The Scrolls of the Ancients tcobas-3

by Robert Newcomb

  "But if these Organic gifts are so potentially destructive, why allow them to be used at all?" Shailiha asked.

  "Because their potential to be used for good is just as strong," Faegan answered. "If all these aspects of the craft had not been preserved, knowledge of them would have died with the Ones. Even now we have no way of knowing how many of their arts may have vanished with the Ones' passing from the world."

  Suddenly something Faegan had said earlier began gnawing at the back of the prince's mind. "What is a blaze-gazer?" he asked.

  Faegan pursed his lips. "A blaze-gazer is a partial adept who is able to use herbs to see events that are occurring some distance away. Or so goes the myth. That art is said to be very rare, and almost always the province of women, rather than men."

  "Can you blaze-gaze?" Shailiha asked.

  "No," Faegan answered testily. True to form, he was becoming irritable at the questioning of his abilities. "Nor can any other wizard I have ever known-including Wigg. I would love to learn to blaze-gaze, but it is doubtful that a partial adept would ever share such knowledge with an outsider, or even that the Paragon would allow me that skill."

  "And Krassus now travels with a partial adept," Tristan mused. "Or at least he claims to."

  "Yes," Faegan agreed. "If what he said is true, that does not bode well for any of us."

  "Krassus said that Wigg knows one," Shailiha commented. "And the lead wizard became very defensive when we asked him about it. Could it be true?"

  Faegan raised an eyebrow. "First of all, it is Wigg's nature to be defensive," he said. "You know how secretive he can be. When he does not wish to speak about a subject, even wild mules can't pull the words out of him." A bit more somber now, Faegan looked out the window again.

  "You know, part of what Krassus said is quite valid," he mused.

  "What part?" Tristan asked.

  "He said that although I am the greatest keeper of the craft, Wigg is the greatest keeper of secrets," Faegan said softly. "That is so true. When thinking of Wigg, always remember that he has survived over three centuries in the maze of politics and magic that is Eutracia. The things he has seen and the secrets he still keeps may well be uncountable."

  Tristan sat back in the seat, thinking. Something Wigg had told them that day still haunted him.

  "Is it true?" he asked the ancient wizard. "Would Wigg have really done it? Would he do it still?"

  "Do what?" Faegan asked.

  "Would he truly kill Wulfgar, should our brother be found and his left-leaning blood signature induce him to the Vagaries?"

  Faegan's expression darkened. Removing his hands from the opposite sleeves of his robes, he leaned forward. "Would Wigg obey the orders of a dead queen, and kill your half sibling in order to protect the craft? Or for that matter, would I? And even more importantly, would the two of you let us? Or could you stop us, should you choose to try?" His gray-green eyes narrowed.

  "Those very thoughts have consumed my mind ever since Krassus revealed himself to us," the wizard said. "All I know right now is that we must find Wulfgar before he does, or none of it will matter. Not to mention these scrolls he searches for."

  Suddenly there came a harsh, insistent pounding upon the side of the litter. Ox stuck his head out the window.

  "Speak!" he ordered the Minion officer flying close by.

  "Farpoint approaches, sir!" the Minion shouted. "You ordered us to let you know when we neared!"

  Ox looked back questioningly at Tristan.

  "Tell him they should land us about one quarter league from the outskirts of the city," the prince ordered. "Place us down in the woods, if possible. We must not be seen."

  "I live to serve," Ox replied, and shouted Tristan's orders to his warriors. The litter began to tilt downward. Faegan's manner suddenly became even more serious.

  "It was only after much discussion that Wigg and I agreed to let you come here," he said. "In truth, I doubt we could have stopped you, anyway, short of using a wizard's warp on you both. But that doesn't mean that we think this is a good idea. If it is to be done, it will be done our way. I have not visited Farpoint for many years, but I remember it as an exceedingly rough place. Eutracian fishing towns always are. Tristan, I want you to push my chair for me. If questioned, you are to say that you are my bodyguard, and my ward. Shailiha, you are to pretend to be my nurse. Remember, we are here only to observe, not to participate." He pursed his lips.

  "One other thing," he said, sounding solemn. "Tristan, should anything untoward happen, I want you to employ your skills to protect us, rather than my resorting to the use of the craft. I don't want anyone here to know I am a wizard unless it becomes absolutely necessary. For all we know, Krassus may even be here. He has already sworn to kill Wigg and me. At the very least he is probably expecting us to take the bait by simply coming here. Therefore, I will be cloaking our endowed blood-a job that, because of the combined, exceedingly high quality of our blood, shall take a great deal of effort. Only in the direst of circumstances will I drop the cloak and employ the craft. Otherwise, it is your duty to protect us. And let me do the talking. The first thing I want to do is to find a carriage for hire. It will be faster and safer than walking the streets. Do you understand?"

  Both the Chosen Ones nodded.

  Faegan sighed and shook his head. "Then may the Afterlife watch over us."

  The six Minion warriors gently landed the litter in a small glade surrounded by fir trees. Then the other six landed, dreggans drawn, and formed a protective ring. The four occupants descended from the litter and onto the soft grass of the forest, the Minions handling the wizard's chair for him.

  "Stay here, out of sight," Tristan ordered Ox. It was plain to see by the look on the warrior's face that he was severely disappointed not to be coming along.

  "Sorry, my friend," the prince said with a smile. "But your presence in Farpoint would cause a commotion, to say the least! Light no fires. And send no sentries into the sky, as you normally would. Do, however, post guards in the woods. If you are found and must defend your lives, do so. But if your attackers are simple townsfolk, try to subdue them, rather than kill them. I do not know how long we may be gone, but wait for us. There is food and water stored in the litter."

  Ox clicked the heels of his boots together. "I live to serve."

  Tristan nodded back. With that he and Shailiha grasped Faegan's chair and began wheeling him out of the forest.

  Pushing the wooden chair through the thick undergrowth was very difficult. Faegan could have levitated it, of course, but they could not risk being spotted using the craft. At last they came upon a hardscrabble road, which was smooth enough that Tristan could manage the chair without Shailiha's help. Tristan longed to have Pilgrim, his dappled gray-and-white stallion, beneath him, but it was also good to stretch his legs, especially after the hours aboard the flying litter.

  The prince had made several official visits to Farpoint when his father and mother were alive, and he had to agree with Faegan that the fishing town was a rough-and-tumble place. The seafaring folk were a stern, tough, and uncompromising lot. They worked hard. And when they returned to town with their clothes full of the stink of fish and their pockets full of gold coins, they drank too much, gambled too much, and fought too much.

  It was not much longer until they entered the outskirts of the city, and Tristan, with Shailiha at his side, wheeled Faegan's chair down one of the streets he felt would most likely provide adequate livery service. His magically acquired beard itched.

  Several empty hansom cabs stood waiting on one side of the wide, cobblestoned boulevard. Tristan wheeled Faegan toward the first of them, and the old wizard turned his gray-green eyes up to the man sitting atop it.

  "Good day," he said politely. "Are you for hire?"

  "I don't be sittin' up here for my health, cripple," the driver snarled back. He spat, narrowly missing the wizard's feet.

  Faegan remained unperturbed. "How much?" he asked.

  "
How far?" the driver countered, his careful eyes examining the old man in the wheeled chair.

  Faegan took a slow breath. "We heard there is to be some special activity here today," he said. Then he winked conspiratorially up at the driver. When the driver remained silent, Faegan pressed, "You know the kind of activity I mean. And we have money to spend. But we are new here, and we do not know the way. Now will you take us there, or do we have to go to one of your competitors?"

  Blatantly craning his neck to look over at the next carriage, Faegan conjured some kisa-the gold coin of the realm-into one of his robe pockets. Reaching in, he jangled them together loudly.

  Scowling, the driver rubbed the salt-and-pepper grizzle on his chin. Then, looking down from his seat, he gestured toward Tristan.

  "Except for that nasty-looking bastard with the sword and the knives, you don't look like the usual lot who goes there," he said cautiously. "Not only that, but if the two younger ones know what's good for 'em, they won't go there at all. The white ones will be there, ya' know."

  This piqued Faegan's interest. "How much?" he demanded.

  "All right, all right!" the driver said. "Don't get your robe in a twist! Twelve kisa should do it."

  "Six!" Faegan countered.

  "Eight!" the driver hollered down.

  "Done!" the wizard said.

  "Get aboard." The driver sighed, reaching for his whip. It was abundantly clear from his posture that helping Faegan in was not going to be part of the bargain.

  Tristan opened the hansom door and helped Shailiha in, then walked around to the back of the coach. He was dismayed to see that there was no storage compartment large enough for Faegan's chair, and no way to secure it on top of the carriage.

  "Go ahead," Faegan said, giving Tristan a wink. "You're strong enough. I know you can do it."

  Smiling, the prince suddenly understood. Reaching down, he grabbed the chair, wizard and all, just as the driver finally decided to come down from atop his seat to berate them for taking so long. The man approached just in time to see Tristan smoothly, effortlessly lift both the wizard and chair and place them through the open door of the coach as though they weighed no more than a feather.

  The driver's eyes went wide; his grizzled jaw dropping with disbelief. "How in the name of the Afterlife did you do that?"

  As Tristan climbed into the carriage, Faegan poked his head out the window. "As I said, he's very strong." He winked mischievously.

  Scratching his head, the bewildered driver clambered back atop the carriage. With a whistle to his horses and a snap of his whip, the coach started rumbling down the streets of Farpoint.

  Despite the danger of their situation, both Tristan and Shailiha began to laugh.

  " 'He's very strong?' " Tristan asked the wizard. "I thought you weren't going to use the craft!"

  "I couldn't resist." Faegan chuckled. "The driver deserved it after all he put me through. I sensed no endowed blood nearby, so I dropped our cloak momentarily. We had to get me into the carriage somehow, didn't we? Besides, what is the good of being a wizard if you can't have some fun once in a while?" He cackled gleefully.

  Shaking his head and turning to look at his sister, Tristan had to laugh again. Traveling with Faegan was certainly different from traveling with the lead wizard!

  Looking out the carriage window, Faegan grew more serious. "Pay close attention as we go down the streets," he ordered. "If you notice anything unusual-anything at all-tell me right away. Remember, we still do not know where we are going, or what we will find when we get there."

  "Faegan, who are 'the white ones' the driver spoke of?" Shailiha asked. "He seemed to fear them."

  Faegan shook his head. "I have been wondering the same thing," he replied.

  Tristan looked out the window of the carriage. There were few people on the streets for this time of the day, he mused. Perhaps that was due to the fact that they were still on the outskirts of the city.

  At first that seemed to be the answer: As they continued farther into town, he began to see the usual smattering of elderly and middle-aged people going about their business. There were children, too, and the usual groupings of teenagers. But then he began to notice something else, and his blood ran cold.

  The city seemed to be completely devoid of people his own age.

  The longer he looked, the surer he became. He saw no one who looked to be between the years of twenty to forty Seasons of New Life.

  He told himself he was imagining things, that as they continued on, he'd certainly start to see more people of all ages. But he didn't.

  Then he noticed something else. Most of the people he saw seemed weary and downtrodden. Some were even sobbing. It was as if some great pall had descended over the town.

  He looked over at Faegan. "Do you see it?" he asked quietly. "Or am I dreaming?"

  Faegan looked somber. "This is no dream," he replied. "Something dark has come over this place, and we must find out what it is."

  He thought for a moment. Then he spoke again. "Tristan, I want you to go up and sit with the driver. He probably won't be happy about it, but be cordial. Try to get as much information out of him as you can without raising his suspicions. If you see anything untoward, return at once and inform me."

  Tristan nodded. After giving Shailiha a reassuring pat on the hand, he swung open the door and quickly hoisted himself up onto the driver's bench.

  Surprised, the grizzled driver glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?" he snapped. "You shouldn't be up here-especially not now. For the life of me I can't understand why you and the girl would want to do this. Hasn't the old cripple told you what's going on here? Is he insane, or just stupid?" He spat down loudly into the passing gutter.

  Tristan grinned. "The old one doesn't tell us a lot," he answered. "The sick old fool only hired me for my sword. The woman is his nurse. Truth be told, I don't know why we're here, either."

  He let several precious seconds go by. Then he put on his most innocent expression and asked, "Why don't you tell me what's going on here?"

  As if finally willing to answer Tristan's question, the driver turned to him. But just then, something seemed to catch his eye. Drawing a quick breath, he pulled the team of horses up short. The carriage came to an abrupt stop. Raising a finger, the driver pointed to a corner down the street.

  "Do you see them?" he whispered. His hands shook; his face was blanched with fear.

  Snapping his head around to look, Tristan caught sight of several strange-looking figures walking hurriedly away. They were tall, with white, almost translucent skin-but that was all he could make of them before they rounded the corner and vanished from sight.

  "Demonslavers," the driver whispered, so quietly that Tristan barely heard him.

  "What?" Tristan asked. The man's obvious terror was unnerving.

  "This is as far as I go!" the driver shouted, jumping down from his seat. "Everybody out!"

  Running around to the side of the carriage, he violently jerked the door open, grabbed Shailiha's arm, and literally pulled her out. By the time Tristan got there, the man was screaming at Faegan, ordering him to get out.

  "Very well, very well!" Faegan shouted back. He looked at Tristan. "If you would," he said.

  Understanding, Tristan reached in, retrieving the old one and his chair the same way he had placed them inside. But this time the driver didn't care about Tristan's supposedly amazing feat of strength. All he wanted was to leave, and quickly.

  "If you value your lives, go back to wherever you came from and forget this place!" he shouted frantically. "No power in the world can help this accursed town! If you remain foolish enough to carry on with this madness, the place you are searching for is the docks! But you would be insane to go there!" He climbed back into the carriage seat as fast as he could.

  With a crack of his whip, he wheeled his team around. "And if you know what's good for them, you'll get those two off the street before it's too late!" he hollered at Faegan, while po
inting to Tristan and his sister. With another lash from his whip he charged his team back down the way they had come, the horses' hooves colliding noisily with the cobblestones. In mere moments, he was gone.

  "What do we do now?" Tristan asked the wizard.

  A crowd had started to form. Some of the onlookers were staring oddly at the prince and Shailiha, as if they weren't human. Some started pointing. Many of them seemed to be angry.

  "The last thing we need is attention," Faegan whispered urgently. "For the time being, we'll get off the street. Any of these shops will do. I suggest we hurry!"

  Tristan saw a storefront with a sign in the shape of a mortar and pestle. The sign said "Apothecary-Drugs and Compounds." Swiftly he wheeled Faegan's chair around and, with Shailiha, made for the door.

  The double doors closed behind them with finality, a little bell at their top happily announcing the fact that the shop's proprietor had customers.

  Tristan looked around. They seemed to be the only people in here. The shop was quite large, lined with shelves and littered with tables all filled with multicolored bottles and jars. Everything was covered with a layer of dust, as if the merchandise hadn't been touched for years. A long counter stretched from wall to wall at the far end, with yet more wall cabinets behind it.

  A massive, circular oak chandelier hung by a rope over the center of the floor. The rope ran through a pulley in the ceiling and on to a hook attached to the far wall, a system that allowed for the raising and lowering of the fixture for the filling of its oil sconces. The chandelier was not lit.

  There was no sign of the proprietor. The place smelled of dust, lack of use, and countless exotic compounds.

  Wheeling himself up to one of the tables, Faegan picked up a bottle and examined it. Removing the cork, he smelled the contents. His eyes lit up.

  "Ground blossom of rapturegrass!" he cackled, triumphantly smacking one hand flat upon the arm of his chair. "I'd stake my life on it!" He appeared to be quite delighted. "I haven't seen this for decades!" He held the bottle up for Tristan and Shailiha to see. "Good for the libido," he added with a wink.