Surprised by the birds, Pilgrim reared. As he had done so many times before, Tristan automatically shifted his weight forward in his saddle and confidently rose with his horse. But he hadn't seen the spinning orbs that were already flashing their way across the plaza. Nor did he realize that the stallion he loved so much was about to save his life.
The orbs Janus had thrown were meant to take the prince's head from his shoulders, and if Pilgrim had not reared up at the last moment that is exactly what would have happened. Instead of the orbs finding the prince, they found the stallion.
Winding their connecting cord around Pilgrim's raised forelegs, the orbs viciously drew them together and cracked them in two as if they had been matchsticks. As he came back down to land on his front legs again, the sharply fractured bones ruptured the skin. Screaming insanely, Pilgrim went down hard on his left side, trapping Tristan's leg beneath him.
Still unsure of what had just happened, Tristan tried desperately to free himself but couldn't. He instinctively reached back for his weapons, but to his horror he found them gone. With his fall they had all scattered and lay just beyond his reach.
That was when he first saw the painted face leering down at him.
The man was dressed like a bizarre harlequin, and he held a shiny dagger in one hand. Saying nothing, he calmly walked around Pilgrim to come and stand over the helpless prince. He smiled as he raised his dagger, its blade twinkling in the midday sun.
The wizards would later say that the azure bolt that tore across the plaza was among the brightest they had ever seen. It tore into Janus' back and exploded with a force so great that it nearly killed Tristan, as well. Janus literally blew apart, organs and bones flying for meters in every direction. Then what was left of him dropped sloppily to the ground next to the prince.
Opening his eyes, Tristan found himself littered with blood and offal. The dagger that had nearly killed him lay nearby, still clutched in the harlequin's severed hand.
Then he felt a strong pair of hands beneath his arms, pulling him free. Finally rising up on shaky legs and still dazed, Tristan steadied himself and looked around.
The plaza was almost completely deserted. Celeste stood a short distance away. The fingertips of her right hand were scorched and red, and smoke rose from them softly, curling its way into the sky. Next to her stood Shailiha, who wore a tragic look on her face. On her outstretched arm sat Caprice, the giant butterfly gently opening and closing her wide, diaphanous wings.
Wigg stood near Tristan. In his craft-strengthened grip the wizard held the collar of the young man Tristan had seen trying to escape on horseback. The three canvas bags floated beside him in the air. A young clubfooted girl was also with him, desperately clutching the young man Wigg held and sobbing hysterically.
Next to Shailiha stood Grizelda, Krassus' herbmistress. Held prisoner inside a wizard's warp, she was angrily waving her arms and shouting vile curses at them. With a wave of one hand, Wigg promptly took away her powers of speech.
Looking further, Tristan saw that the fat man who had tried to make off with the scroll lay dead, facedown on the cobblestones, a knife sticking out of his back. Then the prince felt a comforting hand on the back of his shoulder.
He looked up to see Faegan. The wizard was still atop his horse. In his arms he cradled the Scroll of the Vigors. But, like everyone else, the wizard looked upset, not triumphant.
"What is it?" Tristan asked softly, sensing that something was very wrong.
One simple, awful word came down to him: "Pilgrim."
Tristan's daze evaporated, and he whirled around to find the stallion still lying on the ground, an unfamilar weapon tangled around his legs. Tristan felt his heart tear in two.
Both the stallion's forelegs were smashed and bleeding. In horrific pain, Pilgrim whinnied weakly as he saw the prince look at him. Dropping to the ground, Tristan gently cradled the horse's head in his lap.
His face stern, Wigg gave the care of the young man and the crying girl over to Faegan. Then he placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe and came to stand next to the prince.
Tears flooding his eyes, Tristan looked beseechingly up at his old friend and mentor. But deep in his heart, he already knew the answer.
With a tear in one eye, Wigg slowly shook his head.
Crying freely now, his body shaking with grief, Tristan held Pilgrim closer. "Can you make it painless?" he asked, his voice cracking.
Coming nearer, the lead wizard placed a hand on Tristan's shoulder. "Of course," he answered softly.
For what he knew would be the last time, Tristan gently stroked Pilgrim's velvety muzzle.
"I will never forget you," he whispered. As if somehow understanding, Pilgrim whinnied back to him softly.
Without looking up, Tristan nodded. Wigg raised his right arm.
The dappled stallion closed his eyes.
Uncontrollably, shamelessly, Tristan raised his tear-streaked face to the sky and cried like a child.
CHAPTER
Fifty-eight
"C ome back to me safe, my love," Serena said to Wulfgar. Placing one hand on her abdomen, she looked up into his hazel eyes. "Both I and your unborn daughter will be anxiously awaiting your return."
As he stood with her on the stone terrace overlooking the ocean, Wulfgar reached out to touch her face. "Wish me luck," he said softly. "For it is all about to begin."
Then he turned to look at Krassus. The ailing wizard was sitting in a chair, taking in the last rays of the slowly setting sun.
"We both thank you for all of our gifts," Wulfgar said to him. "If I never see you again, rest assured that I will not stop until I have accomplished all that I have been charged with. Thanks to you, the Chosen Ones shall soon suffer a fate even they could never have imagined."
Smiling, Krassus looked up at his two magnificent creations. "It is not me whom you and your queen should thank for your gifts," he answered weakly. "Nor for the mission with which you have been entrusted. It is the Heretics of the Guild upon whom you should shower your gratitude and undying loyalty. For they, in all their glorious wisdom, are the ones who are ultimately responsible not only for your powers, but also for the mission you have been honored to carry out." Taking a short, painful breath, the wizard cast his dark gaze back out over the sea.
"And do not weep for me," he added softly. "I am only thankful that I could live to see this day, and entrust all the wonders of this place to you." He lifted his head and looked wistfully up at the sky.
"Very soon now I shall go to them, and I do not fear it. It is my reward, and I welcome its coming."
Wulfgar walked over to the wizard, bent down, and gently kissed his creased, weathered cheek. Then he turned and embraced his queen.
He had no need to remind Serena that by now all of the remaining slaves had been turned to their cause, save for the forty who had been placed in confinement aboard his personal ship. Or that a specially selected group of demonslavers had been left behind to guard the Citadel, as had the consuls under his command. For these things his queen already knew. Wulfgar had by now enacted all of Serena's Forestallments. In his absence, his servants would obey all of Serena's orders as unquestioningly as if they had been his own.
Krassus had at first been against Wulfgar starting out on his quest so soon, for they were not yet in possession of the Scroll of the Vigors. But in truth, Wulfgar was now far beyond the wizard's control in such matters. Besides, the consuls had recently come to him to say that the Scroll of the Vagaries had glowed suddenly and unbidden, and Krassus knew exactly what that meant.
Krassus' senses told him that Wigg and Faegan had employed the vellum he had slipped into the prince's boot. By now they had most probably perished in the attempt due to the enchantment he had so ingeniously placed upon it. If the wizards of the Redoubt were dead, Wulfgar's chances of success had increased exponentially, especially since neither of the Chosen Ones was trained in the craft. But he had told Wulfgar that there was no way to be certain, until he arrived in Eutracia. Even so, it seemed the future now belonged to Wulfgar and Serena. And so, he had finally given his blessing to the early commencement of Wulfgar's mission.