Savage Messiah

CHAPTER XXXI

Eyes closed, Faegan smoothly stroked the strings of his centuries-old violin. As the sorrowful melody rose into the air, he focused on the many problems plaguing his nation. He had been playing and thinking for more than an hour now, yet no concrete answers had come to him. Too many pieces of the puzzle were still missing.

He suddenly sensed an extra weight upon the scroll of his violin, and felt an unexpected breeze caress his face. With a short smile he stopped playing and lowered his bow. He opened his eyes.

Caprice, Shailiha's yellow and violet flier of the fields, perched upon his violin as if to tell him not to worry, that everything would be all right. The wizard found such a thought to be a very tempting luxury. But then his mind started to work again and he sighed sadly.

"You're lonely for your mistress, aren't you?" he asked. Caprice slowly opened and closed her wings one time: Yes.

He smiled. Although Shailiha and Caprice were oftentimes inseparable, the princess had chosen to leave the flier behind when she left on her mission with Tyranny.

"I know," Faegan said. "I miss her, too."

The wizard sat on the balcony overlooking the aviary of the fliers of the fields. This was perhaps his favorite place in the world. He often came here to be alone and to think. Located in the depths of the Redoubt, the aviary was more than three stories high and filled with soaring fliers of all the colors of the rainbow. Oil sconces on the light-blue marble walls gave the chamber a soft, welcoming feel.

Faegan gave the violin a gentle shake, and Caprice launched herself into the air to rejoin her fellows. As she went, Faegan's sadness returned.

He hadn't come here to punish himself, although that was what sitting here alone had come to feel like.

He was worried for all of those who were now so far afield. Geldon's note, which had arrived the previous night, had done nothing to assuage his fears about the rampaging orb. He feared for Wigg, Tristan, and Celeste, as they probed the depths of the Recluse. But he was most concerned about the welfare of Shailiha and Tyranny, and all of the other brave souls aboard the Reprise.

He knew that the theory behind transporting something so large was basically sound. He was also reasonably sure that his calculations for the ship's destination in the Sea of Whispers were accurate-at least to within a league or so. But when the portal had swallowed up the ship, his blood had run cold.

He had never known the vortex to make any sound whatsoever, much less the terrible screeching noise he had heard that day. He had come to the conclusion that this had been because of the portal's unusual size, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it for the time being. But still he worried. Sending the ship through a portal had been his idea.

On top of all those concerns, something even worse gnawed at his conscience and his sense of personal honor.

Because he had broken under Wulfgar's torture, the Scroll of the Vigors had become damaged. And as long as Wulfgar-who, he was sure, still lived-possessed the Scroll of the Vagaries, their trials and tribulations might never end.

He looked down at the simple black robe that covered his partially destroyed legs and memories of the excruciating pain Wulfgar had caused them came flooding in. A lone tear traced its way down his cheek. Taking a deep breath, he looked out over the fliers again.

He suddenly sensed familiar, endowed blood on the other side of the doors behind him. Sitting up a bit straighter in his chair, he cleared his throat and quickly wiped the tear from his face.

He heard the doors open. Swiveling his chair around, he found Abbey standing there. Her face was white and her hands trembled. She had been crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Abbey took a few tentative steps. She kneeled down and took one of his gnarled hands into hers. Her hands still shook.

"You must prepare yourself, for I bring terrible news," she said, her voice breaking.

Faegan swallowed hard. Rather than ask her again he simply waited, his heart in his throat.

"Geldon is dead," she said.

For several long moments the wizard sat there in his chair, frozen in the moment.

"How?" he asked at last. It had been a struggle to get the word out.

"Was it the orb?"

Abbey shook her head. "No. I think you had best hear the tale from Ox. Even after witnessing Geldon's death, the Minions don't understand what happened. It seems to be a puzzle that only a full-fledged wizard or sorceress might unravel." She paused. "But I'm afraid there is even worse news," she said softly. "And this does have to do with the orb."

Not altogether sure that he could bear any more bad tidings, Faegan looked back out over the aviary. His hands tightened around the violin. "What is it?"

"Ox says that the orb has changed course," she answered. "It has struck the Tolenka Mountains and is heading west. It is literally carving a pass through the peaks. If it burns all the way through to the other side-"

"I am well aware of the prophecy," he answered, cutting her off. His voice was little more than a whisper.

He covered his face with his hands. Then, taking a deep breath, Faegan did his best to gather himself up and speak again. But in the end all he could do was nod. Without a last look at the fliers, he gave his chair a push and followed Abbey down the hall. after Ox told Faegan of Geldon's strange and terrible death, the wizard gathered up Abbey, Adrian, Ox, and Duvessa in a special room in the Redoubt. Also present was Vivian of the House of Wentworth, Adrian's assistant in the sisterhood.

Vivian was rather short, with curly blond hair and a kind, intelligent face. The dark red robe of her office fell loosely over her slim body. Faegan was not well acquainted with the young woman, but what he knew of her he liked. Given the nature of the tragedy, he thought it fitting that she join them.

Faegan had gathered them here because he knew that a grisly service would have to be performed. With Wigg in Parthalon, only he would be able to do it.

The room in which they stood was called the Cubiculum of Humanistic Research. Here, the consuls and the late Directorate of Wizards had done extensive study of the human form and how it related to the science of the craft. Due to their understandable worry regarding the ethics involved, the Directorate had debated for nearly a decade before finally voting to build it. When construction was done, a strict policy had been established that the research conducted here was to take place only upon subjects who had already died, and only for the explicit benefit of the Vigors.

The room held several examination tables. Side tables bearing metal instruments stood next to many of them. Glass cabinets lined the walls. The floor was brilliant white. Everything sparkled with cleanliness.

On the table before Faegan lay Geldon's dead body, covered by a black sheet. Ox had immediately ordered it packed in ice from one of the mountainside glaciers. He had then had it flown back to the palace as fast as possible. That had been good thinking and Faegan had told him so. Now, narrowing his eyes, Faegan used the craft to activate an azure field around the table that would preserve the corpse for as long as necessary.

Faegan sadly looked up at Ox. Minion warriors supposedly never cried-at least that was one of the legends they chose to propagate. But on more than one occasion today Faegan had seen the tears in Ox's eyes, and he understood. Ox just nodded back.

Faegan found the tale of Geldon's death as difficult to believe as everyone else. For Geldon to suddenly commit suicide was completely out of character-especially since his coming to live with them here in Eutracia.

"Are you quite sure that he seemed perfectly normal before he killed himself?" the wizard asked.

Ox nodded. "He worried about orb, but all of us be. We eat and drink much. Then he go to sleep in tent. Ox fall asleep by fire. But when Geldon wake up in middle of night, he be crazy. He come out of tent, waving knife. He say many bad things-things Ox never hear him say before."

"And then?"

"Then he stab himself with knife. Geldon must want die that night. Ox swear as Minion warrior."

Faegan managed a slight smile. "No one doubts your word, my friend."

Frustrated, he rubbed his face. After levitating his chair to a more appropriate height, he grabbed one corner of the sheet, then paused and looked over at the others.

"You might want to prepare yourselves," he said gently. Then he slowly pulled the sheet away from the corpse and let it fall to the floor.

There was no disputing that the naked body was Geldon's, or that the hunchbacked dwarf was dead. Ox had wisely left the knife undisturbed, its handle still protruding from the ravaged eye socket. Vitreous fluid and blood had dried splattered upon Geldon's face. The body was white and cold.

Faegan took hold of the knife handle and, with a quick, sure pull, removed it from Geldon's head.

The wizard held the bloody knife to the light. Turning it over, he examined it closely. Try as he might he could find nothing out of the ordinary about it.

"Was the knife his property?" he asked Ox. "Or did it belong to someone else?"

"It be his," the warrior answered. "He bring it from Parthalon."

"I see," Faegan answered. "This is all so puzzling. What I can tell you is that this knife has not been charmed in any way. This weapon is only the instrument of Geldon's death, not the underlying cause." He placed the knife on a side table.

"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.