The stone lattice still spanned the entire village. He didn’t dare venture into the trap-filled maze, the only other way out of this madhouse. Some of the warriors had volunteered to brave it, to see if they could make it to the other side. The offer had been tempting, but in the end the wizard’s heart couldn’t allow it.
But what worried him the most were his fellow members of the Conclave who were no longer in Eutracia—Tristan, Wigg, and Celeste in Parthalon, and Tyranny and Shailiha somewhere out upon the Sea of Whispers. By now they might all desperately need his help to return home, and he couldn’t give it.
Finally his frustration got the better of him. In a rare display of anger he threw the text he had been reading across the room. When several of Reznik’s macabre bottles shattered, it did his heart good.
“I surrender!” a voice boomed from the other side of the cellar.
Wheeling his chair around, Faegan saw Traax descend the steps. There was an unexpected smile on the warrior’s face. Faegan scowled.
“It would be a shame to kill me, wizard, for I bring good news!” Traax said. When he reached the dirt floor, he planted his hands on his hips and his smile widened.
“What is it?” Faegan asked skeptically. His gray-green eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a way out of this zoo!”
“Perhaps! Abbey, Sister Adrian, and Ottikar have found us! The captured Valrenkian Uther is with them! He must certainly know how to navigate the maze!”
His heart leaping, Faegan tossed the shawl aside, levitated his chair, and sailed up and out of the cellar. Traax quickly followed.
The scene in the square was jubilant. It was midevening, and the torches were lit. The warriors had gathered on one side of the square, and they cheered as they looked up through the stone latticework. Duvessa and Ox beamed at Faegan and Traax as they approached. Looking up, Faegan smiled. He couldn’t have hoped for more.
Just beyond the latticework, Abbey and Adrian stood in a Minion litter borne aloft by six stout warriors. The women were smiling broadly. A phalanx of warriors surrounded them, and off to one side, Ottikar and another warrior held Uther between them by his wrists.
Apparently the Valrenkian hadn’t been given the comfort of a litter. He dangled precariously, the torchlight showing his face red with anger and embarrassment. The warriors in the village shouted invectives at him, many of them calling for his head. For the first time since entering the village, Faegan smiled.
“This seems a fine mess you’ve gotten everyone into!” Abbey shouted down at him. Despite the seriousness of the situation she couldn’t resist poking some fun at him. “Do you mean to say that even your powers cannot break these stone bars?”
Folding his arms over his chest, Faegan scowled. Levitating his chair he soared as close to Abbey and Adrian’s litter as the lattice would allow.
“That’s exactly what I mean!” he answered gruffly. Then his face registered concern. “Have you heard from Tristan and Wigg, or Shailiha and Tyranny?”
The women’s faces turned grim. “There is no word from them,” Abbey answered. “But that does not mean that there is reason for alarm.” Then she bit her lower lip and looked down at her hands.
Sensing trouble, Faegan leaned forward and peered through the latticework. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
“I am sorry. There is no other way to say it. Lionel the Little is dead.”
A hush went over the crowd. Duvessa looked to Traax, who took her hand. Ox raged silently, his face red.
Stunned, Faegan sat back in his chair, staring out at nothing. Then he closed them. First Geldon, he thought, and now Lionel. No one on either side of the stone lattice said a word.
Finally Faegan balled his hands into fists, pounded on the arms of his chair, and opened his eyes. His entire body trembled with fury.
“Satine?” he whispered.
Abbey nodded. “We believe so. We won’t be sure until you perform the necropsy. Before we left the palace, Sister Adrian conjured a preservative field around the body. Lionel’s symptoms were the same as Glendon’s—madness followed by apparent suicide. If it was Satine, she crept right by the Minion guards and somehow poisoned Lionel in his sleep.”
Several more moments of silence passed.
“How did he die?” the wizard asked at last.
Abbey took a deep breath. “He hanged himself.”
Uther began to laugh out loud. His jaw hardening, Faegan turned his deadly gaze toward the Valrenkian. Ottikar and the other warrior struggled to hold on to the prisoner as pandemonium erupted on both sides of the latticework and several free Minions tried to attack the Valrenkian.
“Stop it!” Faegan shouted. “Don’t you see? We need him!”
Realizing that his raspy voice was being drowned out by the incensed warriors, the wizard extended one hand and sent an explosive bolt skyward, shooting between the stone bars. The warriors gradually calmed.
Faegan glared at them, then pointed at Uther.
“We need his knowledge of the maze!” he shouted. Then he leveled his iron gaze on the Valrenkian once more. “But once we are free,” he added, “I just might hand him over to you.”
Uther sneered haughtily at the wizard. “No, you won’t! It’s common knowledge that every member of the late Directorate took a vow against murder! Stop bluffing! It will do you no good!”
Faegan’s return glare was as cold as ice.
“You’re wrong, Corporeal,” he growled. “I was never a member of the Directorate. I suffer no such restriction. Your comrades have conspired in the murders of two people I loved very much. If you wish to see another day, I suggest you cooperate.”
Stunned, Abbey looked over at Adrian. Neither of them had ever seen the wizard so angry. Would he really kill Uther in cold blood? Abbey decided that it was time to intervene. She removed the parchment from within her robe.
The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
Abbey passed it through the bars.
“It’s Uther’s guide through the sandstone maze,” she answered, then she and Adrian explained how they had induced him to draw it for them.
Faegan unrolled the map and examined it, then looked back at the women.
“Well done,” he said. “But how do we know it’s valid? He may be trying to trick us.”
“We believe it to be accurate,” Adrian answered. “But we think it best that you enter Uther’s mind, just to be sure.”
Faegan nodded. He looked at the two warriors still dangling Uther in the air. “Hold him tightly,” he ordered.
Ottikar gave the other warrior a nod and they put a bit more distance between them, tightening the stretch on Uther’s arms. The Valrenkian winced.
“Good,” Faegan said. He closed his eyes.
Smiling, Adrian and Abbey waited. Any moment now the Valrenkian’s head would snap back and his eyes would widen. And then they would have their answer.
But as the moments went by the women began to wonder, and then to worry. Uther seemed completely unaffected. No azure glow appeared around him, and he continued to smile wickedly at the wizard. Abbey and Adrian turned to each other with concern. Then they looked back at Faegan.
Beads of sweat had broken out along on the wizard’s brow, and his face clearly showed signs of strain. Finally he let out a long breath and he opened his eyes. Had he given up?
“What’s wrong?” Adrian asked.
“I am able to call the spell, but not to use it upon him,” Faegan answered.
The women were stunned. “But how can that be?” Abbey asked. “His powers don’t begin to rival yours!”
Thinking to himself, Faegan rubbed his face with his hands.
“The two of you must have inadvertently made him immune to the particular set of calculations required to deeply enter his mind,” he answered at last.
“Tell me more about this serum that you made,” he said to Abbey.
“Did you use laurel seed?”
Abbey nodded.
“And mandrake?”
“Of course. You’re an expert herbmaster. You know the formula as well as I. I had to recall it from memory, but I think I got it right. It calls for both of those herbs, plus several more.”
“It’s not your fault—neither of you,” Faegan said. He shook his head.
“What you didn’t know is that when laurel and mandrake are mixed for this purpose, they must never be enhanced with an additional spell of the mind. To do so inures the subject against further such intrusions for all time. Adrian couldn’t have known, because she has little or no knowledge of herbmastery. And Abbey, you didn’t know because you are unfamiliar with spells that your partial blood signature lacks the power to employ. Only a full wizard or sorceress who was also an herbmaster would know this. You both have much left to learn, but I commend you for trying.”
“I’m sorry,” Abbey said.
“Don’t be,” Faegan answered. “You did what you thought best.” He trained his gaze back upon the Valrenkian.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked.
Uther grinned. “Of course, you old fool! I knew what was going on the moment I saw the beaker of green fluid in your herbmistress’ hands. They obviously needed information, and any herbalist worth his salt knows that the formula for the serum contains both mandrake and laurel. You know as well as I that it’s the laurel that gives the solution its distinctive color. And why else would a Sister of the Redoubt be there, too, unless it was to help augment the serum with a spell? I was fully aware of how this combination would inure me. Your servants have given me a gift that I could never have attained on my own. How ironic! I put on quite a show at the time, but I wanted this, wizard—and badly. Your women willingly gave it to me.”
Abbey’s face grew hard. Her hands were balled up into fists, her knuckles white. Then she thought for a moment, and looked to Faegan.
“Just because you can’t enter his mind now, that doesn’t mean that at the time of their application our efforts weren’t successful, right?” she mused. “In fact, how could they not have been? For all we know, the map might well be genuine.”
Faegan nodded. “Or a complete fabrication,” he warned.
Traax stepped forward. “There’s one way to find out!” he said harshly. “Leave me alone with this animal! I’ll get the truth out of him!”
Swiveling around in his chair, Faegan looked at Traax. He knew that the warrior meant well, but he obviously hadn’t thought his plan through.
“Don’t you see?” the wizard asked softly. “That won’t do any good.”
“And just why not?” Traax demanded. He glared hatefully up through the stone bars at Uther. “Just give me the chance. We Minions have many ways of being persuasive, I assure you.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure that you do,” Faegan answered. “And I can think of nothing just now that would give me greater pleasure. But tell me, no matter how he answers, how will you know—really know—it’s the truth?”
Traax scowled. “I see your point.” He sighed. “But surely there must be something we can do.”
“There is,” Abbey said.
Faegan smiled, for he already knew the answer. “Tell us.”
“We fly around to the entrance, and we force Uther to lead us through,” she answered. She looked over at Sister Adrian. “That was the other reason I brought him—in case all else failed.”
“Well done,” Faegan said. He looked at Traax again.
“I think we have no choice but to accept those volunteers of yours,” he said. “They will, of course, have to come from the other side of the lattice. Limit their number to two. Uther is unable to use the craft, so only physical restraint is needed. I will keep the map with me. Tell your volunteers to make a mark on the wall at every turn.” Then he grinned at the Valrenkian.
“What say you, Uther?” he asked sarcastically. “Are you game for a little walk?”
Seething, the Valrenkian snarled something under his breath. The wizard only smiled.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.
He turned back to Abbey and Adrian. “Ask for two Minion volunteers from your side of the lattice,” he ordered. “Once you have sent them in with Uther, come to the top of the bluffs near the maze opening on our side. We will meet you there, to wait and watch. Then it will be out of our hands.”
As Abbey’s group started to soar away, the wizard lowered his chair to the ground. Duvessa, Traax, and Ox walked over. Duvessa placed one hand upon the old wizard’s shoulder.
“Is this really going to work?” she asked.
Faegan sighed. “It has to,” he answered. “Because if it doesn’t we’re going to be here for a very long time.”
As a group, the warriors and the wizard headed for the dark, square-cut portal in the bluffs.
CHAPTER LV
_____
“ARE YOU QUITE SURE YOU WISH…TO GO ALONE?” ALRIK asked. Trying to steady himself, he placed a meaty hand against the wall. Screwing up his face, he blinked. It was all he could do to remain standing. He let go a wet belch, then wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. Despite the fact that he had just been rude in the presence of the First Wizard, he laughed a little—something he would have never done had he been sober.
Wigg couldn’t be angry with him. The impromptu feast that had been arranged in celebration of Tristan and Celeste’s marriage had gone on for hours, and every Minion and Gallipolai stationed in and around the Recluse had gladly attended. Alrik had given a drunken toast that seemed to go on forever.
Tristan, Celeste, Wigg, and Jessamay had sat at the table of honor, and gifts had been presented to the bride and groom. For a time, at least, the dancing, drinking, and feasting had provided a welcome respite from their troubles. It was now nearly midnight, and everyone was asleep save for Wigg, Alrik, and a complement of patrolling—and sober—warriors.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Wigg answered. “I see you brought what I asked for.”
Alrik nodded. After fumbling about, he clumsily produced the empty canteen. He put its strap around Wigg’s neck, then smiled stupidly again. Another fragrant belch followed. Wigg winced.
“I can’t understand why you want to go back down there alone, Wirst Fizard,” he said numbly. “And with an empty canteen, of all things.”
Wigg gave him a wink. “Wirst Fizard’s business,” he said. “I should be back before the Jin’Sai and his new bride awaken. If anyone asks, tell them the truth—that I went for a walk. When I return, the three of us will need an escort back to Master Faegan’s portal. We must arrive there by high noon, when it is due to open.”
Alrik tried to click his heels, but almost fell down. Clutching at Wigg’s robe, he did his best to straighten up. His breath was awful. Wigg averted his face.
“I live to serve,” Alrik said.
Turning awkwardly, the warrior walked back down the hall. The wizard smiled as he heard Alrik begin to belt out yet another Minion drinking song. The singing soon faded away.
Wigg pointed one hand toward the dark passageway and brought the radiance stones to light. Then he reached under his robe to make sure that the rolled-up parchment was still there.
He was tired, and the walk down and back would be a long one. He didn’t relish going but knew it had to be done. The idea had come to him during the celebration. He wanted to take something of this place back to Eutracia with him, something that he thought would be of help—especially if things were about to become as serious as he feared. Taking a deep breath, he started down.
He was very pleased that Tristan and Celeste had married. But his heart was troubled over his daughter’s worseni
ng condition. He could see the changes rapidly taking place, and it was breaking his heart.
He had much to worry him. Jessamay had told him all she knew about the Well of Forestallments, but it wasn’t much. The two of them had pored over parts of Failee’s grimoire to learn the secret of Jessamay’s altered blood signature, an aberration they were sure was of immense importance to the craft. And in his heart he was equally sure that the Orb of the Vigors continued its rampage across Eutracia. He could only hope that Faegan and the other members of the Conclave were having a better time of things.
He shook his head. It was all such a great riddle—the craft, Eutracia, Parthalon, the two orbs, and most certainly the possibility of Wulfgar’s survival. Some of these puzzles were new, and some far, far older than he. He had already lived for more than three hundred years, been instrumental in the victory in the Sorceresses’ War, and personally overseen the births of the Jin’Sai and the Jin’Saiou. Even so, sometimes he felt much more like a pawn in this amazing confluence of riddles than he did a figure of any great importance.
He finally reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the first room. The silence was deafening. He stopped in the second room and looked around. He was relieved to see that everything was as he hoped it would be.
He produced the parchment and read aloud the incantation recorded on it in Old Eutracian, copied from Failee’s grimoire.
A haunting azure cloud began to form in the air before him. When he finished the recitation, he rolled up the parchment and put it away.
Closing his eyes for a moment, the First Wizard took a deep breath. This would have to be done very carefully. He removed the canteen from around his neck.
The cloud beside him, Wigg set about his work.
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