
At once all four warriors came to attention. “Yes!” their leader answered sternly. “We will make sure that theJin’Sai will not regret the trust he has placed in us.”
Tristan nodded. “See that you do,” he answered.
Tristan looked back at the tunnel entrance with suspicion. There was very little about this imminent journey that he liked, but they must undertake it if they were to reach Shashida. Ragnar had poisoned Tristan and blinded Wigg in those murky depths while Nicholas prepared to raise the three Gates of Dawn. In the end Nicholas had failed, but the savage horrors inflicted on Tristan in these caves still lingered in his heart and gave him pause.
Worse yet was the inescapable fact that so many warriors would be moving through many passageways at the same time, creating a logistical nightmare. If Tristan’s group was attacked, there would be little fighting room, and those warriors following behind him would be nearly powerless to help. But there was nothing to be done about it.
Tristan was about to give the order to enter the tunnel when he looked up at the inscription, probably placed there by the Ones. The elegant Old Eutracian script meant nothing to him. He turned toward Wigg and pointed at the words.
“You never told me what that means,” he said.
Wigg smiled. Without needing to read it, he solemnly recited the ancient inscription:
“Quicumque ambulare semtae accipere veritas,” the wizard answered. “Whoever walks these paths shall learn the truth.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” Tyranny protested.
Wigg shook his head. “On the contrary,” he answered. “The search for the truth is why we’re all here, is it not?”
Saying nothing more, the wizard raised one arm and called the craft to illuminate the millions of radiance stones embedded in the tunnel ceiling. At once the passageway glowed with a pale sage-green light. Tristan looked far into the tunnel but could see no end to its depths.
After nodding to Wigg, Tristan stepped inside, and the other Conclave members followed. As Ox waited behind to direct the flow of warriors into the tunnel, Taredd, Rhun, Arron, and Rafal lifted the poles bearing the crates atop their shoulders and also entered. Watching them go, Ox clenched his jaw.
Go safe, Jin’Sai, he thought, as Tristan’s back finally became lost in the crowd. This time Ox will be too far behind to protect you.
CHAPTER XXVII
IN TWO MORE HOURS THE SUN WOULD RISE, MAKING IT more difficult for the lead cleric to hide his face.
As Gracchus skulked through the dark war camp, his need to be anonymous was irritating. It made him want to rebel, to stand erect, to announce his august presence to these lowly legionnaires. But to succeed in his plan, thePon Q’tar lead cleric would have to swallow his pride for the moment and do what he must. And so he hurried on, bent over like some nameless, crippled beggar trying to avoid wandering centurions as he navigated the camp.
The war procession had halted for the night among broad, rolling fields well south of Ellistium. Behind Gracchus the luxurious tents of the emperor, the Tribunes, and thePon Q’tar retreated into the distance, the oil lamps inside each tent casting their soft glow through the canvas and into the night. Between him and his destination were thousands of legionnaires ringing the camp’s center, not to mention the caged animals and the thousands of carts, chariots, and wagons that always accompanied great Rustannican campaigns.
Hurrying on, Gracchus put as much distance between himself and the Blood Royal’s compound as he could. For a moment he regretted the decision to leave the secret structure so far from the center of the camp, only to realize again that he had little choice if he was to visit it without others knowing. He had explained the decision to Vespasian by insisting that the structure would be safer by making it invisible and not circling it with centurion guards, just as it had been when it secretly left Ellistium with the war procession. Vespasian had at first been skeptical of the idea but he finally agreed, largely because his forces had not yet entered enemy territory.
Gracchus had wisely replaced his white and burgundyPon Q’tar robe with the drab brown one he now wore, but it added to his grating sense of ignominy. Pulling the hood higher, he continued to cloak his endowed blood as he hurried across the dewy grass, circumventing yet another group of tired legionnaires as they sat drinking beside a roaring campfire.
There were tens of thousands of empire soldiers in these two accompanying legions alone, and each one knew Gracchus by sight. Worse, there would be many more of them to avoid once Vespasian’s group joined up with the forces waiting at the head of the Six Rivers. Their added numbers would make his visits to the secret building far more difficult, but the die was cast and there could be no going back.
Above all, Vespasian, Persephone, and Lucius must not learn of his secret assignations. Should legionnaires challenge him, Gracchus would silently kill them with the craft, then magically dispose of the bodies. Although desertion among the legions was rare, it was not unheard of, But even Gracchus hoped that that would not be needed-not because he would shrink from murder to achieve his ends, but because it would further complicate his already devious plan. Should the Oraculum give him unwelcome news, he surely didn’t want Vespasian aware of his visits beforehand.
Finally exiting the camp without incident, he scrambled down a small gully, then traveled up a dry river bed for about fifty meters. The great oak tree standing on the riverbank served as his landmark. He stopped and looked around.
