“Ah, much better,” she said. She narrowed her eyes in the direction of the wizard, and immediately Wigg’s gibbet disappeared, sending the old one crashing painfully to the floor. The gibbets aren’t real, Tristan heard his endowed blood shout to him. They are conjured by the sorceresses.
Failee nodded to Kluge, and the Minion commander went to the wizard. Picking Wigg up off the floor as if he were no heavier than a feather, Kluge roughly pushed him into the black throne. As Kluge stood near the wizard, Failee again narrowed her eyes, and it became apparent that Wigg could no longer move, imprisoned in the chair by what the prince could only imagine to be a wizard’s warp. Obviously pleased with herself, Failee glided over to face the helpless wizard.
“There was a reason why I asked you the method by which Emily was killed,” she said to Tristan. “It has to do with turnabout being fair play. We shall see how much you have come to love and respect your teacher.” She smiled. “And how much you are willing to sacrifice to see him live another day.”
She pointed into the air, and Tristan saw the beginnings of an azure glow. It thinned and stretched into a long line, glowing intensely in the subdued light of the room. With a twist of her fingers, the glowing line began to take shape, coiling itself into the familiar circle of the hangman’s knot.
It was a wizard’s noose, exactly like the one that had killed Emily, and it hung in the air, glowing ominously, a silent portent of death.
She lifted her hand, and the noose slowly rose higher into the air.
Tristan watched as it slipped itself up and over the column above the black throne, finally slithering down and around the wizard’s neck, pulling his head back against the smooth, cold marble. Wigg swallowed hard, raising his neck as best he could to gain a slim margin of room between his skin and the brightly glowing azure circle. His aquamarine eyes went to the prince.
“There are three things that together signify a wizard,” Failee said lightly to Tristan. “Do you know what they are?”
Tristan remained silent.
“No? Very well then, I shall tell you. First, of course is his gift. Second is his training in the craft. And third is the ridiculous tail of braided hair that they choose to wear. I have removed from Wigg his gift, and therefore his training in the craft. The only thing left before he dies is the humiliation of removing his wizard’s tail.”
She extended the palm of her right hand, and suddenly a dagger appeared there, with a silver blade and a shiny, pearl handle. She walked around behind the column and gripped the wizard’s braid, pulling the back of his skull viciously against the column. With a quick swipe the tail came away in her hand. Returning to stand before Wigg, she sneeringly dropped it into his lap. Then she turned her insane, hazel eyes to the prince.
“Emily died with a wizard’s noose around her neck. Submit to the Agonies, or so shall the Lead Wizard,” she whispered.
Tristan closed his eyes, trying to blot out the pain of what he was seeing. “No,” he said simply.
“Very well,” she said. She closed her eyes, and another azure haze appeared and began to shape itself into a similar solitary length of brilliant blue. Tristan could see that this time the length of light was rigid, instead of pliable as the rope had been. She extended her fingers, and the glowing azure rod flew behind the column and inserted itself into the folds of the rope there. Failee turned once more to look into Tristan’s eyes.
Tristan shook his head.
Failee narrowed her eyes, and the azure rod turned itself clockwise one full revolution. The effect was immediate.
The noose tightened visibly around the wizard’s neck. Wigg reacted violently, straining for each breath, his face beginning to turn red. Failee smiled, looking again to the prince.
Tristan felt his heart rip, and a tear ran down his right cheek. I beg the Afterlife, somehow make her stop! Against his will, he again shook his head no. And again the rod circled an entire revolution.
Blood began to ooze from the wizard’s mouth. His body began to shudder, convulsing violently in the chair. He turned his face as best he could to his prince, tears flowing down his face.
“Torture me, you bitch!” Tristan screamed at the top of his lungs. He thrashed his body against the sides of the gibbet with everything he had, finding it impossible to believe that a prison so strong had not been built in a smithy’s shop, but in the privacy of another’s mind. “It’s me you really want, isn’t it? Then don’t make him suffer! Let me take his place if I must. Just stop this!”
“I know you are not stupid; therefore you must not have heard me the first time,” she said, the obvious, maddening patience in her voice out of keeping with Wigg’s desperate situation. “I cannot put you in the wizard’s place because I cannot take the risk of harming your blood. If I must, in the end, take your seed from you, the Agonies are the only way to do it without sacrificing its vast quality.” Her eyes narrowed, the hazel irises becoming brighter than ever. “One more turn of the rod will break his neck,” she whispered. “Submit to the Agonies.”
I killed my father, and now I am just as surely killing Wigg, he cried silently. Then he forced himself to look at the wizard.
Straining with everything he had, Wigg extended his fingers and raised his palms upward. His bulging eyes then went frantically back and forth between his hands and Tristan’s eyes, over and over again. What is he trying to tell me? the prince wondered desperately. What is it he wants me to do?
And then he knew. Looking at his own palms, he saw the red scars that crossed them. The scars of his oath. His promise to return Shailiha to Eutracia, even at the cost of his own life. Wigg has included himself in my oath. He is telling me to let him die, rather than give them what they want, he said to himself. He has more knowledge and wisdom than I may ever possess. I will no longer disobey him. Even if it means the death of each of us.
He looked at the sorceress with a hatred that burned across the expanse of space between them and into the hazel abyss of her eyes. “No,” he whispered.
“So be it,” Failee replied softly. The azure rod began its final turn, much more slowly this time. The First Mistress obviously meant to make the wizard suffer as much as possible before the light left his eyes for good.
Tristan stared hopelessly at the wizard as the life force gradually left the old one’s body. Good-bye, my friend, my teacher, he thought. I will do everything in my power to avenge your death. Farewell, Old One.
And then the rope stopped tightening. Tristan’s breath caught in his lungs as he watched the wizard violently cough up more blood.
Tristan tore his eyes from Wigg to look at Failee, and saw that his sister was standing behind the First Mistress, whispering something in her ear. Failee’s smile widened, and then the two of them looked at the prince.
With a wave of Failee’s hand the hangman’s noose disappeared, and Wigg’s head fell forward to his chest. He was retching and coughing; his eyes looked glazed and his body was trembling.
“You have Mistress Shailiha to thank for the old fool’s life. Her logic is quite inescapable,” Failee said casually. Tristan’s heart leapt in his chest. Does Shailiha remember? Is that why she asked Failee to spare him?
“Why don’t you tell the prince what it is you have in mind, my dear?” Failee suggested. “Such an excellent idea. I think he will find it most amusing.”
Shailiha walked closer to his gibbet and looked Tristan straight in the eyes. “There is a better use for the old one,” she said softly, rubbing her abdomen. “The First Mistress tells me that there still may be infestations of male endowed blood in your native home of Eutracia. That set me to thinking.” Walking back and forth in front of Tristan, she continued.