As he recalled Geldon and Lionel's deaths, Faegan's look became harsh. No one had to remind him about Satine. Only she and the Afterlife knew how many more she had disposed of during the course of her grisly career. And his wizard's pride was still stung over the way Reznik had outsmarted him at Valrenkium. This is far from over, he thought. But when all is said and done, I will be the one to end it. He looked back to Wigg.
"Don't worry," he said. "Taking care of them will be my pleasure."
Wigg gave him a slight smile. "I know," he said.
Wigg reached out and ran his palm over one of the pages of the grimoire. The dry green ink and the wrinkled parchment felt dead, almost alien to his touch.
"Do you miss her?" Faegan asked.
Withdrawing his hand, Wigg sighed.
"I miss what she once was," he answered. "But certainly not what she became. For the last three hundred years I have struggled against everything that she believed in. And now here we are, trying to employ her tools to help the Vigors. It's ironic, to say the least."
"Indeed," Faegan answered. "This grimoire is a revelation, Wigg. I am only beginning to understand just how brilliant your late wife really was, and what an impact she has had on us all, right up to this very day."
Wigg stood abruptly, his face unreadable. "Tristan, Celeste, and the Minions who are to accompany us await me in the courtyard. But before I go, tell me. Are you completely in agreement with our battle plans?"
"Yes. Tyranny's fleet and what remains of the Minion fleet will guard the coast as best they can. She has been ordered to simply report the appearance of the enemy vessels-though if I know her, she will engage them, even though she has little or no chance against the Black Ships. Once we have learned when and where Wulfgar is about to land, Traax and I will hit him with everything we have. I seriously doubt that it will be enough."
"And the flask that I brought back from Parthalon," Wigg said.
"You have it hidden in a safe place? If it fell into the wrong hands, it would be disastrous."
For the first time that day Faegan managed a slight smile. "Safe and sound, I promise," he said. "And by the way, I must compliment you. That was excellent thinking on your part. You will tell Tristan and Celeste about my idea?"
"Of course. It's only right that they be informed. But I must tell you again how slim your chances of success seem to be. Still, if there is anyone who can do it, it is you."
Faegan reached up to take Wigg's hand. "Even though I'm coming to see you off, I will say my goodbyes now, old friend," he said. "May you succeed in all that you are about to do."
"And you," Wigg answered.
The First Wizard released Faegan's hand, turned, and walked out the door. Leaving Failee's grimoire behind, Faegan followed along. As they traveled in silence back up to the palace, each wizard knew that he would need every bit of luck in the world. AS Tristan walked hand in hand with Celeste through the palace halls, he did his best to conceal his worry. The time enchantments that held her youth in place were clearly decaying at an accelerating rate. Her appearance had noticeably worsened.
When she rose this morning and looked into one of the mirrors in their personal chambers, her eyes had filled with fear. Taking her in his arms, Tristan had done all he could to convince her that they would soon find the Scroll Master, and that everything would be all right. But even to him his words sounded hollow.
Right before his eyes, the beautiful, vivacious woman Tristan loved was literally turning into someone else. Her once red, shining hair was becoming gray, brittle, and coarse. The crow's-feet around her eyes had deepened; folds had appeared in the skin of her neck. She was thinner. The brown jerkin and peasant's blouse she wore hung loosely on her frame, and she carried herself with less power and authority than she once had. Her gift with the azure bolts was fading, as well. It was almost as if she were wasting away from some disease.
In a way that is exactly what is happening, Tristan thought as he walked beside her. She suffers with a disease of the blood-and it is my fault. If we cannot find the Scroll Master in time, I will lose her forever. My heart will never recover.
As they approached the end of the hallway, the two Minion warriors standing guard snapped to attention. Tristan gave them a short nod. One of them quickly opened the paned glass doors, and the Jin'Sai and his new bride walked out into the sunshine of the rear courtyard.
Everything seemed to be ready. A phalanx of fifty warriors waited on the grass, a litter laden with food and water beside them. Ox waited nearby, holding the reins of three saddled horses, one of them Shadow, whom Tristan had brought from Parthalon. When he saw Tristan, the black stallion flung up his head and whinnied impatiently.
The other members of the Conclave and all of the palace gnomes had come to see them off. Tristan did not see Jessamay, and he realized that she must still be on her mission in Tammerland. Shawna stood front and center among the gnomes, Morganna in her arms. As they waited in the sun, each person seemed to display his or her particular brand of concern.
Looking past the litters, Tristan saw the charred remains of the funeral pyres. Smoke still curled lazily into the air, and from where he and Celeste stood they could feel the lingering heat. Turning away, he walked Celeste over to the waiting crowd.
Shailiha was the first to say goodbye. As she approached, Caprice fluttered gently overhead. Shailiha gave her brother and sister-in-law each a kiss on the cheek.
"I want you both to be careful!" she said with mock ferociousness. Then she smiled. "I have every intention of becoming an aunt, and soon!"
Tyranny walked forward to embrace them both. There was a rather tight smile on her face. As she hugged him, Tristan could sense that there was something brittle about her, and that was unusual. Given the circumstances, however, he decided not to pursue it. The privateer looked at Celeste, then the prince.
"You just go and do what you have to, and don't worry about us," she said. "If Wulfgar is foolish enough to enter our waters, Scars and I will give him a proper reception, I promise you."
"I know," Tristan answered. "We're counting on you."
The prince found Traax standing alongside Duvessa and beckoned him forward.
"Has there been any word from the warriors following the orb, or from those watching the pass through the Tolenkas?" Tristan asked.
"No, my lord."
"Or any messages from our outposts on the coast?"
Traax shook his head. "The land seems quiet, and that's what bothers me."
Taking a step closer, Tristan placed one hand on Traax's shoulder. He was pleased to see that his second in command was no longer wearing his sling.
"Do you remember your orders?" the prince asked.
"Yes, my lord. We will do everything in our power to stop them."
Movement at the other side of the courtyard suddenly caught the prince's eye. He looked over past Traax to see the two wizards approaching. As they came nearer, Tristan saw that Wigg wore the Paragon. Its bloodred highlights twinkled in the morning sun as it swung on its gold chain.
"Is everything ready?" the First Wizard asked.
Tristan nodded. "As ready as it can be," he said. "It's time to go."
The rest of the Conclave and all of the palace gnomes came forward to say goodbye. Abbey walked up to Wigg and gave him a long kiss on the mouth. Wigg blushed. As if he suddenly needed something to do with his hands, he quickly looked down and unnecessarily smoothed out the folds of his robe. Faegan cackled softly.