Dax made up his mind. He looked over at one of his fellow warriors and he pointed to the river.
"Arius, see if you can take a sample of whatever that is," he ordered.
"If possible, I want to take some of it back to the wizards. But be careful."
The warrior named Arius clicked his heels. He took up his water flask from one hip. Standard issue for each warrior, the flask was made of metal and had a leather strap. After dumping out its water, Arius walked to the river's edge.
The overpowering heat and stink nearly made him faint. He opened the flask and touched it to the top of the black, slowly moving mass. The flask began to hiss and melted away immediately; the strap burst into flames. Jumping back, Arius realized he had been lucky not to lose his hand.
As Arius walked back, Dax shook his head. Opening his own flask, he took a generous gulp of water, then handed it to Arius to replace the one that the river had just destroyed.
"I want you to fly back to camp and report this," Dax ordered him. "Tell the warriors to gather water only from the glaciers. Under no circumstances are they to approach the Sippora. Go now."
Arius clicked his heels again. "As you wish," he answered. He took several running steps and launched himself into the air. Climbing quickly, he turned northwest, back toward the camp. Soon he was merely a speck in the sky. Then he was gone.
As Dax looked back at the river, the refugees filed grimly past him and his remaining escort; their expressions cautious and hateful, they gave the warriors a wide berth. Many of them were wounded-either by the orb, Dax assumed, or by the strangely mutated waters of the Sippora. Some were hurt so badly that he doubted they would live to see Tammerland.
He shook his head. Tammerland was about to become a living nightmare. For a brief moment he wondered whether the refugees would blame this new calamity on the Jin'Sai as well.
There was nothing more the two warriors could do here. Dax nodded to his escort, and they both took to the air. As the Minion captain gained altitude, he cast his gaze southeast, down the length of the steaming, stinking river.
Even from this height, the refugees lined its banks for as far as the eye could see.
CHAPTER LIX
Deep inside the redoubt, Tristan sat once again at the inlaid table in the ornate meeting room. His dreggan and his sheath of knives hung over the back of his chair. Around him were the other members of the Conclave, a circle of long, discouraged faces.
The prince, Wigg, Celeste, and Jessamay had returned to Eutracia the previous day by way of Faegan's portal, which the wizard had been able to reopen once he had returned from Valrenkium. Tyranny's enchanted litter had finally reached the Reprise and then the group had eventually found the portal Faegan created for them. The return trip had been even harder on the privateer's already mangled flagship. Minion carpenters and Tyranny's crewmen were already hard at work to get her seaworthy again, but it would not be an easy job. The captured demonslaver they had brought back with them sat bound in a chair in another room, guarded by watchful Minions.
Exhausted and disheartened, Tristan wiped his face with his hands, then grabbed his wine goblet and took a drink. They had all been talking for a long time and it wasn't over yet. By now they had all told their various stories to one another, but they had come to no conclusions about what to do next.
Failee's grimoire of tooled red leather lay on the table before Tristan. He knew that Faegan was eager to plumb its depths, but so far the ever-curious wizard had managed to contain himself.
Tyranny sat on Tristan's left. Beside her sat Wigg and Abbey. Faegan-still wearing the Paragon around his neck-was next to Abbey. Adrian, Traax, and Shailiha rounded out the company. Everyone seemed unharmed, save for Traax, whose left arm was in a sling due to the dislocated shoulder he had suffered when some of the falling latticework struck him. Celeste sat quietly on the prince's right. The toddler Morganna sat nearby on the floor, gurgling and batting at some toys. Jessamay occupied what had been Geldon's chair, in between Celeste and Shailiha.
Tristan still couldn't believe that the hunchbacked dwarf was dead. Geldon had proved a good friend-staunch, loyal, and incredibly brave-and his death had left a hole in all their hearts that would be a long time healing. Tristan hadn't known Lionel the Little particularly well, but he knew the diminutive herbmaster would be sorely missed, especially by Faegan.
Faegan had told everyone of the assassin Satine: how she had managed to breach the palace walls, do her dirty work, and then brazenly walk right out again-or so they surmised. The prince was stunned not only by her creativity, but also by her daring and her skill. As he thought of her, his fingers tightened around the wine goblet. It would be pointless to search for her now, just as it would serve no purpose to scour Eutracia for the displaced Valrenkians. Shifting his thoughts back to the present, he looked over at Tyranny and Shailiha.
"You're both sure that it was Wulfgar you saw?" he asked.
Tyranny and Shailiha nodded.
"He was standing on the shore," the privateer said. "There was a woman by his side. She looked pregnant, but I couldn't swear to that. A man stood there, as well. He wore the traditional dark blue robe of a consul. Far more demonslavers guard the Citadel and crew Wulfgar's Black Ships than we ever knew existed. I'm also sorry to say that a substantial demonslaver fleet still exists, patrolling the waters around the island."
Tristan sat back in his chair. For some time now he had suspected that Wulfgar might still be alive. He could even accept Tyranny's report about the remaining demonslaver fleet. But he was having a very hard time believing what the privateer and his sister had just told them all about the Black Ships. Had anyone else been spinning this tale, he would have thought them mad.
"You say that these vessels can not only run submerged, but also fly above the waves?" he asked. "And that they are not only crewed by demonslavers, but commanded by skeletons in tattered military uniforms?"
"That's right," Shailiha said. She shook her head, as though she couldn't believe it herself. "You simply have to believe us, Tristan. We saw what we saw. We were lucky to get away with our lives."
For the first time that day, the prince smiled.
"I believe you," he answered. Then he turned to Wigg. "First you mention the Black Watch, and now come the Black Ships. I'd say there's more than just a passing coincidence in the choice of names here, wouldn't you?"
"Indeed, First Wizard," Faegan chimed in. As was usually the case when he knew that he had Wigg in an uncomfortable position, Faegan's eyes lit up. "I'd say you have some explaining to do."
Wigg laced his fingers together. "The Black Ships once sailed in the service of the Directorate," he said at last. "They were the maritime branch of the Black Watch during the Sorceresses' War. Jessamay captained one of the vessels for a time. All of the captains were accomplished wizards or sorceresses whom we trusted implicitly. Like the Black Watch, the ships were manned by handpicked civilians. Some of those civilians were of endowed blood, although they were not trained in the craft." Pausing, Wigg looked around the table. When no one spoke, he went on.
"Failee had begun to form an armada of her own, and we needed to be able to strike back at her on the sea. The war was going poorly, the Coven's land forces advancing rapidly from the west. Tammerland was quickly becoming a fortress, its walls bursting with refugees. Famine and disease threatened. Worse yet, if the Coven gained control of the coast, they would be able to launch troops from their vessels, and we would suddenly be fighting a war on two fronts. We conjured the Black Ships to hold her off. The Tome had only recently been discovered, and the calculations for the vessels' conjuring were found within its pages. As the leader of the Directorate I oversaw not only the Black Watch, but also the Black Ships." He sighed and glanced at Jessamay again.