Savage Messiah

CHAPTER LXVIII

His face grim in the light of the fireplace, Faegan put down his wine glass. The tavern was a shabby-perhaps even dangerous-place to be, but it suited his needs. The four people sitting with him were eager to take action. It was early evening in Tammerland. The light of day was being slowly replaced by the softer glow coming from the lampposts bordering the street.

"You and Scars are probably the only ones that they cannot identify," he whispered to Jessamay, who had returned only two hours earlier to tell her tale. "That's why you two are going in first. We have to know how many we're dealing with. When we see your signal, we'll come straight away. But remember, we want at least one of them taken alive."

Pausing for a moment, the crippled wizard placed a hand on one of Jessamay's. "Is your spell still in place?" he asked.

"My blood is well cloaked," she answered with a brief smile. "Just like the old days."

"Just like the old days indeed," he replied. Glancing across the street one more time, Faegan decided that his little band was as ready as they'd ever be.

"Go now," he said. "And may the Afterlife be with you."

Jessamay and Scars rose from their chairs, walked quietly across the tavern, and went out through the double doors.

As Faegan watched Jessamay and Scars walk toward the archery shop, his nerves coiled up. He knew that there were a thousand ways his makeshift plan could go wrong, but they needed to gain entrance to the shop today, before whoever was inside decided to close for the night. Further complicating matters was the fact that when they left the palace, Vivian had not yet returned. No one knew where she might be.

Taking a deep breath, Jessamay opened the door of the shop and walked in with Scars. As the little bell at the top of the door jingled, the two of them looked around, wary.

The place was empty save for the two men behind the counter. One of them was short and balding. Red garters held up the sleeves of his sweat-stained shirt. He looked like the type who would be perpetually nervous, regardless of the circumstances. The proprietor, Jessamay reasoned.

The other man was the fellow she had seen at the fountain. He had close-cropped hair, dark eyes, and a hawk-beaked nose. Seated in a chair behind the counter, he slowly whittled a piece of wood. When he looked up at her, she could sense his innate intelligence. Of the two men, he was clearly the one to fear. He looked back down at his whittling and casually blew the freshly shaven wood chips to the floor.

As Jessamay approached the counter with Scars, she felt the familiar tingle. Clearly, each of these men possessed endowed blood. But were they trained in the craft? Using the prearranged signal to inform Scars, she touched one finger to the side of her nose. Tyranny's first mate gave her a nearly imperceptible nod.

Jessamay gathered up her nerve for her final test of the two men. If it proved what she already guessed to be true, she and Scars would have to move fast.

Leaning his great bulk up against the counter, Scars looked the proprietor in the eye.

"I need a good deer bow," he said. He jerked one thumb over his shoulder at Jessamay. "The wife and I are leaving town to go live in the country. They say there's trouble brewin' here in the city. If you were smart, you'd think about doin' the same."

"A deer bow, you say?" the proprietor asked. "That will cost you. Deer bows are the most powerful, and it takes a long time to make a good one."

"Show me," Scars said.

The proprietor came out from behind the counter. Out of the corner of her eye Jessamay kept track of the fellow in the chair. Another sure, slow stroke of his whittling knife sent more fresh shavings to the floor.

The proprietor walked to the far wall and took down a bow. Scars walked over to join him. The man handed it to him.

"This is one of the strongest I have," he said. "Few men can even pull it. Why don't you give it a try?"

"Give me a broadhead," Scars said. "Pulling a bow with an arrow in place is the only way I can tell whether I'll like it."

After giving Scars a skeptical glance, the man provided him with a broadheaded hunting arrow. Scars notched it. He then extended his bow arm and easily pulled the arrow and string back to his chin. He looked as though he could have held it that way all day.

He turned to face the rear of the shop. Acting the part of dutiful wife, Jessamay turned to admire his strength. She gave him a slight nod. Time for the second test, she thought.

She turned back to examine the other man, who continued to whittle away. Steeling herself against whatever might happen next, Jessamay dropped the spell that cloaked her blood.

The man immediately stiffened, and stopped his knife midstroke. Without looking up at her, he simply did nothing for a moment. Then he leaped to his feet.

Jessamay turned toward Scars. "Now!" she shouted.

Turning back toward the front of the shop, Scars loosed the arrow toward one of the store windows. The front of the shop exploded in shattered glass. Faegan glided his chair across the street; Tyranny and Shailiha, their swords drawn, ran as fast as they could behind him.

"You bitch!" the man behind the counter screamed. "I'll kill you where you stand!" He raised his arms.

Jessamay knew that she would not be able to summon the craft before the man behind the counter could. A split second before he loosed his azure bolts at her, she dropped to her knees.

The twin streaks of pale blue light ripped across the top of the counter. As they passed they tore at her hair, and she felt their searing heat. To her horror, they streaked straight for Scars.

At the last moment, Scars dropped the bow and grabbed the proprietor, lifted him off his feet, and held him up as a shield.

The bolts struck the man in the chest and tore him apart. Scars angrily tossed the mangled body to one side.

Jessamay crouched on the floor. Faegan, Tyranny, and Shailiha raced up the steps to the shop. Jessamay peeked up over the countertop just in time to hear the man growl another epithet before disappearing behind a worn curtain. She sprang to her feet and ran around the counter to follow him.

She didn't want to rush down the stairs, but she saw no other choice. As she set foot upon the cellar floor, the man hurried toward a door in the far wall. Just as he entered the tunnel he loosed another bolt at Jessamay. It missed, obliterating the stairway behind her. Faegan lowered his chair into the room. The man ran into the tunnel, slamming the door behind him.

Jessamay and Faegan hurried to the door. The sorceress was just about to open it when Faegan shouted at her and roughly pushed her to one side. Positioning his chair against the wall on the other side of the doorway, he called upon the craft.

As soon as the door swung open, two more azure bolts tore from the tunnel and into the cellar. Had Jessamay been standing in the doorway she would have been killed instantly. The bolts streaked across the room and struck the far wall. Much of the brick edifice came thundering down, exposing the dirt behind it. As the smoke cleared, Jessamay saw Scars' strong arms lowering first Tyranny and then Shailiha down into the room.

Turning back, Jessamay saw that Faegan had situated his chair in the doorway. She hurried to stand behind him. In the distance she could see the man running down the length of the tunnel to freedom. When Faegan didn't immediately react, she raised her arms to stop the fugitive.

No!" Faegan hollered. "I want him alive!"

Taking careful aim, the old wizard loosed twin bolts. Jessamay held her breath as she watched them speed down the length of the tunnel.

The bolts flew over the fugitive's head and stopped directly in his path, where they split into multiple strands-a glowing azure spider's web stretching from the tunnel's ceiling to its floor, and from wall to wall. Before the man could stop, he ran straight into it. Suspended within its grasp like a fly waiting helplessly for the spider, he struggled mightily to free himself-to no avail.

Jessamay turned to see Tyranny and Shailiha looking down the length of the tunnel, their expressions awestruck.

Wasting no time, Faegan raised his arms again. More azure energy streamed from his hands. It snaked around the outer edges of the web, separating it from the wall and turning it so that the trapped fugitive faced them. Then more azure came, this time creating a transparent wall that separated them from the captive. Faegan lowered his arms.

Hearing a noise, all four of them turned to see Scars hanging by his hands from the damaged shop floor above. He let go and dropped safely into the cellar. Faegan motioned for the giant to come nearer. Scars' shirt was charred and partially burned away, and his massive chest was scalded.

"Hold still," Faegan said. Narrowing his eyes, the wizard invoked a spell of accelerated healing over the burn, and another to take away the pain.

"Better?" he asked.

Nodding, Scars sighed with relief. "Much better, thank you," he answered.

Faegan looked at the others. "Is everyone all right?" he asked. They all nodded.

Shailiha pointed down the length of the tunnel. "What is the purpose of the wall?" she asked.

Faegan gave her a wink. "It will help ensure that our traitor cannot try to hurt us again," he answered. "Follow along behind me, everyone. It's high time we got some answers. But be careful-we do not know what else he is capable of."

Faegan wheeled his chair down the tunnel to a spot just short of the azure wall. Hanging spread-eagled in the web, the man looked down in defiance.

"Very clever, Wizard," Bratach said. "But neither you nor Wigg will defeat Wulfgar. He is about to unleash a devastating force upon Eutracia, the likes of which you haven't seen since the Sorceresses' War."

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Faegan asked, his face hard.

Bratach spat at them in defiance, the spittle running down his side of the azure wall.

"You were once a loyal member of the Consuls of the Redoubt, weren't you?" Faegan asked. "But the son of the Jin'Sai altered the lean of your blood signature, and he turned you to the worship of the Vagaries. Yes, that's right. We know all about it. Tell me: How many more of your traitorous kind still roam Eutracia?"

Bratach remained silent.

"What is your name?" Faegan asked. "You might as well tell us now, for we can always glean it later on from your blood records."

The man's face was a mask of hatred and defiance.

"Very well. Suit yourself," Faegan said, deciding to try another line of questioning. "I will have all of my answers after I enter your mind.

"Where is Satine?" he asked. "She has already killed two of my friends. I have unfinished business with her."

Smiling, the consul shook his head. "You'll never find her," he gloated. "She's far too good at what she does. She's a killing machine. She'll go on and on until she's satisfied every sanction that she accepted, no matter what becomes of me. Whatever else the future might hold for you, from here on, all of your days are numbered."

Pausing for a moment, Bratach smiled down at them. "And as you are all about to see," he added cryptically, "so are mine. Surely you must understand that I cannot allow you to enter my mind."

Faegan took a quick breath. He suddenly understood what was about to happen, but he couldn't predict what form it would take. Without knowing the required counterspell, he was helpless to stop it.

Bratach narrowed his eyes. Almost at once, the glow of the craft surrounded him. His eyes locked upon Faegan's, he began to shudder. Soon he was convulsing madly as he hung in the azure web.

He began to bleed from his ears. Suddenly he convulsed even more violently, and blood began to run from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

Faegan knew what was happening. The yet-to-be-identified consul was committing suicide by enacting a Forestallment that caused him to bleed out, and there was absolutely nothing that he could do about it.

As she stood by the wizard's side, Jessamay understood it, too. Looking over her shoulder at Shailiha, Tyranny, and Scars, the sorceress shook her head.

The blood slipped down Bratach's face to the strands of azure webbing and dripped to the tunnel floor. His blood signature formed here and there, revealing dozens of Forestallments. For his use later, Faegan committed the shape of the signature to memory. Soon there was so much blood that the signatures were engulfed by a single, spreading pool.

Bratach's head slumped to his chest and a final rattle escaped his lungs. He hung there limply in the web, his skin blanched. Knowing he had been bested, Faegan looked down at the pool of blood. As he expected, areas still moved. Finally dying, the trained, endowed blood slowly stilled.

Faegan knew what was coming next. Lifting his head, he augmented his wizard's hearing. The phenomenon started almost immediately.

From the streets above, they heard the wind pick up and start to howl. Louder and louder it became, until the noise hurt their ears. Then the thunder boomed, and flashes of lightning illuminated the cellar. With so many powerful Forestallments dying at once, the wizard could only imagine what it must be like up above, on the streets of Tammerland. The citizens would be scared to death.

He looked back at the pool of blood that only moments before had held one of the greatest secrets of the craft. Perhaps we will one day truly understand what happens when a Forestallment dies, he thought. And why the sky seems to break apart when it does. Perhaps Wigg and Tristan will learn the secret-provided they can find the Scroll Master and the Well of Forestallments.

But for now all I have is another dead traitor upstairs, and his secrets will go with him to his grave.