“What does the prophecy say?” Abbey asked.
Closing his eyes, Faegan began to recall the cryptic passage.
“With acts delayed activated within their blood, the Jin’Sai, the Jin’Saiou, or any others of the same womb will one day be able to commune with either the Ones or the Heretics,” Faegan recited. “And should for any reason the mountains separating us somehow be breached, an azure wall shall arise to contain that breach. The wall shall be the ministrations of either the Heretics or the Ones. If the Ones bring the wall, it shall be employed so as to keep your side of the land safe from harm. But if the Heretics conceive the wall, they will unleash horrors from our side to yours—horrors such as have not been seen for aeons.”
“I still don’t understand,” Adrian said. “What does it all mean?”
“The ‘acts delayed’ are Forestallments,” Wigg answered. “And we now know that the mountains the Ones speak of must be the Tolenkas. The Tolenkas have now been breached by the ruptured orb. Whether this was accidental or deliberate remains to be seen. And the azure wall has risen, just as the prophecy states it would. Even though Tristan and Shailiha have been imbued with Forestallments, except for the princess’ ability to commune with the fliers, these spells have not been activated. Because the wall is already here and neither the prince nor the princess has heard voices, then only one conclusion can be drawn.”
“Wulfgar has been imbued with the Forestallment that allows him to commune with the Heretics,” Tristan said. “Worse yet, he will soon have control over the wall.
“He’s coming back, isn’t he?” he asked the First Wizard. “The wording of the prophecy implies that the Heretics—or at least their spirits—reside on the western side of the Tolenkas. Wulfgar means to breach the wall, gain the help of the Heretics, and take Eutracia.”
Tristan’s face grew hard. He didn’t like secrets. And yet there seemed no end to the secrets the wizards had been keeping from him and the other members of the Conclave. Trying to calm him, his new bride gave him a sympathetic look, but he just glared at Wigg.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he growled. “Both you and Faegan have known this all along! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“In fact we did not know,” Faegan answered “Of course we assumed that the natural barrier the Tome refers to might be the Tolenkas, but we could never be sure. The barrier could also have been the Sea of Whispers, or the oceanic ice floes lying both to the north and the south, or the very sky above us, for that matter. But now we are much closer to the truth. The Heretics must still exist in one form or another on the western side of the Tolenkas. And they will very likely soon cede control of the azure wall to Wulfgar.”
“I’m afraid it goes even deeper than that,” Wigg said. “Wulfgar doesn’t mean to only take Eutracia. He has other designs, as well.”
“And what are they?” Celeste asked.
“You’re forgetting the orb,” the wizard answered. “Once he has landed on Eutracian shores, Wulfgar’s battle plan will probably be threefold. First, he will divide his forces. He will lead one group to the pass to take control of the azure wall. A second group—probably under the control of his Black Ship captains—will search out the Orb of the Vigors in order to protect it from us at all costs. Wulfgar will turn his remaining legions south to Tammerland, to crush those of us who remain loyal to the Vigors. And as the polluted waters of the Sippora finally reach us, much of the city will go up in flames, only adding to Wulfgar’s chances of success.” He paused for a moment as he looked around the table.
“I doubt that even my powers combined with those of Faegan, Jessamay, and all the acolytes could effectively disperse the river’s heat,” he continued gravely. “As the refugees flood in and the city becomes a fortress, food and water will quickly grow short. Riots will break out. I know,” he added sadly. “I have seen it all before.”
His thoughts went back to those dark days when the Coven had nearly taken the capital.
“It seems that it is all about to happen again, old friend,” Wigg said to Faegan. “We must prepare for a siege. If Wulfgar has already left the Citadel, we have little time to prepare. His Black Ships can travel much faster than his demonslaver ships, or anything that Tyranny has in her fleet.”
Taking a deep breath, Faegan nodded.
“I don’t understand,” Shailiha protested. “Wulfgar wants to protect the orb? And from us? What in the name of the Afterlife are you talking about? I thought Wulfgar and the Heretics wanted the Orb of the Vigors destroyed!”
Suddenly understanding, Tristan nodded his head. “They do,” he mused. He looked over at his sister.
“Don’t you see?” he asked her. “Wulfgar doesn’t need to destroy the orb; it’s accomplishing that task on its own. If your blood and mine only can accept the powerful Forestallment that will save it, then Wulfgar will do everything in his power to try to keep us away from it.”
“That’s right,” Faegan said. “And that is why we must hit him with everything we have when his forces are divided and he is at his weakest. If he reaches the wall and parts it, I fear that no power on earth will be able to stop him.”
For several moments the only sounds came from the wood burning in the fireplace, and the happy gurgling of Morganna as she played on the floor.
“These horrors from the other side of the Tolenkas,” Tyranny said,
“what are they likely to be?”
Wigg shook his head. “That is impossible to say,” he replied. “The Heretics were the originators of the Vagaries, and we have always believed their gifts to be massive—far outstripping our own.”
Tristan took Celeste’s hand. Sighing, he looked down for a moment.
“So much of this is about me, isn’t it?” he asked. “It all hinges on returning my blood to its original state. Supposedly only the Scroll Master can provide us with the calculations for the Forestallment that we need. But despite our trip to the Recluse, we’re no closer to finding him than we were. The spell might be somewhere in the Scroll of the Vigors, but at least one-third of the scroll has been destroyed. For all we know, the calculations we need were destroyed with it that same night. Search the scroll as hard as we might, it could still all be for naught.”
Faegan looked at Jessamay. “Do you have any idea what Failee meant about the Scroll Master guarding something called the Well of Forestallments?”
Jessamay shook her head. “Not really. Only that the Scroll Master was supposedly the world’s greatest keeper of Forestallments. I have no idea what that means. And I have no idea what the Well of Forestallments might be. Failee claimed that they both resided in Eutracia. But I don’t think that even she knew where, because she said that once Eutracia was hers, she planned to search him out and torture his knowledge from him.” She was quiet for a moment, her forehead wrinkled with thought as she searched her memories. “She did say one other thing: that the Scroll Master could be found via the River of Thought, whatever that is.”
Wigg and Faegan exchanged glances.
“Are you sure that’s what she called it?” Wigg asked quickly.
The sorceress nodded. “Reasonably sure.”
Faegan leaned eagerly across the table. “Did she say anything else about it?”
“Only one thing,” Jessamay answered. “She said that the basic calculations for the River of Thought carried with them many subdisciplines, all of which could be found in the scrolls. One of these was said to be particular to the Scroll Master—that the bearer of the Forestallment would be drawn to the Scroll Master. That’s all I know about it.”
Stunned, Faegan sat back in his chair. “I’ve seen it,” he said quietly, half to himself.
“What!” Wigg exclaimed. “What do you mean, ‘You’ve seen it’?”
“When I found the calculations in the scroll that allowed you to call the acolytes home,” Faegan said, “I saw others listed
as well. I paid them little heed, because I felt sure I had already found the one I needed. One of those subdisciplines must be for the Scroll Master!”
“Then our path is clear,” Tristan said firmly. “You must immediately imbue my blood with this Forestallment so that I can search for him.”
To his great surprise, both wizards shook their heads.
“We can’t do that,” Wigg said.
Tristan scowled. “And why not?”
“For the same reason that we cannot train you right now,” Faegan answered. “As long as your blood is azure, we can’t know what effects our use of the craft might have on you. Despite the desperate nature of our situation, we cannot risk losing the Jin’Sai. Especially now.”
“But Failee was successful in granting Tristan Forestallments,” Abbey countered. “If she could do it, then why can’t we?”
“The prince’s Forestallments were granted to him in the Recluse, before his blood changed to azure,” Wigg reminded her. “No, Faegan is right. As tempting as it might be, we simply cannot risk it.”
The First Wizard looked over at Faegan. “I’m sure that you will agree with me when I say that I should carry the Forestallment,” Wigg said. “I have already employed the River of Thought, and I am familiar with its use. Therefore, augmenting my already existing Forestallment with the subdiscipline for the Scroll Master should be relatively simple—should one care to call it that. And then the prince will accompany me, as my blood searches out the Scroll Master.”
After thinking it over for a few moments, Faegan finally nodded his agreement.
Wigg turned toward Tristan. “It seems that you and I are about to go on another adventure.”
Tristan nodded, but he felt torn. He knew how important it was for him to go with Wigg. But with Wulfgar on the way, part of the prince wanted to remain here to lead the Minions into battle. And he hated the idea of leaving Celeste. Would she still be alive when they came home? He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her—or of her facing death without him or her father by her side. Then he had an idea. With hope in his eyes, he looked at Wigg.
“We should take Celeste with us,” he said. “Every moment is precious. If we are successful with the Scroll Master, then I could help her right then and there, without having to first return to the palace. This makes the most sense, does it not?”
“You must have been reading my mind,” Wigg said with a smile.
“Of course she should come with us. We will go together in a Minion litter.”
“Begging your pardon, First Wizard, but taking a litter won’t work,” Adrian interjected. “You will need to go by horseback.”
Wigg’s right eyebrow arched upward. “And just why is that?”
“The flying Minions’ pace will overcome the workings of the spell,” she answered. “When you employed the River of Thought to bring the acolytes home, we found that we all shared something in common—an undeniable need to come as quickly as we could. Of course, that meant riding at a gallop. But every time we did, each of us seemed to somehow outpace the spell and we lost the feeling. When we slowed back down, the feeling reemerged. Flying Minions will be unencumbered by the lay of the land, able to fly in a straight line. Even bearing a litter, they will go too fast. And flying in circles just to slow down will end up exhausting them.”
Wigg rubbed his chin. “Interesting,” he said. “Very well, we shall go by horseback. But we should have a phalanx of warriors accompany us with a litter full of supplies. If we need to come home quickly, they can fly us back.”
Tristan nodded, then turned to Traax.
“In my absence, I leave Faegan in charge of the Minions. You are to follow his orders as if they were my own. Should Faegan fall in battle, then Shailiha will take charge. Do you understand?”
Traax bowed his head. “It shall all be as you command.”
Tristan could see that everyone was tired—especially Tyranny and Shailiha, who had returned home only hours earlier. Further plans could wait while everyone took a break. But first he wanted to make an announcement. He reached for Celeste’s hand. She smiled at him.
“This meeting is adjourned for four hours,” he said. “But before you all go, there is something I have to tell you.” Taking a deep breath, Tristan smiled.
“Three days ago, in Parthalon, Celeste and I were married. We waited to tell you because we wanted you all to hear our good news at the same time.”
After a few seconds of shocked silence, the group erupted with joy. Everyone immediately came to hug, kiss, and congratulate the newlyweds. Only Tyranny hung back, momentarily frozen in her chair. But then even she, face white, eyes suspiciously shiny, rose and went to give Tristan a quick kiss on one cheek.
As the hoopla died down, Jessamay unexpectedly raised her voice.
“I’m sorry to have to do this just now,” she said, “but with the prince’s indulgence, may I please ask that everyone sit back down for a few minutes? I would not ask if it wasn’t very important. When you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand.”
After passing curious looks among themselves, the members of the Conclave returned to their seats.
“What is it?” the First Wizard asked.
Jessamay took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you all,” she began. “It is something that only I could know—something that could make a great difference in the impending struggle. I learned of it only after my arrival here at the palace.”
The sorceress paused for a few moments. As she did, Shailiha went to take up Morganna and bring the toddler back to the table to sit on her lap. A foreboding silence crept over the room.
When she knew that she had everyone’s attention, Jessamay began her tale.
CHAPTER LXII
_____
PUSHING WITH HER HEELS, SATINE CASUALLY ROCKED HER chair back upon its two rear legs and took another sip of ale. It had gone flat some time ago, but she didn’t care. Placing the pewter mug back on the table before her, she carefully looked around.
The tavern was a forlorn, ramshackle place. She sat by a window that looked out on to the street. A small fire burned in the fireplace to her left, occasionally sending the comforting smells of smoke and soot her way.
Other patrons—mostly men—sat at tables nearby, slowly drinking their way into the evening. Although she had received several curious glances when she first walked in, none had approached her, and for that she was thankful. She didn’t need any unnecessary attention just now.
Since she had killed Lionel, this was the first time she had departed the quiet, out-of the-way inn where she’d been staying on the other side of Tammerland. Now she kept an eye on the archery shop across the street, waiting until she felt it was safe to venture out to see what word Bratach had for her.
So far she had seen nothing unusual. She had recognized none of the passersby in the street, and she had seen no one loitering about the shop. Several archery customers had come and gone, but that was to be expected.
She lowered the front legs of her chair to the floor. Pulling several low-denomination kisa from her pocket, she let them jangle to the tabletop. Then she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and walked out of the tavern.
Evening was falling and the air had become cooler. Leaning casually up against the outside wall, she looked up and down the street. She saw nothing to concern her. But there were still two customers inside the shop and she wanted them gone before she walked over.
To pass the time she watched a ragged lamplighter approach. Carrying a ladder, he trudged slowly along from one lamp pole to the next. Hunched over and ancient-looking, he was blanketed with soot.
He leaned the ladder up against the pole before the inn and climbed up to remove the globe. He lit the wick, and the lamp came alive, casting his shadow long across the ground. He replaced the globe, then climbed down, picked up his ladder,
and slowly made his way toward the next pole.
What a fruitless existence, Satine thought as she watched him. How much better it is to be a huntress. If I die, at least I will die quickly rather than slowly, from sheer boredom.
She suddenly found herself thinking of Aeolus, and the Serpent and the Sword. She had not been back to see her onetime master since she had swung through the skylight and choked one of his students unconscious. She missed the old man, and hoped that he was well. She also missed the hard, ascetic life that the school had once forced her to tolerate, before she had come to love it. Often she wished that she could go back there for good and live in peace. Perhaps one day, she thought. But only after all of this is over.
At the sound of the archery shop door opening and closing, she turned to see the two last customers leaving.
Glad for the darkening night, Satine shifted her weight away from the wall and walked quickly across the street. She opened the door and stepped in, the little bell at the top of the door cheerfully announcing her presence. She lowered the hood of her cloak and looked around.
Ivan was alone, standing behind the counter. When he saw her, his expression darkened. He nervously pointed to the front of the shop.
“Lock the door, turn the sign around, and pull the shades!” he said anxiously. As Satine turned back to do as he asked, he growled, “We expected to see you here before this! Where have you been?”
Satine walked to the counter and gave Ivan a hard look.
“That’s my business,” she shot back. “Is he here?”
Ivan nodded and waved her around to the other side of the counter. He walked to the rear of the shop and parted the curtains. Cautious as ever, Satine place her hands loosely atop her dagger hilts and followed Ivan down the stairs.
Bratach sat alone at the shabby table. As Ivan and Satine descended into the basement, the consul looked up. He smiled.
“Take a seat,” he said to them.
Ivan sat down. Satine turned a chair around to straddle it. Bratach lifted a half-full bottle of wine and held it out to her. Satine shook her head. He refilled his glass.
Savage Messiah Page 39