Savage Messiah dobas-1

by Robert Newcomb

  The First Wizard looked over at Faegan. "I'm sure that you will agree with me when I say that I should carry the Forestallment," Wigg said. "I have already employed the River of Thought, and I am familiar with its use. Therefore, augmenting my already existing Forestallment with the subdiscipline for the Scroll Master should be relatively simple-should one care to call it that. And then the prince will accompany me, as my blood searches out the Scroll Master."

  After thinking it over for a few moments, Faegan finally nodded his agreement.

  Wigg turned toward Tristan. "It seems that you and I are about to go on another adventure."

  Tristan nodded, but he felt torn. He knew how important it was for him to go with Wigg. But with Wulfgar on the way, part of the prince wanted to remain here to lead the Minions into battle. And he hated the idea of leaving Celeste. Would she still be alive when they came home? He couldn't bear the thought of losing her-or of her facing death without him or her father by her side. Then he had an idea. With hope in his eyes, he looked at Wigg.

  "We should take Celeste with us," he said. "Every moment is precious. If we are successful with the Scroll Master, then I could help her right then and there, without having to first return to the palace. This makes the most sense, does it not?"

  "You must have been reading my mind," Wigg said with a smile.

  "Of course she should come with us. We will go together in a Minion litter."

  "Begging your pardon, First Wizard, but taking a litter won't work," Adrian interjected. "You will need to go by horseback."

  Wigg's right eyebrow arched upward. "And just why is that?"

  "The flying Minions' pace will overcome the workings of the spell," she answered. "When you employed the River of Thought to bring the acolytes home, we found that we all shared something in common-an undeniable need to come as quickly as we could. Of course, that meant riding at a gallop. But every time we did, each of us seemed to somehow outpace the spell and we lost the feeling. When we slowed back down, the feeling reemerged. Flying Minions will be unencumbered by the lay of the land, able to fly in a straight line. Even bearing a litter, they will go too fast. And flying in circles just to slow down will end up exhausting them."

  Wigg rubbed his chin. "Interesting," he said. "Very well, we shall go by horseback. But we should have a phalanx of warriors accompany us with a litter full of supplies. If we need to come home quickly, they can fly us back."

  Tristan nodded, then turned to Traax.

  "In my absence, I leave Faegan in charge of the Minions. You are to follow his orders as if they were my own. Should Faegan fall in battle, then Shailiha will take charge. Do you understand?"

  Traax bowed his head. "It shall all be as you command."

  Tristan could see that everyone was tired-especially Tyranny and Shailiha, who had returned home only hours earlier. Further plans could wait while everyone took a break. But first he wanted to make an announcement. He reached for Celeste's hand. She smiled at him.

  "This meeting is adjourned for four hours," he said. "But before you all go, there is something I have to tell you." Taking a deep breath, Tristan smiled.

  "Three days ago, in Parthalon, Celeste and I were married. We waited to tell you because we wanted you all to hear our good news at the same time."

  After a few seconds of shocked silence, the group erupted with joy. Everyone immediately came to hug, kiss, and congratulate the newlyweds. Only Tyranny hung back, momentarily frozen in her chair. But then even she, face white, eyes suspiciously shiny, rose and went to give Tristan a quick kiss on one cheek.

  As the hoopla died down, Jessamay unexpectedly raised her voice.

  "I'm sorry to have to do this just now," she said, "but with the prince's indulgence, may I please ask that everyone sit back down for a few minutes? I would not ask if it wasn't very important. When you hear what I have to say, you'll understand."

  After passing curious looks among themselves, the members of the Conclave returned to their seats.

  "What is it?" the First Wizard asked.

  Jessamay took a deep breath. "I have something to tell you all," she began. "It is something that only I could know-something that could make a great difference in the impending struggle. I learned of it only after my arrival here at the palace."

  The sorceress paused for a few moments. As she did, Shailiha went to take up Morganna and bring the toddler back to the table to sit on her lap. A foreboding silence crept over the room.

  When she knew that she had everyone's attention, Jessamay began her tale.

  CHAPTER LXII

  Pushing with her heels, Satine casually rocked her chair back upon its two rear legs and took another sip of ale. It had gone flat some time ago, but she didn't care. Placing the pewter mug back on the table before her, she carefully looked around.

  The tavern was a forlorn, ramshackle place. She sat by a window that looked out on to the street. A small fire burned in the fireplace to her left, occasionally sending the comforting smells of smoke and soot her way.

  Other patrons-mostly men-sat at tables nearby, slowly drinking their way into the evening. Although she had received several curious glances when she first walked in, none had approached her, and for that she was thankful. She didn't need any unnecessary attention just now.

  Since she had killed Lionel, this was the first time she had departed the quiet, out-of the-way inn where she'd been staying on the other side of Tammerland. Now she kept an eye on the archery shop across the street, waiting until she felt it was safe to venture out to see what word Bratach had for her.

  So far she had seen nothing unusual. She had recognized none of the passersby in the street, and she had seen no one loitering about the shop. Several archery customers had come and gone, but that was to be expected.

  She lowered the front legs of her chair to the floor. Pulling several low-denomination kisa from her pocket, she let them jangle to the tabletop. Then she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and walked out of the tavern.

  Evening was falling and the air had become cooler. Leaning casually up against the outside wall, she looked up and down the street. She saw nothing to concern her. But there were still two customers inside the shop and she wanted them gone before she walked over.

  To pass the time she watched a ragged lamplighter approach. Carrying a ladder, he trudged slowly along from one lamp pole to the next. Hunched over and ancient-looking, he was blanketed with soot.

  He leaned the ladder up against the pole before the inn and climbed up to remove the globe. He lit the wick, and the lamp came alive, casting his shadow long across the ground. He replaced the globe, then climbed down, picked up his ladder, and slowly made his way toward the next pole.

  What a fruitless existence, Satine thought as she watched him. How much better it is to be a huntress. If I die, at least I will die quickly rather than slowly, from sheer boredom.

  She suddenly found herself thinking of Aeolus, and the Serpent and the Sword. She had not been back to see her onetime master since she had swung through the skylight and choked one of his students unconscious. She missed the old man, and hoped that he was well. She also missed the hard, ascetic life that the school had once forced her to tolerate, before she had come to love it. Often she wished that she could go back there for good and live in peace. Perhaps one day, she thought. But only after all of this is over.

  At the sound of the archery shop door opening and closing, she turned to see the two last customers leaving.

  Glad for the darkening night, Satine shifted her weight away from the wall and walked quickly across the street. She opened the door and stepped in, the little bell at the top of the door cheerfully announcing her presence. She lowered the hood of her cloak and looked around.

  Ivan was alone, standing behind the counter. When he saw her, his expression darkened. He nervously pointed to the front of the shop.

  "Lock the door, turn the sign around, and pull the shades!" he said anxiously. As Satine turne
d back to do as he asked, he growled, "We expected to see you here before this! Where have you been?"

  Satine walked to the counter and gave Ivan a hard look.

  "That's my business," she shot back. "Is he here?"

  Ivan nodded and waved her around to the other side of the counter. He walked to the rear of the shop and parted the curtains. Cautious as ever, Satine place her hands loosely atop her dagger hilts and followed Ivan down the stairs.

  Bratach sat alone at the shabby table. As Ivan and Satine descended into the basement, the consul looked up. He smiled.

  "Take a seat," he said to them.

  Ivan sat down. Satine turned a chair around to straddle it. Bratach lifted a half-full bottle of wine and held it out to her. Satine shook her head. He refilled his glass.

  "Suit yourself," he said. "By the way, Lionel the Little, as he was called, is quite dead. He committed suicide in his own quarters three nights ago-and in the royal palace, of all places. It was a hanging followed by a disembowelment. What a mess! Just imagine the uproar it caused!"

  It was clear that despite his sarcasm the consul was impressed-a rare occurrence. Holding the wine glass high, he tipped it in her direction. After talking a sip, he placed the glass back on the table.

  "How on earth did you manage it?" he asked. "I half expected never to see you again. But here you are."

  Leaning her forearms on the back of the chair, Satine smirked at him.

  "No assassination is impossible," she answered. "I thought you might understand that by now. I told you I could do it, and I did." She flashed Bratach a look that was all business.

  "I didn't come here to listen to something I already know," she said.

  "The sign in the shop window tells me that you have news. It had better be more than the fact that the gnome has met his maker."

  Bratach looked at Ivan, then back at Satine. "Oh, my news is important, I assure you," he said. "But you aren't going to like it."

  "Tell me."

  "The wizards of the Redoubt know who you are. Worse yet, they have your description."

  Her jaw set, Satine took a breath and sat back a little.

  "How?" she asked.

  "A captured Valrenkium told them. The prince's Minions took him from his village and the wizards forced him to talk. They also know about Reznik. We have no word that search parties have been sent out looking for you, but we don't know that they haven't been, either. How do you wish to proceed?"

  Taking a deep breath, Satine looked toward the ceiling. This was the worst possible news. Still, she remained calm. She looked back at Bratach.

  "I will continue with the sanctions," she said.

  Bratach looked narrowly at her. "Very well-it's your neck. I needn't tell you that you must use extreme caution from now on. Wulfgar will be arriving soon. Because of that we have decided to up the ante, so to speak. This will only make things more difficult for you, but there it is."

  "What do you mean?"

  Bratach reached into his robe and produced a parchment, which he flattened on the tabletop. He picked up a knife and rammed it through one of the portraits depicted there.

  "This is your next victim," he said. "I suggest you approach your task with care."

  Satine recognized the face immediately. They've upped the ante indeed, she thought.

  "What else can you tell me?"

  "Very little, I'm afraid. As far as we know this person is still out of the country. We await word from our confederate inside the palace. When we have more information, we will tell you. Until then you must wait."

  Looking around the dingy cellar, Bratach smiled. "Might I recommend that you hide here until we learn more? I know it's not much, but staying here would save you time."

  Satine shook her head. This was the last place she wanted to be holed up. Now that the wizards had her description, she knew she needed to stay off the streets, but it wouldn't be here, in a dank cellar with Wulfgar's consul and his greasy lackey.

  "I'll make my own arrangements," she said.

  "Very well," Bratach answered. "But you must check the shop window every day-twice a day would be even better. We cannot be sure when your target will return to Eutracia. But when it happens, you'll have to move fast."

  Nodding her agreement, Satine stood from the chair. "Is there anything else?"

  Bratach shook his head. "Just make sure that you come into the shop the moment you see that we have news for you."

  Satine walked to the door. As she opened it, its hinges creaked. It would be a long walk back around to pick up her horse, but it would be the safest way.

  After giving the two men a final look, she entered the tunnel and closed the door behind her. The winding, dimly lit passage yawned before her.

  She had been wise to refuse Bratach's offer to stay in the cellar. But she also knew that she could no longer risk staying at the inn she had chosen. After going back to collect her things, she would have to move on. As the sound of her footsteps rang out against the bricks in the tunnel floor, her mouth turned up into a slight smile.

  The Gray Fox knew exactly where to go, but there were things she needed to do first.

  PART 4 DELIVERANCE

  CHAPTER LXIII

  "Even if we find the Scroll Master and make Tristan's blood whole again, Faegan and I fear that his struggle against his half brother may alter the craft forever. But if the craft is to survive, the confrontation must occur-no matter the outcome…" -Wigg as Tristan entered the little room and saw the demonslaver in the glowing cage, he couldn't help but have mixed feelings. Forced into slavery by the consul Krassus, then morphed into the nightmarish creature now glaring back at them, this being had once been a Eutracian citizen. Did I once know this person? the prince asked himself. If I did, does it matter now?

  Wigg, Faegan, and the prince had come to this lonely chamber of the Redoubt just after Tristan dismissed the Conclave. Wigg, Tristan, and Celeste would depart Tammerland soon. If Wulfgar attacked before they returned, Faegan and the others would be left alone to defend the capital. Whatever information they might glean from the slaver could prove vital.

  The cage Wigg had conjured to hold the demonslaver was fairly large. The azure bars shone brightly in the relative darkness of the otherwise empty room. A tray of uneaten food and a flask of water lay on the floor of the cage.

  When the demonslaver saw them approach he charged angrily to the front of the cage, the black talons at the ends of his fingers curling tightly around the bars. Curling his lips back, he hissed at them, his pointed teeth and black tongue showing up eerily in the glowing light of the cage.

  "Trying to get answers from him without the use of the craft will be pointless," Tristan warned Wigg. "I suggest we don't waste the time."

  Nodding, Wigg looked over at Faegan.

  "I agree," the crippled wizard said. "Let's get on with it."

  Wigg closed his eyes. The demonslaver's eyes went wide, and his head snapped back and then came slowly forward again. His demeanor gradually calmed. He let go of the azure bars, and his muscular arms fell to his sides.

  Wigg opened his eyes and looked at the demonslaver. "What are Wulfgar's battle plans?" he asked.

  "I do not know," the slaver answered. "I am only a guard. We do not have access to such information."

  "How many demonslavers does the Enseterat command?" Tristan demanded.

  "Perhaps ten thousand. Many were lost in the sea battles with the prince's warriors."

  "How many consuls reside upon the Isle of the Citadel?" Faegan asked.

  "There are many there who wear the blue robe," their prisoner answered, "but I do not know their numbers. The most senior among them is named Einar."

  Tristan saw a flash of recognition cross Wigg's face. "Do you know this Einar?" the prince asked the wizard.

  Wigg nodded. "He is of highly endowed blood and an expert regarding the various calculations of the craft. Wulfgar could not have made a better choice to sit at his right hand."


  "Is Wulfgar in possession of the Scroll of the Vagaries?" Faegan asked the demonslaver.

  "I have no knowledge of such things."

  "Who is Wulfgar's woman?" Tristan asked.

  "She is Serena, his queen. She is pregnant with his daughter. She will give birth in two moons."

  Wigg and Faegan exchanged grave looks. "What are Wulfgar's plans for the Black Ships?" Faegan asked.

  "He will use them to crush the Jin'Sai. The Black Ships now carry great beasts-beasts too massive for demonslaver vessels to hold. That is why the Black Ships and their captains were summoned from the depths of the sea. But that is all I know about them."

  His eyes alive with curiosity, Faegan wheeled his chair closer to the cage. "Tell us more about these beasts," he said.

  "They are huge things, their backs so long that twenty of us can ride them at one time. Their tails end in massive, bony paddles. When they walk, the ground literally trembles beneath their feet. Our lord calls them Earthshakers."

  Pulling thoughtfully on his beard, Faegan sat back in his chair. "What else can you tell us?"

  "I know nothing more. I am only a guard. Guards are never made privy to our lord's plans, or granted access to the inner recesses of the Citadel."

  Tristan looked at Wigg. "Can you tell whether he's hiding anything from us?"

  Wigg closed his eyes again. After several more moments went by, he looked back at Tristan and Faegan and shook his head.

  "I hate to say it, but I believe him," Wigg answered. "We'll get no more out of this one, for he has no more to give. Like the Minions, it seems that the demonslavers have a strict chain of command. Within the demonslaver cadres, this one ranks among the lowest of the low."

  They heard a knock on the door. Tristan walked over and opened it to see Shannon the Small standing there, his ever-present ale jug gripped firmly in one hand. A puff of blue smoke rose from his corncob pipe. There was a sad look on his face.

  "Please forgive the intrusion," he said, "but the others asked me to come and tell you that all has been made ready. Everyone is gathered and waiting."