Savage Messiah

"We are still below ground," Alrik said. "When I saw the iron door close I immediately ran, ordering my warriors to follow me. We grabbed our tools, and we barely arrived here in time. But as you can see, fifty Minion warriors with iron mallets are a force to be reckoned with. The floor did not want to surrender to us, but we finally broke through."

"You weren't able to find the counteracting spell in time, were you?" Tristan asked Wigg.

The First Wizard shook his head. "I needed more time. If it hadn't been for the Minions, we would be quite dead by now. I considered trying to use the craft to blow a hole in the ceiling, but by then we were too close."

"What about all of Failee's texts and scrolls?" Tristan asked. "Have they been destroyed?"

Wigg nodded sadly. "But we still have her grimoire, and her blood criterion and signature scope," he answered. Looking down at the leather-bound volume in his hands, Wigg ran one palm over its cover. "If I could have saved only one thing from that horrible place below, it would have been this."

Jessamay groaned. She still lay in the arms of one of the warriors. Her eyes fluttered. Wigg walked over to her and, gently lifting one of her eyelids, peered into her eye.

"She will be all right, but she has been through a great deal," he said. He looked around the room for a moment, and then back at the prince.

"We need to get her back up to the Recluse."

Tristan took Celeste into his arms. He searched her face. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She coughed and scowled a bit. "I think so," she said. She looked around the room again. "But let's get out of here."

Tristan looked back at Alrik. "Escort us back to the surface," he ordered. Then he smiled. "This time, we'll follow you."

Tristan picked up Failee's rescued instruments. With a click of his heels, Alrik led the way out of the room.

The walk back to the surface took some time. When they finally reached the first floor, everyone was glad to take a deep breath of fresh air. Wigg ordered Alrik to take them somewhere where Jessamay could be made comfortable. After another short walk, Alrik stopped before a door.

"This room should serve your needs," he said.

Handing the instruments over to Wigg, Tristan took Jessamay back into his arms. "You may leave us now," he told Alrik. "And you may dismiss your warriors. But we shall need some food and drink brought to us. I have no idea how long we might remain."

Alrik clicked his heels. "Jin'Sai," he said.

As Alrik went about his orders, his warriors obediently following, Tristan carried Jessamay through the open doorway.

The renovated room was spacious and well-appointed. Wide balcony doors lay open to the outdoors, letting in golden rays of sunlight and a cool, welcome breeze. Patterned carpet lined the floor, and a large, four-poster, canopied bed stood against one wall. An ornate writing desk and matching chair sat on the far side of the room, and a door across from it was open to an elaborate washroom.

Celeste carefully placed the instruments on the desk, while Tristan laid Jessamay down on the bed. As Wigg sat on the edge of the bed, his daughter came to stand near him.

Wigg placed one palm upon Jessamay's cheek and smiled. "You're safe now," he reassured her. "After all of these years, you can begin to live for yourself again."

Jessamay shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. "I can feel my powers starting to return," she said softly. "And there is something I must tell you."

Smiling again, Wigg took his hand from her face. "Your time enchantments are still in place," he answered. "There is all the time in the world to tell us about your experiences with Failee. Rest assured, we want to hear them all."

"No, no. You must listen to me," she protested. "You must examine my blood signature again."

Wigg took one of her hands into his. "There is no need," he said. "Don't you remember? I already examined it, and I am convinced. What's the matter?" he chided. "After all of this time, have you somehow managed to forget who you are? I certainly haven't."

Jessamay began shaking her head violently. She tried to rise up from the bed. "You don't understand!" she insisted. "You must reexamine my signature now, this instant! And this time use Failee's signature scope! I must know if it's true! The very future of the craft depends upon it!"

Wigg pushed her back down onto the bed. "Very well," he said, "if that's what it takes to make you lie still. But after that, you must get some rest."

Narrowing his eyes, Wigg caused another incision to appear in Jessamay's wrist. A single drop of blood rose from it, and then the wound closed. The blood drop came to hover in the air before the wizard, where it twisted itself into the same blood signature they had all seen before. Wigg looked up at the prince.

"Please see if there is any parchment in that desk," he asked.

Tristan walked over and he looked through the newly made drawers. He found a small piece of parchment and placed it on the desk.

Staring at the hovering blood, Wigg commanded it to glide over to the desk. It gently landed upon the parchment. Leaving Jessamay's side, the wizard walked to the desk and sat down.

Confidently, Wigg casually positioned the tripod directly over the blood signature, then looked down through the lens secured at the top.

He took a quick breath. He looked in shock at Jessamay. Upon seeing his reaction, she covered her face with her hands and began to cry even harder.

Wigg's face was blanched and his jaw was working. But in his completely astonished state, no words came. Finally he found his voice.

"But this is impossible…," he said, so softly that Tristan and Celeste could barely hear him. "This violates every established precept…"

With shaking hands, Wigg readjusted the scope. He looked again. His expert eye remained glued to the lens for a long time. As Jessamay watched in fear, her sobbing continued unabated.

CHAPTER XXXVII

As Serena sat among her husband's new servants, she felt a shudder go through her. Were they dead, alive, or something else, she wondered. Even given her immense skills of the craft, she could not tell.

But at least she could understand Wulfgar's vision of the future-the vision that had been imparted to him by the Guild of the Heretics, and that he had at last explained to her.

The meeting room was large and well appointed. Ten sat at the table: herself, Wulfgar, Einar, and the Council of Seven, as her husband called his new servants. A pair of armed demonslavers stood guard on the other side of the closed double doors. Two candelabras on the table threw their flickering light over a sumptuous spread of food and wine. In the far wall, a fire danced merrily in the hearth. Its smoke smelled familiar and comforting.

Taking up her wine glass, Serena refocused her attention on Wulfgar's words.

"…each of you will captain a Black Ship," he was saying. "You will command not only the Earthshakers assigned to your vessel, but also several full legions of demonslavers. Tomorrow you shall practice the sea maneuvers that you once carried out centuries ago, albeit for a very different cause. I wish to be sure that the legends of your prowess are still true." As he spoke, the ravaged half of his face contorted grotesquely.

"When we finally launch the war against Eutracia, several of you shall march your forces north to ensure the continued self-destruction of the Orb of the Vigors," he went on. "That is our chief concern. The rest of you shall aid me in the attack upon the royal palace. We shall destroy the Conclave of the Vigors, my half brother's Minions of Day and Night, and the Redoubt of the Directorate. When our victories are secure we will then turn our attention east, toward Parthalon. Compared to Eutracia, Parthalon will collapse like a house of cards."