Wigg caused the vial to leave his hands. It floated to a place just above Faegan’s blanched face. Then the stopper lifted free and the vial moved toward Faegan’s lips. Changing his commands slightly, Wigg used the craft to start pouring the mixture into Faegan’s mouth, a little at a time.
Wigg was forced to stop twice because Faegan started choking. Finally the violet mixture was gone. Wigg caused the empty vial and its stopper to fly across the room and land on the desk. Precious minutes ticked by. The silence in the room was palpable.
Faegan suddenly stirred. He groaned again, then screamed.
It’s starting, Wigg realized. May the Afterlife grant that we have done the right thing!
Faegan’s thrashing came again, this time more violent than ever. Wigg quickly surmised that the potion was working, rather than his pain spell wearing off so soon.
But Wigg hadn’t shared his greatest fears with the others. He saw the danger as being two-sided. In Faegan’s unconscious state, his mind might lash out to use the craft any way it could, with no regard to the consequences. If Abbey was right about the potion raising his powers, matters could become worse.
Wigg was even more concerned as to whether Faegan’s new Forestallment had been activated by Xanthus when the Darkling had used his azure bolt. To Wigg’s mind, the idea that Xanthus had activated it before leaving with Tristan seemed likely. If Faegan could already employ his new Forestallment, even in his unconscious state, it might prove disastrous. If he awakened and used it, he could be unstoppable.
We might be waking a horrific monster of the craft, Wigg worried. But what’s done is done.
Without warning, Faegan sat straight up in bed with his eyes open-even though Wigg sensed that his friend was still unconscious. Wigg stood aghast as he watched Faegan ominously raise his arms and, laughing insanely, start using the craft.
Almost at once the room started to shake. Ancient dust and mortar came loose from among the shifting stones to fall like so many gray snowflakes. Then the shaking started. It soon seemed like the entire Redoubt was coming apart.
The walls buckled, the ceiling drooped, and the floor heaved. Then rumbling sounds came, quickly becoming so loud that the First Wizard could barely hear himself think. Two ceiling stones let loose, to hit the floor with a thunderous crash, narrowly missing the four women standing near the door.
Artwork tumbled haphazardly from the walls. All the standing candelabras fell over, and two wildly swinging crystal chandeliers let loose to come crashing down. Wigg saw several worried Minion guards come charging to the doorway, but there were no orders he could give them that would help. The structure’s trembling had become so great that it was nearly impossible to remain standing. As various furnishings caught fire, dense smoke started filling the room.
Wigg looked frantically to the women near the doorway. “Get out!” he screamed. “Climb the stairs to the palace!”
The women ran from the room, and the Minion guards followed behind them. Only Jessamay and Faegan remained with Wigg.
Faegan laughed again, then turned his wild eyes toward the door. As he saw the women escaping, he pointed one hand in their direction. Almost immediately several more stones loosened from the hallway ceiling to come crashing down. Wigg heard a scream, but he couldn’t tell from whom it had come. Dust and debris filled the hall.
As yet more wall and ceiling stones continued to fall, a terrible thought seized Wigg. Could Faegan’s relentless destruction of the Redoubt be what Xanthus had wanted all along? Was Faegan conscious and doing this awful thing intentionally?
Wigg’s mind reeled before the terrible possibilities. The Tome, the Scroll of the Vigors, and the Well of the Redoubt were all here, to say nothing of the Archives, the Flier Aviary, the Hall of Blood Records, and the Redoubt Nursery. The destruction of the Redoubt and its many treasures would be a disaster that the Vigors could never survive, and would produce an unprecedented victory for the Vagaries. If Faegan was doing this purposefully, he was committing suicide, and taking Wigg and Jessamay with him.
Wigg looked frantically over at Jessamay. He could tell that she was using the craft to her utmost, in a try to keep Faegan from destroying everything. But she couldn’t start to match his power. Wigg tried adding his gifts to hers, but even then it was no use.
As the Redoubt continued to come apart, Wigg suddenly found himself faced with an unspeakable dilemma. He knew he either had to wait and see whether Faegan stopped, or kill him and save the Redoubt. Amid the noise and smoke, Wigg’s mind was torn by the awful choices.
Wigg decided that the destruction had to be stopped, no matter the price. With tears in his eyes he raised one hand and pointed it at Faegan. Realizing what was about to happen, Jessamay looked at Wigg in astonishment. For the craft’s sake, Wigg hardened his heart.
Just then Faegan’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, falling heavily back onto the bed. The Redoubt’s rumbling quieted, and the shaking stopped. Mortar dust continued to drift down gently. Everything in the room seemed covered with the lung-choking stuff.
Coughing deeply, Wigg again placed one hand atop Faegan’s head. The crippled wizard’s heartbeat was strengthening, and his breathing was more regular. Color was returning to his face.
Coughing, Jessamay tried to wave away the falling dust. “Did it…work?” she asked hoarsely.
“Perhaps,” Wigg answered. “It might be too soon to tell.”
Calling the craft, Wigg and Jessamay extinguished the fires and caused the smoke to vanish. Faegan’s quarters were a shambles. Brushing off his robe and hair, Wigg walked to the door and ventured into the demolished hallway.
Wigg’s most immediate concern was finding a safe way out. His heart fell when he saw the debris-laden hallway. Each direction was sealed off by tumbled stones. A few enchanted wall torches still blazed in between the two obstructions.
Walking down the hall, he was relieved to find a light shaft coming from an opening between two massive blocks. At least there was fresh air to breathe. Satisfied, he returned to Faegan’s chambers.
Jessamay gave him a worried look. “Can we get out?” she asked.
“Eventually,” Wigg answered. “We could use the craft to move some of the stones. But frankly, I’m too tired. I say we wait and let the Minions dig us out! If I know Ox, they’ve already started!”
Wigg looked over at Faegan. “How is our patient?” he asked.
“His bodily functions continue to strengthen, but he remains unconscious,” Jessamay answered.
Sighing tiredly, Wigg nodded. “Come have some wine,” he suggested. “We’ve earned it.”
As Jessamay walked over, Wigg rummaged around in Faegan’s cabinets. He finally found a bottle that hadn’t been smashed. Jessamay took two intact glasses down from the same shelf. Calling the craft, she freed them from their dust.
Wigg opened the bottle, then poured two glassfuls. He held his up in a toast.
“To Faegan,” he said.
“To Faegan,” Jessamay answered. “And here’s hoping that the Redoubt hasn’t been too badly damaged.”
They sat in silence for a time, drinking their wine and simply feeling glad to be alive. A curious look crossed Jessamay’s face. It did not escape the First Wizard. He smiled tiredly.
“I’d know that look anywhere,” Wigg said. “It hasn’t changed in three centuries. Go ahead-ask me.”
Like she didn’t know where to start, Jessamay took a deep breath. “Would you have killed him?” she asked simply.
Taking another sip of wine, Wigg looked over to Faegan, then back at her again. “I don’t know,” he answered earnestly. “Nor do I know whether he would have killed me, had our situations been reversed. I suppose we never will. Just the same I-”
“What in the name of the Afterlife have you done to my quarters!”a deep voice suddenly bellowed from across the room.
Wigg and Jessamay looked up to see Faegan. Wide-eyed and alert, he was sitting up in bed. Mortar dust ra
ined from his beard and hair. They hurried over to him.
“I demand an explanation!” Faegan thundered. “What’s going on here?”
Wigg gave Jessamay a wry look. “I believe it’s safe to say that he’s back,” he said.
“How do you feel?” Jessamay asked Faegan.
Gathering himself up, Faegan looked like he couldn’t possibly imagine why they would be asking such a foolish question. He quickly took stock of himself.
“I feel fine!” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never felt better! I could eat nails!”
“That’s the potion talking,” Jessamay said with a smile.
“What potion?” Faegan demanded. “What in blazes are you saying?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Wigg asked.
Faegan searched his mind. “Xanthus,” he breathed. “The Great Hall…The Darkling killed a flier…” A worried look suddenly commanded his face. “Tristan?” he asked.
Wigg shook his head. “He’s with Xanthus. We don’t know where they’ve gone. But I’m willing to hazard a guess.”
“So am I!” Faegan said. “We have to stop them! Wigg, no matter what happens to us, we simply must-”
Faegan suddenly froze in midsentence. His abrupt silence worried Wigg. Concerned that his friend might be relapsing, he edged closer. There was a strange, searching look in Faegan’s eyes. Reaching out, he grasped Wigg’s arm.
“What is it?” the First Wizard asked.
“Such a wonder…,” Faegan breathed. A smile overcame his face. “It’s absolutely miraculous! The calculations are exquisite…”
“Tell us,” Wigg said.
His eyes full of wonder, Faegan looked into Wigg’s eyes. “It seems I have somehow acquired a new gift,” he whispered. He gripped Wigg’s arm tighter. “This will change so much! But how…why…”
Wigg shot a knowing glance at Jessamay, then looked back at Faegan. “It seems we have much to tell one another,” Wigg said. “Why don’t you go first?”
Faegan nodded. As he started explaining, the distant sounds of Minion hammers drifted to their ears.
CHAPTER XIII
“YOU SIMPLYMUSTTAKE US TO THE WIZARDS!” MALLORYprotested. “We have come so far! If you tell them who we are, they’ll let us in, I just know it! We’re the girls from Fledgling House!”
Standing before the imposing drawbridge gates, Mallory looked longingly through the wrought-iron bars and toward the palace’s inner ward. It was a strange feeling, she decided.
For the last three days she and her friends had been trying to free themselves from locked doors and stone walls. Now they desperately wanted those things to become part of their new life. With Mary and the other girls standing around her, she returned her gaze to the Minion guard standing on the gates’ opposite sides. His grim expression fostered no optimism among them.
An unusually cold night beset them. To Mallory’s relief, their carriage ride had been uneventful. But that didn’t mean that Lothar’s guards weren’t chasing after them. If they trailed them to the palace, they could surely weave a convincing story about how Mary had abducted the girls for her own purposes. Worse, the winged guards might decide to return them to debtors’ prison. A story told by a brothel madam and eight wayward girls would never stand up against whatever lies Lothar’s prison guards might concoct.
As the girls shivered in the cold, Mallory again looked cravingly beyond the wrought-iron gates. Standing thirty feet high, the twin gates were adorned with huge golden lions, superimposed with equally golden broadswords. The palace lying beyond looked warm and inviting. Bright torchlight highlighted the walls, turrets, and manicured foliage.
Warriors of each sex roamed the shadowy grounds and the barbicans. The warriors seemed to be in some type of panic. Some were running about and shouting out orders, while others carrying various hand tools were being quickly ushered inside the palace. The frantic scene would prove unnerving to anyone-to say nothing of eight young girls who had never visited this place, nor seen creatures like these.
Suddenly Mallory slipped a little. Reaching out, Ariana helped her stand upright again. What strength Mallory once possessed had been largely depleted by the prison escape. She was so hungry and tired she could barely remain conscious. If only she could display some use of the craft, then the winged creatures might believe her. But calling the craft had become impossible for them all.
From the gates’ other side, the Minion guard, Jannicus, glowered disparagingly at the ragtag group.
“I have my orders!” he said. “No one is to be allowed entrance. There has been a disturbance in the palace. I suggest that you return in a few days. By then it might be possible to grant your request.”
Defiant, Mallory glared at the gigantic creature. Aside from the beasts that had carried the girls and Martha away from Fledgling House, she had never seen anything remotely like him. But if they served and protected the castle, they had to be the wizards’ friends.
Suddenly Mallory had taken all she could bear. They had come too far and suffered too much to be stopped now, a mere hundred or so paces from their goal. Grabbing the gate with both hands, she started to shout.
“Let us in!” she screamed with what meager strength remained. “Let us in! Let us in! Let us in!” Soon the other seven desperate girls took up the chant.
“Let us in! Let us in! Let us in!” they chimed, all of them jumping up and down at once.
It quickly became apparent that the girls weren’t about to stop shouting anytime soon. Scowling, Jannicus backed away warily and unsheathed his dreggan. Human children can be so unpredictable, he thought. Minion young know better than to behave so rudely.
He didn’t want to harm them, but he had his orders. Even his shiny sword did nothing to discourage them. Finally realizing how ridiculous he looked, standing there with his sword drawn against eight young girls, he angrily sheathed his weapon. As he wondered what to do, Jannicus cast a helpless look toward the Minion guard stationed nearby. His equally perplexed companion only shrugged his shoulders.
“Let us in! Let us in! Let us in!” the girls screamed.
Just then he sensed someone running up behind him. Turning, he found himself standing face-to-face with Ox.
“What go on here?” Ox shouted angrily, trying to make his voice heard above the din. By this time the insistent girls had climbed onto the gates and begun collectively rattling them with everything they had as they kept up their relentless chant. They soon caught the attention of more warriors behind the walls. The embarrassing ruckus was gaining momentum.
Blushing noticeably, Jannicus clicked his heels. “I, uh…well, you see, sir…”
Growling, Ox shoved Jannicus out of the way and unsheathed his dreggan. Being careful not to harm the girls, he banged the dreggan’s blade loudly against the iron gate.
“Quiet!” he screamed.
The girls finally stilled. Shaking his head, Ox walked closer.
“Why you want enter palace grounds?” he asked angrily. “This not be good time!”
“We are the trainees from Fledgling House!” Mallory said weakly. “Wemust see the wizards!”
A strange look came over Ox’s face. “You be from Fledgling House?” he asked incredulously. Ox’s expression turned skeptical, and he rubbed his chin. He inched closer.
“What be your name?” he asked.
“Mallory,” she answered hopefully. “What’s yours?”
Mallory’s forthrightness surprised him. He scowled again.
“I be Ox,” he answered simply. “If you be from Fledgling House, then who there be your master?” he asked.
Mallory beamed. “His name was Duncan!” she said.
Ox pursed his lips. “He be alive or dead?” he asked, testing Mallory further.
A sad look crowded its way onto her face. “He’s dead,” she answered softly. “We all loved him.”
Starting to believe, Ox narrowed his eyes. “And matron?” he asked. “What be her name?”<
br />
“Martha!” several girls cried out in unison.
Ox’s jaw fell, and he turned quickly to glare at Jannicus. “Let girls in!” he bellowed.
“But sir…!” Jannicus protested. “We have strict orders not to allow-”
“Unless you want go on permanent report, you let girls in!” Ox protested. “I take all responsibility!”
After clicking his heels, Jannicus unlocked the heavy gates, then swung them wide. The eager girls didn’t need to be asked twice. They poured through quickly with Mary following along behind.
When Ox saw Mary, he scowled. Placing one hand on her shoulder, he stopped her.
“Who you be?” he asked.
Mallory reached to touch Ox’s arm. Again surprised by her boldness, Ox turned to look at her.
“That’s Mary,” Mallory said. “It’s all right-she’s a friend.”
Finally deciding, Ox grunted. “Very well,” he said. “She come, too.” His stern demeanor resurfaced. Scanning their faces, he glowered into every pair of eyes.
“Girls bequiet!” he warned. “You scream no more!”
“We’ll be quiet, I promise,” Mallory answered. We’re finally here, she thought. Hardly able to contain her happiness, she smiled at Ariana.
Ariana beamed back. “You did it, Mallory!” she whispered. “We made it, after all!”
Ox grunted again, sternly reinforcing his demand for quiet. Knowing better than to argue, Mallory and Ariana eagerly nodded. As the gate doors squeaked closed behind them, the huge warrior started leading the wide-eyed group toward the palace lights.
MARY AND THE GIRLS HAD BEEN ORDERED TO SIT IN A ROWof nine elaborate chairs set alongside a hallway wall. Armed with curved swords and shiny golden pikes, three winged warriors stood guard over them, watching their every move. Closing her eyes, Mallory laid her head back against the chair’s plush upholstery.
She luxuriated in the warmth. She could scarcely remember the last time she had been comfortable. It must have been a different place, a different life. She looked down at her tattered school dress. Once it had been new, and had stood for something. She had been proud to wear it. But sitting here in the imposing majesty of this place, the dress’s poor condition embarrassed her.
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