The Vigors sorceress nodded. “I am, but I’d be dead if Wigg hadn’t caught me in his warp. At first I thought that I had broken my back, but luckily I didn’t. Even so, every muscle throbs. I can’t recall anything after that until waking up in my quarters, but Wigg has kindly told me the tale. He has also granted me a spell to control my pain, and another of accelerated healing to help with my burns.”
The blond sorceress winced as she gingerly rearranged her burned legs, then gave Tristan a meaningful look. “We were lucky, you know,” she added quietly. “Khristos is a very powerful wizard, and his Blood Vipers are equally vicious. I know that we lost many warriors, but Wigg says that we likely killed an equal number of the enemy.”
“So, like Wigg, you know who Khristos is?” Tristan asked.
Jessamay nodded, but the look on her face said that Wigg should be the one to explain.
Tristan nodded, then folded his arms across his chest and looked into Wigg’s aquamarine eyes.
“And you, old friend?” he asked. “How are you faring?”
Wigg’s face was scalded, and painful-looking blisters showed on his hands and forearms. Even so, he seemed more energetic than did Jessamay.
“I’ll be all right,” he answered. “The important thing is that the subtle matter and the Black Ships were saved. I’m sure that you will want to know about our losses-I have the report right here.”
As Wigg reached for the scroll lying on the tabletop, he winced, then decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. Just as Tristan tried to help, the First Wizard called the craft and levitated the scroll into the air, eluding Tristan’s grasp.
Wigg raised an eyebrow in theJin’Sai ’s direction. “I might be burned, but I’m not helpless, you know,” he muttered. The scroll then unrolled in midair and Wigg started reading it aloud.
“Eight hundred thirty-seven male and female warriors were killed outright on the beach,” Wigg said solemnly. “One thousand two hundred thirty were wounded, of whom about seven hundred are expected to recover and fight another day. Another one hundred or so remain unaccounted for. Ox informs me that those warriors who do not heal sufficiently or who lost limbs will be restricted to duties that no longer include combat. So a full one-third of our fighting force has been neutralized, even after the wounded return to duty.”
The news was even worse than Tristan feared. Taking a deep breath, he slumped in his chair and laid back his weary head. Hearing Wigg read those numbers sadly reminded him of his imagined death ledgers. Yet more marks for the debit page, he thought. Putting his thoughts aside, he turned to Tyranny.
“What is the status of our ships?” he asked.
Just as the privateer was about to answer, another knock sounded on the cabin door. “Enter!” Tristan called out.
The door swung open to reveal Scars, Astrid, and Phoebe. As Tristan beckoned them into the room, Tyranny set out three more chairs.
Scars looked exhausted, a rarity for him. As usual he wore only his torn trousers. Astrid and Phoebe also looked tired and drawn, and their red acolyte robes needed some serious scrubbing.
“Are you all right?” Tristan asked them at once.
Scars nodded. “I am well,” he said.
“As are we,” Astrid answered for the two sisters. “We are all lucky to be alive.”
Tristan nodded appreciatively as he looked at the two acolytes. Astrid was short and plump, with a profusion of brunette ringlets. Phoebe was just the opposite-tall, with a willowy figure and straight blond hair. Each sister had been handpicked by Adrian to empower the Black Ships, and they had become very good at it. No one need tell Tristan how valuable these women would be in the days ahead. Like Wigg’s and Jessamay’s fingertips, the sisters’ were darkly charred from loosing bolt after bolt against Khristos’ forces. Tristan turned back to look at Tyranny.
“Your report?” he asked.
After pouring a cup of wine, the privateer sat back tiredly and crossed one long leg over the other. “TheTammerland is seaworthy,” she answered, “which is a bloody miracle, given all that she’s been through. I can’t speak for our sister ship, because I’ve been too busy keeping theTammerland off the rocks to go and take a look at her.”
Tyranny took a long slug of wine, then looked over at her gigantic first mate. “What say you, Scars?” she asked. “Are you taking good care of my other boat?”
Tristan smiled. This wasn’t the first time he had heard her say that, nor was it likely to be the last. From the beginning, Tyranny considered all four Black Ships to beher vessels. It was a sentiment he didn’t try to discourage.
“Aside from her downed mast and spars she is fine, Captain,” Scars answered. “Some of her sails were torn, but they’re being mended. As I’m sure you know, keeping her straight in this damnable channel is a struggle. She’s slow and more than a little sluggish on the wheel because of her reduced sail surface, but the mast and spars should be repaired soon. It’s a good thing that we brought along spare timber. It takes up much space belowdecks, but it’s worth it. Because of Sister Astrid and Sister Phoebe’s help, my Minion shipwrights say that we’ll have everything set right in twelve more hours.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “We need to travel as fast as we can. We have much food and water aboard, but it’s not limitless.”
Tristan looked back at Wigg. “When can you and Jessamay empower the ships?” he asked.
“We have discussed it and we believe that we can start tomorrow,” Wigg answered. “It will be difficult for Jessamay to stand, so some sort of seat must be provided for her while she pilots theEphyra. When we tire, Astrid and Phoebe will take over. We will then establish regular shifts.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “Once we are airborne we should make better time. But it is nearly impossible to gauge the rate of travel in this place. The Night Witches report that nothing lies ahead except more of the same. I will keep sending them out, because this channel must have an end somewhere. We can only hope that we reach it before we run out of supplies.”
Wigg nodded. “I know,” he answered. “But starvation was always a risk, wasn’t it?”
“And the azure water beneath us?” Tristan asked. “Have you analyzed it?”
“Such pursuits lie more within Faegan’s purview than mine,” Wigg answered, “but Jessamay and I did what we could. The water seems to possess an energy all its own. Truth be told, I’ve never seen anything like it. For now it should be used for no purpose whatsoever. We’ll keep trying to learn more, but you must continue your wise prohibition. You should also know that there’s something about the azure water that particularly disturbs us. It was a notion that we failed to consider before we left home.”
Tristan’s expression darkened. “What is it?” he asked.
“We fear that the azure water might be adversely affecting the ship’s hulls,” Wigg said. “When the Directorate built these vessels they enchanted them to withstand many things, but this azure water was not one of them. Because the Black Ships were originally designed to sail the Sea of Whispers, there was no need for such considerations.”
“But if we stay airborne most of the time, that shouldn’t matter,” Tyranny said.
“Not necessarily,” Jessamay replied.
“Why?” Tristan asked. “What Tyranny said seems logical enough.”
“True, but you two didn’t help build these ships,” Wigg answered. “If you had, you would know that part of what keeps a ship’s hull waterproof is the swelling that its timbers incur when it is first set atop the waves. The dry wood absorbs the water, locking the timbers tightly together. This effect is normal, and the shipbuilding process wouldn’t be complete without it.”
“That’s true,” Tyranny replied. “But the Black Ships are hundreds of years old. After spending so much time atop the Sea of Whispers, their hull timbers are the best seasoned I have ever seen. I’m sure that they have drawn in all the moisture that they ever will. If you’re worrying about them absorbing much azure water, I doubt that could happen.”
“You’re forgetting something, Captain,” Scars said quietly. “Wigg is right-we failed to consider it before we left Tammerland.”
At first a perplexed expression crossed Tyranny’s face. Then she suddenly grasped Scar’s meaning and her visage went ashen.
“I still don’t understand,” Tristan protested. “What is the threat?”
