Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

Without speaking, the warriors instinctively turned westward. The sun was setting in earnest, soon to be replaced by the three red moons and thousands of twinkling stars. Traax knew that he could navigate his way back as well by the stars as by the sun. Then he looked far into the distance, and his heart fell.

He could just see the huge wave and its accompanying black swarm as they continued heading west. During the airborne battle, the wave had roared beneath them and traveled far. Traax could only pray that Axel and Valgard were still ahead of it.

Just then he saw Aldaeous faint and start tumbling through the air. Swooping down, Traax caught the wounded warrior. Aldaeous’ eyes fluttered open again.

“Let me perish,” he whispered. “You’ll never get back if you carry me.”

“Be still,” Traax said. “We’ll make it back, I promise you.”

Drooping weakly in Traax’s arms, Aldaeous gave him a knowing smile. “What about your order, m’lord?” he asked. He coughed, spitting up some blood that ran down his body armor and dripped toward the sea. Worried for him, Traax clenched his jaw.

“Should one of you collapse, the other is forbidden to save him!”Aldaeous repeated sternly. Closing his eyes, he smiled again. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“Consider that order countermanded,” Traax answered. He gave Aldaeous a quick smile. “And your insubordination is noted,” he added.

“Privileges of rank, sir?” Aldaeous asked weakly.

“Something like that,” Traax answered. He watched Aldaeous faint away.

Traax could easily have let Aldaeous fall, which would vastly improve Traax’s chances for survival. But he didn’t.

Unsure of their futures, he carried the stricken warrior back toward the unsuspecting fleet.

CALLING THE CRAFT, WIGG LEVITATED ONE OF HIS WHITErooks, then caused it to hang inverted from the game board’s underside. “Check,” he said.

Faegan smiled. “Too obvious, First Wizard,” he answered. After some thought he judiciously moved his threatened king one space rightward. Now it was Wigg’s turn to worry.

The two mystics were sitting in Faegan’s quarters aboard theTammerland, playing wizard’s chess. The game was much like ordinary chess, but with two important differences. First, the black-and-white game board was suspended in the air. Each of the board’s sides held the same number of black and white squares.

Second, each player commanded two armies rather than one. Thus two opposing armies lay atop the board, and another two clung to its underside. Pieces could be moved from one of the board’s sides to the other and back again, with the proviso that the player’s next move must take place from that board’s side.

Smiling, Faegan used the craft to turn over the three-minute sand globe resting near his elbow. As the trapped sand poured down, he looked at Wigg and sipped some more tea.

“I believe that you might be done for this time,” he said. “If you aren’t careful, I will take one of your kings in four moves.”

“Be still!” Wigg demanded. “I’m trying to concentrate! And don’t be so cocky! You might win more often than I, but that doesn’t mean you will today!”

Suddenly suspicious, Wigg pursed his lips. “Why would you warn me about my king?” he asked.

Faegan cackled softly. “Because it doesn’t matter,” he answered. “You won’t figure it out until it’s too late.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wigg looked at the board’s two sides and considered his options. Faegan smiled as he watched the telltale vein in Wigg’s forehead start throbbing-a sure sign that the First Wizard was feeling stressed.

As the two wizards concentrated on their game, all seemed normal with the Conclave fleet. The night sea was calm, and clouds slipped gently across the sky, occasionally blocking the moonlight. Each of the six Black Ships was sailing atop the waves in the traditional way while their empowering mystics rested. For the last two days the fleet had forged ahead without incident.

Tyranny’s plan was to wait until all three of her roving scout patrols returned before again ordering the ships into the air. If one of the patrols sighted the Citadel, a course correction might be needed. With the fleet’s slower speed atop the waves, an adjustment would be smaller, thus saving time. Two of the patrols had returned but had seen nothing. Traax’s group was overdue, but was not so late as to cause concern.

Wigg again called the craft, this time moving a knight from the board’s underside to its topside. He reached out and inverted the timing globe.

Faegan scowled. “What in blazes are you doing?” he asked. “That was perhaps the most foolish move I have ever seen!”

Smiling, Wigg sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Time will tell,” he answered.

As Faegan concentrated on the game, Wigg stared thoughtfully at his old friend. Despite his normally jocular nature, Faegan always seemed obsessed about something. Everyone who knew him understood that. More often than not, the crippled wizard’s fixations involved some craft mystery that he was trying to unravel. As soon as he succeeded at deciphering one, he always managed to find another to brood over.

But Wigg sensed that there was something else on the crippled wizard’s mind-something that bothered him deeply. Moreover, he thought he knew what it was. Faegan had unfinished business to complete, and Wigg guessed that he would not rest until it was done.

Deciding to broach the subject, Wigg first took another sip of red wine. After placing the glass back atop the table he laced his long fingers together.

“You want him, don’t you?” he asked. “That’s the real reason you decided to come on this mission, rather than wait at the palace for Tristan to return home. You want to find him and kill him with your own hands, and you won’t rest until you do.”

Faegan reached out to gently tip the three-minute glass on its side, meaning that he wanted a break from the game. After taking another sip of tea, he looked into Wigg’s face.

“I thought I was the only one who knew,” he said.

“I don’t believe that the others realize it,” Wigg answered. “They haven’t known you for three centuries like I have. But I gather that Jessamay suspects. Little escapes her sorceress’s acumen, you know.”

“How true,” Faegan answered.

“You believe Reznik escaped to the Citadel,” Wigg said, “along with the other surviving Valrenkians. I think you’re right.”

Faegan nodded. “It’s the only answer that fits. If so, Serena might have taken them into her employ. It would be to her advantage, after all. Only the Afterlife knows what evil she might be ordering the Valrenkian community to concoct. Of all people, I needn’t tell you that Vagaries practitioners have little regard for human life other than their own. The farther we sail, the more apprehensive I become. I fear that the Necrophagians were only the beginning of our troubles.”

Wigg was acutely aware of Faegan’s hatred for Reznik, even though the two enemy mystics had never met. Being outfoxed by another wizard was hard enough on Faegan’s infamous ego. But the humiliation of being duped and nearly killed by a partial adept carried a nasty sting.

His jaw hardening, Faegan looked into Wigg’s eyes. “Yes, I want to kill him,” he said quietly. “He deserves to die for more reasons than I can count. If we are lucky enough to find him, I want it understood that he is mine.”

Wigg nodded. “Very well,” he answered. “I will take the liberty of telling the other members. There will be no disagreement.”

As he turned to look out one of the ship’s portholes, Wigg found his mind returning to Eutracia. He took another sip of the excellent wine.