The Scrolls of the Ancients

CHAPTER

Fifty-nine

It is not for myself that I go forth to do this thing, but for all of those who came before, who tried but failed in their attempts to ensure that the Vagaries shall one day rule supreme.

– Wulfgar

G lad to be home finally, Tristan sat drinking wine at a butcher's table in the palace kitchens. It was early evening, and Wigg and Faegan sat there with him, along with the young man named Marcus. The massive hearths were directly behind them; copper pots and pans hung overhead, dangling from iron hooks.

When the gnome wives had first seen the two dirty, half-starved children, they had insisted on feeding them immediately, regardless of whatever the wizards might have to say about it. The wonderful smells of the women's creations still hung stubbornly in the air.

Tristan felt mournful. The loss of Pilgrim had been a shock that he knew would take a long time to recover from. At least the stallion had not died in vain: They had successfully secured the Scroll of the Vigors, and for that he was glad. The document was safe and sound, locked below the palace in the Hall of Blood Records. But before they examined it, the two wizards wanted some answers, and they were determined to get them as soon as they could.

After Tristan had removed Pilgrim's saddle and bridle, Wigg had lowered his head to call the craft and set fire to the horse's body. At first Tristan couldn't bring himself to watch. But in the end he had finally looked over, tearfully doing his best to honor the companion that had seen him through so much.

Then Wigg had respectfully done the same thing with the body of the artifacts dealer and what was left of the harlequin. As Wigg went about his work, frightened citizens had begun to mill tentatively around the edges of the plaza, but upon seeing the lead wizard's use of the craft, none of them had approached.

On the way back to the palace, Wigg had explained to the prince what had unfolded in the plaza. Wigg had been the first to see Rebecca run away. Suspicious of such a young, obviously terrified girl running through the square, he had ridden his horse over to her and scooped her up. As for the artifacts dealer, it seemed that it had been Grizelda who had so conveniently plunged the dagger into his back. They still didn't know who the bizarre harlequin had been, but they hoped that the herbmistress would soon shed some light on that subject, as well. For now, she was securely locked behind one of the hundreds of doors deep in the bowels of the Redoubt.

The clubfooted girl named Rebecca had been too terrified by what she had seen to be of much help with the wizards' questions. Seeing this, Shailiha and Celeste had requested-and received-permission to take her away to feed her, bathe her, and reassure her as best they could.

Now the wizards wanted to hear from the young man named Marcus. His knife had been discovered and taken from him on the way to the palace. So far, the dirty, curly-haired redhead had barely stopped eating, and there seemed to be no end to the amount of food he could consume.

"Now then," Wigg began. "What is the name of your family house?"

"First things first," Marcus answered arrogantly, as if he owned the palace he was sitting in. He kept on chewing as he talked. "Where is my thirteen thousand kisa?"

Reaching out, he rudely swiped up yet more of the sliced lamb and stuffed about three bites' worth into his mouth all at once. Chewing hurriedly, he washed it down with another glass of goat's milk. After wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he turned to look greedily at Tristan's wine goblet.

"Give me some of that, and I'll gladly tell you who I am," he said confidently. "It seems the least you could do. I didn't ask to come here, you know."

With a brief snort, Faegan smiled and shook his head. But it was clear that the lead wizard didn't think any of this was particularly humorous.

Knowing that Marcus was still hungry, Wigg called on the craft. Almost immediately all of Marcus' precious food and drink rose into the air. The young man's eyes went wide. Then Wigg caused all of the dishes to go flying out the kitchen door and into the adjoining hallway. Without taking his eyes from Marcus, Wigg folded his arms across his chest and calmly leaned back in his chair. With that, everything fell crashing to the hallway floor-the dishes smashed, the food ruined, and the drinks spilled.

Frozen in place, Marcus stared at Wigg as if the wizard had just descended from one of the moons. Leaning in, Wigg cast his aquamarine eyes sternly at the young man and lowered his voice.

"Now that I have your full attention, let's try again, shall we?" he asked quietly. "What is the name of your family house?"

Lowering his face slightly, Marcus scowled and placed his greasy hands on his lap. "Stinton," he finally answered. "The House of Stinton."

"And where are you from?"

"Ilendium."

Wigg raised an eyebrow. "And the girl you travel with. She's your sister, is she not?"

Marcus nodded. "Rebecca." He added softly, "I call her 'Becca."

"I see," Wigg said a bit more compassionately. "And your parents. What of them? They must be worried about you."

"They're both dead. Killed by the great birds that came one night. 'Becca and I are orphans."

On hearing about the "great birds," Wigg looked at Tristan and Faegan. They nodded back. Marcus had to be referring to Nicholas' hatchlings, the winged beings that had so ruthlessly destroyed the city of Ilendium just before the construction of the Gates of Dawn.

"I'm sorry," Faegan said softly from the other side of the table. He was beginning to have genuine admiration for the brash young man, even if the boy was a thief. Master Stinton was nothing if not resourceful, he decided.

"How was it that the two of you were not also killed?" Faegan asked.

" 'Becca and I had gone fishing at the head of the Sippora River. We used to like to do that sometimes. And it was helpful, especially when father wasn't doing so well. But the fishing had been good, and we were very late getting home that night. By the time we did, everything was gone."

"I'm sorry, too," Wigg said earnestly. "But what did you mean about your father not doing so well? What was his trade?"

Marcus smiled again and puffed out his chest with pride. "My father was a pickpocket-the best in Eutracia. He could slip one hand into your drawers and come back out holding your private parts if he chose to, long before you felt the draft. And I'm just as good, if I do say so myself."

Sighing, Wigg placed one hand over his forehead, closed his eyes, and leaned his elbow on the table. He shook his head slowly.

Tristan tried hard not to smile.

"And where did you get the scroll?" Wigg asked without looking up.

"We found them in one of the broken marble sections, left over from the destruction when those monuments, or whatever they were, fell to the ground," Marcus answered simply. It was clear he did not understand the importance of the site he and his sister had visited.

"Everything there stayed so hot, it took a week before 'Becca and I could do a proper search of the place," he went on. "We were on our own by then, and looking for food." Then he smiled again. "But that wasn't what we found."

Wigg's face shot up. "You said 'them'. Do you mean to say that both scrolls were there when you first went in?"

"Yes. But they were so heavy I could only take one. And there was no way 'Becca could handle the other, especially with her bad foot. Later I came back for the other scroll, but it was already gone. Somebody beat me to it."

"How did you get the scroll to Tammerland?" Tristan asked.

"In the rowboat we always used to fish out of. It was my father's. On the way down the Sippora we fished, so as to eat. Kept us alive."

"And was it always your intention to sell the scroll?" Tristan asked, his admiration for Marcus also growing.

"Of course. What would I want to keep the damned thing for?"

Tristan smiled. "And how did you find the artifacts dealer?"

"I asked around. It wasn't hard. I had an appointment with him today, to finally exchange the scroll for the kisa. He was the only one I trusted. But he won't be doing any more business, will he? From that point on, you know the rest." Then Marcus' face darkened. "I'm sorry about your horse," he added.

"Thank you," Tristan replied. "So am I."

Wigg had apparently heard all he needed. He stood and walked over to one side of the kitchens, to give a tug on a velvet pull cord. In a few moments, a Minion warrior appeared.

"Take this young man to the princess' quarters so that he may rejoin his sister," Wigg ordered. "See to it that he is cleaned up and given some decent clothes. I want one of you to keep an eye on him and his sister at all times. They seem to have an unusually high predilection for larceny."

The warrior clicked his heels together. "As you wish."

Wide-eyed at his first glimpse of a Minion, Marcus was slow to rise from the table. Before leaving, he turned around and looked back at Wigg.

"I'll make a deal with you," he said.

Sighing, Wigg shook his head again. "I am the lead wizard of the Directorate," he answered. "And I am not in the habit of dealing with pickpockets. Especially young ones."

"Can you cure 'Becca's clubfoot?" Marcus asked. "For as long as I can remember, it has been her dream to come into your Chamber of Supplication and request an audience for your help. If you cure her, I'll even let you keep the bags of kisa."

"As I remember, you no longer have the money," Wigg answered. "It rests with us now. But leave it to you to bargain with something you don't have. However, I did notice Rebecca's foot. If it is within our powers to help, we will. But right now I want you to go, Marcus. We have urgent business to attend to." Wigg then nodded to the Minion, and Marcus was escorted from the room.

"I'm assuming our urgent business is now with Grizelda," Faegan said.

"Indeed," Wigg answered. "And it should prove most interesting."

The three of them stood from the table and headed for the Redoubt.

O n the way Tristan requested that they go by the Great Hall, the room into which Faegan's warp and Krassus' destructive beams of light had been tossed. He was very curious about how much damage had been done. As they approached the room and walked in, the sight before them was disheartening, to say the least.

Krassus' powerful light shards had caused the walls to crack and tumble in many places, and the ceiling was torn by a number of great, ragged holes through which the encroaching night sky could be seen. Glass, dust, and smashed furniture lay everywhere. A work party of male and female Minions was already going about the business of trying to return the room to its former glory, but that would take time, Tristan realized, if it ever came about at all.

Wigg walked slowly through the rubble, bits of glass crunching beneath his boots. With a great sigh, he shook his head and turned back to Faegan and the prince.

"Such a shame," he said. "But at the time it was all I could think of to contain the lights. Even then I had no way of knowing whether Krassus' enchantments might take the entire palace down. In a way, we were very lucky."

"The power behind his spell was great indeed," Faegan added thoughtfully. "And very cleverly wrought. Your solution worked. Had the shards impacted anything softer than stone, the results would have been catastrophic." After a last look around, the three of them finally proceeded to the Redoubt.

As they came to stand before the doors, Faegan called the craft and unlocked them. Inside, Grizelda was still trapped within the azure wizard's warp. When she saw them enter, her lips turned up into a sneer.

Tristan looked at the herbmistress. She had changed little since that day on Krassus' flagship. He took in the long, dry, gray hair that hung haphazardly down around her weather-beaten face; her long, hooked nose; and the tattered, dirty brown robe wrapped around the gaunt body. She glared back at the prince with venom in her eyes.

"Good evening," Tristan said politely. "I hope you find the accommodations to your liking. At least here we don't force anyone to row. But should you prove uncooperative, I'm sure something like it could be arranged."

"So you escaped after all." Grizelda sneered. "My compliments. But your capture of me won't do you any good, Chosen One. I will never give up the things you so desperately need to know. I have a new lord now, and I won't betray him. Your days are numbered, and are dwindling rapidly. Soon I shall be free again, and you are in wizards' warps." To emphasize her point, she spat wetly against the inside of her cage.

"Your manners leave something to be desired," Tristan answered back. He turned around to face the wizards for a moment. "Charming, isn't she?"

Faegan and Wigg came the short distance to Tristan's side. "Is Krassus holding Wulfgar prisoner at the Citadel?" Faegan asked her bluntly. "Has the lost brother of the Chosen Ones been turned to the Vagaries?"

Grizelda smiled again. "That much I will answer, because of the joy I shall feel when I see the looks on your faces. Besides, it does not matter, for you can never stop him now." Obviously relishing her next words, she paused for a moment.

"You are quite wrong in assuming that Wulfgar is a prisoner of the Citadel," she answered at last. "By now he is most certainly its master-as well as the master of all the demonslavers and the other creatures of the Vagaries that have been newly conjured for his use." Raising one of her long, thin arms, she pointed an accusatory finger at the three of them.

"Blasphemers!" she whispered ominously. "Would-be destroyers of the sacred side of the craft! You can never defeat Wulfgar, for he already possesses powers that you could only dream of! He will soon set things right, just as they should have been eons ago. Things have been set into motion that you, in your feeble, exclusive practice of the Vigors, couldn't possibly begin to understand. Things that even Nicholas himself left undone. Wulfgar is coming for you, of that you may be assured. And no power on earth can stop him."

"Why is it that you follow the Vagaries?" Wigg asked.

Grizelda smiled. "You are familiar with the concept of Forestallments?"

Wigg nodded.

"Krassus imbued my partial signature with the Forestallments that finally brought my blood and mind to the light," she answered proudly. "Just as I am sure he has also done for Wulfgar by now. And Wulfgar may do the same for you." Pausing, she smiled again. "Assuming he doesn't kill you outright, of course."

She looked at the prince, and her smile widened. "It seems we shall soon see whether endowed blood is truly thicker than water."

"Who was the Harlequin?" Tristan asked. "I had never seen him before."

"Merely an unendowed servant of Krassus'," Grizelda replied. "He had his uses, but was of no real consequence. In truth, I cannot say I am sorry he is dead."

"What purposes do the Scrolls of the Ancients serve?" Wigg asked urgently.

Grizelda shook her head adamantly. Then she smiled again and made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Clearly, you haven't been listening," she answered. "No more questions."

Wigg looked over at Faegan.

"Would you like to do the honors, or should I?" Faegan asked.

"I will," Wigg answered. "Because she is only of partial blood, it shouldn't prove too difficult."

The lead wizard walked closer to the gleaming cage. As he did the herbmistress' eyes widened, and she scrabbled toward the back of the cube.

Wigg closed his eyes and began to call the craft. Tristan recognized what the lead wizard was doing: He was employing his powers to probe her mind, in an attempt to glean the answers to their many questions. Fascinated, Tristan watched the process unfold. As Grizelda felt the power of the wizard's consciousness entering her own, a look of horror crossed her face. And then, somehow, things started to go terribly wrong.

Placing her hands on either side of her head, she screamed. On hearing her cry out, Wigg opened his eyes and immediately ceased the spell. But by then it was already too late. Tristan watched in horror as the herbmistress shook her head violently and screamed again, insanely. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Her face was beginning to melt away.

Tristan gasped. As Grizelda bent over in exquisite agony, the skin ran from her face in steaming rivulets to reveal the barren, white skull beneath. Her green eyes drooled their way out of the sockets and flowed down what was left of her cheeks. Dead, she collapsed to the floor of the warp. Then her blood started to run from the remains of her mouth, ears, and empty eye sockets, to gather in steaming pools on the floor of the cube.

The blood rushed from Wigg's face. Stunned, he took a halting, tentative step toward the cube. "What have I done?" he gasped. "What in the name of the Afterlife just happened?"

Wheeling his chair closer, Faegan looked carefully down at the roiling blood, and then examined the rest of what used to be Krassus' herbmistress. Apparently satisfied, he wheeled his chair back a bit and looked up at Wigg.

"It wasn't your fault," he said. "This would have happened no matter which one of us had employed our gifts on her."

"What do you mean?" Tristan asked.

"I suspect that this was yet another of Krassus' safeguards, designed to keep us from getting too close to the truth," he answered. "Do you see how her blood steams? She admitted that Krassus laid a Forestallment into her signature to bring her to the Vagaries. I now think he gave her another one, as well-one specially designed to make her blood boil the moment her mind was invaded. Particularly the blood that was collected in her brain-the very seat of the answers we needed so badly, but will now never possess." Pausing for a moment, he thought to himself.

"How clever," he added softly. "The Tome makes mention of such blood-boiling devices of the craft, but I am not adept at them. Had I been, I might have been able to stop this. But even then, I doubt that what would have been left over could have been much good to us."

Tristan finally tore his eyes away from the horror in the cube and looked at the wizards. "Krassus has been ahead of us every step of the way, hasn't he?" he asked sadly.

Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe, the lead wizard nodded slowly. "And if Grizelda was telling the truth, then Wulfgar is now of the Vagaries, and returning to Eutracia with his demonslavers."

"Do you believe what she said?" Tristan asked anxiously.

With a deep sigh, Wigg nodded. "I believe her because it's too dangerous not to."

Saying nothing more, all three looked at one another. Then they made their way out of the Archives and back to the palace above.

There were plans to be made, and they were clearly running out of time.