The Scrolls of the Ancients tcobas-3

by Robert Newcomb

  Standing as close to it as she dared, she held out a piece of blank parchment recently taken from the Scroll of the Vagaries. Then she closed her eyes.

  Almost immediately, an azure window began to form in the main body of the flame. The partial adept opened her eyes and stared into the window in the fire.

  Eager to see the results, Krassus stepped up beside her and looked in. What he saw disappointed him, and his mouth twisted into a sneer.

  As had been the case every time before when trying to locate the Scroll of the Vigors, all that the gazing window revealed was blackness.

  CHAPTER

  Thirteen

  T win azure bolts, so strong and brilliant that they could barely be looked upon, seared across the expanse of the courtyard and smashed into the upright marble column with an earsplitting explosion. The ground shook from their impact.

  Once again the target had been destroyed, rent in two by the sheer force of the magic. As the smoke and dust cleared, it could be seen that the two huge chunks of marble had been thrown several meters apart. Many smaller fragments lay nearby, their shattered ends still smoldering from the heat.

  "Well done," Wigg said. "But your control over the bolts is still not all it could be. Remember, they are malleable, and their shape can be altered to suit your needs. Once you have mastered this stage, it will serve as the foundation for the finer applications of your gift, such as slicing through an object, manipulating an object, or even actually grasping something and lifting it into the air." In truth, he was stunned by the amazing progress his pupil had made in so short a time.

  "Now then, let's try again," he pressed. "But I want you to attempt a smaller target this time; say, the piece of column lying on the right." Smiling, he gave her a wink.

  "And this time," he continued, "use only one hand. Fold the thumb and last fingers of your right hand inward, and point only the remaining three. Using those three fingers alone, try to sustain the life of the bolts and slice the marble column into three equal segments, rather than simply destroying it. Remember," he added, "almost anyone trained in the craft can use the bolts to destroy. But only a master can employ them in a useful way, to create something that was not there before." A short smile graced his lips. "Whenever you're ready," he said quietly.

  "Yes, Father," Celeste answered.

  The early-morning sun shone down on the courtyard of the royal palace, where she and her wizard father stood. She was growing tired, and Wigg knew it. But he also knew that her fatigue was an invaluable part of her learning that would serve to build her endurance.

  Celeste raised her right arm and trapped her little finger beneath her thumb. Aiming the three remaining fingers at the piece of marble, she loosed three azure bolts, one from each fingertip.

  Concentrating, she turned her head slightly as she forced them to change shape, turning them into slim, razor-sharp edges of gleaming azure. They tore across the courtyard in a flash, easily finding their marks. Straining with every fiber of her being, she guided the bolts up and down against the column's fluted surface, trying to slice through the marble, rather than destroy it.

  For a short time she continued to move them successfully up and down against the polished, unforgiving surface of the stone. But then her aim slipped, and with it, her concentration. The bolts widened out again, and the column exploded loudly. It shattered into a thousand tiny pieces that flew high into the air before finally falling to the earth like dry, dusty rain.

  Exhausted, she sighed and lowered her arm.

  Shailiha walked up. Caprice, her violet-and-yellow flier of the fields, sat perched on her right forearm, the way a hunting hawk might.

  "You almost did it that time," she said, trying to reassure Celeste. "Surely it won't be long now before you grasp it."

  Celeste looked back at Shailiha with tired eyes. "Somehow, it doesn't feel that way," she answered back. Knowing the pain Shailiha was suffering over Tristan, she tried to give her a reassuring smile.

  Then she looked down to examine her fingertips. They were red and sore again. The effect would lessen over time, her father had told her. But right now it was one of the prices to be paid for learning to control her gift.

  Wigg put an arm around her shoulder. He knew he must take the time to teach her to control her Forestallment as quickly as possible. Under no circumstances could he allow another disaster such as the one that had occurred at Abbey's cottage. But it was hard for her to concentrate these days-and hard for him, too. Worry for Tristan filled all their hearts.

  When Wigg and Celeste had learned of Tristan's capture, their shock had given way to tears, their tears then pushed aside by anger and frustration. Faegan and Shailiha could offer no idea as to where the prince might be, or what he might be enduring at the hands of Krassus and his slavers. Worse yet, they didn't even know whether he still lived.

  After Tristan's defeat, Shailiha and Faegan had fled back to the campsite and their Minion guards, knowing the demonslavers couldn't be far behind. Upon learning of the prince's fate, Ox had gone nearly wild with grief. He begged to take his troops, few as they might be, and fly straight for Farpoint. In his rage he vowed to tear the town inside out, if necessary, to find the prince.

  But despite how much he desperately wished to see Tristan returned, Faegan couldn't allow it. A dozen Minion warriors, no matter how brave and skillful, would have had little chance against the untold numbers of demonslavers under Krassus' command. Besides, there was no time. As it was, the Minions had lifted their litter into the sky just as the slavers entered the moonlit glade, swords waving. With heavy hearts the winged warriors had flown north, safely returning the princess and the wizard to Tammerland.

  After everyone had returned to the Redoubt and told their stories, the lead wizard introduced Abbey to the group. The others did all they could to make her feel welcome, but it was obvious that she was wary of her new situation. Clearly, her trust was something that would have to be earned.

  Minion warriors were dispatched to her smashed cottage, and they returned with her entire collection of books, scrolls, and ledgers. Simply cataloguing them again had taken the better part of the last two days.

  Their first priority was to find Tristan. Abbey was the key, Wigg knew, to viewing subjects over great distances. But the herbs she required to ignite her gazing blaze were in short supply here in the Redoubt, despite the various species Faegan had growing in his atrium. For the last several days he and the partial adept had been trying to discover the most efficient way to overcome the shortfall.

  The wizards had of course considered sending squadrons of Minions aloft to scout for the ships that Faegan and Shailiha had seen at the docks in Farpoint, in case Tristan might be aboard one of them. But if and when they did sight a ship at sea, what were they to do? It had been too dark even for Faegan to read the names of the vessels that night in Farpoint. Having the Minions fly over and board every ship that plied the Sea of Whispers was not only impossible, but might also provoke unnecessary confrontations between the winged ones and what would surely be the terrified, confused seamen who saw the fearsome warriors suddenly descending on them.

  Nonetheless, several thousand of them, with the indefatigable Ox at their head, had volunteered to do just that. Out of sheer desperation, Wigg and Faegan had finally agreed. For the last six days the Minions had flown as far out over both land and sea as they could, only to return exhausted and disheartened, having seen no sign of the prince.

  Suddenly the voice of Shannon the Short broke into his thoughts.

  "Begging your pardon, Lead Wizard," he said, "but Master Faegan and Abbey have asked that you and the ladies join them in the Hall of Blood Records." Smoke billowed from the corncob pipe held between his teeth.

  Wigg took in the gnome's red hair, matching beard, and dark eyes. Shannon was dressed, as always, in his red shirt, blue bibs, and upturned shoes. A black watch cap sat atop his head, and his ever-present ale jug was firmly clamped in one hand. Shannon took a de
ep, irreverent slug of his brew, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  Despite his outward courtesy, there was always a hint of comic disrespect on the little one's face-especially where Wigg was concerned. Ever since the lead wizard had met Shannon, there had never been any question that the gnome accepted none but Faegan as his master.

  Wigg had never been fond of the gnomes, but he had to admit grudgingly that they had become trusted allies. Their courage had impressed even the lead wizard when they had helped defeat Nicholas' birds of prey in the invisible valley that guarded Shadowood, the home they had shared with Faegan for more than three centuries.

  Shannon cleared his throat. "They say it's important," he said.

  Wigg raised an eyebrow. Faegan and Abbey had been meeting almost nonstop for the last several days. Much of that time had been spent with Abbey showing Faegan her resource materials and explaining what she would need in the way of herbs, blossoms, and roots, while the crippled wizard tried to ascertain whether they were immediately available.

  Wigg sighed. They needed Abbey's abilities desperately just now. He hoped with all his heart that they were about to hear good news.

  W hen they reached the Hall of Blood Records, they found Abbey and Faegan engrossed in fervent conversation. Both looked tired; neither noticed the arrival of the others.

  Faegan was sitting in a newly constructed chair on wheels at the magnificent mahogany table in the center of the room. Abbey stood by his side, looking over his shoulder at a document. Every inch of the huge table was covered with Abbey's parchments, scrolls, and ledgers. Numerous blood signature documents had also been pulled, their storage left open, drawers yawning rudely before the imposing majesty of the room. Dozens of bottles of dried herbs sat on the table, many of them also open. Their combined odors spoke both of magic and of the ephemeral hope of success.

  Scowling, Wigg looked first at the argumentative Abbey and Faegan, then back to Shailiha and Celeste. Shaking his head slightly, he rolled his eyes.

  For three centuries he had wondered what might happen if the proud partial adept and the eccentric wizard in the chair ever met. He realized he was about to get his answer.

  While Abbey's and Faegan's voices continued to rise, Wigg sat down at the table and cleared his throat loudly.

  It didn't help.

  "And I'm telling you that blossom of sintrinium is no substitute for nectar of oleaster!" Abbey shouted. She threw her hands into the air. "It just won't work, no matter how much you'd like it to! If any substitutions are made, then either the gazing flame will burn too hot, thereby clouding the view, or there will be nothing to see at all! Trust me; I know what I'm talking about! These are time-honored formulas, and they must be respected! Half of the palace could go up with your tinkering!"

  "And I say you're wrong!" Faegan countered angrily, slapping one hand down on the arm of his chair.

  Looking at them, Wigg was absolutely certain that this had been going on for some time now, and it showed no signs of stopping.

  "If your charts of similars say sintrinium will work, then why won't it?" Faegan's jaw stuck out like the prow of a ship.

  "Because 'similar' does not mean 'equal'!" Abbey exclaimed. "This is a delicate process, not a parlor trick! We're trying to ignite a gazing flame, you old fool, not make rabbits scurry out from under your robes!" Exasperated, she ran one hand through her dark, gray-streaked hair.

  "Why don't you come and sit down?" Wigg asked Abbey. Startled, she glanced at him at last, and he pulled out the chair next to him.

  With a loud sigh, Abbey relented and walked over. Just before she sat down, she placed her lips next to Wigg's ear.

  "And I used to think that you could be difficult," she whispered.

  Fighting back a smile, the lead wizard turned his eyes to Faegan. "Is there a problem?" he asked politely.

  "Indeed," Faegan answered. "It seems your herbmistress is being uncooperative regarding my proposed substitution of certain ingredients needed for igniting her gazing flame. After careful review, it seems we do not possess all of the required elements. I was only trying to save us a trip back to Shadowood, where my selection of such goods is far greater. And I need remind none of you that time is not on our side."

  "Is he right?" Wigg asked Abbey. "Can we make substitutions to save time?"

  Abbey's attitude softened a bit. "At first glance, I can understand how Faegan might jump to that conclusion," she said. Leaning forward, she placed her forearms on the table. "But what both of you must realize is that the ingredients don't just help create the flame-they also serve as its ongoing fuel. The formula must be perfect. In addition, if you wish me to perform the ritual more than once, I shall need quite a lot of these substances. If substitutes are allowed, it simply will not work."

  Leaning back in her chair, she looked at the group. "It seems someone must go to Shadowood, wherever that is," she said simply.

  "This means that we must wait even longer before Abbey can use her gift to find Tristan, doesn't it?" Shailiha asked. Her lovely face had grown hard with frustration and anger. She was sick of waiting, and she was willing to do anything, risk anything, to bring her brother back.

  Wigg looked at her. Shailiha had always been strong-willed, but until the recent past there had been very little reason for her to display that trait. Now, especially with Tristan missing, things were vastly different.

  First had come the awakening of her Forestallment allowing her to communicate with the fliers of the fields. Then she had accompanied Tristan and Faegan to Farpoint, fighting alongside them as well as any man could have. She had taken her first lives, and Wigg suspected sadly that they would not be her last.

  Shailiha tossed back long, blond hair and turned her determined eyes to Faegan. "I'm tired of hearing you blather on about herbs and roots," she countered. "If you and Abbey must go to Shadowood, then do so, and quickly. But first I have questions, and I want the answers now."

  "As always, Princess, I will do my best," Faegan answered respectfully.

  "First of all," she began, "that night at the docks. I know the slaves were being branded, but why? What did the two branding irons say?"

  Pursing his lips, Faegan laced his gnarled fingers and tried to think of where to begin. "Wigg and I think we have part of the puzzle pieced together. But certainly not all of it," he said.

  "Please go on," the princess said.

  "One of the branding irons-the one that was used most often-said Talis. That is the Old Eutracian word for 'unendowed.' The other one read R'talis, or 'endowed.' The men in the blue robes sitting at the table were no doubt consuls of the Redoubt; some of those who were turned by Nicholas and swore allegiance to him. They are now unquestionably under the leadership of Krassus. We also believe that the person with Krassus that night was his partial adept-the one he bragged about the day he infiltrated the palace and attacked Wigg. When I described her to Abbey, she agreed that the woman sounded like the one who helped Krassus ransack her cottage."

  "What were the consuls at the table doing?" Shailiha asked.

  "Testing the blood of the slaves," Faegan answered. "If he or she was unendowed, as most of them would be, they were branded accordingly. If they were endowed, they were branded with the other iron."

  "But the consuls were doing more than that," Shailiha remembered. "There were strange tools on the tables before them. I couldn't make out what they were."

  "Tools like this?" Faegan asked. Unlacing his fingers, he reached under the table, and brought out two odd-looking objects.

  The first was a wooden frame holding an hourglass and a small vial. The vial contained what looked to be the vibrant red water of the Caves of the Paragon. The hourglass held what seemed to be no more than a dozen tiny black spheres.

  The second device was a three-legged wooden tripod, about half a meter in height, with a magnifying lens at its top. Embedded into the lens were dark, wire crosshairs. The two upper quadrants created by the wires were marked off on each si
de by degrees, from the vertical axis outward.

  Stymied, all the princess could do was look and wonder. She turned to Celeste, but the look on Celeste's face made it plain that she was as lost as Shailiha.

  Wigg pointed to the frame holding the hourglass and the vial. "This is called a blood criterion. Its purpose is to assay the quality of endowed blood. The lower the assay number, the higher the quality of the blood that is being examined. The plans for this device were found in the Tome of the Paragon during Faegan's first reading of it. The Ones Who Came Before, through their dictates in the Tome, ordered us to construct it and assay your blood immediately following your births. Just like the azure glow surrounding your deliveries, your blood ratings were further proof to the Directorate that you and Tristan were indeed the Chosen Ones."

  At the mention of Tristan, Shailiha's face darkened again. "How does it work?' she asked.

  "It's really quite simple," Wigg explained. "First, the criterion is placed upon a piece of parchment. Then a drop of the subject's blood is placed on the parchment a specific distance from the criterion. The hourglass is turned over at the exact moment a single drop of cave water is released from the vial and lands on the parchment. As you have already been taught, endowed blood and water from the Caves immediately attract, but to varying degrees, depending upon the quality of the blood. The stronger the blood, the faster the two seek each other out and join to form a signature. The number of spheres that drop in the time it takes for the two fluids to meet equates to the number of the blood quality."

  "Ingenious," Celeste said.

  Shailiha reached out and drew the tripod device toward her. Standing, she closed one eye and looked down through the lens.

  "Although simpler in design, this tool is as valuable as the criterion," Wigg went on. "The plans for it were also found in the Tome. Called a signature scope, it is used to determine whether the blood signature on the parchment beneath it leans to the left or the right, and to what degree. A high blood quality rating, coupled with a severe degree of lean one way or the other, results in a person of very great potential power, indeed."