Savage Messiah

CHAPTER LXXIII

Jessamay writhed in pain

Faegan strengthened the spell that would help her cope with her suffering. She's being so brave, he thought. Then again, she always was.

Faegan finally stopped applying the craft and he sat back in his chair. He caused yet another drop of blood to rise from the open wound in Jessamay's arm and he guided it to land upon a parchment on a nearby table. It twisted itself into the sorceress' blood signature, then slowly dried up, and died.

Smiling, he looked back at Jessamay. He used a damp cloth to gently wipe the perspiration from her forehead.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She gave him a brave smile, but he could see that she was near the end of her strength for the day.

"The pain can be intense," she said. "This brings back such awful memories. At first I wasn't sure whether I could go through it again. But at least this time it's you, rather than Failee, trying to alter my blood signature. I feel safe with you."

"Do you need more help with the pain?" Faegan asked.

She shook her head. "I don't think we should risk it. We cannot be sure that it won't interfere with what we're trying to accomplish. We must succeed no matter the cost, and I fear we are running out of time."

"Very well," Faegan answered. "Just try to rest while I check the latest result."

Wheeling his chair over to the table, he positioned the signature scope over Jessamay's fresh blood signature and examined it. He was not pleased with what he saw. He sighed and looked over at her.

"Another failure, I'm afraid," he said glumly.

"I understand," Jessamay said. "We'll just have to keep trying."

Faegan wheeled himself back over to Jessamay, raised one arm, and removed the wizard's warp that enveloped her. Grateful to be free, Jessamay stood on unsteady legs. Faegan hadn't wanted to use a warp on her, but it had seemed necessary to keep her from moving in response to the pain as he applied the various spells.

She shuffled stiffly to the table and poured herself a glass of wine. As Faegan watched her drink he saw that her robe was soaked through with sweat, and he winced. She sat down heavily beside him, and they delved into their work once more.

Tristan, Wigg, and Celeste had been gone for four days. Since then, Faegan and Jessamay had been prisoners of their own research in one of the many Redoubt laboratories. Piles of reference books sat on several nearby tables, along with various parchments, charts of esoteric symbols, jars of dried herbs, and bottles of precious oils. A network of tubing carried colored, bubbling fluids from beaker to beaker.

Failee's red leather grimoire lay open on the table between Faegan and Jessamay. The Tome of the Paragon had been placed upon a pedestal in one corner of the room, the Scroll of the Vigors upon another. Sighing, the crippled wizard pulled the grimoire toward him to read more of Failee's elegant Old Eutracian script.

When Faegan and his group had returned from the archery shop, the acolytes had informed them that Sister Vivian had been found dead in her quarters. She had bled out, just as Bratach had done.

An examination of her body had convinced Faegan and Jessamay that Wulfgar had placed the same death Forestallment into Vivian's blood that Bratach's had carried. As for Bratach, his identity had been confirmed by documents gleaned from the Hall of Blood Records.

Their assumption was that Vivian's death Forestallment had been placed into her blood without her knowledge and that Bratach had been able to activate it at will-even from so far away as the archery shop. Faegan felt certain that when the consul activated his own Forestallment, he had activated Vivian's as well.

Clever, Faegan thought, as he turned over another page of the grimoire. Imagine the ability to kill one's enemy with a single thought and from such a distance. Wulfgar has been one step ahead of us-right from the moment we thought we defeated him that night on the palace roof. How little did we realize…

Faegan and Jessamay's research centered upon reestablishing the proper lean of Jessamay's blood signature. They did this not purely for Jessamay's benefit-although under normal circumstances that alone would have been reason enough. Rather, they both thought that if they could accomplish this feat, it might help them in their fight against Wulfgar. If any of the Enseterat's traitorous consuls could be taken alive, the Conclave could perhaps change their signatures and return them to the Vigors.

But so far there had been no progress, and the stress that their experimentation placed upon Jessamay tormented Faegan greatly.

All they had ascertained so far was that Failee had concocted a formula that could change the lean of a blood signature. The grimoire clearly outlined the formula, which combined both the craft and the science of herbmastery. But even Failee had been able only to force Jessamay's signature to morph from right-leaning to neutral. The grimoire gave no evidence that she had accomplished the other half of her work-completing the shift all of the way to the left.

Faegan and Jessamay's goal was to change the lean back to the right-returning Jessamay's blood signature to its original state. But the research meant reversing the late First Mistress' work step by agonizing step.

Faegan shook his head. Aside from Failee's initial experiments, this work was entirely without precedent in the craft, he thought. It made him wonder whether this dark area of study was really the kind of thing into which the Ones Who Came Before wanted craft-users to delve. It was a true wizard's conundrum. If they succeeded, the implications of the murky ethics of their accomplishment would be staggering. If they failed, they might never save the world from the Vagaries. They knew one thing: They had to forge ahead, regardless.

Jessamay pointed to a crooked symbol on one of the parchments. "Look at this," she said. Faegan glanced over.

"This symbol is shown over and over again in both Failee's writings and the Scroll of the Vigors," she said with excitement. "I believe that-"

Suddenly there came an urgent pounding on the door. Angry at the interruption, the wizard scowled.

"Enter!" he called out.

The double doors parted briskly, and Abbey, Shailiha, and Tyranny tromped into the room. The privateer and the princess were dirty from head to foot. Faegan was grateful to see them alive, but he could also tell that they were in no mood for small talk.

They walked to the table, and Tyranny leaned her hands upon its shiny surface.

"I'll make this simple," she said. "At least one third of the fleet is gone, as is half of the Minion cohort that sailed with us. The Black Ships went through us like we were made of parchment. By now they have no doubt reached the coast." She looked over at Jessamay.

"Wigg said that you once served aboard those vessels," she added.

"During the battle, they did things we had no idea they could do, things we couldn't begin to fight against! I think you have some explaining to do."

Tyranny struck a match against one of her knee boots and lit a cigarillo. Given the immense value of the documents and dried herbs in the room, Faegan was about to protest, but when he caught the defiant gleam in her eyes, he decided against it.

Tyranny took the wine bottle from the table and she poured herself a glassful. She dropped unceremoniously into a chair, and threw a long leg up over one of its arms. Shailiha and Abbey sat down next to her.

"First, give me your report," Faegan said to her.

Before beginning, Tyranny took a deep draft of smoke, followed by another gulp of wine. They seemed to calm her.

"As I just told you, we were defeated. I had sixty-two warships at my disposal-far more than enough, I thought, to deal with the enemy. But I was wrong. I have never seen anything like what happened out there in my life."

For the next quarter hour, Tyranny described the sea battle. When she finished, Faegan looked over at Jessamay.

"When you served aboard the Black Ships three centuries ago, did they have these fantastic abilities?" he asked. "If so, why didn't you and Wigg tell us about them?"

Jessamay shook her head. She seemed as stunned by Tyranny's story as the wizard.

"No," she insisted. "The Black Ships could soar above the waves, but never fly so high or as fast as Tyranny describes. Nor could they absorb bolts of the craft without suffering harm. Had we known, we would have certainly told you." She thought to herself for a moment. "There can be only one answer."

Faegan nodded. "Wulfgar has enhanced their capabilities," he said. He looked at Shailiha. "Were you able to determine what cargo the Black Ships carry?"

Shailiha shook her head. "Other than the swarms of demonslavers aboard, there was no way to tell."

"What about Sister Adrian and K'jarr?" Jessamay asked. "Did they survive?"

"Yes," Tyranny answered, "but just barely. Adrian was in the crow's nest of the Reprise when it came down. She was able to use the craft to break her fall. K'jarr was wounded in the arm, but he will recover. Duvessa survived, as well. But several acolytes of the Redoubt went down with their ships. Shailiha and I thought it best that we come ahead of the returning fleet by way of Minion litter, so as to make our report. Scars is bringing home what's left. It's not a pretty sight. They should be anchored off the Cavalon Delta by tomorrow morning."

Faegan looked down at his hands. Sensing his distress, Shailiha put a hand on one of his. "How goes your research?" she asked.

The wizard sighed. "It does not go well," he answered. "But we are hopeful."

"What we are being forced to do is essentially reverse all of Failee's original work," Jessamay told them. She turned to Abbey. "We have discovered that the answer must be a complex combination of craft calculations and herbmastery," she said. "We could use your help."

Abbey smiled. "Of course," she answered. "But tell me-has there been any word from Tristan and his group?"

"No," Faegan answered. "But we mustn't take that as a bad sign."

"And what about the warriors who watch the pass through the Tolenkas and those who follow the orb?" the herbmistress went on.

"Have you heard from any of them?"

"No," Faegan answered. "But that does not mean bad news, either. If those at the pass haven't sent word, then that simply means that nothing has changed. And as for those who are trying to follow the orb-well, that was probably a wild-goose chase from the start."

"Why?" Abbey asked.

"The orb is in constant motion. In its natural state, it is invisible," he explained. "To be seen, it generally must be called into view by a practitioner of the craft-or, at least, that is how things used to be. But since the orb was wounded, it seems to be in view much more often. If it is randomly disappearing and reappearing, it must be giving fits to the warriors who were assigned to follow it."

"Wulfgar must be marching toward the Tolenkas by now," Shailiha said. "Only the Afterlife knows what havoc he is causing while we sit here and speculate. We have to do something!"

"Agreed," Faegan said. "We must send another force to attack him. Perhaps we can do on land what we could not do on water. I will have Traax organize the Minion forces and we will make a battle plan. If Wulfgar breaches the pass and unleashes the Heretic hordes, then nothing can stand in his way."

"Except perhaps for the blood of the Jin'Sai," Shailiha said softly. "Or mine. If we learn that Tristan is"-she faltered for a moment, then rallied-"dead, you must train me as fast as possible. I will do whatever it takes to stop Wulfgar and avenge my brother's death."

"Wulfgar would have anchored as deep as possible in the huge bay that stretches from Shadowood to Malvina Watch," Tyranny said. "Several Minion outposts dot that section of coastline, don't they?"

The wizard nodded. "Yes, and the outposts are already on alert. But given what I have heard here today, I can't hold much hope that they will be able to stop him by themselves." His face was very grave.

"May the Afterlife care for their souls," he said.