water not be used for any purpose until his mystics had assessed it.
Foodstuffs remained the other advantage, at least for now. Feeding everyone represented no immediate problem, for the ships’ lower decks held enough provisions to last for several months. Still, from what Tristan saw of this eerie place, there would be no chance to live off the land, and when the food was gone, his expedition would starve. No creatures or vegetation clung to the rocky walls or populated the azure water, nor had a single bird or insect been seen. Only the warm, odorless wind, the forbidding rocky walls, and the mysterious radiance stones existed here. Save for the usual noise made by busy Minion crew members, the only other sound was the crashing of the waves as they split against the ship’s bows. The environment was eerie, soulless, unsettling.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Tristan wearily ran his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. He was desperately tired, but the continually shining light made sleep elusive. His fatigue ran deeper than just in his mind and his muscles, he knew. For some time now it had been seeping its way deep into his soul.
He didn’t want to admit it, but the feeling could not be denied. The last few years of struggle had taken their toll, forcing him to wonder how much longer he could keep trying to fulfill the task that the late Envoys of Crysenium had explained to him during his first wondrous trip to the world’s other side. For a long time his mystics assumed that his destiny meant combining the Vigors and the Vagaries for the benefit of all mankind. But to his great surprise, the Envoys had said otherwise.
Instead, Tristan was to finally bring an end to the War of Attrition, the ongoing battle raging between Rustannica and Shashida. He would then unite the two nations and become their lone ruler, ensuring that they never again went to war. But the Envoys were savagely murdered by Rustannica’s Imperial Order before Tristan could learn how this great task might be accomplished. And so he struggled on to reach Shashida and to find the many answers still eluding him.
But it was more than just the uncertainty of it all, he knew. Since the return of the Coven of Sorceresses four years ago he had known little besides death, war, and personal loss. He was sick of killing and of seeing others killed, regardless of which side of the craft they served.
Nearly his entire family and the beloved Directorate of Wizards had died either by his hand or because of his personal destiny. That was to say nothing of the thousands of Minion warriors who had willingly perished while serving him, and the many enemies of the Vigors he had personally killed. The numbers were too great to count, and as the tally grew, so did his sense of guilt for leading so many souls ever deeper into his personal war.
But what else could he do? he wondered as he watched the rocky walls silently slide past. He was theJin’Sai. Like it or not, he had been born for this mission. His greatest hope was that if he could stop the War of Attrition, the lives he might save could somehow justify the deaths of all the others-a balancing of the Afterlife’s ledgers, if you will. But how many more would perish before he might somehow end that terrible war?
And when they died, how would that alter his imaginary balance sheet of death? Whom else might he lose in this struggle? Wigg, Shailiha, Faegan, Tyranny? Would he possess the strength, the spirit, the will to-
“Pardon, Jin’Sai, ” a familiar voice suddenly broke in. Tristan turned to see Ox standing there.
“Wigg and Jessamay conscious again,” he said. “They ask for meeting, and say all Conclave members must come. They also want Scars and acolytes there.”
Tristan nodded, then thought for a moment. The only way that Tyranny and Scars could attend would be to stop the vessels somehow, for he trusted no one else to sail them the traditional way through these treacherous straits, and allowing them to drift was unthinkable. Because the soundings had found no channel bottom, the ships could not be anchored.
“Return to Wigg and ask if he and Jessamay have regained enough strength to empower the ships and hold them still in the channel,” he told Ox. “If so, tell them that we will come. Send a messenger to theEphyra to inform Scars. When the ships stop, have that messenger bring Scars here. We will then furl both ship’s sails.”
“Yes, Jin’Sai, ” Ox said.
As Ox went to confer with Wigg, Tristan walked up theTammerland ’s main deck to stand behind Tyranny at the ship’s wheel. For a time he admiringly watched her thread the ship through the strait as if through a swerving needle’s eye. She did more than simply react to the changing wind and waves, he realized. She anticipated them, her marvelous seafaring skills a natural part of her being.
Walking nearer, he gently touched her on one shoulder. Despite her demanding task she turned and smiled warily at him before returning her sharp gaze to the ship’s bow.
“You might fancy yourself a pilot,” she said slyly. “But if you’ve come to relieve me, you can forget it! You’d have us up on those rocks in minutes!”
Tristan let go a short laugh. “I don’t doubt it!” he answered. “Anyway, I’m not going to relieve you-Wigg is. You and Scars could do with a rest.”
Tyranny nodded gratefully. Moments later theTammerland stopped dead in the water and held still in the center of the channel. No longer seeing the craggy walls slide dangerously by was a welcome relief.
After tying off the ship’s wheel, Tyranny ordered the Minions to furl theTammerland ’s many sails, lightening Wigg’s burden. Tristan looked astern to see that theEphyra had also stopped and that her warriors were scrambling up her masts. A female Minion could be seen flying back to the flagship with Scars in her arms.
Tristan gestured toward the ship’s bow. “After you,” he said. Tyranny nodded. After stretching her tired back muscles she led the way forward toward one of the many open deck hatches.
The air surrounding theTammerland was warm and humid, making the crowded atmosphere belowdecks even more uncomfortable. As he followed Tyranny down two gangways and along the length of deck three, he took in all the sights and sounds common to a busy warship.
Stacked crates of food, water barrels, and arms lockers lay all about, making traversing the decks difficult. Minion warriors were everywhere, busily going about their duties. As Tristan and Tyranny walked by, they snapped to attention, then pressed their bodies up against the walls to allow their superiors easier passage. Oil lamps enchanted to burn forever and without smoke lined the walls, giving the hallways an eerie appearance.
Coming to the end of one hallway, Tyranny opened a door and walked through. Following her, Tristan soon found himself in theTammerland ’s huge galley.
The place was a beehive of activity. There were so many warriors aboard that they were forced to eat in round-the-clock shifts, and so the galley never shut down. Warriors constantly chopped, stirred, cooked, and baked to provide enough food for their hungry brothers in arms. Tristan had long enjoyed Minion fare, and the enticing smells soon got his stomach growling, reminding him of how long it had been since he last ate.
At the far end of the galley Tyranny opened another door and they walked down another hallway. More busy warriors saluted and made way for them. Finally Tyranny stopped before a mahogany door on the hallway’s starboard side and double-knocked.
“Enter!” Wigg’s voice called out. Tyranny opened the door and she and Tristan walked into the First Wizard’s private quarters.
Like the all the quarters assigned to Conclave members, Wigg’s private rooms were spacious and attractive. Patterned rugs lay atop the hardwood floor and tall leaded glass windows swiveled wide to catch the sea breeze along the starboard wall. A great four-poster bed stood in one corner and a desk in the other, its top littered with parchments, texts, scrolls, and other tools of the craft.
Although all the windows were open, Wigg’s rooms seemed little cooler than the passageways Tyranny and Tristan had just navigated. On the salon’s port side was another door leading to the wizard’s private washroom. Tristan also noticed that the flat glass vial containing the remainder of the subtle matter had been securely mounted onto the wall behind Wigg’s desk against the whims of the waves and the shifting breezes. A large gilded oil lamp hung from the center of the ceiling but remained unlit because of the bright light pouring through the many open windows.
Wigg sat gingerly in a chair on one side of the room while Jessamay lay on a sofa with her legs propped up. Between them sat a low table, its marble top covered with plates of cheese, fresh fruit, dark bread, and flagons of red wine. A rolled-up scroll lay there as well. Tristan noticed that Wigg had replaced his seared robe with a fresh one, and in order not to aggravate her burns, Jessamay had donned an oversized doublet and equally blousy breeches.
Wigg managed a smile as he beckoned Tristan and Tyranny into the room. Tristan walked to Jessamay’s side, and as Tyranny followed she pulled up a chair for her and one for the prince. After sitting down, Tristan gave Jessamay a concerned look.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
