His hand tightening around his dreggan and all of his senses on alert, Osiv went to the door. Takir followed behind. Osiv winced as the boards of the steps creaked, traitorously announcing their presence.
The hallways below were not darkened, as Osiv had somehow expected them to be. All of the wall sconces were burning brightly, making it easy for them to find their way. As they walked forward from the stern, they saw all of the usual trappings of a ship at sea. The larder shelves were stocked with food, and there were signs of crewmen having recently eaten. Freshwater barrels, their contents partially consumed, stood securely roped against the starboard hull in several neat rows. Next they found the crew's sleeping quarters. The traditional rope hammocks were all still hanging from the rafters, swinging back and forth with the ceaseless rhythm of the abandoned ship.
A further search revealed that there were absolutely no crewmen aboard, anywhere. Yet everything was in its place, just as it should be on a well-run vessel. What strange fate could have befallen them? Osiv found himself wondering. Could the Eaters of the Dead be responsible for this? But if they were, then where was all the blood?
Seeing another set of steps heading topside, he led Takir back up, into the sunlight and the breeze. The scene was just as they had left it. The sails were still full and properly trimmed, and the ship remained duly on course, making her way toward some unknown destination.
Relaxing a bit, Osiv lowered his sword. Looking around, he saw a nearby keg. He went over and sat on it, then placed his dreggan across his knees. Takir came to stand beside him, placing the point of his dreggan on the pitching deck and leaning on the hilt. The wind moaned hauntingly through the lonely, unmanned sails.
"I don't understand it," Osiv said quietly. "Where could they all have gone? And this ship! She's still on course somehow, as if nothing was wrong. How is such a thing possible?"
"I have no idea," Takir replied. "It's as if they have all-"
Suddenly Takir heard the familiar, unmistakable sound of a sword blade ripping through bone and flesh. When he looked at his friend, he froze in disbelief.
A long, vertical wound had opened up in Osiv's head. It literally split his face in two, a vertical cut from chin to top of skull and back down to the nape of his neck. The two halves of his head slowly began to separate and fall away toward the shoulders. Osiv's eyes went blank; blood and brain matter began to slide from the wound and run down onto his body armor.
Osiv's body went crashing sloppily to the deck, his dreggan clanging noisily down.
On pure instinct, Takir lifted his dreggan high and turned full circle, searching for Osiv's murderer. But no one was there. The empty, pitching decks simply yawned back at him, in silent ridicule of his foolishness.
"Show yourself!" Takir screamed in anger as he whirled about again. He viciously slashed his sword through the surrounding air, but its razor-sharp blade bit into nothing. Suddenly, something told him he should unfold his wings and take flight. But the impulse came just a fraction too late.
"If you insist," a voice said calmly from somewhere. It was a strong, commanding voice.
Takir felt a strange sort of shudder go through him.
Looking down, he saw a vertical slit in his body armor. Then his blood began rushing from it. He absently, drunkenly, reached down and placed one hand over it, but this last act was to serve no purpose. Everything went black and he fell forward.
As the blood from the two Minion corpses joined to run slowly across the deck, the azure glow of the craft appeared. Then it faded in intensity and finally vanished altogether, to reveal Wulfgar.
His long, sandy hair swaying behind him in the wind, he looked casually down at the two dead bodies. He raised one arm, and his demonslaver crew materialized, all of them heavily armed and standing stiffly at attention, awaiting their master's orders. The sword of the one nearest him dripped with fresh blood.
Wulfgar bent over and picked up the dreggan that had belonged to Osiv. Holding it high, he examined it carefully as the sun bounced off its shiny blade.
"Such fine craftsmanship," he said, half to himself. "These swords really are a marvel. It is said that even the Jin'Sai himself carries one." With a sneer on his face, he strode purposefully to the gunwale and threw the beautiful weapon overboard. Pointing back to the slavers, he singled two of them out.
"You!" he ordered sternly. "Throw these dead bodies overboard. The rest of you return to your duties." With dutiful nods the two monsters he had chosen went about their work.
Wulfgar's tactical gamble had worked perfectly. He gave silent thanks to Nicholas for providing invaluable information about Minion abilities and customs. Now he had an excellent idea of how far away the Minion fleet was, without them knowing the position of his own. Two days' flying time, he guessed. One day from the scouting vessels to here, and another from the scout ships to the Minion fleet. That put the Minion position near the coast.
Looking over the side, Wulfgar watched as the slavers tossed the Minion bodies into the sea. The water ran red with blood, and he heard the snuffling, hungry grunts come as the pieces were greedily consumed. As he continued to watch the feeding frenzy, he smiled.
"I'm sorry there wasn't more, my children," he said softly. "But soon now, you will have your fill." Looking toward the stern, he saw the supposedly empty sea behind him, and he smiled. Even the wakes of his ships were unseen.
He silently thanked the late Krassus for gifting him with the Forestallment of invisibility.
Wulfgar closed his eyes. He raised his arms, and the familiar azure glow engulfed his flagship. When it faded away, all that remained was the cold, restless sea.
CHAPTER
Sixty-seven
T he thirteen confused women sat side by side in the Hall of Supplication, each waiting her turn to approach the lead wizard. Wigg and Faegan sat at a table before them. On the table was a tall stack of parchment documents, and an odd-looking device the likes of which none of the women had ever seen. A group who had already passed the wizards' exotic tests sat off to one side.
As she waited for her turn to be called, it was plain to Adrian that so far, none of her sister acolytes had failed the wizards' examinations. Still stunned by the beauty of her surroundings, she looked around again at the sumptuous room. Fledgling House had been beautiful, to be sure, but she had never seen a place like this. Huge stained-glass windows had been swung open slightly to let in more light and fresh air. The black, variegated marble floor was covered with multicolored patterned area rugs, and an ornate mahogany throne sat on a dais at the far end of the room. The room still smelled faintly musty, leading her to believe that it had seen little use of late. She could only imagine what the rest of the palace must look like.
She and the other women had arrived only this morning. They had discovered one another on the way here, and as they shared their experiences, they learned that every single one of them had been overpowered by the same sudden, unexplained compulsion to make the journey to the royal palace in Tammerland.
Adrian, as the senior among them, had been selected to lead them through the palace gates. There they had been greeted by a hunchbacked dwarf who had introduced himself as Geldon. He had explained that the lead wizard himself was responsible for their undeniable need to come here, and that they had done the right thing by doing so. No harm or punishment would befall them.
Greatly relieved, the women had followed the dwarf across the drawbridge, through the courtyard, and into the palace proper. Once in the Hall of Supplication, Geldon had recorded their names and family houses on a piece of parchment, handed it to the wizards, and directed the women to their seats.