Savage Messiah

"How did you know I was coming to Parthalon?" Tristan asked.

Alrik smiled. "We didn't," he answered. "We have been training this stallion for months in the hope that you would soon visit. As the First Wizard and I walked over the drawbridge together and into the Recluse, it was he who mentioned that you had lost your previous mount. So you see out of darkness there comes a bit of light."

Celeste smiled at Tristan.

"He's beautiful," she said. "What will you call him?"

Tristan looked back down the length of the barn, and to the torches that burned so brightly. As they cast their flickering shadows across the walls, he made up his mind. He turned back to Celeste.

"I will call him Shadow," he said.

Tristan placed a foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle. The leather was soft as butter, and he immediately felt comfortable. Shadow began to dance about beneath him, telling his rider that he was eager to go. The prince easily stayed with him. He smiled.

"If you will excuse us, Shadow and I are going to get to know each other better," he said. He looked at Alrik. "You will see that Celeste is safely escorted back to the Recluse?"

Coming to attention, Alrik clicked his heels. "On my life," he promised. The prince nodded back gratefully.

Saying nothing more, Tristan wheeled Shadow around. Without looking back he galloped the stallion out of the barn and into the moonlight.

CHAPTER XLIII

"Now then," Faegan said. "let's begin, shall we?"

The wizard had chosen this chamber of the Redoubt because it had gone unused for centuries. It was dark and unfurnished, save for the simple table and five chairs he had requested. Moisture seeped freely from the walls. Mildew had crept in long ago, making the place smell musty and abandoned. A single wall torch burned quietly.

Faegan, Abbey, and Adrian sat on one side of the rectangular table. Next to Faegan was Lionel the Little-the wizard's herbmaster and the trusted keeper of the herb cubiculum in Shadowood. Since arriving at the height of their trials with Wulfgar, Lionel had stayed on at the palace.

The Valrenkian captive sat across from them. Bound to his chair by a wizard's warp, he glared at Faegan with venomous eyes.

The prisoner was of average build. He appeared to be about forty-five Seasons of New Life. His blond hair was thi

After placing him in the chair and securing him with the warp, Faegan had carefully examined the Valrenkian's blood signature. Sure enough, it revealed him to be a partial adept. The abbreviated signature had possessed curved lines, indicating that the man's gifts had been inherited from his mother rather than his father. His examination complete, Faegan had then employed the craft to rouse the man.

Summoning all of the saliva he could, the Valrenkian spat at them, then sneered arrogantly.

"What do you want with me?" he growled. "I demand to know why I have been brought here!" Pausing for a moment, he looked around the bleak, unforgiving room.

"Wherever this might be," he added nastily.

"Where you are is not important," Faegan said. "We require answers from you. We can either do this the simple way-with me asking the questions and you answering them honestly-or we can proceed the hard way, through my use of the craft. First of all, you are a Valrenkian, are you not?"

The man just spat at them again.

"What is the name of the assassin who was hired to kill the inhabitants of the royal palace?" the wizard pressed. The prisoner again remained silent.

Abbey placed her mouth near the wizard's ear. "This is getting us nowhere," she whispered. "Time is precious."

Faegan nodded. Narrowing his eyes, he called the craft. Almost at once the Valrenkian's eyes widened with surprise.

"What are you doing to me?" he shouted.

"Enhancing your willingness to comply," Faegan answered calmly.

The man's head suddenly snapped back and his eyes opened wide. Abbey realized that Faegan had just successfully entered the Valrenkian's mind. The captive's rebellious attitude might remain, but now he would be forced to answer their questions-and truthfully.

"Let's try again, shall we?" Faegan asked. "Are you a member of the rogue Valrenkian community?"

"Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Uther, of the House of Kronsteen."

"Tell me, Uther of the House of Kronsteen, what is the name of the assassin hired to kill those living at the royal palace?"

"The only assassin I know of is called Satine. She buys her wares from Reznik."

"So this assassin you speak of is a woman?"

"Yes."

Thinking for a moment, Faegan sat back in his chair. "Who is Reznik?" he asked.

"He is a most accomplished Valrenkian. He leads us. Satine buys the tools of her trade from him."

"Where is Satine now?" Faegan asked.

"I don't know."

"You have seen her?" Abbey asked.

"Yes. She visits roughly every three moons, to purchase fresh goods from Reznik."

"Please describe her," Abbey asked.

"Satine wears black leather clothing and a gray cloak. Her dark hair is long and braided. One of her arms is tattooed with a serpent, the other with a sword. She carries four daggers and a short bow. It is said that she has additional weapons at her disposal, but I don't know what those might be."

Faegan lifted his eyebrows. "How is it that you know about her tattoos?"

"Last year, one hot afternoon during the Season of the Sun, she rode into Valrenkium with her cloak removed. Her shirt was sleeveless."

"What goods does she purchase from Reznik?" Adrian asked, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the table.

"I do not know," Uther answered. "That is kept strictly between Reznik and her."

"Who is her next target?" Faegan asked.

"I do not know."

"Tell me about the Valrenkians," Faegan said. "Is it true that you practice the Vagaries?"

"Yes."

"The Minion warriors said that human body parts were in evidence in Valrenkium, and that people were being systematically tortured and killed," the wizard said. "Is this true?"

Uther managed a slight smile. "Yes," he answered. "We sometimes kidnap people for our needs. Some of us also unearth corpses from graves. We sell our endowed wares to the highest bidder. Those of us who practice this subdiscipline are also known as Corporeals."

Angrily, Faegan thought of Geldon lying dead on the table, and the ma

"Yes," Uther said. "He sometimes employs the bodies of suicides. He pays more for those-especially if the corpse's blood was endowed. A grave robber secures them for him."

Sighing deeply, Faegan nodded. It was becoming clear that his analysis of Geldon's death had been correct.

Faegan was quickly developing a better understanding of the assassin. She was a cold, ruthless professional who would stop at nothing to complete her job. Clearly, she was rarely equaled for cu

Looking at the captive, Lionel the Little slowly removed his spectacles and wiped his face with one hand. After repositioning his spectacles, he cleared his throat.

"Are there women and children in Valrenkium, are there?" he asked harshly, in his peculiar way of speaking.

"Yes."

"Are all of the adults willing practitioners of your dark arts?" Lionel asked.

"Of course," Uther answered. "Why else would they be there?"