Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

"And this time," he continued, "use only one hand. Fold the thumb and last fingers of your right hand inward, and point only the remaining three. Using those three fingers alone, try to sustain the life of the bolts and slice the marble column into three equal segments, rather than simply destroying it. Remember," he added, "almost anyone trained in the craft can use the bolts to destroy. But only a master can employ them in a useful way, to create something that was not there before." A short smile graced his lips. "Whenever you're ready," he said quietly.

"Yes, Father," Celeste answered.

The early-morning sun shone down on the courtyard of the royal palace, where she and her wizard father stood. She was growing tired, and Wigg knew it. But he also knew that her fatigue was an invaluable part of her learning that would serve to build her endurance.

Celeste raised her right arm and trapped her little finger beneath her thumb. Aiming the three remaining fingers at the piece of marble, she loosed three azure bolts, one from each fingertip.

Concentrating, she turned her head slightly as she forced them to change shape, turning them into slim, razor-sharp edges of gleaming azure. They tore across the courtyard in a flash, easily finding their marks. Straining with every fiber of her being, she guided the bolts up and down against the column's fluted surface, trying to slice through the marble, rather than destroy it.

For a short time she continued to move them successfully up and down against the polished, unforgiving surface of the stone. But then her aim slipped, and with it, her concentration. The bolts widened out again, and the column exploded loudly. It shattered into a thousand tiny pieces that flew high into the air before finally falling to the earth like dry, dusty rain.

Exhausted, she sighed and lowered her arm.

Shailiha walked up. Caprice, her violet-and-yellow flier of the fields, sat perched on her right forearm, the way a hunting hawk might.

"You almost did it that time," she said, trying to reassure Celeste. "Surely it won't be long now before you grasp it."

Celeste looked back at Shailiha with tired eyes. "Somehow, it doesn't feel that way," she answered back. Knowing the pain Shailiha was suffering over Tristan, she tried to give her a reassuring smile.

Then she looked down to examine her fingertips. They were red and sore again. The effect would lessen over time, her father had told her. But right now it was one of the prices to be paid for learning to control her gift.

Wigg put an arm around her shoulder. He knew he must take the time to teach her to control her Forestallment as quickly as possible. Under no circumstances could he allow another disaster such as the one that had occurred at Abbey's cottage. But it was hard for her to concentrate these days-and hard for him, too. Worry for Tristan filled all their hearts.

When Wigg and Celeste had learned of Tristan's capture, their shock had given way to tears, their tears then pushed aside by anger and frustration. Faegan and Shailiha could offer no idea as to where the prince might be, or what he might be enduring at the hands of Krassus and his slavers. Worse yet, they didn't even know whether he still lived.

After Tristan's defeat, Shailiha and Faegan had fled back to the campsite and their Minion guards, knowing the demonslavers couldn't be far behind. Upon learning of the prince's fate, Ox had gone nearly wild with grief. He begged to take his troops, few as they might be, and fly straight for Farpoint. In his rage he vowed to tear the town inside out, if necessary, to find the prince.

But despite how much he desperately wished to see Tristan returned, Faegan couldn't allow it. A dozen Minion warriors, no matter how brave and skillful, would have had little chance against the untold numbers of demonslavers under Krassus' command. Besides, there was no time. As it was, the Minions had lifted their litter into the sky just as the slavers entered the moonlit glade, swords waving. With heavy hearts the winged warriors had flown north, safely returning the princess and the wizard to Tammerland.

After everyone had returned to the Redoubt and told their stories, the lead wizard introduced Abbey to the group. The others did all they could to make her feel welcome, but it was obvious that she was wary of her new situation. Clearly, her trust was something that would have to be earned.

Minion warriors were dispatched to her smashed cottage, and they returned with her entire collection of books, scrolls, and ledgers. Simply cataloguing them again had taken the better part of the last two days.

Their first priority was to find Tristan. Abbey was the key, Wigg knew, to viewing subjects over great distances. But the herbs she required to ignite her gazing blaze were in short supply here in the Redoubt, despite the various species Faegan had growing in his atrium. For the last several days he and the partial adept had been trying to discover the most efficient way to overcome the shortfall.

The wizards had of course considered sending squadrons of Minions aloft to scout for the ships that Faegan and Shailiha had seen at the docks in Farpoint, in case Tristan might be aboard one of them. But if and when they did sight a ship at sea, what were they to do? It had been too dark even for Faegan to read the names of the vessels that night in Farpoint. Having the Minions fly over and board every ship that plied the Sea of Whispers was not only impossible, but might also provoke unnecessary confrontations between the winged ones and what would surely be the terrified, confused seamen who saw the fearsome warriors suddenly descending on them.

Nonetheless, several thousand of them, with the indefatigable Ox at their head, had volunteered to do just that. Out of sheer desperation, Wigg and Faegan had finally agreed. For the last six days the Minions had flown as far out over both land and sea as they could, only to return exhausted and disheartened, having seen no sign of the prince.

Suddenly the voice of Shannon the Short broke into his thoughts.

"Begging your pardon, Lead Wizard," he said, "but Master Faegan and Abbey have asked that you and the ladies join them in the Hall of Blood Records." Smoke billowed from the corncob pipe held between his teeth.

Wigg took in the gnome's red hair, matching beard, and dark eyes. Shannon was dressed, as always, in his red shirt, blue bibs, and upturned shoes. A black watch cap sat atop his head, and his ever-present ale jug was firmly clamped in one hand. Shannon took a deep, irreverent slug of his brew, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Despite his outward courtesy, there was always a hint of comic disrespect on the little one's face-especially where Wigg was concerned. Ever since the lead wizard had met Shannon, there had never been any question that the gnome accepted none but Faegan as his master.

Wigg had never been fond of the gnomes, but he had to admit grudgingly that they had become trusted allies. Their courage had impressed even the lead wizard when they had helped defeat Nicholas' birds of prey in the invisible valley that guarded Shadowood, the home they had shared with Faegan for more than three centuries.

Shannon cleared his throat. "They say it's important," he said.

Wigg raised an eyebrow. Faegan and Abbey had been meeting almost nonstop for the last several days. Much of that time had been spent with Abbey showing Faegan her resource materials and explaining what she would need in the way of herbs, blossoms, and roots, while the crippled wizard tried to ascertain whether they were immediately available.

Wigg sighed. They needed Abbey's abilities desperately just now. He hoped with all his heart that they were about to hear good news.

W hen they reached the Hall of Blood Records, they found Abbey and Faegan engrossed in fervent conversation. Both looked tired; neither noticed the arrival of the others.