"But what makes you think that you should begin your search at the Recluse?" Shailiha asked.
Leaning back in his chair, Wigg let go a thoughtful sigh. "Because some of the later Forestallment calculations in the Scroll of the Vigors were in Failee's handwriting," he answered.
A hush descended over the table.
"That would mean that the Scroll of the Vigors, and perhaps also the Scroll of the Vagaries, were at one time in her possession," Tristan said.
"That is correct," Faegan answered. "They had to be, in order for her to place the Forestallments into your blood signature-and Shailiha and Celeste's-in the first place. For all we know, your blood signature may already possess the Forestallment required to change it from azure back to red. But even if that were the case, we would not know how to identify or activate it." The wizard looked away for a moment as he contemplated his next thought. "But this new set of facts also raises another puzzle."
"At what point in Eutracian history did Failee gain possession of the scrolls, and how did she get them to Parthalon?" Adrian asked, furrowing her brow. "It was always my understanding that when the Directorate banished the Coven to the Sea of Whispers, they provided them with only a small boat and a few meager supplies. How did she do it?"
"How indeed," Wigg replied. "Not to mention the question of how the scrolls came to be back in Eutracia."
"None of this explains why you must start your search for this supposed Scroll Master at the Recluse," Shailiha repeated.
"The subterranean levels of the Recluse were Failee's private domain," Wigg explained uncomfortably. "It was where she kept not only her laboratory, but also her library. I feel it is safe to assume that she, too, would likely have been searching for the Scroll Master, and I'm hoping she might have left notes on her research-some kind of clue for us to follow."
"Do you really believe the Scroll Master might still be alive?" Tristan asked. "And what purpose did he serve?"
"Those are riddles that can only be unraveled once we arrive," Wigg answered. He looked around the table.
"Even though Tristan and I have been in that awful place before, we will still be walking into the unknown," he added. "I fear there is much more to those lower regions than we were allowed to see."
Then Tyranny spoke up. "There is still much about all of this that I do not understand," she said. "I know little of the craft, but I am trying to learn. Assuming that you two are able to find this Scroll Master and he gives you the Forestallment Tristan needs, how does that help us repair the ruptured orb?"
For the first time since the meeting began, Wigg smiled. "As you already know, Tristan's blood must be returned to its original state before he can be trained in the craft, or any of his Forestallments activated. The Tome states that only the red, trained blood of the Jin'Sai shall have the power to heal the orbs, should either of them ever be rent asunder. Simply put, the forestallment we seek will grant Tristan the power to heal the orb."
Feeling as though the responsibility for the entire world had just landed upon his shoulders, Tristan looked over at the Tome and the Scroll of the Vigors.
Traax interrupted his thoughts. "I wish permission to accompany you, Jin'Sai. I consider it my duty."
Tristan considered Traax's request for a moment.
"No, my friend," he answered. "I have another mission for you. It is one that will prove far more hazardous than trying to look after Wigg and me in Parthalon, and it will test your loyalty, I'm afraid."
Traax automatically bowed his head. "I live to serve."
Faegan narrowed his eyes. "Just what do you have in mind?" he asked the prince.
Tristan looked over at Tyranny. "Will you accompany Traax on a mission for me?" he asked her. "I must warn you that it will be very dangerous."
"Anything. You know that," she replied earnestly.
"Ever since the orb began its rampage across Eutracia, I have had doubts about whether Wulfgar actually died that night," Tristan said.
"I want you and Traax to take the fleet as near to the Isle of the Citadel as you dare. When you are near enough, I want you to send a Minion war party high over the island. If you see any surviving demonslavers, try to capture a few and return them to the Reprise for questioning." A smile brushed across the prince's lips.
"I am well aware of how persuasive Scars can be if left to his own devices," he added wryly. "Don't let him kill them all. I would like to question some of them myself when I return. While you are gone, the warriors accompanying you shall be under your command."
Tyranny and Traax positively beamed. They had both been longing for some real action.
"Sounds like fun," Tyranny said. She looked over at Traax. "We sail on the evening tide." The warrior nodded back.
"While you are on this mission," Tristan said to Traax, "you are to take your orders from Tyranny as you would from me."
"Yes, my lord," Traax answered.
"Taking into account the losses we sustained during our battles with Wulfgar's forces, how many combat warriors do we have left?" Tristan asked. "If Wulfgar were to return with a force equal to the first, could we beat him back again?"
Traax's face darkened. "That is difficult to say," he answered. "Combat-ready warriors usually number about one half of the total. The remainder serve in roles of support. But during the recent hostilities, we lost at least half of our fighters. And per your orders, a certain number of them remained behind in Parthalon. Even if they were brought here, their numbers are not enough to make any appreciable difference. If we could summon seventy-five thousand combat-ready troops, we would be lucky. I fear that should Wulfgar return in such strength, we would be hard-pressed to defeat him."
Tristan leaned across the table and looked at his second in command.
"Exactly," he said. "That is precisely why I must order you to do something else for me, something you may find contradictory to your nature."
"Of course, my lord."
Tristan's gaze hardened. "I want you to order the training of suitable Minion females as combat warriors," he said.
Everyone around the table was stunned-not the least Traax. Tristan had discussed this with no one, and it came as a bolt out of the blue.
Traax just sat there, his eyes wide and unbelieving.
"When they are ready," the prince continued, "I want Duvessa to serve directly under you as their subcommander. I trust her, and I can think of no Minion female better suited to the task."
Traax opened his mouth, but for a moment no sound came out. Finally he found his voice.
"But my lord…," he began, trying to find the right words. "Such a thing has never been done! It is not the Minion way!"
Tristan narrowed his eyes. Several members of the Conclave held their breath.
"There is a first time for everything, and this is to be theirs," Tristan said. His tone was firm, controlled. "We need them. To do otherwise would be a shameful waste of talent. Like the healers, they are to wear a feather on the chest of their body armor to designate their status. But this feather is to be red, like the blood they may one day have to spill. Those healers who become warriors may wear both." Then he smiled. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you afraid they might surprise you, and prove to be better than you imagined?"
Traax took a deep breath. Despite his misgivings, he remained true to his Minion vows. He bowed his head.
"I live to serve," he said softly.
"Good," Tristan answered. "And thank you."
Traax sighed and pursed his lips.
"Then we are agreed," Tristan said to the group. "Is there anything else to discuss before Wigg and I leave for Parthalon?"
Shailiha and Celeste exchanged glances. The princess cleared her throat.
"Celeste and I will go with Tyranny and Traax," she said. As if to emphasize that she would not be dissuaded, the princess folded her arms over her breasts. Celeste gave Tristan a little smile.