“Before he died, did he complain of anything?” Faegan asked. “Was he ill in any way?”
Ox shook his head. “He complain about derma-gnashers,” he said. “He be bitten on neck. I laugh at him. But that close to forest, we all be bitten.”
Faegan nodded. Turning the dwarf’s head to one side he saw the small lump indicative of a derma-gnasher attack. The area was red and swollen, and he could see where the dwarf had scratched it.
Faegan then closely examined Geldon’s nails and the inside of his mouth; he saw nothing untoward. Shaking his head, he looked down at the bite again. He asked Abbey to come closer and pointed to the bite.
“As a practicing herbmistress, do you see anything unusual there?” he asked.
Abbey bent over to look.
“No,” she said flatly. “The bite seems to be of no consequence.”
“I agree,” Faegan answered.
“May I examine the wound?” Duvessa asked. Faegan nodded.
Coming around the table, Duvessa put her hands behind Geldon’s head and raised it upward. She placed one eye very near the damaged socket and examined it closely. Finally she placed the head back down upon the table.
“There is nothing inconsistent here,” she said. “I have seen it before. Death is instantaneous. Still, none of this answers the larger question—just what possessed him to do it?”
“What indeed?” Faegan repeated. He looked back over at Abbey, Adrian, and Vivian. His face was stern.
“In order to learn more I will be forced to do a necropsy,” he said.
“Since I have not done one since the Sorceresses’ War and Wigg is not here to help, assisting me has now become your job. Abbey, I want you to keep an especially sharp lookout for anything of the organic facet of the craft that seems to be unusual, especially regarding Geldon’s unendowed blood. Duvessa, you will assist me with organ removal. Every cut you make must be clean and sure, if we are to ever find the answer to this. As for Adrian and Vivian—well, let’s just say that this shall be the sisterhood’s induction into this particular art of the craft.” Then he looked back down at the corpse and laid one hand tenderly upon Geldon’s shoulder.
“Are you all with me?” he asked. “Given his many sacrifices for us, we owe it to him to find out what truly happened.” Without hesitation each of the women agreed.
“I have request,” Ox suddenly said.
“What is it?” Faegan asked.
“On behalf of other warriors, I ask you grant him Minion funeral pyre when you done. He deserve it.”
Faegan thought for a moment. “Very well,” he answered. “But only after we have finished—and not before the other members of the Conclave have returned to the palace and paid their respects.”
Ox nodded. “Minions thank Faegan,” he said.
Faegan reached over to a nearby table and took up a small, razor-sharp knife. Its blade glinted in the light. Looking back down, he suddenly remembered the first crudely written note he had received from Geldon by way of a Parthalonian racing pigeon. He remembered how it had excited him to have finally found a friend from across the sea. Tears came again, and he brushed them away with a forearm.
Reaching down, he placed the blade of the knife against the cold, white flesh.
LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, VIVIAN WALKED ALONE THROUGH the palace halls. She had told Faegan that the necropsy had made her ill and that she needed to get some air. Understanding, he had granted her permission to leave.
Quietly she made her way up out of the Redoubt and through the Hall of Supplication. As she walked among the healing stations, the midday breeze wafted pleasantly through the open windows. She continued on through the great room and out into the courtyard beyond. Pausing, she took a deep breath. She hadn’t really been ill, but the fresh air rejuvenated her just the same.
Many Minion tents still stood here to shelter the wounded. More often than not, the stricken citizens looked up at her with gratitude as she walked among them. Unlike the way many of them felt about the prince and the rest of his entourage, they all seemed to have great respect for the kindly women in the red robes. To keep up appearances she stopped to speak with several of them before walking to the drawbridge.
As she strolled under the portcullis and started over the moat, the warriors standing guard came to attention and smartly clicked their heels. The assistant to the First Sister was an important person, after all.
She nodded back politely and pulled the hood of her robe up over her head. Turning right onto the nearest street, she continued on her way and became one with the crowd.
Most of the bodies had been removed from the streets, but an odd sense of fatalism lay over the city, combined with an atmosphere that was almost festive. It was almost as if everyone was waiting for the rampaging orb to reach the capital and destroy everything in its path, a dread anticipation that brought with it a sense of abandon.
This once-fashionable, quiet section of the city was deteriorating into another Bargainers’ Square—complete with whores of both sexes, drunkards, and scoundrels of every kind. Had she not possessed her skills of the craft, Vivian would have been reluctant to venture here alone. Peering out from the shadows of her hood, she walked on.
The street ended in a roundabout surrounding a small fountain. A number of people loitered there, but she could afford to be patient. She sat down on the ledge of the pool to wait for the right moment.
At last, she slipped one hand into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a small handful of wheat grains taken from the palace kitchens. She kept her hand closed tightly around them and closed her eyes.
The faintest hint of azure escaped from between her fingers, then faded. Shifting her weight slightly, she released the grains into the water and smiled.
The dwarf was dead, the method of his death stymieing even the wizard Faegan. Clearly, Satine had succeeded with the first of her sanctions. Soon Bratach and Ivan would know, and would send Satine toward her next target. Then their master and his army would return from across the sea, and everything would change.
Her task here complete, the acolyte stood and stretched. As she started back to the palace, she smiled. Truth be known, she had been intrigued by the necropsy. Perhaps she would watch the rest of it after all.
CHAPTER XXXII
_____
WULFGAR, SERENA, AND EINAR STOOD TOGETHER AT THE western shore of the Isle of the Citadel, the rays of the rising sun just beginning to emerge at their backs. As he cast his gaze out over the Sea of Whispers, Wulfgar thought of the orders the Heretics of the Guild had imparted to him the previous evening.
He had been with his beloved queen. It was early evening at the Citadel and the stars were just coming out. Seated in the throne room, the two of them had been happily considering names for their unborn daughter. Then the familiar feeling had come over him. Without speaking the Enseterat rose from his throne. Understanding what was happening, Serena watched in awestruck silence.
The Lord of the Vagaries walked to the open section of the wall and went down on his knees. He lifted his face to the heavens. As he did, the beautiful choir of voices came to him once more.
You have done well, the Heretics told him. You have raised the Black Ships, and you have conjured the beasts that will help you lay waste to the lairs of our enemies. It is now time for you to raise your other endowed servants from the depths. Of the hundreds condemned by the Coven of Sorceresses, only seven remain strong enough to rise and serve you. The calculations required for this feat are to be found within the Scroll of the Vagaries. To secure them, employ the index forestalled in your blood. Once your servants are among you, you may begin your campaign to rid the world of the Vigors and all those who would practice them.
I will obey, Wulfgar responded silently.
For the rest of the night, the Enseterat searched. Activating the proper Forestallment, h
e mentally scanned the scroll’s index. Thousands of glowing numbers and letters floated before his mind’s eye. Finally he found the ones he was looking for. Now knowing the locations of the calculations in the massive scroll, Wulfgar read them aloud while Einar recorded them on a piece of parchment. As he looked out over the sea, Wulfgar held that same parchment in his hand. After more than three hundred years of imprisonment, the onetime servants of the Coven would rise to serve him.
Serena touched her husband’s good arm.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said. “But what is it that the Heretics have asked you to do? You have yet to tell me.”
Wulfgar smiled. Then he looked down at the parchment.
“Watch and learn, my love,” he said and began to recite the calculations in Old Eutracian.
As the sea before them began to burble and roil, Serena thought she must be seeing things. She looked over at Einar, but her husband’s lead consul said nothing.
Then ghoulish faces appeared, rising to the surface of the sea and Serena understood. They were the Necrophagians—the Eaters of the Dead. Wulfgar paused in his incantation and lowered the parchment.
Seven faces lay just beneath the surface of the waves. Their skin was a putrid gray-green. Their eyes and mouths were no more than dark holes in their faces. The faces were covered with boils, and the awful moaning they made was the most plaintive sound Serena had ever heard. It was as if they were in some form of mortal agony and begging to be released from it. Wulfgar raised the parchment once again and resumed reading the calculations aloud.
The heavens began to tremble and azure lightning ripped across the morning sky. Thunder tore through the air. The wind howled, causing the sea to crash against the shore. The Enseterat dropped the parchment to the ground and raised his hands to the sky.
Lighting bolts shot down to strike the faces in the sea. The shoreline began to shake, and the waves crashed even harder. Fearing for her unborn child, Serena placed a hand over her abdomen and stepped back.
As the wind raged and the lightning cascaded across the sky, the faces in the water slowly submerged. Then the heavens quieted and an eerie calm descended. The Sea of Whispers became as smooth as glass. The seven Necrophagians were gone.
Serena stepped back to her husband’s side. “What has become of them?” she asked. “Are they dead?”
Wulfgar did not take his eyes from the sea. “Quite the contrary,” he said. “In fact, they are even more alive than before. And they owe it all to me, their new lord. Behold.”
He walked to the very edge of the water and raised his arms again.
“Come to me,” he said.
Seven heads broke the surface of the sea. Each wore a long, arched, black hat, folded up along one side and adorned with a long red feather that pointed rearward. Below the hats the heads were mere skulls, the bone blackened. Some showed cracks here and there. Their lidless eyes glowed an eerie green. Below the eyes, nasal cavities lay exposed. Lipless mouths showed teeth of the purest white, in sharp contrast with the rest of the macabre faces.
Bodies rising from the sea, they stepped silently onto the shore, the tatters of what looked like ancient military uniforms flapping in the breeze. Their boots and long capes were black, their breastplates tarnished silver. Each wore a sword, a dagger, or both.
They came to stand in a line before their new lord. Then they dropped to one knee and bowed their dark, dripping heads. With a shudder, Serena turned to her husband.
“They look like the officers of some long-defeated army,” she said.
Smiling, Wulfgar looked over at his queen. “Well done, my love,” he answered. “That is exactly what they are.”
He turned back to his new servants. “You may rise,” he said. They stood.
As the seawater dripped from them, Serena wondered what purpose these creatures were to serve. She knew her husband would tell her in his own good time.
With a menacing smile on his face, the Enseterat turned and led his wife, his consul, and his new officers back to the Citadel.
CHAPTER XXXIII
_____
ALL OF HIS SENSES ALERT, WIGG TENTATIVELY WALKED INTO the large inner chamber. It smelled damp and musty, as though its door hadn’t been opened for centuries.
There were more tables and bookcases, and tools of the craft lay scattered about. At least two dozen small alcoves lined the walls. Within each, a raggedly clothed skeleton hung chained to the wall, its bones slumped to the floor in an awkward posture. Wigg could not be sure what had killed these poor souls, but he had a fair idea of who had been responsible. Then he heard the pleading voice once more.
“Wigg…is that you?”
He walked deeper into the room. In an alcove in the far wall lay a chained woman, curled into a fetal position, shaking. Her once colorful gown had long since become faded rags, and her blond hair was snarled. She was filthy, but not emaciated. From the ceiling, a cone of azure light shone down upon her, bathing her in its glow.
Wigg finally recognized her and tears welled up in his eyes. He slowly went to one knee and looked into her face.
“Jessamay?” he said. He reached out to touch her.
“No!” she shrieked.
Like a cornered animal, she retreated farther into the alcove. She shook harder. She pointed to the cone of azure light.
“If the boundaries of the glow are improperly violated, I will die!” Lowering her head, she began to cry.
After a time she raised her face. “Please, you must believe me,” she whispered.
Still stunned, Wigg sat back on his heels. “Jessamay, it is really you?” he asked softly. The woman nodded.
“But how—why are you here?” he stammered. It was all he could do to get the words out. “The Directorate thought you dead.”
“Death would have been preferable,” the woman said. “Failee brought us here. We were the subjects of her experiments. I am the only one who survived.”
On all fours, she carefully inched closer to the edge of the azure light. As if still unable to believe who she saw, she searched his face again.
“Wigg…,” she whispered, “after all this time…. You look much older than I remember. But it is you, just the same.” Then she suddenly bolted upright and panic stormed over her face.
“You must leave here at once!” She looked frantically around the room. “If the Coven finds you, they will kill you on sight!”
Wigg smiled. “It’s all right,” he said. “The members of the Coven have been dead for many months. Their ashes lay just beyond this door.”
At first she looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Then, realizing he spoke the truth, she smiled and tears of joy ran down her face.
“Wigg, are you all right?” Tristan shouted. Wigg turned to see Tristan and Celeste entering the room. The prince had apparently ordered the Minions to remain behind.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Celeste said. “I know you told us to wait, but we were worried about you.” They came to stand next to the wizard.
The moment Jessamay saw Tristan she took a short breath. She went to her knees and lowered her head to the floor. Tristan looked over at Wigg. The First Wizard seemed as surprised as he was.
“Do you know this woman?” the prince asked.
Wigg nodded. “Her name is Jessamay, of the House of Finton,” he said. “She is at least as old as I am.” Then he looked back down at her.
“Why do you bow to us, Jessamay?” he asked.
Slowly she lifted her head and said, “The Jin’Sai has finally come! Thank the Afterlife!”
Wigg inched a bit closer.
“Yes,” he said. “Both the Jin’Sai and the Jin’Saiou were delivered to us thirty-two years ago, and they are safe. So are the Paragon, and the Tome. This is Prince Tristan of the House of Galland. The woman is Celeste, my daughter.”
Then he more closely examined the azure light that imprisoned Jessamay.
“This is a sorceress’ cone, isn’t it?” he asked. Jessamay nodded.
“I have not seen one for more than three hundred years,” Wigg mused. “Did Failee conjure it?”
“Yes.”
“What are you talking about?” Celeste asked.
“The sorceress’ cone was a device used by the Coven during the war,” Wigg said. “It works somewhat like a wizard’s warp, except that if a person tries to enter or exit the cone without knowing the spell of protection, he or she will be quickly burned to death.”
Wigg looked into Jessamay’s face. “How long have you been here?” he asked.
Jessamay bit her lip and pulled the remnants of her ragged gown closer.
“I have been here in the Recluse ever since Succiu returned from her recent mission to Eutracia,” she answered. “But I have existed in this cone for almost four centuries.”
Stunned, Tristan felt the breath go out of him. “How is such a thing possible?” he asked.
Wigg looked down at Jessamay again. “Failee enhanced your time enchantments with a charm of endurance, didn’t she?” he asked. Jessamay nodded. She began to cry again.
“What are you talking about?” Celeste asked.
“It is but one of many enchantments that can be added to an already existing spell,” Wigg answered. “In this case the charm allows the subject to live without the need for food, air, water, or sleep.”
Tristan scowled. “I don’t understand,” he said. “That sounds more like a blessing than a curse.”
Wigg’s face darkened. “Once imprisoned inside the cone, if the subject’s time enchantments are then graced with the charm of endurance, he or she will continue to survive within its confines forever. No one need ever return to care for her, or to feed her. This allows for total, permanent isolation. To further enhance the effect, Failee would sometimes cause her subjects to endure extreme heat or cold. Or she would cause the chamber to become lightless, forcing her victims to face their endless torment in the dark. Then she would simply leave them to suffer their fate for all of eternity.”
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