The sound of screams alterted him to the fact that the first of the city's refugees had finally reached the palace. Earlier in the day, Faegan had steeled himself and ordered the drawbridge raised, and every other entrance to the palace closed and guarded. The dark, ominous forms of Minion warriors lined the tops of the palace walls.
Desperate citizens jumped into the moat and tried to scrabble up the palace walls. Minion warriors used their spears to gently but firmly push them back. Still more jumped in, crowding one another in a fury of desperation. Many drowned before Faegan's eyes.
Tears in her eyes, Shailiha turned to look at the wizard. "Is there nothing you and Jessamay can do to help them?" she asked.
Faegan shook his head. "Nothing. As much as I hate to say it, we are doing exactly what we should right now-that is, preparing to implement the first stage of our plan. I understand your feelings. But you all simply must trust me when I tell you that, this way, far more people will survive."
Shailiha took the old wizard's hand. "We all trust you," she said. "You know that. It's just so difficult to stand by and watch."
"I know, Princess," Faegan answered softly. "I know."
Turning his chair around, he surveyed the results of his group's recent labors. Hundreds of closed containers of every size, type, and color covered the rooftop. Several Minion litters sat nearby filled with yet more vessels.
"Do you all understand what it is you are to do?" he asked. They said they did. Faegan nodded.
"Under no circumstances are you to open the containers until you are sure of your surroundings," he reminded them. "Waste nothing, for your lives may depend upon it. Be sure to use it all. And above all, do not stray far from the palace. If you come too close to the fires, not only might you lose your lives, but all of our good work will go up in smoke. Be as surreptitious in your work as you can."
Pausing for a moment, he looked at them all with hope. "Go now," he said.
Faegan and Jessamay watched as the Minion warriors picked up the various containers and took flight, headed for the parts of the city that were still intact. Then Faegan's group took their places in the litters and the remaining warriors lifted them into the air. In a matter of moments, the wizard and Jessamay were alone on the rooftop.
Faegan watched as the litters grew smaller and smaller, their sides highlighted by the raging orange-red flames. He knew that if the warriors carrying them flew too close to the inferno, the intense updrafts of heat could cause them to crash. But the job had to be done. Even so, for the hundredth time he wondered about the wisdom of his actions.
"Can it really work?" Jessamay asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Faegan sighed. "The theory is sound. But when the craft is involved, there are a hundred ways for something to go wrong-especially when the theory has never been applied. We can only wait and hope."
CHAPTER LXXXIII
When Tristan woke, his vision was blurred, he ached everywhere, and he couldn't remember why. Then his vision started to clear, and so did his mind.
He was lying on the floor in the center of the Well of Forestallments. His weapons were still with him. He stood slowly, testing his balance. His head swam as his senses returned to normal.
The white marble altar was gone, as was the etched glass tapestry. The Scroll Master stood nearby.
"We succeeded, Jin'Sai," he said. "You survived the ordeal. Your blood is red once more. It now also holds the three Forestallments the Ones dictated that I grant you. If you like, you may check to see that I am telling the truth."
Tristan took one of his throwing knives from its sheath, held the blade against the palm of his left hand, and made a small incision. He took a quick breath as he saw that his blood was indeed red again.
Several drops fell to the floor and began to twist and turn into his familiar blood signature. He wiped the knife on his trousers, placed it into its sheath, and bent down to look. Three crooked forestallment branches led away from his signature, rather than the dozens that bristled from it when his blood had been azure. He stood in amazement.
"This cannot be," he said.
"And why is that?" the boy asked.
"Before now, the red water of the Caves had to be combined with my blood in order for my blood signature to form. The wizards said it was because my blood has not yet been trained. So how can my signature form on its own?"
"The Forestallments that I have granted you," the boy said, "enliven your blood to the point that the Cave waters are not necessary for your signature to form. Two days from now, when the Forestallments vanish, the Cave waters will again be required. Your blood will be as it was the day you were born."
The boy pointed to the three Forestallments and explained what powers each would grant the prince, and how to call them forth. Awestruck, Tristan listened intently to every word.
"There is something else that you must know," the boy added. "Even though you are the reigning Jin'Sai, and your blood now carries activated Forestallments, you still may not be able to beat Wulfgar. Doing so will take everything you have-perhaps more than you have. You may still fail."
Tristan's jaw hardened. "Why?" he asked. "The Forestallments you granted me come from the Ones, do they not?"
"Yes," the boy answered, "just as Wulfgar's come from the Heretics. He has had ample time to become proficient with them, and you have not. Be exceedingly careful, Jin'Sai. He means to kill you, and his gifts are strong."
So are mine, Tristan thought. Then he remembered Celeste. "How much time has gone by?" he demanded.
"Three of your hours have passed," the Scroll Master said sadly. "I'm afraid it is too late."
Tristan felt as though a dagger had been plunged into his heart. "What do you mean!" he shouted.
"Come with me," the boy answered quietly.
The Scroll Master glided over to one of the shelves and pointed. The breath rushed from Tristan's lungs, and he fell to his knees.
Behind another pane of glass, encapsulated in azure light, was Celeste's death mask.
Tristan wept, shaking uncontrollably. When he was finally able, he lifted his head again and looked into the face that he so loved.
It was Celeste as he would always remember her-young, lovely, and vibrant. Her eyes were closed, the generous bell of hair falling down over part of her forehead and cheek. The Forestallments she had possessed when she died twinkled in the case just below.
"I am sorry, Jin'Sai," the boy said quietly. "Had you found me sooner, she might have lived. Even so, I told you she was not your destiny, no matter how much you loved her. I know how much it hurts you to hear this, but the fact that the two of you found each other and married is of minor importance in the forthcoming scheme of your life. In fact, had she lived, you would have gone on to hurt her far more than she might have been able to bear, for you would have been forced to leave her. You are meant for another-another whom you will love with an ardor even greater than you felt for Celeste. It is she who will become your queen and be the mother of your children."
The boy held out his hand. "Come with me, Jin'Sai," he said. "We must return to your First Wizard. There is little time to lose."
Tristan looked at the floor. "So she has turned to ash?" he asked, barely able to get the words out.
"No," the boy answered. "I have granted her body the ability to hold its earthly form until you can hold her in your arms one more time. But even I cannot do so for much longer. Hold my hand, and I'll take you to her. Your mind needn't be stilled as we travel this time, for your blood is strong enough now."
Tristan took the boy's hand. The young Scroll Master felt cold and lifeless, like a statue that had been left outside all winter.