Faegan nodded. "Wulfgar has enhanced their capabilities," he said. He looked at Shailiha. "Were you able to determine what cargo the Black Ships carry?"
Shailiha shook her head. "Other than the swarms of demonslavers aboard, there was no way to tell."
"What about Sister Adrian and K'jarr?" Jessamay asked. "Did they survive?"
"Yes," Tyranny answered, "but just barely. Adrian was in the crow's nest of the Reprise when it came down. She was able to use the craft to break her fall. K'jarr was wounded in the arm, but he will recover. Duvessa survived, as well. But several acolytes of the Redoubt went down with their ships. Shailiha and I thought it best that we come ahead of the returning fleet by way of Minion litter, so as to make our report. Scars is bringing home what's left. It's not a pretty sight. They should be anchored off the Cavalon Delta by tomorrow morning."
Faegan looked down at his hands. Sensing his distress, Shailiha put a hand on one of his. "How goes your research?" she asked.
The wizard sighed. "It does not go well," he answered. "But we are hopeful."
"What we are being forced to do is essentially reverse all of Failee's original work," Jessamay told them. She turned to Abbey. "We have discovered that the answer must be a complex combination of craft calculations and herbmastery," she said. "We could use your help."
Abbey smiled. "Of course," she answered. "But tell me-has there been any word from Tristan and his group?"
"No," Faegan answered. "But we mustn't take that as a bad sign."
"And what about the warriors who watch the pass through the Tolenkas and those who follow the orb?" the herbmistress went on.
"Have you heard from any of them?"
"No," Faegan answered. "But that does not mean bad news, either. If those at the pass haven't sent word, then that simply means that nothing has changed. And as for those who are trying to follow the orb-well, that was probably a wild-goose chase from the start."
"Why?" Abbey asked.
"The orb is in constant motion. In its natural state, it is invisible," he explained. "To be seen, it generally must be called into view by a practitioner of the craft-or, at least, that is how things used to be. But since the orb was wounded, it seems to be in view much more often. If it is randomly disappearing and reappearing, it must be giving fits to the warriors who were assigned to follow it."
"Wulfgar must be marching toward the Tolenkas by now," Shailiha said. "Only the Afterlife knows what havoc he is causing while we sit here and speculate. We have to do something!"
"Agreed," Faegan said. "We must send another force to attack him. Perhaps we can do on land what we could not do on water. I will have Traax organize the Minion forces and we will make a battle plan. If Wulfgar breaches the pass and unleashes the Heretic hordes, then nothing can stand in his way."
"Except perhaps for the blood of the Jin'Sai," Shailiha said softly. "Or mine. If we learn that Tristan is"-she faltered for a moment, then rallied-"dead, you must train me as fast as possible. I will do whatever it takes to stop Wulfgar and avenge my brother's death."
"Wulfgar would have anchored as deep as possible in the huge bay that stretches from Shadowood to Malvina Watch," Tyranny said. "Several Minion outposts dot that section of coastline, don't they?"
The wizard nodded. "Yes, and the outposts are already on alert. But given what I have heard here today, I can't hold much hope that they will be able to stop him by themselves." His face was very grave.
"May the Afterlife care for their souls," he said.
CHAPTER LXXIV
As Wulfgar stood on the eutracian shore, the sea wind brought the stench of death to his nostrils. It was midday, and the Black Ships lay anchored in the bay. Six of the seven members of his macabre council remained aboard their vessels, awaiting further orders.
The sky was clear and bright, save for the pungent smoke that curled toward the heavens. Even though the Minion warriors had fought well, their outpost had fallen quickly. The Enseterat, his seven dark captains, and the crushing number of demonslavers had overwhelmed the garrison easily.
The rough-hewn structure's four long log walls rose nearly twenty meters into the air. Numerous scorch marks and gaping holes were all that remained where azure bolts had exploded against them. Lookout posts stood at each of the four corners, and several crude buildings occupied the spacious grounds inside. Parts of the outpost still burned.
Wulfgar knew that the entire Eutracian coast was dotted with such garrisons. He would not bother to attack them; it was unnecessary. Nor would they be immediately alerted to his presence, for not a single Minion warrior had escaped to tell the tale.
The ground was soaked with Minion and demonslaver blood. Hungry flies had already begun to feast. Eleven surviving warriors hung nearby, tied by their thumbs to the horizontal beam that stretched across the opening where the outpost gates used to stand. One of them was Olaf, the commander of the garrison. Saying nothing, they all looked down at Wulfgar with hatred, their eyes glazed with pain.
Captain Merriwhether approached and gave his master a short bow.
"If my lord is interested, I have a suggestion about the survivors," he said. "I believe our troops would find it amusing."
"What is it?" Wulfgar asked.
"During our examination of the compound, our demonslavers found several barrels of pitch. I suggest that we put them to good use."
Wulfgar smiled. "You may proceed."
With another bow, Wulfgar's skeletal captain went off to give his orders.
Several demonslavers emerged from the compound rolling two large barrels before them. Two more carried ladles and brushes. When they reached the hanging captives they stopped and upended the barrels.
Using the hilts of their swords, they smashed open the barrel tops. After a sign from Merriwhether, they dipped the ladles and brushes into the barrels.
Wulfgar raised one hand, and used his power to lift the demonslavers into the air. Wulfgar guided them closer to the hanging warriors, and the slavers began slathering the helpless Minions with the dark, sticky pitch.
The prisoners screamed out curses and kicked uselessly at the slavers. When his servants had completed their work, Wulfgar lowered them to the ground and walked over to look up at Olaf.
The large, gray-bearded Minion commander carried more than enough scars to prove that his worth had been well tested. Olaf had served with the Jin'Sai during both the air campaign over Farplain and during the sea battles when Wulfgar had first returned to Eutracia to pollute the Orb of the Vigors.
Wulfgar only smiled.
"I have a request of you and your warriors," he said. "I want to hear you all scream."
Olaf looked down the line of warriors who were hung alongside him. To a man, their eyes carried the same defiance that his did. He looked back at his tormentor.
"Never," he said. "Minion warriors know how to die well, and perhaps this is as good a day as any. But mark my words, you bastard. When the Jin'Sai hears of this, he will kill you all."
Wulfgar reached up to touch the sole of the warrior's boot. Casually examining a sample of the pitch, he rubbed it between his fingers for a few moments. Then he narrowed his eyes and caused the pitch to vanish, leaving his fingers clean. He looked back up at Olaf.
"The Jin'Sai will somehow kill me?" he asked. "Oh, no, I don't think so. I have nothing to fear from my half brother-or his twin sister, for that matter. But you, on the other hand, have a great deal to fear from me."