“But apparently she could not bring herself to do it,” Faegan said.
“No,” Wigg said. “Her heart wouldn’t let her. She could neither destroy her unborn child nor murder her baby. But Morganna was afraid that the voices in her head might eventually make her even more deranged, even though such was never actually the case. It was her fear of this unexplained madness that finally drove her to give up her child, rather than risk harming him because of what she perceived to be her decaying mental state.”
He paused, then looked at the prince and princess. “All of this occurred before Morganna met Nicholas, the common smith who eventually became king of Eutracia, and Tristan and Shailiha’s father.
“The Directorate had no idea of any of this when Nicholas, after we selected him to be king, took Morganna for his bride. But later that year, Morganna and Nicholas came to me, telling me her secret. A simple check of Wulfgar’s signature in the Hall of Blood Records confirmed their tale. Aside from the head matron of the orphanage, only Morganna, Nicholas, the queen’s parents, and I were aware of this. I was never to reveal this secret, at least until Wulfgar could be found. We have been searching for him ever since. This was yet another of the tasks of the consuls of the Redoubt, and another of the reasons they were taught how to examine blood signatures. As for Wulfgar, presumably he has no inkling of who he really is.” Wigg paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. “And, despite our best efforts, I still have no idea where he may be.” He looked down at his gnarled hands.
“And what would have become of Wulfgar if he had been found?” Shailiha asked anxiously.
“We would have been forced to train him in the craft, even before Tristan,” Wigg whispered. “If his training went poorly, it was agreed that other arrangements would be made.”
The blood rushed from Tristan’s face. He moved his chair closer to the lead wizard.
“But that contradicts everything you have always told me,” he said, thoroughly confused. “It was always my understanding that I was to be trained first, followed by Shailiha, should I die or fail in my eventual attempt to join the two sides of the craft. The Tome says so.”
“The Tome says a great many things,” Faegan interrupted, “and at first glance much of it can seem highly contradictory.” Sighing, he shook his head. “I suggest we allow the lead wizard to continue.”
“We came to believe that the voices speaking to Morganna were those of the Ones Who Came Before,” Wigg went on. “We knew that the Ones were the original practitioners of the Vigors—the benevolent side of the craft. Therefore, their demand that she destroy this child, we reasoned, could only be of the greatest importance. They had no direct way to force her, but their constant beseeching was literally starting to drive your mother insane. Once we ordered the consuls to find Wulfgar, the voices blessedly stopped, never to return.”
“But what about the Tome?” Tristan pressed. “It says I am to be trained first, does it not?”
“Correct,” Faegan answered. “But unless I miss my guess, the lead wizard was about to remind us of the fact that the Tome was written long before the birth of Wulfgar. For reasons we still do not understand, the Ones knew of the eventual coming of you and your sister, and which parents would give birth to you. But Wulfgar’s birth was apparently an unexpected surprise, even for the Ones.” He rubbed his brow, thinking.
“And your mother told us that no azure glow appeared at Wulfgar’s birth, as it did when you and your sister were born,” Wigg added. “Wulfgar was born of a different father. We know from that Tome that Nicholas and Morganna were destined to find each other, and only from that union would the Chosen Ones be brought forth. And there is another reason why Wulfgar could never be one of the Chosen Ones.” He paused, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly before resuming.
“You see, Wulfgar’s blood signature is left-leaning.”
Even more confused, Tristan, Shailiha, and Celeste looked to Faegan for the answer. But the crippled wizard’s mouth hung open with astonishment—a rare sight indeed.
“Do you mean to say—”
“Yes,” Wigg said.
Speechless, Faegan leaned back his chair. “Both Tristan and Shailiha’s signatures are right-leaning, of course,” he muttered, half to himself. “As were those of the king and queen. Therefore Wulfgar’s left-leaning signature is a result of Eric, his endowed father.”
“What are you talking about?” Tristan demanded. “What is a left-leaning signature?”
“Simply put,” Wigg answered, “if one draws a perfectly vertical axis through the exact center of a blood signature, a trained eye can determine that each and every one leans slightly either to the left or to the right of center. Signatures leaning to the right indicate the possessor shall be more naturally attracted to the practice of the Vigors. Conversely, a left-leaning signature indicates that the possessor shall be far more inclined to want to follow the Vagaries. Additionally, the degree of deviation from the vertical axis tells us just how much influence, one way or the other, there shall be. Wulfgar’s signature was the most severe left-leaning example ever recorded.”
A deafening silence fell over the room.
“Do Forestallments change the lean of a signature?” Tristan asked at last.
“As far as we know, they do not,” Wigg answered. “Forestallments are merely spells that remain dormant until being activated at a later time. The signature lean is hereditary. A child inherits the lean of his parents’ blood signatures. If their leans are oppositional, then the stronger blood prevails. For example, my blood was stronger than Failee’s, and thus Celeste’s signature leans to the right. During the Sorceresses’ War it was rumored that a spell existed that could actually change the lean of a blood signature, but none was ever found.”
Shailiha finally found her voice. “Then Failee’s signature was left-leaning, was it not?” she asked.
“Yes,” Wigg answered.
“Are you telling us that Wulfgar, should he be trained in the craft, would be even more enamored of the Vagaries than the first mistress of the Coven?” Shailiha leaned forward, her hazel eyes intent.
“Yes,” Wigg replied. “Even more so than Failee. The firstborn child of the woman destined to bear the Chosen Ones remains loose upon the world, with a left-leaning blood signature that knows no equal.”
Something the lead wizard had mentioned struck Tristan as odd. The more he thought about it, the greater became his sense of dread. His nerves coiled up, almost as if he were about to go into battle.
“What were the ‘other arrangements’ regarding Wulfgar to have been?” he asked bluntly.
Again looking down at his hands, Wigg sighed.
“If we were fortunate enough to find him, it was decided we would first try to train him in the craft,” he answered slowly. “The entire Directorate would be informed of Wulfgar’s identity and sworn to secrecy. Together we would then do all we could to help him ignore the temptations of the Vagaries. But if the pull toward the dark side of the craft had proven too strong for him to resist, even with our help, the king, queen, and I had agreed upon other measures.”
Tristan’s heart went cold. “And they were?” he asked softly.
Wigg’s aquamarine eyes looked straight into Tristan’s with an unusual mixture of sadness and determination.
“It would then fall to me to take his life,” the lead wizard whispered.
Tristan stared at Wigg in disbelief. “How could you do such a thing?” he breathed. “From what you tell us he is an innocent. Not only does he not know who he really is, but he remains untrained, as well. I cannot believe my parents sanctioned your ghastly idea.”
“It wasn’t my idea, Tristan,” Wigg answered. “It was your mother’s.”
Speechless, the prince half sat, half fell back down into his chair. It seemed to him as if the world he had once inhabited with his parents had just been turned completely upside down—as if Nicholas and Morganna had somehow suddenly become people he ha
d never really known at all.
“But why?” Shailiha whispered. It was all she could do to get the question out.
“Have you not been listening?” Wigg responded. “Wulfgar is very close to possessing the highest blood quality ever known, second only to that of the Chosen Ones—the two of you. In addition, his left-leaning blood signature is without question the most severe ever witnessed. This combination is unprecedented. Trained by an unscrupulous master, Wulfgar could eventually wield power that only Tristan’s son Nicholas has to this date demonstrated. To allow him to roam loose in the world would be disastrous.”
“But to kill him . . .” Tristan said softly. “How could Mother have even dreamt of such a thing?”
“Morganna realized that Eutracia and the Vigors must come first, even at the expense of her losing her firstborn child all over again,” Wigg told them. “It was not out of selfishness or shame that the queen made this decision. It was out of sacrifice.”
“But why bother to train him at all?” Celeste asked. “Left untrained but in your care, he would have been harmless, would he not?”
Wigg smiled. “One might first come to that conclusion,” he replied. “But he still might have been irresistibly called eventually to abandon us. Untrained, he might not be completely aware of what it was he was searching for, but the pull might be irresistible. Better to train him ourselves, and then do what we must, rather than leave him as raw clay for someone else to mold.”
“Then why not train him and also imbue him with death enchantments, as the consuls were?” Tristan suggested. “That way, if he ever practiced the Vagaries, his death would be a certainty. At least he would be allowed to live for as long as he could hold out against their temptations. That would seem far more fair, not to mention more compassionate.”
“Well done,” Wigg answered. “And that possibility was considered. But in truth, it would have been far too cruel.”
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked.
“First,” Wigg explained, “suppose for some unknown reason the death enchantments were to become unraveled, as seems now to be the case with the consuls. Wulfgar would then be not only trained, but completely unbridled, as well. And second, when the death enchantments are activated, the transgressor’s demise is particularly ugly and painful: yet another deterrent to the practice of the Vagaries. Morganna would have none of that. No, far better for me to have ended Wulfgar’s existence painlessly, under our control, than to leave him to the inevitable torment of the death enchantments.”
Thinking of all he and his family had been through, Tristan lowered his head.
“Does it never end?” he asked softly.
Recognizing the prince’s pain, Wigg gave a rueful half smile.
“No,” he answered. “Not so long as the Vagaries exist as an art unto themselves and there are those of endowed blood unable or unwilling to resist its temptations. The Tome says that only the Chosen Ones can end the struggle, by combining the two sides of the craft for the good of the world. Even though we still do not know how this is to be accomplished, we believe that is why you and your sister were put upon the earth. Your parents believed it, too, and were willing to sacrifice everything toward that goal. Even themselves.”
“And Wulfgar was never found,” the prince said sadly.
After a long silence, Faegan changed the subject.
“Who is Krassus?” he asked.
“As Krassus said, he is a consul,” Wigg answered, a bit of guilt beginning to crowd in upon the edges of his craggy face. “Or I should say ‘was.’ And without doubt he was the most powerful of them. Perhaps even more powerful now, if Nicholas imbued his blood signature with certain Forestallments before he died. As with those that you and Shailiha carry, they can bequeath on the bearer many exotic abilities. Krassus was first alternate to the Directorate of Wizards. That meant that should one of us have died, Krassus would be the one to take his place. His unique two-colored robe signified his position in the hierarchy. But until such time as he would have been called upon to join the Directorate, Krassus had no vote or involvement. His duties were strictly those of a wandering consul. You would not have known him.”
“But if this Krassus truly wants you and Faegan dead, why didn’t he take the opportunity to kill you today, while you were both in his warp?” Tristan asked.
“Because maintaining a wizard’s warp takes a great deal of energy,” Faegan answered. “To attempt to kill one of us would be to risk losing control of the warp, thus allowing us the chance to fight back.”
“And he wants Wulfgar,” Celeste said. “But why?”
“No doubt to use his enormous potential to fulfill whatever portion of Nicholas’ dream he vowed to complete,” Faegan answered.
“We must find Wulfgar first,” Tristan said adamantly. He knew he was stating the obvious. But for him it had been as much a statement about his family as it was one regarding the welfare of his nation, or the craft.
Wigg thought for a moment, then looked over at Faegan.
“Tell us, old friend,” he asked. “What are these Scrolls of the Ancients that Krassus kept referring to?”
Faegan closed his eyes, his brow furrowing with concentration. Tristan could tell that the master wizard was about to employ the gift of Consummate Recollection to find the answer.
“ ‘And the survivors shall discover two parchments, each replete with the workings of the acts delayed,’ “ he began, quoting from the Tome. “ ‘They shall be of indescribable value—the keys enabling the descendants to partially unravel the mystery that is the craft. But in the hands of those practicing the Vagaries, the Scrolls of the Ancients shall become as potent a weapon as ever witnessed in the history of the world.’ “
Faegan opened his eyes. It was clear that after the draining experience of having Krassus invade his mind, the effort of using the gift of Consummate Recollection had fatigued him. “That was the first such quote from the Tome regarding the scrolls,” he said tiredly. “When I am more refreshed, I will attempt to recall the others.”
“What are the ‘acts delayed’?” Wigg asked him. “Does this refer to the art of Forestallments?”
“That is my initial impression,” the master wizard answered. “And if that is true, the scrolls would teach us much. I have an almost infinite number of questions about the Forestallments. For example, how does one place them into the blood, and how can we tell whether they are event or time activated? Once placed there, can they be removed? Can one discern whether they are open ended and lasting forever or are closed ended and therefore limited in duration? Is there any way to tell from one’s blood signature what the gifts shall eventually become? For that matter, do the scrolls hold these answers, or are we altogether wrong in assuming that they refer to the Forestallments? The study of Forestallments is without doubt the most frustrating and at the same time most fascinating aspects of the craft I have ever encountered. But why does Krassus want these scrolls so badly? And what do they have to do with Wulfgar?”
“Krassus said that we should go to Farpoint, three days from now,” Tristan interjected. “That something would happen there—something that would convince us of his desire to carry on Nicholas’ work. Do either of you know what he might be talking about?”
Both Wigg and Faegan shook their heads.
“I have no inkling either, but I will go,” the prince announced.
Closing his eyes, Wigg rubbed his forehead. His heart wanted to warn the prince about the wisdom—or lack thereof—of traveling to Farpoint, the very place Krassus had dared them to visit. But he also did not possess the strength to argue the issue. Especially now, with the ever-headstrong Tristan.
“Wigg, I know you are tired, but I have one more question,” Faegan pressured gently. “Krassus said he was traveling with a partial adept. Do you mean to say that their kind is still roaming Eutracia?”
Tristan looked curiously at Shailiha and Celeste. They seemed to be as baffled as he was.
�
��In truth, I do not know,” Wigg said with finality, closing his eyes. His tone and facial expression hinted either that he was trying to keep something secret—which would be just like him—or that he simply did not wish to discuss the matter just now.
“What is a partial adept?” Shailiha asked.
Sighing, Wigg opened his eyes again. “A partial adept is a specially trained man or woman of the craft, whose blood signature shows up as a ‘partial,’ like baby Morganna’s does. They had only one endowed parent and so are not fully endowed.”
“I thought people were either endowed, or they weren’t,” Tristan pressed.
“That’s true, and it isn’t,” Wigg said. “It’s a long story. And one I am too tired to discuss.” As if there were nothing left to say about the matter, the lead wizard closed his eyes again.
Raising an eyebrow, Tristan looked skeptically at Faegan. The wizard in the wheeled chair sighed. It was clear to them that they would be hearing little more from the lead wizard this night.
Suddenly the door to Wigg’s quarters blew open, revealing a rather put-out Shawna the Short. As usual, the hard-working gnome wore her gray hair tied back in a tight, unforgiving bun. Her dress was simple and clean; her no-nonsense shoes were flat and sturdy. In one hand she wielded a large mixing spoon the same way a warrior might wield his sword.
Tristan suddenly realized how hungry he was.
“I can explain,” he began, giving her a hopeful smile. “You see, the lead wizard is rather indisposed—”
“I don’t care what the lead wizard is!” she snapped back, in the kindly but stern manner it seemed only she could master. “Dinner is served! And don’t blame me if it has gone cold!” With that she haughtily turned and stomped away.
Despite all that had happened, Tristan snorted a laugh down his nose. “I suppose we had all best obey,” he said. Taking Shailiha and Celeste by the arms, he started for the door. Faegan began wheeling his chair along behind them. Then Celeste stopped, turning back to Wigg.
The Scrolls of the Ancients Page 5
