Savage Messiah

"Indeed," Faegan added from his chair on wheels. "I would prefer not to wait, but we could pause for a few hours if you wish."

Jessamay shook her head. "Time is precious," she answered. "You have both said so yourselves. And you can be assured that Wulfgar isn't resting as he travels toward the pass in the mountains. No, we must keep trying, no matter the cost."

It was evening in Eutracia, and Faegan and Jessamay had been at their work the entire day. Abbey had joined them, to contribute her knowledge of herbs. Everyone in the room was close to exhaustion, especially the sorceress.

Faegan felt sure that they were getting close to reversing Failee's work and moving the lean of Jessamay's blood signature back toward the right. They had made dozens of attempts, each bringing them a little closer to their goal, but it was maddeningly slow work.

Faegan also knew that it might take far longer to achieve their goal than they could afford-especially if Shailiha's impending report was as bad as he feared it might be. Worse yet, even if they succeeded in their efforts, it was imperative that Wigg and Tristan return home in time to help implement the rest of the plan.

He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, willing Wigg and Tristan to succeed. Without them, and without the prince's blood returned to its natural state, the Vigors would be doomed. He looked back at Jessamay.

"Very well, then," he said. "Are you ready?"

Taking a deep breath, Jessamay nodded.

"Begin," he said.

As Abbey watched, Jessamay drank the potion and Faegan applied his most recent calculations upon her. At first the wizard could discern no difference from his previous attempts. But then things started to change.

Jessamay's eyes rolled back up into her head, and she convulsed with such force that Faegan found it necessary to enhance his warp. As Jessamay screamed in pain, her chair rose into the air. Despite his best efforts, Faegan found that he could no longer control it. As if it suddenly had a will of its own, the chair took the sorceress higher and flew manically around the room.

But it isn't the chair that's flying, Faegan realized. It is Jessamay, her blood signature going wildly out of control as it changes. Then he suddenly understood why Failee had kept her in a sorceress' cone for all of those years. It had been to protect her experiment by keeping this from happening. His mouth agape, Faegan watched Jessamay's speed increase as she soared about the Hall of Blood Records.

I beg the Afterlife, he asked himself in terror. What have I done?

"Stop her!" Abbey screamed. "If she smashes into one of the walls, she'll kill herself!"

But try as he might, the wizard remained powerless to stop Jessamay. He sat there, wide-eyed, as pieces of the room's furniture suddenly flew against the walls and smashed to bits. Hundreds of the alphabetized file drawers secured in the walls flew out; thousands of carefully categorized blood-signature records sailed about the room in a blizzard of parchment.

From the upper floors, ancient scrolls were sucked off from their shelves and unrolled, soaring down to the first floor to join the maelstrom of whirling paper.

Many of the jars and beakers holding herbs and precious oils suddenly burst, their colorful contents splashing into the air, spilling across the tabletops and floor. The oil chandeliers swung violently back and forth. Two of them smashed to the floor, threatening to start a fire among the growing collection of litter. Abbey rushed to quench the impending cataclysm.

Then things calmed. The wind died away, the drawers stopped opening, and the remaining scrolls on the upper levels stayed in place on their shelves. The parchments and other scrolls floated gently down until nearly every square inch of the floor was covered.

But to Faegan and Abbey's horror, Jessamay's chair continued to soar. Suddenly it changed course and crashed into a wall.

Despite Faegan's wizard's warp, the chair burst apart on impact. Jessamay tumbled out and landed in a heap near the center of the room. She lay there unmoving.

Faegan and Abbey hurried over. Faegan caused the warp surrounding her to disappear. He examined her for broken bones and could find none. Satisfied that she could be moved, he levitated her body to lie on one of the nearby tables. It had been his warp, he realized, that had kept her from being killed.

He was about to examine Jessamay further when she groaned. Her eyes opened.

He smiled at her. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Jessamay rose upon her elbows and looked in horror around the room.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You had a violent reaction to the last potion and spell," he told her. "In truth, that may have been exactly what we were looking for. Do you think you can stand?"

Jessamay nodded. Faegan helped her to her feet, secured a drop of the sorceress' blood, and caused it to fall upon a blank piece of parchment. The droplet twisted itself into Jessamay's blood signature and then died.

Faegan hurriedly placed the signature scope tripod over the blood signature and looked down. Several tense, quiet moments followed.

When he looked back up, he was beaming. Slapping his hand upon the arm of his chair, he let go a sharp cackle. Then he levitated his chair and soared around the room.

"We've done it!" he shouted. "We actually managed to change the lean of a blood signature!"

Jessamay shuffled weakly over to the scope and peered down through its crosshair lens. Lifting her face, she smiled.

It's really true, she thought, as Abbey walked over to embrace her. I am myself once more. After three centuries of nearly becoming a slave to the Vagaries, my blood has finally been returned to its natural state.

Just then the huge double doors parted. Shailiha, Adrian, Tyra

Faegan lowered his chair to the floor.

"What in the world happened here?" Shailiha demanded.

Faegan smiled broadly. "We've done it!" he exclaimed. "Jessamay's blood signature has returned to normal!"

Then he noticed for the first time how filthy the newcomers were, and he remembered the mission he had sent them on. Shailiha's expression was not reassuring.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he asked.

Shailiha nodded. "I know this is a happy moment but, yes, the news is terrible." In quiet, measured tones, the princess described everything that they had seen.

Faegan's face fell.

"How long do you estimate before the throngs reach the palace?" he asked.

"Hours, at most," Duvessa answered. "By dawn the palace will be awash in refugees trying to gain entrance."

"And the dark mass of pollution in the Sippora?" Faegan asked.

"It moves far more slowly," Shailiha said. "My guess is that it will reach the palace environs in two days, perhaps three."

"By the time it reaches us, half of Tammerland will have gone up in smoke," Faegan said unhappily.

"What shall we do?" Tyra

Faegan pulled on his beard as he thought. "Wigg was right," he commented.

"Right about what?" Jessamay asked.

"Wigg said that in his absence we would have to prepare for a siege," he answered. "But now it is even worse than we imagined."

"Why?" Shailiha asked.

"Most of the population of Tammerland will be trying to smash down our gates to acquire what they believe will be greater safety and adequate food. They don't realize it, but if Wulfgar ca

"Is there no way that you or the others can employ the craft to extinguish the fires?" Tyra