The Scrolls of the Ancients

CHAPTER

Seventy-one

W ith a wave of one hand, Wulfgar caused the hovering violin and bow to change the tune they were playing. Listening to the new haunting melody, he closed his eyes and leaned back luxuriously in his chair. When he finally opened his hazel eyes again, he began to speak in an even, measured tone; just as a father might speak to a son whom he had decided needed to be punished.

"You're making this far more difficult on yourself than need be," he said quietly, almost compassionately. "Simply tell me where the Scroll of the Vigors is, and I will grant you a quick, painless death. And the woman, as well, should she still be alive. Doesn't that sound wonderful? Just think of it-no more agony in your legs, and no more misplaced loyalty to a group of so-called friends who seem to have foolishly left you here in my care. Just a perfect, forgiving, and peaceful sleep that will last forever."

Faegan slumped over in his chair, his head lolling to one side. Drool dripped from one corner of his mouth, and his robe was folded up over his lap, exposing his crippled legs. He was soaked with sweat, and his entire body shook uncontrollably from time to time like a marionette dancing at the ends of some unseen master's strings.

The torture had been going on for more than two hours now, and twice Wulfgar had been forced to use the craft to bring his subject back to consciousness after the wizard had fainted.

And Wulfgar's patience was wearing thin.

The Enseterat turned to look at the still-inert body of Celeste, lying facedown like a broken doll beneath the pile of records drawers. He gave a short laugh. He had not bothered to determine whether she was still alive, but he really didn't care. Who was she, he thought, to think that she might challenge his powers?

He turned back to regard the azure, serrated knife that hovered in the air near the wizard's right calf. He had chosen to conjure this particular instrument not only because it could yield its results slowly and with great precision, but also because the simplicity of the concept amused him.

Leaning forward, Wulfgar smiled. "Sometimes less is more, wouldn't you agree?" he asked Faegan. Eyes glazed over, the crippled wizard tried to lift his head, but couldn't.

"I will… never tell… you," he said thickly. "No matter what you do… to me."

"As you wish," Wulfgar answered casually. The Enseterat narrowed his eyes, and the serrated edge of the knife moved closer to Faegan's calf.

Then it began to slowly scrape its way down along the raw, exposed flesh and nerves of Faegan's leg.

Faegan screamed. His eyes bulged and the cords in his neck knotted, standing out in sharp relief. Then the blade stopped about halfway down, and Wulfgar pursed his lips. Crying and babbling incoherently, Faegan's head slumped forward onto his chest.

Wulfgar sighed. "I may have to enter your mind after all," he said casually. "Even though that was not my first choice. I now ask you for the last time: Where is the scroll?"

Slowly opening his eyes, all Faegan saw was a blur sitting across from him. Blinking hard, he desperately tried to get his mind working again. He had been holding out for as long as he could. But he feared that if he rebelled much longer, Wulfgar would walk through his mind, trying to discover the location of the scroll. And if that happened now, weak as Faegan had become with the torture, all of their planning would be for naught. For then the bastard brother of the Chosen Ones would possess a secret far more precious than even the Scroll of the Vigors. The secret that he, Wigg, and Abbey had discovered and wished to keep hidden no matter the cost.

He would do his best to endure one more use of the azure knife, he thought drunkenly. And then he would give Wulfgar the scroll. That was what Wigg and Abbey would want-to sacrifice the scroll in order to keep the secret.

Raising his head, Faegan did his best to look into Wulfgar's eyes.

"No," he said bluntly. "Do your worst." Gathering up all of the saliva he could muster, he spat it directly into Wulfgar's face.

Calmly wiping away the spittle, Wulfgar gave Faegan a menacing smile.

"As you wish," the Enseterat said softly.

Narrowing his eyes, Wulfgar caused the knife blade to press up against Faegan's right leg, and the crippled wizard cried out insanely. As the blade made its slow, torturous way down, waves of hot, searing pain shot through his nervous system. The wizard knew that if the torture continued, he would be only a few heartbeats away from death. That was when he finally allowed himself to beg.

"Please," he sobbed. His voice was little more than a whisper. "I'll tell you… just don't do that any more… I beg of you…"

The knife stopped and moved over to one side. Wulfgar smiled. "That's more like it," he said quietly. Leaning forward, he folded his arms over his chest. "I'm waiting," he whispered.

"The far wall," Faegan answered. "At the end of the bookcase… The three variegated swirls in the marble… Touch them all at once…"

Wulfgar stood and walked to the wall. He reached up with his right hand and placed his first three fingers on the smooth, cool spots Faegan had described. As he did, the azure glow of the craft surrounded the area.

With a soft click, a section of the marble wall revolved on a pivot to reveal a deep, square vault. The Scroll of the Vigors lay inside, one end pointing toward him. Carefully, almost reverently, Wulfgar pulled it from its resting place.

He cradled the scroll triumphantly. He did not need the Scroll of the Vigors for his personal use. His only need was for the Scroll of the Vagaries, and the secrets it contained. But by keeping this scroll away from the mentors of the Jin'Sai and the Jin'Saiou, he could keep Tristan and Shailiha perpetually untrained.

And in doing so, he would ensure that he would rule supreme forever.

He turned to look back at Faegan, another smile crossed his face.

"When the Orb of the Vigors is destroyed, the life enchantments sustaining you and the lead wizard will vanish, so I must now bid you a final good-bye. I shall leave my warp in place, so that you don't run off anywhere."

On his way out of the room, Wulfgar turned back. "Before I go, please let me ask you one final question," he said courteously. "Tell me, traitor, how does it feel to have betrayed everything you once held so dear?"

Without waiting for a reply, Wulfgar smiled again, and the azure glow of the craft surrounded him. Then the glow disappeared, and both he and the scroll were gone. After a few moments the door to the Hall of Blood Records opened, then closed again.

Sobbing, Faegan looked over at Celeste. Then he looked at the empty vault in the wall, its door still open and yawning at him. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he lowered his face in shame.