"That kiss was for luck," Abbey said. Smiling, she grabbed Wigg's robe and pulled him closer. "Come home safe, old man," the herbmistress whispered into his ear. "After being without you for nearly three hundred years, I wouldn't want to lose you now." Letting him go, she stepped back and wiped away a tear.
The three of them walked to their horses. Wigg climbed onto his bay mare, and Tristan helped Celeste mount the gentle gray gelding he had selected for her. He took Shadow's reins from Ox and swung up into the black, hand-tooled saddle. As he wheeled Shadow around, the stallion danced eagerly beneath him.
Tristan turned to give Shailiha a final look of farewell. She nodded back at her twin brother with a tight-lipped smile. Saying nothing more, the Jin'Sai trotted Shadow toward the rear gates, Wigg and Celeste following behind.
Minion warriors swung the heavy portals wide. Without looking back Tristan led Wigg and Celeste out.
Ox promptly shouted out a series of orders to the phalanx of waiting warriors, and they immediately took flight. A dozen more hoisted the heavy supply litter to their shoulders. A few moments later, they were gone as well. With a command from Faegan, the remaining warriors closed and locked the palace gates.
As the crowd dispersed, Abbey came to stand by Faegan's chair. She placed one hand on the wizard's shoulder.
"Do they really have any chance of success?" she asked him. "Does this Scroll Master even exist?"
His face grim, Faegan looked up at her.
"You are asking questions that I have no answers for," he said. "Just the same, Tristan and Wigg have to succeed. Our entire world depends upon it."
Saying nothing more, Abbey wheeled Faegan's chair from the courtyard. As the Jin'sai and his group passed by, a haggard old woman waited quietly on horseback, partially concealed by the foliage lining the road. In one hand she held the reins of a loaded packhorse. She waited until both the group on horseback and the circling warriors were out of sight, then she carefully walked her horse out into the road and followed along behind.
Realizing that one of her dagger sheaths was exposed, she covered it with the folds of her tattered dress and smiled slightly.
CHAPTER LXVIII
His face grim in the light of the fireplace, Faegan put down his wine glass. The tavern was a shabby-perhaps even dangerous-place to be, but it suited his needs. The four people sitting with him were eager to take action. It was early evening in Tammerland. The light of day was being slowly replaced by the softer glow coming from the lampposts bordering the street.
"You and Scars are probably the only ones that they cannot identify," he whispered to Jessamay, who had returned only two hours earlier to tell her tale. "That's why you two are going in first. We have to know how many we're dealing with. When we see your signal, we'll come straight away. But remember, we want at least one of them taken alive."
Pausing for a moment, the crippled wizard placed a hand on one of Jessamay's. "Is your spell still in place?" he asked.
"My blood is well cloaked," she answered with a brief smile. "Just like the old days."
"Just like the old days indeed," he replied. Glancing across the street one more time, Faegan decided that his little band was as ready as they'd ever be.
"Go now," he said. "And may the Afterlife be with you."
Jessamay and Scars rose from their chairs, walked quietly across the tavern, and went out through the double doors.
As Faegan watched Jessamay and Scars walk toward the archery shop, his nerves coiled up. He knew that there were a thousand ways his makeshift plan could go wrong, but they needed to gain entrance to the shop today, before whoever was inside decided to close for the night. Further complicating matters was the fact that when they left the palace, Vivian had not yet returned. No one knew where she might be.
Taking a deep breath, Jessamay opened the door of the shop and walked in with Scars. As the little bell at the top of the door jingled, the two of them looked around, wary.
The place was empty save for the two men behind the counter. One of them was short and balding. Red garters held up the sleeves of his sweat-stained shirt. He looked like the type who would be perpetually nervous, regardless of the circumstances. The proprietor, Jessamay reasoned.
The other man was the fellow she had seen at the fountain. He had close-cropped hair, dark eyes, and a hawk-beaked nose. Seated in a chair behind the counter, he slowly whittled a piece of wood. When he looked up at her, she could sense his innate intelligence. Of the two men, he was clearly the one to fear. He looked back down at his whittling and casually blew the freshly shaven wood chips to the floor.
As Jessamay approached the counter with Scars, she felt the familiar tingle. Clearly, each of these men possessed endowed blood. But were they trained in the craft? Using the prearranged signal to inform Scars, she touched one finger to the side of her nose. Tyranny's first mate gave her a nearly imperceptible nod.
Jessamay gathered up her nerve for her final test of the two men. If it proved what she already guessed to be true, she and Scars would have to move fast.
Leaning his great bulk up against the counter, Scars looked the proprietor in the eye.
"I need a good deer bow," he said. He jerked one thumb over his shoulder at Jessamay. "The wife and I are leaving town to go live in the country. They say there's trouble brewin' here in the city. If you were smart, you'd think about doin' the same."
"A deer bow, you say?" the proprietor asked. "That will cost you. Deer bows are the most powerful, and it takes a long time to make a good one."
"Show me," Scars said.
The proprietor came out from behind the counter. Out of the corner of her eye Jessamay kept track of the fellow in the chair. Another sure, slow stroke of his whittling knife sent more fresh shavings to the floor.
The proprietor walked to the far wall and took down a bow. Scars walked over to join him. The man handed it to him.
"This is one of the strongest I have," he said. "Few men can even pull it. Why don't you give it a try?"
"Give me a broadhead," Scars said. "Pulling a bow with an arrow in place is the only way I can tell whether I'll like it."
After giving Scars a skeptical glance, the man provided him with a broadheaded hunting arrow. Scars notched it. He then extended his bow arm and easily pulled the arrow and string back to his chin. He looked as though he could have held it that way all day.
He turned to face the rear of the shop. Acting the part of dutiful wife, Jessamay turned to admire his strength. She gave him a slight nod. Time for the second test, she thought.
She turned back to examine the other man, who continued to whittle away. Steeling herself against whatever might happen next, Jessamay dropped the spell that cloaked her blood.
The man immediately stiffened, and stopped his knife midstroke. Without looking up at her, he simply did nothing for a moment. Then he leaped to his feet.
Jessamay turned toward Scars. "Now!" she shouted.
Turning back toward the front of the shop, Scars loosed the arrow toward one of the store windows. The front of the shop exploded in shattered glass. Faegan glided his chair across the street; Tyranny and Shailiha, their swords drawn, ran as fast as they could behind him.
"You bitch!" the man behind the counter screamed. "I'll kill you where you stand!" He raised his arms.
Jessamay knew that she would not be able to summon the craft before the man behind the counter could. A split second before he loosed his azure bolts at her, she dropped to her knees.