Savage Messiah dobas-1

by Robert Newcomb

  Faegan scowled. "I needn't remind you that the ruptured orb lies that way."

  "Of course," Wigg answered.

  Deciding to change the subject, Faegan leaned back and placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. "Has Jessamay returned?" he asked.

  "No," Wigg answered. "But she can take care of herself. She was one of the most powerful sorceresses of the Vigors that we ever knew. We are indeed fortunate to have her back."

  "Are you quite sure about that?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm talking about her blood signature," Faegan replied. "You said that it now has no discernible lean. But what does that mean for us? It would seem to make her more prone to want to practice the Vagaries, would it not? And to what degree? I do not need to tell you how dangerous it would be for such a person to be privy to the Conclave's plans. In fact, she may already know too much."

  "I'm aware of your concerns," Wigg answered. "I have personally examined her signature. Since it shows no appreciable lean one way or the other, I am convinced that her past devotion to the Vigors and the basic goodness of her heart will win out. Besides, what other choice do we have? To forbid such a powerful sorceress to help us in this time of need would be inexcusable."

  "I suppose you're right," Faegan said.

  "When she returns you must make quick use of whatever information she brings you," Wigg cautioned. "If she has unearthed any link to Wulfgar's confederates or to the assassin Satine, you must deal with them quickly. But try to take at least one of them alive. The information they might provide could prove priceless."

  As he recalled Geldon and Lionel's deaths, Faegan's look became harsh. No one had to remind him about Satine. Only she and the Afterlife knew how many more she had disposed of during the course of her grisly career. And his wizard's pride was still stung over the way Reznik had outsmarted him at Valrenkium. This is far from over, he thought. But when all is said and done, I will be the one to end it. He looked back to Wigg.

  "Don't worry," he said. "Taking care of them will be my pleasure."

  Wigg gave him a slight smile. "I know," he said.

  Wigg reached out and ran his palm over one of the pages of the grimoire. The dry green ink and the wrinkled parchment felt dead, almost alien to his touch.

  "Do you miss her?" Faegan asked.

  Withdrawing his hand, Wigg sighed.

  "I miss what she once was," he answered. "But certainly not what she became. For the last three hundred years I have struggled against everything that she believed in. And now here we are, trying to employ her tools to help the Vigors. It's ironic, to say the least."

  "Indeed," Faegan answered. "This grimoire is a revelation, Wigg. I am only beginning to understand just how brilliant your late wife really was, and what an impact she has had on us all, right up to this very day."

  Wigg stood abruptly, his face unreadable. "Tristan, Celeste, and the Minions who are to accompany us await me in the courtyard. But before I go, tell me. Are you completely in agreement with our battle plans?"

  "Yes. Tyranny's fleet and what remains of the Minion fleet will guard the coast as best they can. She has been ordered to simply report the appearance of the enemy vessels-though if I know her, she will engage them, even though she has little or no chance against the Black Ships. Once we have learned when and where Wulfgar is about to land, Traax and I will hit him with everything we have. I seriously doubt that it will be enough."

  "And the flask that I brought back from Parthalon," Wigg said.

  "You have it hidden in a safe place? If it fell into the wrong hands, it would be disastrous."

  For the first time that day Faegan managed a slight smile. "Safe and sound, I promise," he said. "And by the way, I must compliment you. That was excellent thinking on your part. You will tell Tristan and Celeste about my idea?"

  "Of course. It's only right that they be informed. But I must tell you again how slim your chances of success seem to be. Still, if there is anyone who can do it, it is you."

  Faegan reached up to take Wigg's hand. "Even though I'm coming to see you off, I will say my goodbyes now, old friend," he said. "May you succeed in all that you are about to do."

  "And you," Wigg answered.

  The First Wizard released Faegan's hand, turned, and walked out the door. Leaving Failee's grimoire behind, Faegan followed along. As they traveled in silence back up to the palace, each wizard knew that he would need every bit of luck in the world. AS Tristan walked hand in hand with Celeste through the palace halls, he did his best to conceal his worry. The time enchantments that held her youth in place were clearly decaying at an accelerating rate. Her appearance had noticeably worsened.

  When she rose this morning and looked into one of the mirrors in their personal chambers, her eyes had filled with fear. Taking her in his arms, Tristan had done all he could to convince her that they would soon find the Scroll Master, and that everything would be all right. But even to him his words sounded hollow.

  Right before his eyes, the beautiful, vivacious woman Tristan loved was literally turning into someone else. Her once red, shining hair was becoming gray, brittle, and coarse. The crow's-feet around her eyes had deepened; folds had appeared in the skin of her neck. She was thinner. The brown jerkin and peasant's blouse she wore hung loosely on her frame, and she carried herself with less power and authority than she once had. Her gift with the azure bolts was fading, as well. It was almost as if she were wasting away from some disease.

  In a way that is exactly what is happening, Tristan thought as he walked beside her. She suffers with a disease of the blood-and it is my fault. If we cannot find the Scroll Master in time, I will lose her forever. My heart will never recover.

  As they approached the end of the hallway, the two Minion warriors standing guard snapped to attention. Tristan gave them a short nod. One of them quickly opened the paned glass doors, and the Jin'Sai and his new bride walked out into the sunshine of the rear courtyard.

  Everything seemed to be ready. A phalanx of fifty warriors waited on the grass, a litter laden with food and water beside them. Ox waited nearby, holding the reins of three saddled horses, one of them Shadow, whom Tristan had brought from Parthalon. When he saw Tristan, the black stallion flung up his head and whinnied impatiently.

  The other members of the Conclave and all of the palace gnomes had come to see them off. Tristan did not see Jessamay, and he realized that she must still be on her mission in Tammerland. Shawna stood front and center among the gnomes, Morganna in her arms. As they waited in the sun, each person seemed to display his or her particular brand of concern.

  Looking past the litters, Tristan saw the charred remains of the funeral pyres. Smoke still curled lazily into the air, and from where he and Celeste stood they could feel the lingering heat. Turning away, he walked Celeste over to the waiting crowd.

  Shailiha was the first to say goodbye. As she approached, Caprice fluttered gently overhead. Shailiha gave her brother and sister-in-law each a kiss on the cheek.

  "I want you both to be careful!" she said with mock ferociousness. Then she smiled. "I have every intention of becoming an aunt, and soon!"

  Tyranny walked forward to embrace them both. There was a rather tight smile on her face. As she hugged him, Tristan could sense that there was something brittle about her, and that was unusual. Given the circumstances, however, he decided not to pursue it. The privateer looked at Celeste, then the prince.

  "You just go and do what you have to, and don't worry about us," she said. "If Wulfgar is foolish enough to enter our waters, Scars and I will give him a proper reception, I promise you."

  "I know," Tristan answered. "We're counting on you."

  The prince found Traax standing alongside Duvessa and beckoned him forward.

  "Has there been any word from the warriors following the orb, or from those watching the pass through the Tolenkas?" Tristan asked.

  "No, my lord."

  "Or any messages from our ou
tposts on the coast?"

  Traax shook his head. "The land seems quiet, and that's what bothers me."

  Taking a step closer, Tristan placed one hand on Traax's shoulder. He was pleased to see that his second in command was no longer wearing his sling.

  "Do you remember your orders?" the prince asked.

  "Yes, my lord. We will do everything in our power to stop them."

  Movement at the other side of the courtyard suddenly caught the prince's eye. He looked over past Traax to see the two wizards approaching. As they came nearer, Tristan saw that Wigg wore the Paragon. Its bloodred highlights twinkled in the morning sun as it swung on its gold chain.

  "Is everything ready?" the First Wizard asked.

  Tristan nodded. "As ready as it can be," he said. "It's time to go."

  The rest of the Conclave and all of the palace gnomes came forward to say goodbye. Abbey walked up to Wigg and gave him a long kiss on the mouth. Wigg blushed. As if he suddenly needed something to do with his hands, he quickly looked down and unnecessarily smoothed out the folds of his robe. Faegan cackled softly.

  "That kiss was for luck," Abbey said. Smiling, she grabbed Wigg's robe and pulled him closer. "Come home safe, old man," the herbmistress whispered into his ear. "After being without you for nearly three hundred years, I wouldn't want to lose you now." Letting him go, she stepped back and wiped away a tear.

  The three of them walked to their horses. Wigg climbed onto his bay mare, and Tristan helped Celeste mount the gentle gray gelding he had selected for her. He took Shadow's reins from Ox and swung up into the black, hand-tooled saddle. As he wheeled Shadow around, the stallion danced eagerly beneath him.

  Tristan turned to give Shailiha a final look of farewell. She nodded back at her twin brother with a tight-lipped smile. Saying nothing more, the Jin'Sai trotted Shadow toward the rear gates, Wigg and Celeste following behind.

  Minion warriors swung the heavy portals wide. Without looking back Tristan led Wigg and Celeste out.

  Ox promptly shouted out a series of orders to the phalanx of waiting warriors, and they immediately took flight. A dozen more hoisted the heavy supply litter to their shoulders. A few moments later, they were gone as well. With a command from Faegan, the remaining warriors closed and locked the palace gates.

  As the crowd dispersed, Abbey came to stand by Faegan's chair. She placed one hand on the wizard's shoulder.

  "Do they really have any chance of success?" she asked him. "Does this Scroll Master even exist?"

  His face grim, Faegan looked up at her.

  "You are asking questions that I have no answers for," he said. "Just the same, Tristan and Wigg have to succeed. Our entire world depends upon it."

  Saying nothing more, Abbey wheeled Faegan's chair from the courtyard. As the Jin'sai and his group passed by, a haggard old woman waited quietly on horseback, partially concealed by the foliage lining the road. In one hand she held the reins of a loaded packhorse. She waited until both the group on horseback and the circling warriors were out of sight, then she carefully walked her horse out into the road and followed along behind.

  Realizing that one of her dagger sheaths was exposed, she covered it with the folds of her tattered dress and smiled slightly.

  CHAPTER LXVIII

  His face grim in the light of the fireplace, Faegan put down his wine glass. The tavern was a shabby-perhaps even dangerous-place to be, but it suited his needs. The four people sitting with him were eager to take action. It was early evening in Tammerland. The light of day was being slowly replaced by the softer glow coming from the lampposts bordering the street.

  "You and Scars are probably the only ones that they cannot identify," he whispered to Jessamay, who had returned only two hours earlier to tell her tale. "That's why you two are going in first. We have to know how many we're dealing with. When we see your signal, we'll come straight away. But remember, we want at least one of them taken alive."

  Pausing for a moment, the crippled wizard placed a hand on one of Jessamay's. "Is your spell still in place?" he asked.

  "My blood is well cloaked," she answered with a brief smile. "Just like the old days."

  "Just like the old days indeed," he replied. Glancing across the street one more time, Faegan decided that his little band was as ready as they'd ever be.

  "Go now," he said. "And may the Afterlife be with you."

  Jessamay and Scars rose from their chairs, walked quietly across the tavern, and went out through the double doors.

  As Faegan watched Jessamay and Scars walk toward the archery shop, his nerves coiled up. He knew that there were a thousand ways his makeshift plan could go wrong, but they needed to gain entrance to the shop today, before whoever was inside decided to close for the night. Further complicating matters was the fact that when they left the palace, Vivian had not yet returned. No one knew where she might be.

  Taking a deep breath, Jessamay opened the door of the shop and walked in with Scars. As the little bell at the top of the door jingled, the two of them looked around, wary.

  The place was empty save for the two men behind the counter. One of them was short and balding. Red garters held up the sleeves of his sweat-stained shirt. He looked like the type who would be perpetually nervous, regardless of the circumstances. The proprietor, Jessamay reasoned.

  The other man was the fellow she had seen at the fountain. He had close-cropped hair, dark eyes, and a hawk-beaked nose. Seated in a chair behind the counter, he slowly whittled a piece of wood. When he looked up at her, she could sense his innate intelligence. Of the two men, he was clearly the one to fear. He looked back down at his whittling and casually blew the freshly shaven wood chips to the floor.

  As Jessamay approached the counter with Scars, she felt the familiar tingle. Clearly, each of these men possessed endowed blood. But were they trained in the craft? Using the prearranged signal to inform Scars, she touched one finger to the side of her nose. Tyranny's first mate gave her a nearly imperceptible nod.

  Jessamay gathered up her nerve for her final test of the two men. If it proved what she already guessed to be true, she and Scars would have to move fast.

  Leaning his great bulk up against the counter, Scars looked the proprietor in the eye.

  "I need a good deer bow," he said. He jerked one thumb over his shoulder at Jessamay. "The wife and I are leaving town to go live in the country. They say there's trouble brewin' here in the city. If you were smart, you'd think about doin' the same."

  "A deer bow, you say?" the proprietor asked. "That will cost you. Deer bows are the most powerful, and it takes a long time to make a good one."

  "Show me," Scars said.

  The proprietor came out from behind the counter. Out of the corner of her eye Jessamay kept track of the fellow in the chair. Another sure, slow stroke of his whittling knife sent more fresh shavings to the floor.

  The proprietor walked to the far wall and took down a bow. Scars walked over to join him. The man handed it to him.

  "This is one of the strongest I have," he said. "Few men can even pull it. Why don't you give it a try?"

  "Give me a broadhead," Scars said. "Pulling a bow with an arrow in place is the only way I can tell whether I'll like it."

  After giving Scars a skeptical glance, the man provided him with a broadheaded hunting arrow. Scars notched it. He then extended his bow arm and easily pulled the arrow and string back to his chin. He looked as though he could have held it that way all day.

  He turned to face the rear of the shop. Acting the part of dutiful wife, Jessamay turned to admire his strength. She gave him a slight nod. Time for the second test, she thought.

  She turned back to examine the other man, who continued to whittle away. Steeling herself against whatever might happen next, Jessamay dropped the spell that cloaked her blood.

  The man immediately stiffened, and stopped his knife midstroke. Without looking up at her, he simply did nothing for a moment. Then he leaped to his feet.

&nb
sp; Jessamay turned toward Scars. "Now!" she shouted.

  Turning back toward the front of the shop, Scars loosed the arrow toward one of the store windows. The front of the shop exploded in shattered glass. Faegan glided his chair across the street; Tyranny and Shailiha, their swords drawn, ran as fast as they could behind him.

  "You bitch!" the man behind the counter screamed. "I'll kill you where you stand!" He raised his arms.

  Jessamay knew that she would not be able to summon the craft before the man behind the counter could. A split second before he loosed his azure bolts at her, she dropped to her knees.

  The twin streaks of pale blue light ripped across the top of the counter. As they passed they tore at her hair, and she felt their searing heat. To her horror, they streaked straight for Scars.

  At the last moment, Scars dropped the bow and grabbed the proprietor, lifted him off his feet, and held him up as a shield.

  The bolts struck the man in the chest and tore him apart. Scars angrily tossed the mangled body to one side.

  Jessamay crouched on the floor. Faegan, Tyranny, and Shailiha raced up the steps to the shop. Jessamay peeked up over the countertop just in time to hear the man growl another epithet before disappearing behind a worn curtain. She sprang to her feet and ran around the counter to follow him.

  She didn't want to rush down the stairs, but she saw no other choice. As she set foot upon the cellar floor, the man hurried toward a door in the far wall. Just as he entered the tunnel he loosed another bolt at Jessamay. It missed, obliterating the stairway behind her. Faegan lowered his chair into the room. The man ran into the tunnel, slamming the door behind him.

  Jessamay and Faegan hurried to the door. The sorceress was just about to open it when Faegan shouted at her and roughly pushed her to one side. Positioning his chair against the wall on the other side of the doorway, he called upon the craft.

  As soon as the door swung open, two more azure bolts tore from the tunnel and into the cellar. Had Jessamay been standing in the doorway she would have been killed instantly. The bolts streaked across the room and struck the far wall. Much of the brick edifice came thundering down, exposing the dirt behind it. As the smoke cleared, Jessamay saw Scars' strong arms lowering first Tyranny and then Shailiha down into the room.