Savage Messiah

CHAPTER LXXVI

The outskirts of Tammerland were in flames, and Shailiha, Tyranny, Adrian, and Duvessa watched, aghast, from the Minion litter that hovered in the smoky, stinking air. Eight stout warriors bore their litter and another fifty flew guard alongside.

When the first Minion reports of the fires had come in, Faegan had ordered the women to go and investigate. Still consumed by their research, he and Jessamay remained ensconced in the Redoubt. But this time the women did not argue when Faegan told them that he and the sorceress must stay behind.

The black, stinking mass that had polluted the Sippora had finally reached the outskirts of the city and the damage it was causing was extraordinary.

For centuries, the Sippora had wound though the heart of the city the same way a major artery traversed the human body-and it was just as important. Although not suitable for drinking, its water was essential for washing, for use in many of Tammerland's hundreds of trades, and for the transportation of goods. Homes and businesses lined both sides of its banks. Many of the structures were wood. Most were old and dried out. It often seemed that little more than a stiff wind would send them tumbling into the water. They were simply no match for the superheated "waters" of the polluted Sippora.

Anyone foolish enough to try to save his or her home or business was quickly consumed. Scorched bodies lay at contorted angles on the banks; survivors screamed and ran for their lives. Even from where they hovered above the holocaust, Faegan's observers could smell the sickly sweet odor of burning flesh-both animal and human.

Shailiha lowered her head and closed her eyes. Tyranny put one arm around her shoulder. Tristan, Wigg, where are you? the princess found herself wondering. We need you now!

"Look there!" Adrian shouted. She pointed northeast, toward the heart of the city. Shailiha shifted her gaze to peer through the drifting smoke.

A crushing mass of humanity was fleeing the firestorm. Although some moved north or south to avoid the river altogether, the vast majority were running down the streets and byways alongside the river, carrying as many personal effects as they could bear.

But that will only take them deeper into the city and make things worse! Shailiha realized. Can't they see that? What in the name of the Afterlife do they think they're doing?

And then she understood. The terrified citizens were struggling to get to the royal palace, where they thought they might find safety, medical care, and food.

Shailiha's blood ran cold. The palace and its grounds were still crowded with the wounded who had first sought sanctuary from the rampaging Orb of the Vigors. She doubted that many more would fit-certainly not as many as were approaching its gates.

Shailiha looked over at the other women to see their sad faces turned toward hers-as though she might have some solution simply because she was of the royal house. She thought she understood now how Wigg and Faegan felt every time they were turned to for answers simply because they were wizards.

Wulfgar started this all, she thought. But now we are doing these things to ourselves. Can't the people down there see that? What is to become of us?

Leaning out of the litter, Shailiha caught the attention of the warrior commanding her group. "Take us back to the palace!" she shouted. "And hurry!"

With a nod, the warrior barked out orders and the litter turned for home.

"Drink this," Abbey said.

She handed the heady concoction to Jessamay, who was again seated in the familiar chair, surrounded by Faegan's azure wizard's warp. He relaxed the warp just enough for her to use her hands. She took the silver goblet.

A dense, greenish fog rose up and brimmed over the cup's lip to settle on the nearby floor and thread its way around Jessamay's feet. She glanced at the cup with no small degree of trepidation.

"How is it different this time?" she asked.

Abbey smiled. "We have added ground root of cat's claw, and a touch of widow-winkle," she answered. "It is the combination of the two that produces the sage fog. We have further refined the calculations taken from Failee's grimoire, and they led us to this particular combination of herbs." Her face became more serious. "How are you feeling? Are you sure that you have enough strength for another try?"

"Indeed," Faegan added from his chair on wheels. "I would prefer not to wait, but we could pause for a few hours if you wish."

Jessamay shook her head. "Time is precious," she answered. "You have both said so yourselves. And you can be assured that Wulfgar isn't resting as he travels toward the pass in the mountains. No, we must keep trying, no matter the cost."

It was evening in Eutracia, and Faegan and Jessamay had been at their work the entire day. Abbey had joined them, to contribute her knowledge of herbs. Everyone in the room was close to exhaustion, especially the sorceress.

Faegan felt sure that they were getting close to reversing Failee's work and moving the lean of Jessamay's blood signature back toward the right. They had made dozens of attempts, each bringing them a little closer to their goal, but it was maddeningly slow work.

Faegan also knew that it might take far longer to achieve their goal than they could afford-especially if Shailiha's impending report was as bad as he feared it might be. Worse yet, even if they succeeded in their efforts, it was imperative that Wigg and Tristan return home in time to help implement the rest of the plan.

He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, willing Wigg and Tristan to succeed. Without them, and without the prince's blood returned to its natural state, the Vigors would be doomed. He looked back at Jessamay.

"Very well, then," he said. "Are you ready?"

Taking a deep breath, Jessamay nodded.

"Begin," he said.

As Abbey watched, Jessamay drank the potion and Faegan applied his most recent calculations upon her. At first the wizard could discern no difference from his previous attempts. But then things started to change.

Jessamay's eyes rolled back up into her head, and she convulsed with such force that Faegan found it necessary to enhance his warp. As Jessamay screamed in pain, her chair rose into the air. Despite his best efforts, Faegan found that he could no longer control it. As if it suddenly had a will of its own, the chair took the sorceress higher and flew manically around the room.

But it isn't the chair that's flying, Faegan realized. It is Jessamay, her blood signature going wildly out of control as it changes. Then he suddenly understood why Failee had kept her in a sorceress' cone for all of those years. It had been to protect her experiment by keeping this from happening. His mouth agape, Faegan watched Jessamay's speed increase as she soared about the Hall of Blood Records.

I beg the Afterlife, he asked himself in terror. What have I done?

"Stop her!" Abbey screamed. "If she smashes into one of the walls, she'll kill herself!"

But try as he might, the wizard remained powerless to stop Jessamay. He sat there, wide-eyed, as pieces of the room's furniture suddenly flew against the walls and smashed to bits. Hundreds of the alphabetized file drawers secured in the walls flew out; thousands of carefully categorized blood-signature records sailed about the room in a blizzard of parchment.

From the upper floors, ancient scrolls were sucked off from their shelves and unrolled, soaring down to the first floor to join the maelstrom of whirling paper.

Many of the jars and beakers holding herbs and precious oils suddenly burst, their colorful contents splashing into the air, spilling across the tabletops and floor. The oil chandeliers swung violently back and forth. Two of them smashed to the floor, threatening to start a fire among the growing collection of litter. Abbey rushed to quench the impending cataclysm.

Then things calmed. The wind died away, the drawers stopped opening, and the remaining scrolls on the upper levels stayed in place on their shelves. The parchments and other scrolls floated gently down until nearly every square inch of the floor was covered.

But to Faegan and Abbey's horror, Jessamay's chair continued to soar. Suddenly it changed course and crashed into a wall.

Despite Faegan's wizard's warp, the chair burst apart on impact. Jessamay tumbled out and landed in a heap near the center of the room. She lay there unmoving.

Faegan and Abbey hurried over. Faegan caused the warp surrounding her to disappear. He examined her for broken bones and could find none. Satisfied that she could be moved, he levitated her body to lie on one of the nearby tables. It had been his warp, he realized, that had kept her from being killed.

He was about to examine Jessamay further when she groaned. Her eyes opened.

He smiled at her. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Jessamay rose upon her elbows and looked in horror around the room.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You had a violent reaction to the last potion and spell," he told her. "In truth, that may have been exactly what we were looking for. Do you think you can stand?"

Jessamay nodded. Faegan helped her to her feet, secured a drop of the sorceress' blood, and caused it to fall upon a blank piece of parchment. The droplet twisted itself into Jessamay's blood signature and then died.

Faegan hurriedly placed the signature scope tripod over the blood signature and looked down. Several tense, quiet moments followed.

When he looked back up, he was beaming. Slapping his hand upon the arm of his chair, he let go a sharp cackle. Then he levitated his chair and soared around the room.

"We've done it!" he shouted. "We actually managed to change the lean of a blood signature!"

Jessamay shuffled weakly over to the scope and peered down through its crosshair lens. Lifting her face, she smiled.

It's really true, she thought, as Abbey walked over to embrace her. I am myself once more. After three centuries of nearly becoming a slave to the Vagaries, my blood has finally been returned to its natural state.

Just then the huge double doors parted. Shailiha, Adrian, Tyranny, and Duvessa stood there covered with soot. The four of them looked wide-eyed around the ransacked Hall of Blood Records and then at Faegan, who was still flying about the room whooping for joy.

Faegan lowered his chair to the floor.

"What in the world happened here?" Shailiha demanded.

Faegan smiled broadly. "We've done it!" he exclaimed. "Jessamay's blood signature has returned to normal!"

Then he noticed for the first time how filthy the newcomers were, and he remembered the mission he had sent them on. Shailiha's expression was not reassuring.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he asked.

Shailiha nodded. "I know this is a happy moment but, yes, the news is terrible." In quiet, measured tones, the princess described everything that they had seen.

Faegan's face fell.

"How long do you estimate before the throngs reach the palace?" he asked.

"Hours, at most," Duvessa answered. "By dawn the palace will be awash in refugees trying to gain entrance."

"And the dark mass of pollution in the Sippora?" Faegan asked.

"It moves far more slowly," Shailiha said. "My guess is that it will reach the palace environs in two days, perhaps three."

"By the time it reaches us, half of Tammerland will have gone up in smoke," Faegan said unhappily.

"What shall we do?" Tyranny asked.

Faegan pulled on his beard as he thought. "Wigg was right," he commented.

"Right about what?" Jessamay asked.

"Wigg said that in his absence we would have to prepare for a siege," he answered. "But now it is even worse than we imagined."

"Why?" Shailiha asked.

"Most of the population of Tammerland will be trying to smash down our gates to acquire what they believe will be greater safety and adequate food. They don't realize it, but if Wulfgar cannot be stopped, they will have chosen the worst possible place in which to find sanctuary. And it will all happen very soon now."

"Is there no way that you or the others can employ the craft to extinguish the fires?" Tyranny asked. "Or, at the very least, warn the people away from the palace?"

Faegan shook his head. "I wish that there were," he answered. "We could quash some of the fires, but surely not enough to do much good. And once the pollution reaches the most inhabited sections of the city, it will cause ten new fires for every one that we could extinguish. It would be like shoveling sand against the tide."

"What shall we do, then?" Adrian asked.

"What we have been doing, with a few notable exceptions," Faegan answered. He looked at Duvessa. "After Tristan and Traax, who is the ranking Minion officer?"

"A warrior named Ancaeus," she answered. "He is very capable. But Traax ordered that Ancaeus go with him to attack Wulfgar. Of the other warriors you are acquainted with, Ox is of course with Wigg and Tristan, and K'jarr is aboard Tyranny's flagship. What do you have in mind?"

Faegan thought for a moment. "The Minion captain named Dax, the one who first brought us the news about the Sippora being polluted," he said. "He impressed me. Do you know whether he is still attached to the warrior group defending the palace?"

"Yes," Duvessa answered, "I believe he is. Do you wish me to send for him?"

"All in good time," Faegan answered. "You and Dax are about to receive the promotions of a lifetime. Until either Traax or Tristan returns, you are both to be promoted to the temporary rank of field commander. You are to be in charge of the palace defenses-including the siege preparations. I know that you are both relatively inexperienced, but you can glean advice from others as need be. I want to be familiar with those giving the orders."

Duvessa's mouth fell open. She had never expected to have so much responsibility thrust upon her. She knew that Dax would be equally overwhelmed.

"As…as you wish," she whispered.

Faegan's face darkened a bit. "I'm afraid that your jobs will not be easy," he added. "As much as it pains me to say it, you must both harden your hearts. If Traax fails and Wulfgar comes, many of the citizens outside the palace are sure to die. If and when that day arrives, we will protect them as best we can, but you mustn't allow more of them access to the palace grounds, no matter how much they plead. Their added numbers will only harm our efforts to defend this place. I don't like it any better than the rest of you. But desperate days call for desperate measures. They always have."

He turned to look at the other women. "Adrian, I want you to select one acolyte to sail aboard each of Tyranny's vessels," he said. "Choose them wisely, for they will be helpful in battle. The remainder of Wulfgar's demonslaver fleet can be expected to arrive soon. When they do, we can only hope that our fleet of ships has been repaired and that they are ready to fight.

"Tyranny, I want you to go back to your fleet immediately and oversee the repairs. When you are ready and your vessels have been provisioned, do not wait for further orders from me. Take the remaining warriors still under your command and sail immediately."

"I understand," the privateer said. "We may be few in number, but with the Minions and the acolytes aboard, we will give the demonslavers a reception they will never forget."

"What about the rest of us?" Shailiha asked.

"You are to stay here and help Jessamay and me. And you can pray that Wigg and Tristan arrive home in time. Without the Jin'Sai and the First Wizard, everything else we do will be for naught."