Rise of the Blood Royal dobas-3 Page 21

  “To what degree will you shrink the ships?” she demanded. Then she scowled and shook her head-she still couldn’t believe that she was asking such a thing.

  “That is of critical concern,” Faegan answered. “The smaller the object is to become, the more subtle matter is needed. To put it simply, we will shrink the ships at least to a size that fits through the opening to the Caves. As each ship shrinks, so too should its cradle. Each ship and cradle will be packed into a crate for safekeeping and carried to the Azure Sea by Minion warriors. They should be able to handle the loads, because as each ship shrinks, its weight becomes commensurate with its decreased size. If the warriors cannot easily carry them, we can help them with the craft.”

  Tristan reached for his cup and poured some more tea. After a time he shook his head, thinking.

  Can such a thing work? he wondered. If such learned mystics as Faegan, Wigg, Aeolus, and Jessamay believe so, then it must be possible. After all, the oil lamp shrank before my eyes. But a simple oil lamp and a massive Black Ship are very different things. After taking another sip of tea he placed the cup back atop its saucer. I’ll believe it when I see it, he thought.

  “Assuming for the moment that we are able to miniaturize the ships, some crucial decisions must be made,” Wigg said. Reaching out, he took Abbey by the hand. The look on the First Wizard’s face had again become somber.

  “Only certain Conclave members should make the voyage,” he added, “because some must remain behind to deal with the Viper Lord and his servants. Deciding who goes will not be easy. For some it will mean staying behind to wonder whether their loved ones will ever return. For others it will mean sailing off into the unknown, perhaps to their deaths. Who goes and who stays will be of prime importance, not only to reach Shashida but to protect Eutracia as well. The goals are equally important. In any event, one thing is certain.”

  “What is that?” Shailiha asked.

  “Regardless of what the other Conclave members do, Tristan must lead the voyage. And you must remain here, Princess,” Wigg answered.

  “Why?” Tristan asked.

  Faegan leaned forward. Like Wigg, his expression had turned gravely serious.

  “There are several reasons,” he said. “First, we know nothing about the Azure Sea or about what dangers it might hold. There is a great chance that whoever goes on this voyage will not survive it. If you and your sister die, the world will lose both the Chosen Ones. We cannot allow that to happen.”

  “Moreover, you are theJin’Sai, ” Wigg added. “The Tome clearly states that it will be you who must first try to fulfill your and Shailiha’s mutual destinies. The Envoys of Crysenium stated that it should be you who first returns to the other side of the world, not your sister. We believe that the late Envoys’ wishes should be respected. Regardless of who else goes, you should lead the voyage and Shailiha should remain here.”

  As usual, Wigg’s logic was irrefutable. Hoping that his sister hadn’t been hurt by the news, Tristan looked over and took one of her hands into his. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but Wigg is right. Will it disappoint you to stay behind?”

  Before Shailiha could answer, Faegan spoke up. “Do not worry, Princess,” he said. “Your mission will have equal importance with your brother’s. You must command the Conclave in its war against the Viper Lord. We mystics fear that the struggle will be far larger and deadlier than you might suppose. Failee’s ancient servant will not be easily defeated. Unless we win, Eutracia could perish, leaving Tristan and his group no one to come home to.”

  Understanding, Shailiha gave her brother’s hand a squeeze. “It seems that we each have our work cut out for us,” she said. “Just promise me one thing.”

  “Anything,” Tristan answered.

  The princess put on her best look of mock ferocity. “Just come home in one piece,” she ordered. “I’ve gotten rather used to having you around.”

  Tristan smiled at her. Just as he was about to respond, an urgent pounding came on the meeting room door. “Enter!” Tristan shouted.

  The door blew open to show Ox standing there. His chest was heaving and his face showed deep concern. Crossing the threshold, he hurried into the room.

  Tristan stood from his chair. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “Pardon, but one Night Witch patrol find man-snakes and their leader,” the warrior said. “Sigrid only one to survive. She hurt but Duvessa say she will be all right. All other Night Witches impaled. Sigrid say Tanglewood nearly all destroyed by fire and most people there dead.” As the massive warrior did his best to tell the tragic tale, Tristan could see the hatred building in his eyes.

  “Ox want to kill all man-snakes,” he said, his voice lowering to nearly a whisper. “WillJin’Sai come and lead us?”

  Tristan looked around the meeting table, then into his sister’s eyes. I will start this fight, he thought. But if I sail for Shashida, Shailiha must finish it. As if she were reading her brother’s mind, the princess nodded. He grimly nodded back.

  The war against Failee’s Viper Lord is beginning, Tristan realized. May the Afterlife protect us.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  IT IS HOT AGAIN TODAY, VESPASIAN THOUGHT, AS HE STARED out over the massive, bloodthirsty crowd. It was barely midday and already the huge red canopies had been stretched over the arena, shielding the spectators from the sun. After taking a sip of wine, the emperor again looked down at the carnage.

  So many skeens, centurions, and wild animals had already been killed that one couldn’t tell whether the sandy coliseum floor was bathed in blood or simply tinted by the sunlight filtering down through the red canopies. Scattered limbs, bodies, and organs lay partly submerged in the sand like bizarre islands in a sea of blood. Shattered chariots and smashed carriages lay about as though they had been tossed there by giants. Dead and dying horses, wild beasts, and weapons of all types could be seen by the hundreds.

  And yet the first act has not concluded, Vespasian thought. The games had been going on for four hours, but even now the first group of hard-fighting skeens continued to resist.

  The emperor turned to look at Persephone. Sensing his gaze, she returned his glance and smiled. She looked splendid in a yellow silk gown and delicate gold jewelry. Vespasian reached out to grasp her hand. Despite the ongoing spectacle, for a moment her easy smile made it seem as if the insane world inside the coliseum didn’t exist.

  She is so beautiful, he thought. And I love her beyond words. Surely she is the best part of me. After taking another sip of wine, Vespasian returned his attention to the games.

  This was the seventh day of what would soon become nearly a fortnight of death and mayhem taking place on the coliseum floor. Thousands of skeens and centurions and a host of wild animals had already perished for the amusement of the crowd. Every day seemed to bring with it some higher form of savage cruelty. Surprisingly, the unprecedented games had produced another effect besides delighting the mob. Because he had personally ordered these games, Vespasian’s already great popularity had risen even higher. Moreover, his newly proclaimed campaign against Shashida and his announcement of the successful auspicium had also added to his charisma.

  Graffiti had sprung up throughout Ellistium providing adoring testament to the emperor’s bravery, his vision, his amazing ability to use the craft. Heralds had taken to writing their own scripts that proclaimed Vespasian’s magnificence, and they were brazenly reading them aloud from their citywide towers. Young men-each one suddenly eager to become a part of their emperor’s new campaign-were joining the legions in record numbers. For the first time in decades the mood sweeping over Ellistium was wildly joyful. From the most august krithian all the way down to the lowliest phrygian tradesman, each believed that his august emperor could do no wrong.

  Vespasian looked around his viewing box. As usual, thePon Q’tar clerics were in attendance, as were the maidens of the Priory of Virtue. But Lucius and the other Tribunes were absent, readying their mighty legions for the new ca
mpaign. Those forces of the Imperial Order that were afield had been sent new directives telling them to withdraw from their current struggles and to turn north toward home. Vespasian realized that an order of that magnitude would surely alert the Shashidan Ones that something was brewing, but that couldn’t be helped.

  When the forces stationed in the capital were ready, they would move south to join their brothers. There they would regroup and head toward Shashidan territory. While the barges sailed south on the six rivers, the legions would curve around from the west and east, devouring Shashidan towns and armies while approaching the mines in a gigantic pincer movement. One week from now the capital troops would be ready to depart Ellistium. Once they joined their fellows, the combined invasion force would dwarf any in Rustannican history.

  Hearing the crowd roar again, Vespasian looked back down at the grisly spectacle. The combatants were reenacting the Rustannican victory at Messalina, a city that had been lost to the Shashidans three centuries ago and then retaken in one of the bloodiest and most protracted battles ever fought in the War of Attrition. Reenacting Rustannican victories was something that the mob especially relished. Although no details about the new campaign would be made public, its impending start was reason enough for the crowd to revel even more joyfully than usual in today’s retelling of a Rustannican military triumph.

  Vespasian watched as the Gates of Life swung open. Another ten chariots bearing three tribunes each raced into the arena to go charging toward the Shashidan skeens still alive on the sandy floor. Each chariot held a driver, an archer, and a lance thrower, every man an expert in his field.

  Of the one thousand skeens that had been shoved into the arena at the start of the day, only thirty remained standing. Most of them were bloodied and broken, and Vespasian doubted that they would survive this fresh onslaught by the tribune charioteers. Even so, he reminded himself that he could be proved wrong. The surviving skeens were clever and battle-hardened, and like all Vigors worshippers they would fight to the death. The crowd knew this and reveled in it. Chanting and stamping, they watched breathlessly as the ten chariots thundered in.

  Unlike other spectacles, battle reenactments were staged affairs that more or less accurately portrayed famous Rustannican military victories. With help from the craft, the entire coliseum floor could be flooded, allowing mock warships to actually fight and sail atop the waves. Reenacted sea battles were especially popular, and sometimes the small ocean entrapped within the arena walls was filled with sharks and other man-eating creatures, adding a brief but grisly flavor of unpredictability.

  Although their outcomes were a certainty, these reenacted battles were not entirely without a twisted brand of fairness. The Games Master was always careful to set equal numbers of centurions and skeens against each other. No craft use was allowed by the centurions, because all Shashidan skeens had been stripped of their power to use magic. The skeens were well armed and given various forms of terrain that they could use as cover. Beasts were often conjured from the mosaics adorning the arena walls to threaten and kill centurions and skeens alike, adding another unpredictable facet to the spectacle. The skeens were even granted food and water so that their strength would not falter and anger the crowd.

  Because the battle to retake Messalina had been fought in rugged terrain, a miniature mountain had been constructed of wood, painted gray, and placed in the center of the arena floor. Measuring nearly fifty meters across and nearly as high, during the previous night it had been brought piece by piece into the arena, where it was painstakingly rebuilt. Complete with rocks and foliage, from a distance the small mountain looked amazingly genuine. Wild man-eating animals that had been starved nearly to death roamed the entire area, threatening skeens and centurions alike.

  Despite such concessions made in the name of authenticity, the result was always a Rustannican victory, lest the usually drunken crowd stage a riot. And so ever more centurions-usually volunteers who were paid handsomely for the privilege of showing off their various skills before an adoring public-were continually sent in until the last of the skeens and the wild beasts were annihilated. If the skeens were proficient, killing them might take an entire day. Despite their contrived outcomes, the finales always resulted in jubilant crowds. Whenever a land or a sea battle was reenacted, the best seats often went for double the normal price, and the bet takers, wine merchants, and prostitutes were even busier than usual.

  Vespasian watched one chariot speed straight toward a group of skeens who had not been quick enough to take refuge on the mountain. The specially crafted chariot was a beautiful thing-too beautiful, Vespasian thought, to serve such an ugly purpose.

  The chariot was painted dark blue and adorned with gold filigree. Two magnificent black stallions sped it across the sand. The axle shafts running through each wheel hub had been extended, reaching a good two meters sideways from either side of the cart. The wildly spinning axles were also adorned with gold, and along their sides lay sharpened steel blades that spun madly with the revolutions of the chariot’s wheels. As the driver whipped the team the archer drew back his bow and the lance thrower hoisted his shining spear over one shoulder, preparing to strike.

  But the clever skeens acted quickly. Banding together, they placed their shields side by side and over their bodies, creating a dome that would provide them cover. Knowing that he had little time to lose, the chariot archer loosed his arrow. It pierced a skeen shield but did not reach its owner.

  Still the driver charged his chariot onward, directly toward the fragile house of shields. It seemed that he was intent on driving his team straight into it regardless of the outcome. Then the lance thrower tried, but his weapon skidded harmlessly across one of the angled shields and fell to the sand.

  The three charioteers immediately drew their swords. As the chariot charged ever nearer, the turtle of shields defiantly stood its ground. Just then Vespasian realized that the defiant skeens surely had a plan. They must act soon, he guessed, or they will be mowed down.

  Sensing that a great collision might occur, Vespasian quickly stood and cheered his centurions onward. Seeing their beloved emperor rise to his feet caused the crowd to shout even louder as they too anticipated the crash.

  Just as the chariot was about to mow them down, the skeens abandoned the turtle tactic and formed two straight lines on either side. Unable to change direction quickly enough, the chariot charged straight through the gap. But three of the skeens hadn’t been quick enough. Although they tried to jump aside, the axle spikes found them, slicing each of them through at the waist. Spurting blood, the grotesque halves tumbled to the thirsty sand.

  As the horses tore between the skeen lines, the surviving slaves plunged their swords deep into the stallions’ chests and struck out at their front legs. Screaming wildly, the two horses went down, the stumps of their severed front legs burying into the sand. As the crowd roared, the horses flipped forward onto their backs. Still harnessed to the team, the chariot also launched into the air, turning upside down and crashing ahead of the tortured horses. The three charioteers went flying onto the sand some distance away.

  The tables had been turned, and the centurions were now at the mercy of the skeens. Because the other nine chariots and their riders were busy elsewhere, Vespasian realized that this trio was done for. Before they could rise to their feet, the jubilant skeens were on them, hacking them to pieces. Starving animals then rushed in to pounce on two of the busy skeens and to devour the scattered corpse halves.

  Vespasian took a deep breath. So much blood and violence, he thought as he again sipped his wine. But that part of our nature must remain if we are to defeat the Shashidans. We must stay hard, brutal, and unyielding, for the price of our freedom is constant vigilance. Looking down, he used an index finger to thoughtfully trace the rim of his wine goblet.

  Perhaps if the Vigors are defeated we can someday forgo all violence, he mused. That is my secret dream. But I fear that brutality might be forever ingrained in
our blood signatures. After aeons of cultivating violence, it will not be easily dismissed, even if I can secure a lasting victory.

  He turned to look at Persephone again. Flushed with excitement, she watched eagerly as the fighting raged on. More centurions were being let into the arena to take the place of their fallen comrades, while the exhausted skeens could do nothing but watch and wonder how much longer it would take them to die. As Vespasian’s attention focused ever more on Persephone, he was reminded of the great request he had made of her the day before…

  “What bothers you so, my love?” Persephone asked. Dipping her sponge into the warm water again, she soothingly used it to rub Vespasian’s naked back. Closing his eyes, the emperor luxuriated in his wife’s loving gesture.

  There were only two places in the world where Vespasian felt that he commanded total privacy, and they were both in the royal residence. The first was in his and Persephone’s vast and luxurious bedchambers. The other was here in their private bath.

  Like attending the games, bathing-both public and private-had become something of an addiction in Ellistium. Most people used the public baths, but some of the wealthiest citizens possessed private baths. The public baths were often linked to other facilities such as massage rooms, meeting places, exercise areas, eateries, and shops. Sometimes the water was heated by the craft, but most often it was warmed in underground boilers connected to wood-burning furnaces and was then piped into the bathing pools. As would be expected, the royal bath was a sumptuous affair. Unless Vespasian and Persephone deigned to invite guests, this place was for their use alone.

  The room was large and beautifully appointed. Measuring thirty meters square, its walls and ceiling were made of the finest turquoise and onyx. The floor was a subtly patterned mosaic of white marble squares. A large rectangular skylight in the center of the ceiling allowed sunlight to flood in. A dozen fluted columns stretched from the floor to the ceiling to support the four sides of the massive skylight. The rest of the ceiling was comprised of a series of indented squares, each one bordered by ornate gold moldings and painted with a different scene from Rustannican antiquity. Shaped like the dark blue mosaic pool lying directly beneath it, the skylight let in not just sunlight but also rainwater, reducing the need to continually add more water.