Savage Messiah

by Robert Newcomb

  Vivian’s knees buckled and she half-sat, half-stumbled into the chair. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Are they dead?” she asked.

  “The wizard is alive, but very much the worse for wear. As for Celeste, I have no idea. Nor do I care. I do not wish to speak of them. I wish to discuss you and your future in the craft.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have sought you out for a particular purpose,” he answered. “You should be honored. Tell me, what is your name? Do not lie, for I shall know.”

  As if it could somehow grant a modicum of safety, she retreated a bit more into the chair. “Vivian,” she answered. “Vivian, of the House of Wentworth.”

  For a moment Wulfgar searched her face. Then he smiled again.

  “As I walked in invisibility through the Redoubt, I searched for unusually gifted blood,” he said. “That is what brought me to your door, Vivian. Do you know that the quality of your blood is quite high? Whosoever of the acolytes would become my servant must have the quality of blood equal to the tasks that shall be asked of her. Sister Adrian—your would-be leader—would have been my first choice. But she is already above ground, among the others of your sisterhood. And for obvious reasons, what must be done to turn you to my cause can only occur in private. You are my second choice, Vivian.”

  As she began to understand Wulfgar’s horrible plan, her fear was slowly replaced by anger. She raised an arm and pointed at him. A narrow beam of the craft shot from her fingertips and barreled straight for his heart.

  Slowly, Wulfgar smiled and raised one hand. The azure beam crashed against his palm. The beam fizzled, then dripped harmlessly to the floor. Wulfgar lowered his hand.

  “Do not try that again, Vivian,” he said. “I have taken pains to find you, and my time grows short. Soon I must complete my business with the Orb of the Vigors. I do not wish to kill you, but if you try my patience again, I will not hesitate to do so.”

  “What do you want of me?”

  Wulfgar pursed his lips in thought.

  “I believe that my plan for the orb will succeed,” he said. “But if for some reason it should not yet I survive the day, I wish to leave someone here who is loyal to my cause. Such a person could be of great help to me in the future. The recently departed son of the Jin’Sai knew the value of an alternative plan, should his first one fail. His was to leave the Scrolls of the Ancients in the base of the Gates of Dawn. This very moment one of them floats by my side, while its mate is safely ensconced elsewhere. So you see, my child, Nicholas’ lessons were not lost upon me.”

  He took another step closer. Vivian cringed.

  “The small legacy of the craft that I plan to leave in my wake will be you, my dear,” he added.

  Wasting no more time, Wulfgar pointed at her and enveloped her in a wizard’s warp. She struggled to break free, but it was hopeless.

  He walked closer. Placing his hand upon her forehead, he smiled down at her. She tried to scream. She couldn’t.

  “There, there,” he cooed softly. “Do not fear, my child. You are about to receive the greatest of gifts. I shall redeem you from the twisted mire that is the Vigors, and deliver you to the light.” Wulfgar closed his eyes. An azure glow surrounded them both.

  Exquisite pain coursed through her, and her body jangled like a marionette’s, dancing convulsively upon some unseen master’s strings. Her blood pounded so hard through her veins that she could hear her own heartbeat. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and foam dripped from one corner of her mouth. The torment was unrelenting and all-encompassing. Finally it stopped. Wulfgar removed his hand from her forehead and the glow disappeared. She was drenched in sweat, but otherwise felt unharmed.

  “Rise and face your new lord,” he said.

  Vivian smiled as she stood up from the chair. She had never before felt so alive. Raising her arms over her head, she stretched her lithe body like a cat. Wulfgar saw that her gaze held nothing but adoration for him.

  “Whom do you serve?” he asked.

  “Only you, master.”

  “And which side of the craft do you cherish above life itself?”

  “Only the Vagaries.”

  “Extend one arm. I must be sure of my work. Do not be afraid. I will temporarily enhance your vision, so that you might see what I see.”

  Vivian held out one arm. Narrowing his eyes, Wulfgar caused a small incision to form in the soft underside of her wrist and a single blood droplet to well from it. The droplet hovered in the air and immediately began to twist itself into her blood signature.

  As she watched it revolve before her eyes, Vivian gasped. Her blood signature had been altered. It now tilted slightly to the left, indicating her new proclivity to practice the Vagaries.

  Satisfied, Wulfgar caused the blood signature to vanish and the incision to heal. Vivian stared at him with rapt admiration.

  “How is this possible, master?” she breathed.

  “In truth, I cannot take the credit,” Wulfgar answered. “Your conversion was accomplished via a little known but immensely powerful Forestallment, handed down by Failee, Wigg’s deceased wife. Ironic, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Vivian nodded.

  Wulfgar explained her new role as his spy here in the Redoubt. He taught her how to mask her blood signature with an image of her old one. He told her who Bratach was, and described his role in their cause. And he taught her how to use the grains of wheat to leave secret messages in the fountain. Satisfied, he had then taken his leave of her to go to the palace roof to confront the Orb of the Vigors.

  Wulfgar had not succeeded in polluting the orb that night. But upon reading the first message left for her by Bratach, Vivian had been overjoyed to learn that her new master had survived, and that he would soon return.

  Setting aside those memories, Vivian turned another corner to find herself in the roundabout, where the indigo of the coming night played deftly upon the fountain and its dancing waters. She walked to it and sat down upon its edge.

  This time she didn’t have to wait for the traffic in the roundabout to lessen. There was no one there to see her take the grains of wheat from her pocket, or notice the narrow bands of azure escaping from between her fingers.

  The azure slowly died, and Vivian placed her hand into the water.

  CHAPTER LIII

  _____

  AS THE DOOR HINGES CREAKED, TYRANNY REALIZED HER MISTAKE. In their haste to prepare an ambush for the approaching demonslavers, she and her little band had neglected to drag the dead slavers along with them. The monsters they had killed still lay sprawled across the stone room.

  As soon as they opened the door, the arriving demonslavers would surely see their fallen comrades, and any hope for surprise that Tyranny might have had would vanish in a flash.

  Tyranny looked desperately at Scars. He grimly shook his head, telling her that it was too late to do anything about it. Swallowing hard, Shailiha raised her sword a bit higher.

  Suddenly they heard a slaver call out, from somewhere along the guard path.

  “You, there!” the voice shouted. “No rest for your group yet! Get back to your posts and stay on patrol!”

  Still as death, the little war party in the stone room waited and listened. Then they heard some grumbling, and the door was pulled shut. The slavers’ footsteps retreated into the distance.

  Lowering her sword, Tyranny let go of the breath she had been holding. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she looked over at Shailiha and winked.

  Shailiha uncoiled a little and shook her head, but though she tried to scowl, she couldn’t hold back a smile.

  Placing one finger over her lips, Tyranny cracked open the door and peeked out. Then she shut the door and turned to the others.

  “Those slavers are back on patrol,” she whispered. “Now is as good a time as any to g
et going!”

  Shailiha shot her a look. “Don’t tell me you still mean to take us into the Citadel!”

  Tyranny nodded. “Indeed I do! But we can’t remain there for as long as I’d hoped. If these dead slavers weren’t due to go on duty quite yet, it certainly can’t be long from now. Once someone finds these bodies, this whole place is going to erupt. We have to go now!”

  She opened the door and cautiously ventured out. The others followed silently. Glancing at the sky, the privateer winced. The clouds had departed, and the three red moons blatantly cast the invaders’ dark shadows across the guard path.

  Their only option now was to have the Minion warriors fly Tyranny, Shailiha, and Scars down into the courtyard.

  K’jarr hoisted Tyranny into his arms. Then he suddenly froze, and his eyes widened. In the haunting moonlight, Tyranny could see the blood draining from his face.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispered urgently.

  Letting go with one arm, he pointed out to the ocean. “Look! Perhaps now you’ll believe me!”

  Twisting around, Tyranny gazed out over the moonlit water, and her own eyes widened in terror and amazement. “Get us out of here right now!” she ordered. “Over the ocean, not down into the courtyard!”

  Snapping open his wings, K’jarr took several running steps and launched himself into the air. The others followed.

  But as the Minions’ shadows rolled across the guard path, one of the distant, patrolling demonslavers saw them. He shouted an alarm. In mere moments the Citadel erupted into pandemonium as armed demonslavers began to pour out of the buildings below.

  K’jarr started to carve out a turn that would take them all back to the litter, but Tyranny stopped him.

  “No!” she shouted urgently. Removing one arm from around the warrior’s neck, she pointed down to the sea. “Take us there! We must see this!”

  Obeying at once, K’jarr changed course. As they watched, a large area of the sea roiled and burbled. Then a dark crow’s nest broke through the waves. The Black Ships were surfacing.

  Amid upheavals of dark seawater, all seven vessels burst from the ocean at once. As one, their black sails snapped open and the warships lurched forward, bounding across the waves.

  Her mouth hanging open, all Tyranny could do was to hold on to K’jarr and stare at the vessels, awestruck. K’jarr stopped to hover, and the warriors carrying Scars and Shailiha came up alongside.

  Each of the deadly looking vessels was easily five or six times the size of the Reprise. White-skinned demonslavers poured over their decks. In her current condition, Tyranny’s flagship didn’t have a chance of outrunning them, and the privateer knew it.

  “Get closer.” As she and K’jarr neared, Tyranny got her first glimpse of one of the Black Ships’ skeletal captains. He rode the bow of his surging ship, holding on to the rigging with one fleshless arm. His bones were as black as the vessel that carried him. His tattered uniform seemed somehow familiar, but she couldn’t place it. His eyes glowed with an eerie green; his teeth were white against the black of his skinless head. The moonlight glinted off the blade of the shiny sword he held aloft.

  The nighttime sky began to glow with azure for leagues in every direction, turning night into day. Swiveling her gaze back toward the Citadel, Tyranny squinted against the brilliant light.

  Two men and a woman stood on the shore. From this distance Tyranny couldn’t identify the obviously pregnant woman in the red gown, or the fellow in the dark blue robe. But she knew the other man—the one in the emerald-green silk jacket and matching trousers. It was Wulfgar.

  The Enseterat’s arms were raised, the glow streaming from his open hands setting the night sky wildly alight.

  Before Tyranny could order K’jarr and the others to flee, Wulfgar pointed in their direction. A narrow beam shot straight at them. Tyranny had never seen a bolt of the craft launched from so far away.

  The three warriors scattered frantically, the bolt narrowly missing them. As it roared past, Tyranny could feel its heat and wind tear at her hair and clothing. The force of the blast turned K’jarr over. With Tyranny holding on for dear life, he tumbled nearly fifty meters before stabilizing himself again. Trying to take stock of her surroundings, Tyranny saw that the other warriors still carried their passengers. Blessedly, none of them seemed to have been hurt.

  More azure bolts coursed through the air. Tyranny could see that the unknown man and woman were adding their own magic to Wulfgar’s. Soon the sky was full of the deadly streaking shafts.

  “Get us out of here!” Tyranny screamed. “Back to the litter!”

  With Tyranny, Scars, and Shailiha holding on tight, the three warriors turned and flew northwest as fast as their wings could take them. As they put some distance between themselves and the Citadel, the onslaught of azure bolts finally stopped.

  Thinking that they might finally be safe, Tyranny sighed in relief. Then she looked down again, and a chill went through her.

  The seven Black Ships were chasing them.

  The pursuing warships sailed in a straight battle line. Their speed was amazing, but they were not quite able to maintain the pace of the flying warriors, and they slowly lost ground. At first Tyranny was elated. But even Minion warriors would eventually tire, she realized.

  The Black Ships remained on course like a pack of dogs following a scent. Then she saw azure again—not in the sky, but upon the sea. The Black Ships were glowing.

  She watched in awe as the mighty vessels took on the color of the craft. The aura started at the vessels’ sterns, slowly engulfing each ship as it moved toward the bow and replacing black with the most brilliant hue of the craft she had ever seen.

  Tyranny had to admit that the vessels were magnificent. She looked over at Shailiha and Scars and saw that they were equally entranced.

  Suddenly she heard a great rumbling. Louder and louder it became, until she realized that it was coming from the vessels.

  The Black Ships were rising from the water.

  At first she thought she was seeing things. She blinked her eyes and looked again, but the scene remained the same. Seawater ran from the ships’ bottoms as they rose about ten meters above the waves. Their speed increased. Tyranny looked over at Shailiha. Her face grim, the princess shook her head.

  The Black Ships were gaining on them. Tyranny knew that the litter couldn’t be far away now. But if she caused it to glow, the ships’ captains would surely see it. If the Black Ships destroyed the litter, not only might they lose the remaining Minions, Micah, and the captured slaver, but the enchanted sextant would be lost as well. Worse yet, they still had to return to the Reprise well ahead of their pursuers, and Faegan’s portal would be leagues away from there, if it opened at all.

  Then she remembered something she had so glibly asked all of the others not so long ago, back inside the demonslaver guardhouse. If the Jin‘Sai were here, she wondered, what would he do?

  Panic gripped her; she had never been so unsure of herself in her life. Turning, she gazed forward and searched for the tiny litter.

  Suddenly she remembered the last command in Old Eutracian that Faegan had written down for her. He had told her to use it only in the direst of emergencies, for it would be difficult to control and he couldn’t guarantee how long it might last. Now it seemed their only hope. But first they would have to reach the litter well ahead of the Black Ships. Behind them, she could see the dark hulls looming ever closer.

  The chase was on.

  CHAPTER LIV

  _____

  AS FAEGAN SAT ALONE IN THE CHILLY, SUBTERRANEAN ROOM, he pulled the shawl closer around his shoulders. One night and much of the next day had passed since he and his group had been trapped here in Valrenkium, and he could still see no way out of their troubles. The blue-tinted blocks of ice standing against the walls twinkled back at him, only adding to his se
nse of outrage and disgust.

  He had ordered the entire village searched once more. This time, Reznik’s cellar had been discovered. Now one of Reznik’s handwritten texts lay open in the wizard’s lap. He was hoping that he might find notes to guide him in removing the strange stone lattice that entrapped them. So far, he had had no luck.

  Faegan was beginning to develop a feel for Reznik and his ways. Like Satine, Reznik was not only ruthless but also an expert in his chosen field. There would have been nothing, Faegan realized, that Reznik would have loved more than to add another insult to the wizard’s defeat.

  In his haste Reznik had been unable to take everything. It was Faegan’s guess that he had hidden much of what remained here in this cellar, where he hoped it wouldn’t be found. As Faegan examined the grisly treasures of the craft, he was forced to admit that despite how much he hated what had gone on here, the tools and texts of the Valrenkian’s various subdisciplines were fascinating. If Faegan and the warriors could escape this place, he had every intention of taking Reznik’s possessions back to the Redoubt for further study.

  The wizard sighed. This room—nay, this entire village—was a gigantic shop of horrors. He hadn’t seen this much evidence of twisted, secret torture since the Sorceresses’ War, and he hoped he would never have to again. Worse yet, he had not succeeded in his goal of wiping out the Valrenkians.

  He would give anything to know where these abusers of the craft had fled. He knew that there were greater problems in the realm to worry about, but no matter how long it might take, he would personally hunt down the Corporeals and kill them all. Not only because of their crimes against humanity, but also for their crimes against the craft.

  But first he and his warriors had to escape this place.

  He frowned as he remembered the old wizards’ axiom about survival. Popular during the Sorceresses’ War, it was called the Rule of Threes. Even wizards and sorceresses could survive without air for only three minutes, without water for three days, and without food for three weeks. Had he brought the right tools of the craft with him, he might have been able to conjure some food. But as it was, it seemed they were to remain desperately hungry. Fortunately, they had found a working well at one end of the square, so at least they would be spared dying of dehydration.