Szass Tam had as many ships as his rivals, vessels filled with formidable undead monstrosities, but as Thessaloni Canos had predicted, their crews didn't handle them well. The council's vessels came at the enemy ships from behind or amidships, and only grappled them when it was to their advantage.
The necromancers' thaumaturgy was more reliable than that of their fellow Red Wizards, but combined, the powers of the other orders were more versatile. In addition, they had all the priests they'd evacuated from Bezantur-servants of Kossuth, Mask, Cyric, Umberlee, and every other Thayan god except Bane-backing them up with their own kind of magic.
By the Great Flame, Aoth thought, am I truly seeing this? Has Szass Tam overreached at last? He remembered all the times when the zulkir of Necromancy had feigned weakness to lure his foes, then snapped a trap shut around them, and was afraid to believe what he was seeing.
Then one of the black ships faded into a vague shadow of itself. Another abruptly went flat, like a paper cutout standing upright on the surface of the sea.
At first Aoth surmised that the necromancers aboard the two vessels had activated some sort of defensive enchantments. But then Brightwing said, "What are you peering at?"
"Two of Szass Tam's ships look different. Can't you see it?"
"No."
After another moment, Aoth couldn't, either. The two vessels appeared normal.
But that didn't matter. He suddenly thought he understood the meaning of what he'd observed, and if so, perhaps the council could maintain its edge no matter what tricks Szass Tam held in store.
"Find Lallara," he said.
The zulkir of Abjuration rated an even larger and more formidable ship than Iphegor Nath, and was accordingly easy to locate. When Brightwing dived out of the night sky, voices cried the alarm. Crossbowmen in the high sterncastle raised their weapons, and Red Wizards, their wands and staves. For an instant, Aoth was sure that his eagerness to share his discovery would be the death of him.
Fortunately, Lallara screamed, "Stop, you idiots!" Her minions froze.
Brightwing landed in the sterncastle between the archwizard and the parapet. She did so lightly, but even so, the planking groaned beneath her weight. "Thank you, Mistress," said Aoth.
"What do you want?" Lallara said.
"I've observed something. We wondered where Szass Tam got a fleet, and now I know. He created the black ships with illusion magic. They aren't entirely real."
Lallara spat. "Nonsense. If that were true, I'd be able to tell. Or the diviners would. Or the illusionists. But no one else has discerned such a thing."
Aoth took a breath. "Your Omnipotence, there's something I haven't told you. The blue fire in my eyes gives me absolute clarity of vision. So if I've ever accomplished anything of note in the service of the council, if I've ever given sound advice, then please, heed me now. Because if the black ships are made of illusion-"
"Then a circle of abjurers should be able to cast counterspells to expunge them from existence," Lallara snapped. "I don't need you to instruct me in basic magical theory." She called for several lesser wizards to attend her, and they came scurrying.
Lallara arranged them in a circle with herself at the center, directed their attention to the nearest black ship, and started a long incantation with an intricate structure and rhyme. Her assistants chimed in on the refrain. Aoth, whose system of battle magic concentrated on attacks and was mostly devoid of feats of abjuration, felt lost immediately.
But he had no trouble comprehending the results of their effort. The dark ship abruptly vanished, dumping the dread warriors and necromancers aboard into the sea.
He knew the abjurers wouldn't be able to make all the enemy vessels disappear. Some would prove impervious to their magic, especially if Szass Tam himself had taken part in their creation. Still, Aoth had given his allies a potent new weapon.
"Well done," he said.
Lallara turned and glared at him. "Why are you still here? Your place is with your men, if you're not trying to shirk the fight."
He sighed. "I'm on my way."
"No, wait. Fly to the senior illusionists and tell them what you told me. They may be able to unmake the black ships as well."
Standing in the prow of his flagship, his staff of drowned men's bones in his hand, Szass Tam gazed over the water and smiled. "I should have made a greater effort to win Thessaloni Canos over to my side. Or had her assassinated."
"If it's hopeless," Malark said, "I recommend you pull your ships out of combat before you lose any more soldiers. The skeleton sea serpents and their fellows can cover our retreat."
"I think not."
"You've already won the war."
"But if I kill my fellow zulkirs tonight, or failing that, send their treasure and followers to the bottom of the sea, I can rest secure in the knowledge I won't have to fight another. And the battle is far from lost. I'm sure you haven't forgotten the trump up my sleeve."
"Are you still strong enough to use it?"
"Let's find out." Szass Tam focused his awareness on the air above an empty stretch of water and murmured words of power. Frost crept across the railing in front of him, and the remaining flesh on a dread warrior's frame liquefied all at once, leaving it a figure of dripping bone.
The roundship's task had been to transport the Griffon Legion, and now that Aoth and his command were in the air, not many soldiers were left aboard. Thus, although the crossbowmen shot at any target of opportunity, the sailors were doing their best to keep the vessel out of the thick of combat.
It was only prudent, but it frustrated Tammith. The smell of blood hung on the wind, enticing her, drying her throat, and causing her fangs to extend. She longed to be on one of the pairs of grappled ships, where she could fight, kill, and drink until her appetites were satisfied.
In lieu of that, she'd obtained her own crossbow, but killing someone at range was a poor substitute for tearing him apart with her sword or fangs, not that she often hit her mark in any case. She possessed preternatural senses and physical prowess, but no training in the use of that particular weapon.
She pulled the trigger, the crossbow clacked, and the bolt flew too low, imbedding itself in the ebony hull of an enemy galley. She hissed and reached for another. Then someone shouted.
Tammith pivoted. A dead man was climbing out of the water onto the stern. A haze hung in the air around it.
She grinned. The zombie had no blood to slake her thirst, but at least she'd have the satisfaction of cutting it up. Or she would if her shipmates didn't dispatch it first, for a single animated corpse shouldn't pose much of a threat. She dropped her crossbow and drew her blade.
The men closest to the undead newcomer stumbled, retched, and fell. Whatever was afflicting them, it rendered them incapable of defense, and, its bare fists striking with bone-shattering force, the creature had no difficulty breaking their backs and skulls. Two crossbow bolts plunged into its torso, but it didn't even seem to notice.
Tammith charged.
The haze surrounding the dead man was cold and wet, and as soon as she entered it, a burning tightness ripped through her chest. She couldn't breathe, as if her lungs were full of water and she was drowning.
But a vampire had no need to breathe. She clamped down on her irrational terror, raised her off hand to signal her comrades to stay away-she doubted she could speak coherently with the choking fullness in her mouth and lungs-and rushed the zombie.
The creature evidently hadn't realized she too was undead, because her immunity to its lethal aura seemed to take it by surprise. When she thrust her sword at its chest, it tried to parry with its forearm, but was too slow. The blade plunged through soft, rotten tissue, scraped a rib, and pierced the heart.