Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

But how had the scrolls found their way back to Eutracia from Parthalon? he wondered. How was it that they both eventually came to be in the possession of Nicholas? And perhaps most importantly, how had Failee come upon the scrolls in the first place?

Then another, even more fascinating realization hit him. If Failee had had only the Scroll of the Vagaries in her possession, and if she gleaned from it the Forestallments that she later placed into the blood of Tristan and Shailiha, then all the still-unrealized gifts of the Chosen Ones would be of the darker side of the craft! If she had had both scrolls, would she even have used anything of the Vigors? If so, why? And what about those gifts in Celeste's blood? Would Failee ever want her only daughter's blood infused with anything remotely associated with the side of the craft that she professed to loathe?

His head spinning with questions and contradictions, Krassus looked down at Wulfgar's placid, sleeping face. He smiled to himself. It didn't really matter if he found the answers, he decided. All that mattered was that he complete his master's mission before his disease took him to the Afterlife.

Closing his eyes, he caused the glowing, hovering calculations he had just employed to return to their places in the scroll. Then he selected another section of text and beckoned it to him. After committing it to memory, he placed his open palm back on Wulfgar's forehead. Wulfgar's eyes snapped open.

His screaming went on long into the night.

Forty-four

"H e will live," Faegan said with relief as he removed his hand from Wigg's forehead. "He has been through a great deal, and it was apparently very close. His heart has been deeply strained, as has his mind. But I believe he will make a full recovery," he said. Then Faegan looked over at Celeste.

Abbey, Faegan, Celeste, and Shailiha were surrounding the lead wizard's bed. Shailiha's daughter Morganna sat in an infant's carriage newly made for her by Shannon the Short.

Wigg lay sleeping, the down covers pulled up to his shoulders. His breathing was still labored, and his face remained pale. Reaching out to touch her father's face, Celeste found that his skin was cold. As she withdrew her hand, her eyes became shiny.

Abbey and Shailiha were no less worried. The two wizards had been gone from the palace a long time, and when the Minions had finally landed in the courtyard with the litter the three women had run to meet them, hoping for the best. But what they had found was a stricken lead wizard, and Faegan frantic to have Wigg cared for. That had been several hours ago. At one point Wigg had opened his eyes, looked at them briefly, and then fallen back into a deep, silent sleep.

Once Wigg had been put to bed, Faegan had told the others all he could of their amazing journey. The bag of herbs and the vial of oil that had been taken from the floating gardens lay safely on a nearby table.

"Is it really true that you cannot use the herbs the watchwoman gave you until they have dried out?" Shailiha asked as she rocked Morganna's carriage with one hand. The baby gave a soft coo.

The princess was very anxious for Abbey to try to find her brother by way of the gazing flame. There still had been no news from the flying Minion patrols that stubbornly refused to give up looking for the prince, or from the Minion fleet that had supposedly left Parthalon several days earlier, under the joint command of Geldon and Traax.

But at least Faegan's stores of herbs and oils were now all here in Tammerland rather than remaining in his mansion in Shadowood. Just before leaving for the Chambers of Penitence Faegan had ordered a contingent of Minions to fly Abbey, Celeste, and Shailiha back to Shadowood to oversee the return of the goods.

Abbey had been speechless at what she had seen there. But she had taken it all in stride, helping make sure that everything was packaged up and transported as ordered. Faegan's stores now resided safely below ground level, locked in one of the laboratories of the Redoubt.

As he considered the princess' question, Faegan turned to look at the bag and the vial. Then an unexpected smile crossed his lips, and he turned his chair toward Abbey.

"Tell me," he asked the herbmistress, "can you effectively produce and employ a gazing flame through the exclusive use of oils, rather than dried herbs?"

Taking a deep breath, Abbey searched her memory. "Herbs work much better for that purpose," she answered carefully. "That is why oils are rarely used for viewing. There is one that will work, but the results are often unclear. The oil is called unction of scythegrass root, and it is very rare. Do you know it?"

Smiling, Faegan nodded. "It awaits us in the Redoubt, mixed with the others."

"I don't understand," Shailiha interjected. "I thought we had to wait for the herbs to dry."

"No," Faegan answered. "The watchwoman told me that we could use the oil she gave me to separate the other oils right away." Smiling, he looked around the room. "That being the case, I therefore suggest we descend to the Redoubt."

Celeste turned her attention back to Wigg. "I will stay here, in case Father awakens," she said adamantly.

"Very well," Faegan agreed, smiling at her. Thinking, he turned to the princess. "I think the child should stay here with Celeste," he added. "I am not entirely sure what might happen. Best not to take any unnecessary chances." He turned back to Celeste. "If you need us, you know where we will be."

He gazed down into the craggy face of the wizard who had risked everything for their cause. "Sleep well, my friend," he said softly.

Turning his chair away from the bed, he wheeled himself over to the nearby table and placed the vial and the bag into his lap. Shailiha rolled the carriage over to Celeste. Bending over, she gave Morganna a kiss good-bye. The baby grabbed playfully at Shailiha's blond tresses, causing her mother to cry out in mock consternation. Then the princess and Abbey followed Faegan out of the room.

They had a long way to go to get to the laboratory. Down numerous corridors they went, the oil sconces on the walls surrendering a soft, even glow, the heels of the women's shoes ringing out crisply against the shiny marble floor.

Faegan finally stopped before one of the seemingly innumerable doors of carved mahogany. Narrowing his eyes he called the craft, and Shailiha heard the lock in the door turn over once, then twice more. Abbey opened the door and went through, Faegan and the princess following along behind her. The massive, carved door closed behind them heavily.

The laboratory looked as if it had not been used in some time. It reminded Shailiha of a teaching chamber, complete with text- and scroll-filled bookcases, a long table near the far wall, and rows of dusty mahogany, desk-topped chairs. Shailiha found herself smiling as she thought of days gone by, when the room would have been filled with dozens of eager consuls listening to Wigg or some other member of the Directorate lecturing on some arcane topic of the craft.

Faegan wheeled his chair over to the corner that held the bags of herbs and the vat of oils. Before attempting to use the goods obtained in the Chambers of Penitence, it was vital that he employ his power of Consummate Recollection to recall exactly the instructions the watchwoman had given him. He had to be supremely careful, he knew, for he would only have one chance of returning the oils to their previous states. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. The watchwoman's words came floating back to the surface of his consciousness.

Faegan opened his eyes and looked around the room. They would need many glass containers, he realized. After a good deal of searching the three of them finally found some in an abandoned cupboard, but were forced to scour other nearby rooms to collect the rest. It took some doing, but when they were finished, several hundred glass beakers stood in neat rows on one of the dusty, abandoned tables.