"The pain can be intense," she said. "This brings back such awful memories. At first I wasn't sure whether I could go through it again. But at least this time it's you, rather than Failee, trying to alter my blood signature. I feel safe with you."
"Do you need more help with the pain?" Faegan asked.
She shook her head. "I don't think we should risk it. We cannot be sure that it won't interfere with what we're trying to accomplish. We must succeed no matter the cost, and I fear we are running out of time."
"Very well," Faegan answered. "Just try to rest while I check the latest result."
Wheeling his chair over to the table, he positioned the signature scope over Jessamay's fresh blood signature and examined it. He was not pleased with what he saw. He sighed and looked over at her.
"Another failure, I'm afraid," he said glumly.
"I understand," Jessamay said. "We'll just have to keep trying."
Faegan wheeled himself back over to Jessamay, raised one arm, and removed the wizard's warp that enveloped her. Grateful to be free, Jessamay stood on unsteady legs. Faegan hadn't wanted to use a warp on her, but it had seemed necessary to keep her from moving in response to the pain as he applied the various spells.
She shuffled stiffly to the table and poured herself a glass of wine. As Faegan watched her drink he saw that her robe was soaked through with sweat, and he winced. She sat down heavily beside him, and they delved into their work once more.
Tristan, Wigg, and Celeste had been gone for four days. Since then, Faegan and Jessamay had been prisoners of their own research in one of the many Redoubt laboratories. Piles of reference books sat on several nearby tables, along with various parchments, charts of esoteric symbols, jars of dried herbs, and bottles of precious oils. A network of tubing carried colored, bubbling fluids from beaker to beaker.
Failee's red leather grimoire lay open on the table between Faegan and Jessamay. The Tome of the Paragon had been placed upon a pedestal in one corner of the room, the Scroll of the Vigors upon another. Sighing, the crippled wizard pulled the grimoire toward him to read more of Failee's elegant Old Eutracian script.
When Faegan and his group had returned from the archery shop, the acolytes had informed them that Sister Vivian had been found dead in her quarters. She had bled out, just as Bratach had done.
An examination of her body had convinced Faegan and Jessamay that Wulfgar had placed the same death Forestallment into Vivian's blood that Bratach's had carried. As for Bratach, his identity had been confirmed by documents gleaned from the Hall of Blood Records.
Their assumption was that Vivian's death Forestallment had been placed into her blood without her knowledge and that Bratach had been able to activate it at will-even from so far away as the archery shop. Faegan felt certain that when the consul activated his own Forestallment, he had activated Vivian's as well.
Clever, Faegan thought, as he turned over another page of the grimoire. Imagine the ability to kill one's enemy with a single thought and from such a distance. Wulfgar has been one step ahead of us-right from the moment we thought we defeated him that night on the palace roof. How little did we realize…
Faegan and Jessamay's research centered upon reestablishing the proper lean of Jessamay's blood signature. They did this not purely for Jessamay's benefit-although under normal circumstances that alone would have been reason enough. Rather, they both thought that if they could accomplish this feat, it might help them in their fight against Wulfgar. If any of the Enseterat's traitorous consuls could be taken alive, the Conclave could perhaps change their signatures and return them to the Vigors.
But so far there had been no progress, and the stress that their experimentation placed upon Jessamay tormented Faegan greatly.
All they had ascertained so far was that Failee had concocted a formula that could change the lean of a blood signature. The grimoire clearly outlined the formula, which combined both the craft and the science of herbmastery. But even Failee had been able only to force Jessamay's signature to morph from right-leaning to neutral. The grimoire gave no evidence that she had accomplished the other half of her work-completing the shift all of the way to the left.
Faegan and Jessamay's goal was to change the lean back to the right-returning Jessamay's blood signature to its original state. But the research meant reversing the late First Mistress' work step by agonizing step.
Faegan shook his head. Aside from Failee's initial experiments, this work was entirely without precedent in the craft, he thought. It made him wonder whether this dark area of study was really the kind of thing into which the Ones Who Came Before wanted craft-users to delve. It was a true wizard's conundrum. If they succeeded, the implications of the murky ethics of their accomplishment would be staggering. If they failed, they might never save the world from the Vagaries. They knew one thing: They had to forge ahead, regardless.
Jessamay pointed to a crooked symbol on one of the parchments. "Look at this," she said. Faegan glanced over.
"This symbol is shown over and over again in both Failee's writings and the Scroll of the Vigors," she said with excitement. "I believe that-"
Suddenly there came an urgent pounding on the door. Angry at the interruption, the wizard scowled.
"Enter!" he called out.
The double doors parted briskly, and Abbey, Shailiha, and Tyranny tromped into the room. The privateer and the princess were dirty from head to foot. Faegan was grateful to see them alive, but he could also tell that they were in no mood for small talk.
They walked to the table, and Tyranny leaned her hands upon its shiny surface.
"I'll make this simple," she said. "At least one third of the fleet is gone, as is half of the Minion cohort that sailed with us. The Black Ships went through us like we were made of parchment. By now they have no doubt reached the coast." She looked over at Jessamay.
"Wigg said that you once served aboard those vessels," she added.
"During the battle, they did things we had no idea they could do, things we couldn't begin to fight against! I think you have some explaining to do."
Tyranny struck a match against one of her knee boots and lit a cigarillo. Given the immense value of the documents and dried herbs in the room, Faegan was about to protest, but when he caught the defiant gleam in her eyes, he decided against it.
Tyranny took the wine bottle from the table and she poured herself a glassful. She dropped unceremoniously into a chair, and threw a long leg up over one of its arms. Shailiha and Abbey sat down next to her.
"First, give me your report," Faegan said to her.
Before beginning, Tyranny took a deep draft of smoke, followed by another gulp of wine. They seemed to calm her.
"As I just told you, we were defeated. I had sixty-two warships at my disposal-far more than enough, I thought, to deal with the enemy. But I was wrong. I have never seen anything like what happened out there in my life."
For the next quarter hour, Tyranny described the sea battle. When she finished, Faegan looked over at Jessamay.
"When you served aboard the Black Ships three centuries ago, did they have these fantastic abilities?" he asked. "If so, why didn't you and Wigg tell us about them?"
Jessamay shook her head. She seemed as stunned by Tyranny's story as the wizard.
"No," she insisted. "The Black Ships could soar above the waves, but never fly so high or as fast as Tyranny describes. Nor could they absorb bolts of the craft without suffering harm. Had we known, we would have certainly told you." She thought to herself for a moment. "There can be only one answer."