Savage Messiah

CHAPTER X

NIGH had fallen at the citadel, and wulfgar was alone. The hour was late. His pregnant queen and her handmaidens had long since retired. Looking out over the dark Sea of Whispers from the comfort of his throne room, the bastard brother of the Jin'Sai found himself restless, and concerned.

While he sat and pondered, the blazing fires in the urns on either side of the twin thrones cast spectral shadows across the polished marble walls and ceilings. He heard only the distant crashing of the waves. He had grown to love this chamber, especially when Serena was by his side.

He raised his damaged arm before his good eye. The nearly useless appendage somehow seemed even more hideous in the firelight. He lowered it and silently cursed the wizards of the Redoubt, and his half brother and sister. His jaw hardened as he gazed back out over the sea.

His mind turned toward the professional killer he had hired. Satine had impressed him. Still, he understood that the assassin-no matter how deadly she might be-was only an oblique part of his overall plan. Satine was a form of guarantee that the Orb of the Vigors would continue to deteriorate.

His spying consuls in Eutracia-especially his secret servant within the walls of the royal palace-were keeping him well informed of the movements of the ruptured orb.

Nonetheless, obstacles remained, not the least of which was the considerable time involved in receiving crucial information from Eutracia. He had lied to Satine when he told her that he had only a few demonslavers remaining. There were in fact tens of thousands of them still here at the Isle of the Citadel. Those remaining slavers and the ships they manned were relaying the information back to him from his consuls in Eutracia. Still, he seethed at the slowness of it.

What worried him above all else was that his Citadel consuls had not yet discovered the formula in the Scroll of the Vagaries that he needed most: the calculations for the single, all-important spell that would ensure his victory.

The scroll's unexpected references to this all-important Forestallment had been discovered only days earlier, by his ceaselessly researching consuls and its suggested existence had come as a shock to them all. When Wulfgar had been informed, his heart had leapt for joy. He quickly realized that if it could be deciphered and then imbued into his blood, his victory over the Jin'Sai would be all but assured. Then, as the Lord of the Vagaries, he would reign supreme in the practice of the craft.

Soon Wulfgar meant to invade Eutracia and make the nation his. Once he had taken Eutracia, the less sophisticated nation of Parthalon would succumb easily.

Standing from his throne, he laid the mangled side of his face against the nearby marble column. The coolness of the stone always comforted his tortured flesh, but he granted himself this show of weakness only when he was alone. He had tried repeatedly to heal his body and face by means of the craft, but even his powers had proven inadequate. Since learning that his consuls might identify and decipher the Forestallment they sought, his hope for a recovery had been renewed.

Lifting his face from the marble, he thought of Serena and the unborn girl-child she carried. Serena was brave, and she loved him. But in his heart he could sense both the pain and the revulsion she tried so hard to hide. In truth, who could blame her?

She and her husband were both fervent practitioners of the Vagaries. They were also human beings who loved each other deeply. He knew that she desperately wanted to see him the way he had looked when they had first fallen in love during their early days here at the Citadel.

Even more, Wulfgar wanted his daughter to see him as he had once been: handsome and strong, rather than the freak he had become at the hands of the wizards of the Redoubt. A deformed monster who would undoubtedly make his new daughter cry, simply by looking down into the crib in which she would soon lie.

He heard the huge double doors at the other side of the room unexpectedly swing open. Turning, he saw one of his armed demonslavers enter.

"What is it?" Wulfgar snapped.

The demonslaver bowed. "Forgive me, my lord," he answered. "But Einar has come, begging an audience. He says it is most urgent."

Wulfgar nodded. "Very well."

The demonslaver bowed again and walked back through the doors. In a few moments the visitor entered the room and approached.

Tall, erect, and almost ravenously lean, he had prematurely gray hair, which he kept tied behind his head, and bright blue eyes, which at the moment were calmly scanning his master's face. Einar was the most gifted of Wulfgar's Citadel consuls, and he was in charge of both their training and their day-to-day activities. He was also the overseer of the scriptorium, the great library that held the fortress' most precious texts and scrolls.

Then Wulfgar saw that the Scroll of the Vagaries glided along by Einar's side. An azure glow surrounded it, telling Wulfgar that the consul had been recently working with it. Normally Wulfgar would be furious that the precious document had been removed from the scriptorium without his permission. But something about the fearless look on his lead consul's face told him that he should hear what the man had to say.

Einar stopped before him, the scroll hovering just a meter or so away. Wulfgar pointed to the parchment.

"Why did you bring the scroll here?" he demanded.

"I wanted to bring you this news personally," Einar said. His eyes flashed with promise, and his gaze was steady.

"We have found the Forestallment that we seek," he said. "It's true, my lord. The calculations exist."

Wulfgar stared wide-eyed at the consul, then looked at the scroll. "Can it be true?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord. That is why I took the liberty of bringing the scroll here to you. Knowing how anxious you have been, I wanted to prove it to you immediately, and in private."

Wulfgar smiled. "Then by all means proceed."

Einar raised his hands, and the scroll began to unroll itself. On and on it went, until Wulfgar thought that it might extend itself completely. Then it stopped. Narrowing his eyes, Einar caused a specific portion of the text to duplicate itself in glowing azure and rise from the body of the parchment to hang in the air. Wulfgar walked closer and began to read the Old Eutracian text. The translation read: "And it shall come to pass that the bastard sibling of the Jin'Sai will one day wish to hear, rather than simply read, of the mysteries that make up his blood. And when that day comes, the calculations for such a Forestallment shall be provided herein for his use. Only he, the Jin'Sai, and the Jin'Saiou are capable of accepting such a gift, for the quality of their blood knows no equal. Therefore the Enseterat -or the Lord of the Vagaries, as he shall also be known-shall finally be able to commune with us, and all will be revealed."

Inarticulate with joy, Wulfgar looked at the groups of numbers and symbols in Old Eutracian that comprised the formula for the Forestallment. The formula was both the longest and the most elegant solution of the craft he had ever seen. He looked back at Einar.

"You have analyzed the calculations?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord. I believe that the end result shall be as the scroll promises. I have never seen so involved a formula. As such, the risk of error is great. For that reason, I suggest that if my lord still wishes to go ahead, that only I perform the transferal. And that it be done here in the throne room, in the strictest of privacy. Gifting you with this Forestallment will be arduous for both of us. I do not wish the demonslavers and the other consuls to hear you, should you cry out. This is why I brought the scroll to you, rather than requesting that you come to it."

Lost in thought, Wulfgar walked the short distance over to the open wall of the throne room. He looked to the sea. The winds had risen and the froth-tipped waves were restless and angry, much like the building conflict in his heart.

Given the length and complexity of the calculations, Wulfgar understood the risk. The installation of so powerful a Forestallment in his blood would be the single most painful experience of his life-probably even more excruciating than the injuries he had suffered at the hands of the wizards of the Redoubt. Once the process began there could be no reprieve, no turning back. Even considering the unusual strength of his blood, he couldn't be sure he would survive it.

But these were risks he would simply have to take. He looked back over at the waiting consul.

"Very well," Wulfgar said. He walked to his throne and sat down.

"You don't wish to lie down, sire?" Einar asked, sounding concerned.

"Where? On the floor?" Wulfgar shook his head. "No. My throne will do."

As the consul walked to his master's side, the hovering text followed him. Narrowing his eyes, Einar caused the glowing numbers and symbols to rise to a place just above his master's head. He placed one palm upon Wulfgar's brow.

"Are you ready, sire?"

Taking a deep breath, Wulfgar closed his eyes.

"Proceed," he answered. "And may the Afterlife watch over all of your gifts this night."