Tristan watched as the combination of fluids twisted and then turned into his glowing azure blood signature. With a swift calculation of the craft, Wigg magnified the blood signature's size, so that everyone in the Chamber of Supplication could see it. As Tristan had hoped, the chamber was now absolutely still.
Speaking quickly into the silence, Tristan went on to explain, in the simplest of terms, what the blood signature was. He told them about how his blood had turned azure the day he defeated the Coven of the Sorceresses. At last he paused and pointed to his blood signature as it twinkled wetly in the soft morning light.
"Rather than controlling the craft, I am as much a prisoner of it as anyone, perhaps even more so," he said. "For until a way can be found to return my blood to its original state, the wizards may not train me in the arts of magic. Nor am I allowed to give the kingdom an heir." A distinct sadness crept over his face.
"One day, I shall take the oath as your sovereign," he finished at last. "But I shall refuse to do so until my blood is whole again and I can be trained in the craft, just as my late father would have been. Not until then will I presume to call myself your king."
With that Tristan dismissed the meeting. As he watched the somber crowd disperse, the remaining members of the Conclave came forward to join him.
He reclaimed his sword from the floor and returned it to its scabbard. Celeste and Shailiha each gave him a reassuring hug. Tristan looked down at Faegan, and then at Wigg.
"Do you think they believed us?" he asked.
"That is difficult to say," Wigg answered. "Some may have, but many certainly did not. They have suffered much and, until we can find a way to heal the orb, may suffer a great deal more. In my more than three centuries, I have never seen the populace more distrustful. Even during the height of the Sorceresses' War they were more trusting. I sense that they would like to believe in you, and that is what is most important. Now that the spark of trust has been rekindled, we must be careful how we fan the flame."
Faegan wheeled his chair a bit closer. "I never had the privilege of knowing your parents," the ancient wizard said in his gravely voice. "But I have no doubt that they would have been proud of what you did here today. At the very least, this is a start. Remember, even the greatest of journeys must always begin with a single step." AT THE VERY BACK OF THE ROOM ONE OF THE MEETING ATTENDEES walked out promptly, well ahead of the other departing subjects. Quickly traversing the palace grounds and striding across the lowered drawbridge, the cloaked figure jumped upon the waiting horse and then wheeled him around.
Gathering her cloak around her, the Gray Fox galloped away, up the narrow street and on toward her next assignation.
CHAPTER XIII
When the voices first revealed themselves to him, he feared he had suddenly gone mad. Then he understood. They were the result of the activation of the Forestallment.
That had been two days ago. Now, as he stood on the terrace overlooking the broad ocean, the Enseterat had never felt more confident or more powerful.
Just as the Jin'Sai had his wizards, Wulfgar now had his own allies. But his were were infinitely more powerful in their abilities to aid him. Tristan, his mind still burdened with his tainted, untrained blood, had yet to unleash such power. And the Scroll of the Vigors-the only tool that might possibly help him heal the great orb-was irreversibly damaged.
It was late afternoon at the Citadel, and the sea was high again. Seabirds swooped and called out to one another as they skimmed the frothy waves, their sharp eyes searching the blue-green shallows for their next meal. The sky was overcast and the wind blustery, and the salt-laden air smelled pleasantly of both brine and the tangled seaweed that continually washed up against the rocks of the shore.
Turning his gaze to the bay, Wulfgar looked over to the growing fleet of strong, new ships that he had only recently released from the depths where they had been imprisoned for more than three centuries. Superior to the demonslaver vessels in every way, they would prove to be the mightiest armada of the Vagaries ever assembled. Then would come the captains to sail them. Unlike the unendowed, white-skinned slavers who had failed him, these beings had once been masterful commanders of their craft.
All this was due to the new Forestallment-and the voices it had brought. Einar had promised he would hear them, but nothing in the world could have adequately prepared Wulfgar for the experience.
It had been early evening, and the Enseterat and his queen were taking dinner on the spacious balcony of their quarters. Wulfgar was about to ask her how she was feeling, when, to Serena's horror, he suddenly clutched the sides of his head. With a scream of agony, he fell backward, chair and all, and began to writhe uncontrollably on the marble floor. Helpless, Serena watched as Wulfgar struggled in the grip of something neither of them understood.
Then, fearing for her husband's life, she sent for Einar. But by the time the lead consul arrived, Wulfgar's pain had departed and he had calmed.
Rising from the floor, the Enseterat turned and looked at Einar and his wife. There was a renewed sense of power and majesty about him, a greatness that they had never seen. As though he were the only person in the world, Wulfgar silently turned his gaze away from them and out toward the shifting sea.
That was when the voices first came, a soulful chorus that overwhelmed him. Out of sheer reverence, he fell to his knees.
"Wulfgar," they began, "you have finally been granted the Forestallment that allows us to commune with your mind."
"Who are you?" he thought. Instinctively, he knew that he did not need to speak aloud to be heard by them.
"We are the Heretics of the Guild." The voices were melodic, soothing.
"We welcome you to our service. The pain you just endured was the result of our initial communication; you shall not have to bear it again. Despite the initial defeat of your demonslaver fleet, you have done well. The Orb of the Vigors continues to bleed, and we must allow nothing to interfere with that. Your employment of the female assassin was a wise precaution, but in the end, you shall require far more than just her unendowed skills to secure the prizes you seek. You must remember well the information we are about to impart to you, for what we grant you now will lead you to the final victory."
The chorus faded, and was replaced by a whirling riot of azure numbers and letters roaring in his mind-all of them in Old Eutracian. He closed his eyes and stared at the glowing formulas that danced brightly against the infinite blackness behind his eyelids. Finally they slowed, and he began to grasp what they represented.
They comprised an index to the massive Scroll of the Vagaries.
Wulfgar's heart leaped for joy. Until now, both the scroll's great size and its overwhelming complexity had made it difficult to decipher. The calculations for the thousands of Forestallments it contained were recorded upon it randomly. No concern had been given to categorizing what type of gift each individual formula might grant, or what subdivision of the craft it fell into.
As a result, it took weeks for his consuls to find any particular set of calculations. But with the index at their disposal, they would be free to peruse the scroll at will and quickly make its teachings their own.
Over the course of the last two days, Wulfgar and Einar had done exactly that. The calculations that the Heretics had granted the Enseterat gave him the power not only to free his new fleet from the depths, but to summon the majestic beings who would man them. It would be an unparalleled force able to crush the Jin'Sai, his Minions of Day and Night, and the wizards of the Redoubt. But first Wulfgar had to retrieve the ships.