Robert Newcomb - Savage Messiah

Tristan walked over to the magnificent sheet of glass and reached out to touch it. It felt smooth and cold, like ice. He turned back to the boy.

"Why would the Ones wish their Forestallments to perish so soon?" he asked.

"Because of the quality of Jin'Sai and Jin'Saiou blood," the boy answered. "The Ones professed that granting a permanent Forestallment to one of you who has not yet been trained would be too dangerous. Should the lean of your blood signature be turned to the Vagaries, for example, the results would be disastrous."

Tristan closed his eyes for a moment. "As is the case with Wulfgar," he said.

"Yes," the boy said. "Now you are beginning to understand. But there is more-much more-regarding your destiny that we do not have the leisure to discuss now. It is time."

Tristan nodded. "Proceed, then," he said softly.

"Very well."

The Scroll Master pointed to the prince. Tristan felt a wizard's warp envelope him. He still stood but he could not move. Wondering what would happen next, he broke out into a cold sweat.

The boy pointed to the sheet of azure glass. The etchings representing the first of the four spells lifted silently from the glass to hover near the prince's head. His breath caught as they sparkled above him.

Tristan felt the soft, cool touch of the boy's palm on his forehead. Then waves of unrelenting pain coursed through him, and he screamed.

Faegan on thsat in his chair e palace roof, his heart saddened beyond measure. Jessamay, Shailiha, Abbey, and the remaining acolytes stood by his side. Duvessa, Dax, and a large host of Minion warriors were there as well. Safe in her nursery, Shailiha's daughter, Morganna, was being tended by the ever-protective Shawna the Short.

Faegan had called the group together because he would need all of their services if his plan were to have any hope of success. But the early optimism he had felt as a result of his research in the Redoubt was dampened by what he saw from the rooftop.

Tammerland was burning

It was well past midnight. The southwestern side of the city was engulfed in flames. The once-beautiful capital had become a raging inferno. Faegan could smell the stink of the polluted river and the smoke that was rapidly filling the sky. The terrible spectacle was almost more than he could bear.

The unexpected speed of the fire would make his group's task much more difficult-perhaps even impossible. If he underestimated the pace of the fire's progress, then all of their work would be for naught-as it would be anyway if Tristan and Wigg did not return soon.

The sound of screams alterted him to the fact that the first of the city's refugees had finally reached the palace. Earlier in the day, Faegan had steeled himself and ordered the drawbridge raised, and every other entrance to the palace closed and guarded. The dark, ominous forms of Minion warriors lined the tops of the palace walls.

Desperate citizens jumped into the moat and tried to scrabble up the palace walls. Minion warriors used their spears to gently but firmly push them back. Still more jumped in, crowding one another in a fury of desperation. Many drowned before Faegan's eyes.

Tears in her eyes, Shailiha turned to look at the wizard. "Is there nothing you and Jessamay can do to help them?" she asked.

Faegan shook his head. "Nothing. As much as I hate to say it, we are doing exactly what we should right now-that is, preparing to implement the first stage of our plan. I understand your feelings. But you all simply must trust me when I tell you that, this way, far more people will survive."

Shailiha took the old wizard's hand. "We all trust you," she said. "You know that. It's just so difficult to stand by and watch."

"I know, Princess," Faegan answered softly. "I know."

Turning his chair around, he surveyed the results of his group's recent labors. Hundreds of closed containers of every size, type, and color covered the rooftop. Several Minion litters sat nearby filled with yet more vessels.

"Do you all understand what it is you are to do?" he asked. They said they did. Faegan nodded.

"Under no circumstances are you to open the containers until you are sure of your surroundings," he reminded them. "Waste nothing, for your lives may depend upon it. Be sure to use it all. And above all, do not stray far from the palace. If you come too close to the fires, not only might you lose your lives, but all of our good work will go up in smoke. Be as surreptitious in your work as you can."

Pausing for a moment, he looked at them all with hope. "Go now," he said.

Faegan and Jessamay watched as the Minion warriors picked up the various containers and took flight, headed for the parts of the city that were still intact. Then Faegan's group took their places in the litters and the remaining warriors lifted them into the air. In a matter of moments, the wizard and Jessamay were alone on the rooftop.

Faegan watched as the litters grew smaller and smaller, their sides highlighted by the raging orange-red flames. He knew that if the warriors carrying them flew too close to the inferno, the intense updrafts of heat could cause them to crash. But the job had to be done. Even so, for the hundredth time he wondered about the wisdom of his actions.

"Can it really work?" Jessamay asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Faegan sighed. "The theory is sound. But when the craft is involved, there are a hundred ways for something to go wrong-especially when the theory has never been applied. We can only wait and hope."

When Tristan woke, his vision was blurred, he ached everywhere, and he couldn't remember why. Then his vision started to clear, and so did his mind.

He was lying on the floor in the center of the Well of Forestallments. His weapons were still with him. He stood slowly, testing his balance. His head swam as his senses returned to normal.

The white marble altar was gone, as was the etched glass tapestry. The Scroll Master stood nearby.

"We succeeded, Jin'Sai," he said. "You survived the ordeal. Your blood is red once more. It now also holds the three Forestallments the Ones dictated that I grant you. If you like, you may check to see that I am telling the truth."

Tristan took one of his throwing knives from its sheath, held the blade against the palm of his left hand, and made a small incision. He took a quick breath as he saw that his blood was indeed red again.

Several drops fell to the floor and began to twist and turn into his familiar blood signature. He wiped the knife on his trousers, placed it into its sheath, and bent down to look. Three crooked forestallment branches led away from his signature, rather than the dozens that bristled from it when his blood had been azure. He stood in amazement.

"This cannot be," he said.

"And why is that?" the boy asked.

"Before now, the red water of the Caves had to be combined with my blood in order for my blood signature to form. The wizards said it was because my blood has not yet been trained. So how can my signature form on its own?"

"The Forestallments that I have granted you," the boy said, "enliven your blood to the point that the Cave waters are not necessary for your signature to form. Two days from now, when the Forestallments vanish, the Cave waters will again be required. Your blood will be as it was the day you were born."

The boy pointed to the three Forestallments and explained what powers each would grant the prince, and how to call them forth. Awestruck, Tristan listened intently to every word.

"There is something else that you must know," the boy added. "Even though you are the reigning Jin'Sai, and your blood now carries activated Forestallments, you still may not be able to beat Wulfgar. Doing so will take everything you have-perhaps more than you have. You may still fail."