The amiable expression melted away from Wulfgar's face. As his upper lip twisted its way into a sneer, he leaned forward and glared at the helpless wizard.
"Now then," he asked softly. "Where is the Scroll of the Vigors?"
"Tristan and Wigg will return," Faegan countered gamely, trying to buy all the time he could. "You have very little time to destroy the Orb of the Vigors."
A knowing look overcame Wulfgar's face, and he gave Faegan a short, menacing smile. "Krassus told me that the two remaining wizards of the Redoubt were exceedingly clever. How right he was." Then the look on his face turned deadly again, and he removed his legs from the table.
"Anyone who was with your fleet is by now quite dead, I assure you," he continued. "Even the gifts of the lead wizard could not have overcome both my creatures and the overwhelming surprise I arranged. If by any bizarre chance any of your people did escape, however, they will be caught by the small contingent of ships I set to guard the entrance to Cavalon Delta. I'm so glad you decided to stay behind, though, because that gives us this little chance to chat." He sat back in his chair.
"Now then, where is the Scroll of the Vigors?" he asked again. "This is your last chance to answer without consequence. I suggest you think it over well. Your arrogance is about to cause you a great deal of pain, old man."
"The Minions surrounding the palace will come and take you," Faegan said boldly. "Even you will not be able to kill them all." Sweat was running down his face as he desperately tried to break free of Wulfgar's warp. But it was completely unforgiving-like sitting in a tight iron cage that had no door.
"Oh, yes, yet more of my brother's warriors to be dealt with," Wulfgar answered dismissively. "But I've brought an entire host of demonslavers here with me by cloaking my flagship and sailing up the Sippora. They outnumber your remaining Minions by more than two to one, though they have remained quite invisible until this point. At the same time I appeared before you, my slavers also materialized, and they are engaging your very surprised troops as we speak. Even your vaunted flying warriors cannot overcome my demonslavers' superior numbers unless they choose to fly away. But that would go against everything their strict warrior code stands for, now, wouldn't it?" The twisted smile came again.
"In some ways it could be said that your Minions are actually killing themselves," Wulfgar added thoughtfully. "It seems there will be a great many Minion funeral pyres lighting up the sky tonight, wizard."
"How did you get into the Redoubt?" Faegan growled, still trying to stall. He desperately needed to free himself somehow and regain the use of his powers. But the more he tried, the more impossible it became. He had never felt such raw power. The sweat ran down from his brow to tease his eyes maddeningly.
"How did I enter the Redoubt, you ask?" Wulfgar responded. "Why, that was the easiest part of all. I cloaked my blood and followed you here, you fool! I have been following you all day, hoping that you would lead me here. And you did not disappoint. I had cherished the thought that you might unknowingly show me where the scroll is hidden, but you did not. So now we are forced to do this the hard way. I know you have the answer, and I will get it from you, one way or the other."
"Why do you need it so badly?" Faegan demanded. "You already have the other one. You do not need the Scroll of the Vigors to destroy the orb. Isn't that why you have come?"
"I wish to possess them both for another reason," Wulfgar answered calmly. "What you have failed to grasp is that the Scroll of the Vigors holds the secrets to my brother's unique, azure blood. Yes, wizard, that's right. My dear brother-the only being in the world who might one day challenge my powers. Without the scroll, the secret of how to change his blood back from azure to red will never be known, and I will always reign supreme."
His eyes shining with the anticipation of imminent success, Wulfgar leaned closer. "Now, tell me, old man," he said menacingly. "Where is the other scroll?"
Knowing full well that he was condemning himself to death, Faegan shook his head. "We know you possess a left-leaning blood signature, but how can you willingly do such a thing? He's your brother!"
A look of disdain crossed Wulfgar's face. "I am the Enseterat. My brother is the Jin'Sai, and his sister is the Jin'Saiou. They are of the Twos, and I am of the Heretics. It was preordained eons ago that we should eventually become locked in conflict, and so we shall." Wulfgar's patience was wearing thin.
"Now then," he whispered. "I ask you for the final time: Where is the other scroll?"
Clenching his jaw, Faegan shook his head again. He had already begun partitioning his mind in an attempt to keep Wulfgar from gleaning the location of the scroll. It had been hidden well, and only he and the lead wizard knew where. If he could keep Wulfgar out of his mind, he was relatively sure that the scroll would not be found. The fate of the world would soon boil down to a contest of endowed wills.
And blood.
"Very well," Wulfgar answered softly. "You leave me no other choice."
Then Wulfgar did something unexpected. Reaching through the warp he had created, he lifted the hem of Faegan's robe, exposing the crippled wizard's destroyed legs.
Twin bolts of shock and horror went through Faegan.
Sitting back in his chair, Wulfgar carefully examined Faegan's mutilated legs. "My, my," he murmured as he looked closer. "The late Coven of sorceresses did quite a skillful job on you, didn't they?"
Faegan's legs were a gruesome sight. The skin was almost completely gone, and much of the muscle mass looked as if it had been shredded away by some terrible beast attacking the legs with teeth and claws. The remaining bright red muscles throbbed visibly, and what looked to be exposed nerves and blood vessels ran up and down their lengths. For over three hundred years they had been this way, and even given his immense knowledge of the craft, Faegan had never been able to heal them. Only his wizardly self-discipline had kept him from going irretrievably mad from the pain.
The sight of his legs brought memories flooding back-the same three-hundred-year-old nightmares that he had tried so hard to forget. The Coven had tortured him for information and left him to die, only to be found later by the gnomes of Shadowood and nurtured back to health. And now the same, unspeakable torment was to begin anew. But this time there would be no one to help him, and he probably wouldn't survive.
Hoping against hope, he looked over at Celeste, but she was still unmoving. Gathering up his courage, he looked Wulfgar in the eyes. "Why not simply enter my mind?" he asked.
"I could," Wulfgar answered. "But when Krassus told me of the nature of your infirmity, I realized that this approach would prove infinitely more entertaining. And with your friends all dead, and my demonslavers in control of the palace, we have all the time in the world to amuse each other. Besides, should this prove unsuccessful, I can always walk through your thoughts later." The wicked smile came again.
Looking across the table, Wulfgar spied Faegan's violin and bow. Calling the craft, he caused them to rise. The bow stroked the strings, and the melody they produced was sorrowful and forlorn.
"Some music to help drown out the noise?" Wulfgar asked. "Personally speaking, I don't like screaming. It's so… common."
Narrowing his eyes, Wulfgar caused the violin to play louder. He leaned forward eagerly in his chair.