Savage Messiah
Page 15
When its momentum finally waned, the deadly glacier slowed, coming at last to a grinding halt only meters away from the superheated canyon. The rising heat of the canyon melted the ice almost instantly, and its runoff streamed across the ground and into the recently formed gorge. Water soon flowed down the canyon like a raging river.
Taking a deep breath, Geldon looked over at Ox. Nodding back, the warrior commanded his troops to take the litter to the ground.
On shaking legs, Geldon exited the litter and looked back toward the mountains. With the avalanche over, he could once again hear the orb hacking its way through the granite slopes. He turned and walked toward Ox. He would have to return to Tammerland with this news. No note in the world could properly describe what had just happened here.
CHAPTER XXII
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BY THE TIME SHAILIHA, SHAWNA, AND THE MINION WARRIOR arrived at the Conclave chamber, the other members had already taken their seats. After arranging the food to her liking on a nearby table, Shawna pushed Morganna’s stroller from the room. The warrior who had escorted them followed Shawna out, closing the large double doors behind him.
The mood in the room was anxious. Tristan seemed especially eager to hear what Wigg and Faegan were about to say. All the Conclave members sat quietly, waiting for things to begin. The two wizards seemed lost in thought as Shailiha took her place at the table.
Shailiha smelled the comforting scent of the burning logs as their flames danced in the light blue fireplace set into the opposite wall. The Tome of the Paragon and the partially burned Scroll of the Vigors lay upon a nearby table.
Clearing his throat, Wigg placed his hands flat upon the tabletop. He looked over at the prince.
“You and I are going to Parthalon,” he said. “We must revisit the Recluse. We leave within the hour. It will be shortly after midnight when we arrive, and I suggest some Minion warriors accompany us.”
Tristan looked at Wigg as though the wizard had just gone mad.
“Why?”
Picturing the underground rooms of the Recluse, where he, Wigg, and Geldon had been tortured by the Coven, Tristan closed his eyes. He could see the unforgiving gibbets in which the three of them had been imprisoned, the five black marble thrones of the Mistresses, and the snarling reptilian monsters known as the Wiktors. He tried to keep the memories from flooding back—to no avail. He would never forget his torture, and his brutal violation by Succiu. And now, impossibly, the wizards wanted him to go back to the scene of those awful events.
Tristan opened his eyes and placed his forearms on the table. The only sound in the room was the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth. After running one hand through his dark hair, he looked at the wizards.
“I assume you have a good reason,” he said.
“You and Wigg must find the Scroll Master,” Faegan said. “He may be the only living person who fully understands the key to changing your blood.”
For a short time the room went silent again.
“Who is this person?” Celeste asked at last.
“Our research of the Scroll of the Vigors reveals the existence of one who is the Scroll’s earthly master,” Faegan answered. “His help could be vital—provided he still lives, of course, and that Tristan and Wigg can find him.”
Abbey leaned forward. “There are several of us here who can read Old Eutracian,” she protested. “So why do we need this supposed Scroll Master to aid us? Why can’t we just keep reading the scroll ourselves to learn what we need?”
“Because time is working against us,” Wigg answered. “We still have not heard from Geldon and Ox. We must therefore assume that the orb continues to ravage the land. Those of you who can read Old Eutracian will continue to research the scroll, but if the scroll does indeed hold the Forestallment calculations that will allow us to change Tristan’s blood back to red, this supposed Scroll Master may be able to provide them to us long before we happen upon them ourselves. The scroll is huge. It could take us weeks to find what we are looking for. And what if the Forestallment we seek was in a part of the scroll that was destroyed, eh? In that case, only the Scroll Master could tell us what we need to know—if he still lives.”
“But what makes you think that you should begin your search at the Recluse?” Shailiha asked.
Leaning back in his chair, Wigg let go a thoughtful sigh. “Because some of the later Forestallment calculations in the Scroll of the Vigors were in Failee’s handwriting,” he answered.
A hush descended over the table.
“That would mean that the Scroll of the Vigors, and perhaps also the Scroll of the Vagaries, were at one time in her possession,” Tristan said.
“That is correct,” Faegan answered. “They had to be, in order for her to place the Forestallments into your blood signature—and Shailiha and Celeste’s—in the first place. For all we know, your blood signature may already possess the Forestallment required to change it from azure back to red. But even if that were the case, we would not know how to identify or activate it.” The wizard looked away for a moment as he contemplated his next thought. “But this new set of facts also raises another puzzle.”
“At what point in Eutracian history did Failee gain possession of the scrolls, and how did she get them to Parthalon?” Adrian asked, furrowing her brow. “It was always my understanding that when the Directorate banished the Coven to the Sea of Whispers, they provided them with only a small boat and a few meager supplies. How did she do it?”
“How indeed,” Wigg replied. “Not to mention the question of how the scrolls came to be back in Eutracia.”
“None of this explains why you must start your search for this supposed Scroll Master at the Recluse,” Shailiha repeated.
“The subterranean levels of the Recluse were Failee’s private domain,” Wigg explained uncomfortably. “It was where she kept not only her laboratory, but also her library. I feel it is safe to assume that she, too, would likely have been searching for the Scroll Master, and I’m hoping she might have left notes on her research—some kind of clue for us to follow.”
“Do you really believe the Scroll Master might still be alive?” Tristan asked. “And what purpose did he serve?”
“Those are riddles that can only be unraveled once we arrive,” Wigg answered. He looked around the table.
“Even though Tristan and I have been in that awful place before, we will still be walking into the unknown,” he added. “I fear there is much more to those lower regions than we were allowed to see.”
Then Tyranny spoke up. “There is still much about all of this that I do not understand,” she said. “I know little of the craft, but I am trying to learn. Assuming that you two are able to find this Scroll Master and he gives you the Forestallment Tristan needs, how does that help us repair the ruptured orb?”
For the first time since the meeting began, Wigg smiled. “As you already know, Tristan’s blood must be returned to its original state before he can be trained in the craft, or any of his Forestallments activated. The Tome states that only the red, trained blood of the Jin’Sai shall have the power to heal the orbs, should either of them ever be rent asunder. Simply put, the forestallment we seek will grant Tristan the power to heal the orb.”
Feeling as though the responsibility for the entire world had just landed upon his shoulders, Tristan looked over at the Tome and the Scroll of the Vigors.
Traax interrupted his thoughts. “I wish permission to accompany you, Jin’Sai. I consider it my duty.”
Tristan considered Traax’s request for a moment.
“No, my friend,” he answered. “I have another mission for you. It is one that will prove far more hazardous than trying to look after Wigg and me in Parthalon, and it will test your loyalty, I’m afraid.”
Traax automatically bowed his head. “I live to serve.”
Faegan narrowed his
eyes. “Just what do you have in mind?” he asked the prince.
Tristan looked over at Tyranny. “Will you accompany Traax on a mission for me?” he asked her. “I must warn you that it will be very dangerous.”
“Anything. You know that,” she replied earnestly.
“Ever since the orb began its rampage across Eutracia, I have had doubts about whether Wulfgar actually died that night,” Tristan said.
“I want you and Traax to take the fleet as near to the Isle of the Citadel as you dare. When you are near enough, I want you to send a Minion war party high over the island. If you see any surviving demonslavers, try to capture a few and return them to the Reprise for questioning.” A smile brushed across the prince’s lips.
“I am well aware of how persuasive Scars can be if left to his own devices,” he added wryly. “Don’t let him kill them all. I would like to question some of them myself when I return. While you are gone, the warriors accompanying you shall be under your command.”
Tyranny and Traax positively beamed. They had both been longing for some real action.
“Sounds like fun,” Tyranny said. She looked over at Traax. “We sail on the evening tide.” The warrior nodded back.
“While you are on this mission,” Tristan said to Traax, “you are to take your orders from Tyranny as you would from me.”
“Yes, my lord,” Traax answered.
“Taking into account the losses we sustained during our battles with Wulfgar’s forces, how many combat warriors do we have left?” Tristan asked. “If Wulfgar were to return with a force equal to the first, could we beat him back again?”
Traax’s face darkened. “That is difficult to say,” he answered. “Combat-ready warriors usually number about one half of the total. The remainder serve in roles of support. But during the recent hostilities, we lost at least half of our fighters. And per your orders, a certain number of them remained behind in Parthalon. Even if they were brought here, their numbers are not enough to make any appreciable difference. If we could summon seventy-five thousand combat-ready troops, we would be lucky. I fear that should Wulfgar return in such strength, we would be hard-pressed to defeat him.”
Tristan leaned across the table and looked at his second in command.
“Exactly,” he said. “That is precisely why I must order you to do something else for me, something you may find contradictory to your nature.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Tristan’s gaze hardened. “I want you to order the training of suitable Minion females as combat warriors,” he said.
Everyone around the table was stunned—not the least Traax. Tristan had discussed this with no one, and it came as a bolt out of the blue.
Traax just sat there, his eyes wide and unbelieving.
“When they are ready,” the prince continued, “I want Duvessa to serve directly under you as their subcommander. I trust her, and I can think of no Minion female better suited to the task.”
Traax opened his mouth, but for a moment no sound came out. Finally he found his voice.
“But my lord…,” he began, trying to find the right words. “Such a thing has never been done! It is not the Minion way!”
Tristan narrowed his eyes. Several members of the Conclave held their breath.
“There is a first time for everything, and this is to be theirs,” Tristan said. His tone was firm, controlled. “We need them. To do otherwise would be a shameful waste of talent. Like the healers, they are to wear a feather on the chest of their body armor to designate their status. But this feather is to be red, like the blood they may one day have to spill. Those healers who become warriors may wear both.” Then he smiled. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you afraid they might surprise you, and prove to be better than you imagined?”
Traax took a deep breath. Despite his misgivings, he remained true to his Minion vows. He bowed his head.
“I live to serve,” he said softly.
“Good,” Tristan answered. “And thank you.”
Traax sighed and pursed his lips.
“Then we are agreed,” Tristan said to the group. “Is there anything else to discuss before Wigg and I leave for Parthalon?”
Shailiha and Celeste exchanged glances. The princess cleared her throat.
“Celeste and I will go with Tyranny and Traax,” she said. As if to emphasize that she would not be dissuaded, the princess folded her arms over her breasts. Celeste gave Tristan a little smile.
The prince had been expecting something like this. Hoping for some tacit advice, he looked over at Wigg. A sour look on his face, the First Wizard shook his head. Faegan did the same. But as Tristan sat there looking at the two women, he felt his heart softening. Finally he made up his mind.
“I’ll compromise with you,” he said. “Shailiha, you go with Tyranny and Traax. Celeste will join her father and me on our trip to Parthalon.”
The two women nodded their agreement. Wigg shook his head angrily, and the telltale vein in his right temple began to throb. Faegan did his best to stifle a smile.
Standing, Tristan adjourned the meeting. He walked to the serving table and poured himself a welcome glass of wine. As the group broke up, he saw Shailiha and Celeste saying goodbye to each other in a far corner of the room.
Suddenly Tyranny was at his side, quiet and serious. Reaching out, she touched his arm.
“Please be careful,” she said. As if not quite knowing what to say next, she let go a frustrated sigh. Then she ran one hand through her hair, and her smile reappeared. “If you die over there in Parthalon, I’ll kill you.”
Tristan snorted, and then took a sip of wine.
“It’s true that I don’t relish going back into the bowels of the Recluse,” he said, “but this Scroll Master doesn’t sound like much of a threat. He’s probably just some old hermit with spectacles. The truth is I’d much rather be going with you. I have a feeling that is where the real action will be.”
Looking into Tyranny’s eyes, he thought he saw a hint of moisture there. But she quickly blinked it away. She gave him a rather lingering kiss on the cheek.
“Farewell, Jin’Sai,” she said softly.
Before he could respond she headed for the door. Shailiha followed her, stopping to give her brother a long farewell hug. The prince hugged her back.
And you, Tristan thought, as he watched them walk away.
Taking another sip of wine, he turned his thoughts back toward the Recluse.
CHAPTER XXIII
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AS SHE WALKED DOWN THE HALLS OF THE REDOUBT, THE young acolyte still found herself stunned by its beauty. Even as First Sister Adrian’s assistant, she might take years to learn to navigate these multicolored hallways. In fact, she was having difficulty finding her way back to her own quarters. The hour was late, and her usual walk before retiring had turned into something more than she had imagined.
Early in her walk she had come upon Sister Adrian, and the First Sister had revealed some of what had transpired in the meeting of the Conclave. The two had chatted a while and then, after agreeing to make their morning rounds among the wounded together, they had said good night and gone their separate ways.
Now she guessed at which direction to take at yet another intersection guarded by Minion warriors. She chose rightward—and realized that she had guessed correctly. She recognized where she was. Her quarters were two doors down and on the left.
When she reached her door, she called upon the craft. Almost immediately she heard the lock turn over once, then twice more. She grasped the gold handle, gave it a turn, and let herself in.
Her sumptuous quarters still awed her. During her travels as an acolyte, she had never stayed anywhere as elegant as this. The flames in the fireplace still danced merrily, highlighting the ceiling and walls. A scented candle burned on the table by her bed.
Lying back in the sheets, she decided to view again the amazing anomaly she had acquired just before the Jin’Sai and his wizards had defeated Wulfgar that night atop the roof of the palace.
Raising her right wrist, she called upon the craft. In response a small incision appeared in her skin. As it did, a single drop of her blood left the wound and came to hover in the air. The incision closed again. As expected, her blood signature formed from the freshly liberated droplet.
Her blood signature appeared proper in every respect. It was clearly right-leaning, illustrating her tendency to practice only the Vigors. It was also free of Forestallments—yet another condition the wizards had insisted upon before granting her membership in the Acolytes of the Redoubt.
Then she narrowed her eyes, and her blood signature began to twist and turn upon itself. As it did, it came to reveal something quite different from what the wizards had seen when they examined it. It now clearly leaned to the left, and dozens of Forestallments branched away from the main body of the signature. With a smile of satisfaction, she caused it to vanish.
Leaning over to one side of the bed, she blew out the candle. In the dying firelight, she committed to memory what she had just learned from Sister Adrian.
Bratach would be pleased.
CHAPTER XXIV
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TRISTAN FOUND HIMSELF LYING ON HIS BACK IN THE COOL, damp grass. As he sat up, he felt his head spin, but he knew from past experience that the feeling would soon pass. It was still night in Parthalon, but the orange-red furnace of dawn was already starting to creep up over the eastern horizon. As his head cleared he looked around, trying to find Wigg and Celeste.
The First Wizard lay to Tristan’s left. He came up onto his elbows, then stood stiffly, shook the dew from his robe, and looked around. The twelve Minion warriors who had been selected to accompany them also began to stir.