Tristan lowered his head for a moment as he thought. "Have the dead and wounded escorted back to the surface," he ordered. "I want another dozen fresh warriors to join us down here. We don't know what may still await us." With a click of his heels Alrik left to attend to his new orders.
An angry scream came from the other side of the room. Whirling around, Tristan saw that it had come from the lone surviving creature still pinned to the bookcase. He exchanged glances with Wigg and Celeste, and then they all walked over.
The beast had lost a great deal of blood. It had to be nearly dead, yet it found the energy to snarl at them again, red Minion blood staining its open mouth.
Studying it, Wigg placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe.
"It's called a Wingwalker," he said. "Like the blood stalkers and Screaming Harpies, it was one of the Coven's tools during the Sorceresses' War. I have not seen one for more than three hundred years. Unlike the stalkers, these creatures are not particularly intelligent. Nor do they command the power of speech. They were conjured strictly for killing. They were a blunt instrument to be sure, but they were also particularly effective." He looked at the prince. "Does it seem familiar to you in any way?"
Tristan nodded. "They look something like Wiktors."
"Correct," Wigg said. "My guess is that Wiktors are early descendants of the Wingwalkers. From Wingwalker to Wiktor-and then, eventually, through Failee's magic, Minion warriors." He turned and looked back over to where the warriors were standing. "But I wouldn't tell them that," he whispered.
"How did they know we were here?" Celeste asked.
Wigg looked back at the door through which they had entered. With a great collective effort the Minions had finally succeeded in opening it again.
"Most likely that door was charmed to react to any blood passing through it other than that of the Coven," he answered. "In turn it signaled the release of the Wingwalker fluid from the walls."
Tristan indicated the azure energy now coating the walls. "You will continue to enforce that spell?" he asked.
Wigg smiled. "That would be a good idea, don't you think? When time permits I shall dissolve the barrier one bit at a time. That way the warriors can dispatch any remaining Wingwalkers one by one as they begin to form. But now I need to finish one more task."
Removing his hands from the sleeves of his robe, Wigg pointed at the surviving Wingwalker. It looked back at him with venom in its eyes and then let go a bloody scream of defiance.
A narrow band of azure light shot from Wigg's fingers and raced across the room to strike the beast in the chest. The Wingwalkers skin and muscle began to melt away, until all that was left was its seared white skeleton. The First Wizard slowly lowered his hand.
Wigg seemed about to speak again when something made him stop and tilt his head this way and that, as if seeking the source of a sound only he could hear.
Looking around in concern, Tristan noticed that one of the doors on the other side of the room stood ajar. An azure glow silently filtered in through the opening.
Then Wigg cocked his head to the side again, listening hard.
"Do not follow me," he ordered Tristan and Celeste. Before they could muster a reply, he was crossing the room.
Wigg pointed to the partially open door. Unlike the others, it opened easily for him. Azure light shone on his face and robe.
Then a voice came from the other side, just loud enough for Tristan and Celeste to hear.
"Wigg…is that really you?" The words coming from the other side were struggling and soft-spoken. "How…why…?"
Wigg's mouth fell open and his face blanched. As the breath rushed out of him, he bent over in shock. For a moment it looked as though his knees might give way. Then he regained control and stood upright again.
Without turning to look at Tristan or Celeste, the First Wizard walked slowly, numbly, through the doorway and into the azure light.
CHAPTER XXX
Someone slapped her across the face. pulling away, she frowned and tried to go back to sleep. Then she was slapped again, and someone began shouting at her. She should never be awakened this way, she thought. Didn't they know she was a princess? And why was she so cold and wet?
Then the insistent voice came again: "Shailiha! Wake up! We're in trouble!"
Then came another stinging slap across the face. The princess of Eutracia finally opened her eyes-and realized that she was still tied to the gunwale, slumped in her bonds. She raised her head and looked up blearily, trying to remember.
It was night and a sea storm was raging. The Reprise seemed helpless and crippled as the wind tore at her. Parts of her foremast and its rigging had come down, and now it rolled back and forth across the pitching deck. The rain came in unrelenting sheets, and the ship bucked wildly upon the waves. Crewmen and warriors, their shouting drowned out by the howling wind, worked frantically to regain control of the vessel.
Her vision clearing, Shailiha recognized Tyranny standing before her. The privateer was soaked to the skin. There was a look of desperation on her face that the princess had never seen before. Removing her dagger from its sheath, Tyranny quickly cut Shailiha's bonds.
As she struggled to stand on her own, the princess found the lingering effects of passing through the portal and the bucking of the ship nearly debilitating. Helping Shailiha to find her sea legs, Tyranny held her shoulders. Shailiha placed her mouth next to Tyranny's ear.
"What happened?" she shouted against the howling wind.
"We're taking on water!" Tyranny shouted back. "And this storm isn't helping! The stress of going through Faegan's portal must have weakened the hull! We have a great deal to do if we are going to survive this!"
Shailiha looked over at the scorched foremast to which K'jarr and Scars had been tied. What was left of it rose awkwardly toward the sky, like a tree that had been hit by lightning.
"K'jarr and Scars!" she shouted. "Are they…?"
"They're alive!" Tyranny shouted back. "But when the mast was hit, it gave them a rude awakening!"
Tyranny pointed down the length of the deck. Knotted lifelines had been tied between each of the masts to help the crew walk along the decks without being thrown overboard in the storm.
"Follow me!" she shouted. "Whatever you do, don't let go of the ropes! If you go overboard now we will never find you!"
Shailiha followed Tyranny as best she could. The decks were slippery with rain and they pitched constantly, making her fall down more than once. They reached, then passed the first mast, and she followed the captain on, hand over hand along the knotted rope.
Finally Tyranny reached a deck hatch. It was open and several canvas tubes snaked up out of it. Their ends lay unseen over the starboard gunwales. Letting go of the rope, Tyranny went down the stairway first. Shailiha followed.
As the stricken war frigate bucked and pitched, it was all the princess could do to keep herself from being repeatedly thrown against the walls of the stairway. It was drier here, but not by much. The strange canvas tubes stretched down the staircase. Tyranny grabbed a swinging lantern from its hook on the wall and held it before them.
Two more decks down, Shailiha could hear shouting and the sounds of men at work. As she descended into the chamber behind Tyranny, they stopped midway down the staircase. The privateer held the lantern high. Shailiha could see immediately that they were in for the fight of their lives.
The room was large and had been cleared of its cargo. Seamen and Minions were working frantically to stem the seawater that rushed in through the rent in the Reprise's hull every time she tipped to starboard. At least one of the hull planks was gone, perhaps more.