Savage Messiah

CHAPTER XXXV

Surrounded by fighting and screaming, Duvessa knew that she was close to defeat. Her muscles burned and sweat dripped maddeningly down her face, threatening to obscure her vision. It was just before dawn, and the glow from the torches surrounding the battle sent their shadows dancing eerily across the uneven killing ground. She knew better than to risk trying to see how her allies were faring. One mistake like that could cost her dearly.

Just as her enemy's sword came whistling around again, Duvessa raised her dreggan high and parried the strike vertically. The blades of the two weapons clanged together with such force that sparks flew. Summoning all of her strength, she turned and slid the edge of her blade down along her opponent's, forcing his guard down. Sensing an opening, she pointed her sword toward her enemy's throat and lunged forward.

With a wicked smile her opponent stepped to one side, banging his blade down upon her weapon with everything he had. He stamped down upon her sword blade, pinning it to the ground. Then he struck her in the face. The sudden blow made her drop her weapon.

Kicking her dreggan away, her enemy whirled around behind her. He kicked her viciously in the back. Thrown face down into the dirt, she tried desperately to think.

"Kneel," the harsh voice commanded.

She had no choice but to obey. As she came to her knees, she dragged her right palm across the ground, filling her hand with dirt. She knew the killing blow would come any moment now.

Holding her hands at her sides, she forced herself to look up into her killer's eyes. With another smile he raised his sword high, its blade glinting briefly in the torchlight. Duvessa held her breath.

Just as the sword reached its apex she rolled to one side, throwing the dirt into his face. He cried out, and she pulled her dagger from its sheath.

She came to her feet and ran behind him. Grabbing his hair with her free hand she yanked his head back and pulled the blade of her dagger across his throat.

"Enough!" the Minion head instructor shouted.

At his sharp command, all of the warriors stopped fighting. Their chests heaving, they lowered the points of their dreggans to the dirt. Duvessa wearily recovered her weapon.

"You're learning!" the instructor shouted to the group at large. "But each of you has a long way to go before you can claim the rite of ascension. That is why we train as realistically as possible. Remember, only fully realized death blows are not permitted."

The instructor's name was Baltasar. Walking over to Duvessa, he smiled at her.

"Well done," he said. "Any trick that helps you stay alive is by definition a good one. Still, a Minion warrior should never find herself on her knees. With practice, your hands will become accustomed to retaining your weapon as it is struck by another. Even so, I must applaud your resourcefulness."

Duvessa gave him a slight bow. "Thank you," she answered.

Baltasar gave her a reassuring look. "I know that being chosen by the Jin'Sai to lead this new group of female warriors is a heavy burden," he said quietly. "I also realize that each of you is eager to prove herself. And being Traax's mate means that you-even more than the others-shall have a great deal to live up to. You must be the best of them. That is why I push you so hard."

"I understand," she answered.

Baltasar pointed to the white feather emblazoned on the chest of her body armor. "If you become as good a fighter as you are a healer, I think this new force shall be in very capable hands."

After giving her another brief smile, he turned to speak to some of the other female candidates about their progress. At the same time the male Minion warriors they had been sparring with offered their guidance, as well.

Duvessa looked over at the warrior she had just bested. He was still trying to clear the dirt from his eyes. She sheathed her dreggan. Taking a cloth from beneath her armor, she told him to look up at the stars. She gently wiped away the dirt.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," he answered. "You won, and that is what matters. Serves me right for assuming that you had given up! Like Baltasar said, any device that keeps you alive in combat is a good one. Had you really meant business with your dagger, I would be watering the ground with my blood."

After giving the warrior a respectful nod, Duvessa went to sit down upon a nearby stone wall and rest.

This area and several others like it had been turned over to the advanced martial training of female warriors. Since the unexpected order had come from the Jin'Sai, hundreds had volunteered. For the last several days the instructors had rousted the recruits from their beds several hours before dawn. Then had come the training lectures, followed by the grueling hours of live practice. They had not complained.

She knew that they weren't ready for their rites of ascension. She also knew that not a single woman who had volunteered for these special phalanxes would give up until she had completed the course.

Looking wearily out over the training field, Duvessa understood how much every woman here aspired to wear the red feather-and serve under her command. It would be a heavy responsibility, but one that she welcomed.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't see Abbey until the herbmistress was standing right in front of her.

Abbey sat down on the stone wall. During her time here at the palace, Duvessa had come to like Abbey very much, and to respect the talents of the kindly partial adept. As she looked at her now, she could see that the herbmistress was concerned.

"What is it?" Duvessa asked. She immediately thought of Traax.

"Has there been word from Tyranny?"

Abbey shook her head. "Not that I know of," she answered. "Faegan wishes to see you, me, and Adrian in the Redoubt. He told me that it is important." She gave Duvessa a short smile. "I'm afraid your breakfast will have to wait."

Duvessa stood. After a last look at the phalanxes-in-training, the two women began the walk back. As Faegan sat waiting in the cubiculum of humanistic research, he was overcome by several separate but equally compelling emotions. The first was an overwhelming sense of sorrow over Geldon's death. The dwarf's body, preserved by the craft, still lay on the examination table under the black sheet. The necropsy that Faegan had performed had been painstaking. More than once the wizard had been forced to stop what he was doing, wipe away his tears, and force himself to continue.

Another emotion stirring within him was pure, unadulterated wonder. The necropsy had revealed a great deal about the nature of Geldon's death. He knew he had to share what he'd learned with those Conclave members who remained at the palace. As an experienced herbmistress, Abbey's counsel might be particularly helpful.

A third emotion had crept in as his examination progressed. It was a deep sense of anger directed toward whoever had done this to his friend. He still did not know why his friend had been killed, but he meant to find out.

When the three women filed into the room, they could all sense Faegan's outrage. The wizard was without question the greatest living scholar of the craft, and they knew him for his kindness of heart. But this seemed to be a different Faegan. This Faegan wanted revenge, and he clearly meant to have it.

"Please forgive the hour," he said. "I know it is very early. What I have to tell you simply couldn't wait."

Faegan beckoned Duvessa, Adrian, and Abbey to sit at a nearby table. He wheeled his chair over to join them.

Several texts and scrolls lay there. Two other tools of the craft sat next to them. One of them was a blood criterion, used for measuring the quality of endowed blood. The other was a signature scope. Its purpose was to identify the lean of a blood signature. When the women were seated, Faegan placed his gnarled hands flat upon the tabletop.

"I know what killed Geldon," he said.

"You mean why he committed suicide?" Abbey offered.

"No," Faegan answered flatly. "I mean what killed him. Geldon was murdered."

"How can that be?" Duvessa asked. "Several dozen Minion warriors saw him plunge the knife into his own eye. Surely you don't think they are lying?"

"No, no, of course not." Faegan shook his head. "Geldon used the knife, all right. But he was compelled to do it. As I suspected, the craft is afoot here. This particular use of magic is one of the most devious and clever that I have ever seen. So clever, in fact, that I nearly missed it."

"What are you talking about?" Adrian asked.

"When faced with such a difficult problem, it is always best to start with what one knows," Faegan answered. "Geldon was of unendowed blood. Despite all of the problems we are wrestling with, he seemed to be happy. He was one of the most resilient men I ever knew. He had to be, to survive as long as he did in the clutches of the Coven. Suicide was simply not in his nature."

He took up a parchment and laid it flat. The paper held an unidentified blood signature.

"Despite the fact that he was unendowed, this showed up in his blood," he said. "He acquired it just before he died. When I first saw it, I couldn't believe my eyes."

Abbey picked up the parchment. The blood signature was "complete," meaning that it showed evidence of both the mother and the father. Therefore, whoever had possessed this signature was of fully endowed blood. She placed the parchment back on the table.

"I mean no disrespect, but what you are saying is quite impossible," she argued. "Blood simply cannot be changed from unendowed to endowed."

"It wasn't," Faegan answered. "But that does not mean it cannot carry the signature of another for a time, if they are mixed somehow. Take a look at this list of foreign matter I found in Geldon's blood." He unrolled another parchment and handed it to her.

"Please read it aloud," he asked.

Abbey looked down the page. "This list shows human brain matter, human yellow bone marrow, human red bone marrow, derma-gnasher venom, root of gingercrinkle, and oil of encumbrance. There are also a few other trace elements mentioned here." With a puzzled expression, she looked back up at Faegan.

"How on earth did he manage to get all of these ingredients into his bloodstream?" she asked. "I have never come across such an unusual concoction in all my life."

"He didn't put them there," Faegan answered. "Someone else did. Geldon was poisoned. I don't have quite all of the pieces to the puzzle yet, but I'm close."

"But what makes you think he was poisoned?" Duvessa countered.

"After all, they were a long way from home. Isn't it possible that through some quirk of fate he ingested these things naturally?"

Adrian shook her head. "Gingercrinkle, perhaps," she said. "And even the oil of encumbrance. But human brain? Bone marrow? Impossible." The First Sister of the acolytes looked at Faegan.

"It was the derma-gnasher attack, wasn't it?" she asked. "It had to be. He consumed what the others did. These things couldn't have been in the food or drink, or they would all be dead. And the derma-gnasher puncture was the only insult to his body-other than the damaged eye, of course."

Faegan nodded. "Well done," he said. "When I did the necropsy, you may remember that I took a crosssection of tissue from the area surrounding the bite mark. The ingredients listed on the parchment were found in far higher concentration there than anywhere else in his body. The bite was therefore the poison's point of entry."

"So what does all this mean?" Abbey asked. "That we have a swarm of infected derma-gnashers infesting Eutracia? With everything else that is going on, I cannot believe that Geldon's death was so random an act."

"Nor do I," Faegan agreed. "This is what I think happened. I believe this potion was concocted by someone of the craft. The blood signature that appeared in Geldon's blood was obviously not his, as his blood was not endowed. Given the bite on his neck, the derma-gnasher venom was to be expected. I still don't know what the actual delivery system was. It may have been an enchanted derma-gnasher, trained to do its master's bidding. Or it could have been something else entirely-like a blow dart, for instance, disguised with the venom to throw us off. But coming that close to a Minion camp unseen would take skills of the highest order." The ancient wizard paused for a moment as he collected his thoughts.

"The entire mixture was enchanted," he went on, thinking out loud.

"And if the brain and bone marrow came from a person who had committed suicide, then a special enchantment might well revive a desire to take one's own life. Transferred to a living host, the poison then becomes active. The subject goes mad, and he or she commits suicide involuntarily."

"But why include the oil of encumbrance?" Abbey asked. "That would only seem to weaken the potion, rather than strengthen it."

Placing one hand under his chin, Faegan thought for a moment. "True," he said. "But oil of encumbrance's true nature is to delay the effect of other ingredients. For example, if you wish to make a slow-acting medicine, oil of encumbrance would be the perfect additive."

"But why would the assassin wish to slow the process?" Duvessa asked.

"For one reason only," Faegan answered. "To allow him time to get away. Just imagine how perfect it all is! First, the victim is surreptitiously poisoned. The poison goes to work slowly. Several hours later the victim is seen raving like a lunatic and commits suicide before a group of witnesses. Foul play is never suspected. The entire event is chalked up to madness, and by then the assassin is long gone. The only other mark on the body is the derma-gnasher attack, and everyone else near him also has those." More amazed than before, Faegan sat back in his chair.

"It's as monstrous as it is brilliant," he breathed. "And it means that there is an assassin of the highest order lurking about Eutracia. One who is in league with someone of the craft. Or these two vast talents may reside within a single person. Either way, we are now forced to assume that the members of the Conclave have been marked for death."

"But how would he or she possibly know who the members are?" Adrian asked. "All of our meetings have taken place here in the Redoubt. And the Conclave was formed only several months ago."

Faegan looked back at her with knowing eyes. "Tristan's meeting with the citizens in the Hall of Supplication," he said. "If you remember, he not only introduced each of us, but he also went so far as to explain our various roles. I would not be surprised to learn that Geldon's killer had been sitting there the entire time, sizing us up."

He let go a deep breath, then looked back over at Geldon's corpse again.

"Our enemies have planned exceedingly well," he said. "But who is this assassin, and who of the craft is he in league with? This formula was mixed by an expert, I assure you."

Suddenly Abbey stared at the wizard as though she had just seen a ghost.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"Do you suppose…," she said softly.

"Suppose what?"

As if not knowing how to begin, Abbey took a deep breath. "Fifty years ago-long before Wigg brought me back to Tammerland-a badly wounded man stumbled onto my cottage. He had been savagely tortured, and he was delirious. Several of his fingers had been cut off. I took him in. But by then a massive infection had set in, and there was little I could do for him. Still, he told me a few things before he died."

Faegan leaned closer. "What did he say?"

"He told me that he was a Valrenkian," she said.

Faegan sat back in his chair. "Did you believe him?" he asked.

"At the time I thought it was his delirium talking," she answered. "But as the years wore on, I came to believe it. It was a deathbed confession. Why would he lie?"

"Why indeed," Faegan mused. Then his expression changed and he looked sternly at her. "Why didn't you report this to the Directorate?"

Abbey pursed her lips. "You don't know what things were like then," she said defensively. "You were still in Shadowood. The partials had been banished for nearly three hundred years. Worse yet, before I left, Wigg granted me the time enchantments. That was strictly against Directorate policy. Had I suddenly returned, they were sure to find out. He would have lost his seat on the Directorate, or worse. Despite what he had done to me I still loved him. So I stayed away."

Faegan gave a little smile of understanding. "Did this man say anything else?"

"He wanted to repent," she said. "When he wished to leave that life, they refused. They told him that once you were accepted into their midst, you were a Valrenkian until death. They tortured him, but somehow he managed to escape. But he did also say that he was sorry for the things he had done. And then he whispered the most telling thing of all."

"And that was?"

"That they were a secret society of partial adepts. The last thing he said to me was that they were of the Vagaries, and that they used human and animal body parts in their work. They survive by selling their dark wares throughout Eutracia. Sometimes they kidnap citizens, and other times they rob graves for their raw materials."

Faegan closed his eyes. "So it's true after all," he said softly.

"Who are the Valrenkians?" Duvessa asked.

Opening his eyes, Faegan looked over at the Minion. "Until this moment, I believed them to be more myth than flesh and blood," he answered. "Now I'm not so sure. Legend says that they were originally formed by the Coven of Sorceresses. They were supposedly converted to the Vagaries, and then taught their grisly trades. Right or wrong, these rumors were one of the major factors in the Directorate's decision to banish the partials."

Faegan looked back at Abbey. "Did this man tell you where their community was located?"

Abbey shook her head. "But if what we surmise about Geldon's death is true, then a clue to their whereabouts might be right under our noses."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that one of the ingredients in the poison used to kill Geldon was gingercrinkle, did you not?" she asked. Faegan nodded.

"Gingercrinkle grows only in one place," she went on. "On the southwestern border of Hartwick Wood. Trying to send out search parties to look for this assassin would be pointless. We don't even know what he or she looks like. But if the killer acquired this potion from the Valrenkians, then that would be a good place to begin our search. If we can find them, they might lead us to him."

Faegan looked down at his hands and then back up again. "This issue of the gingercrinkle will probably be a mere coincidence," he said. "But in good conscience I cannot let it go unexplored."

Silence fell over the room for a time as the wizard carefully considered his options. He finally looked over at Duvessa.

"Go and fetch Ox," he said. "I have a new mission for the Minions."