Krassus made a sarcastic, clucking sound with his tongue. "Don't the two of you know that it isn't polite to keep secrets from each other? Even the Chosen Ones do not know of Wulfgar! How deliciously ironic!"
Wigg summoned the strength to look up at Krassus. His face was already swelling. "But why?" he asked, still sounding drunk. "Why do you turn your back on your teachings… follow the darkness of the Vagaries? And how is it that you have defeated the death enchantments put on all the consuls? They should have killed you the first time you attempted to practice the Vagaries." The battered lead wizard paused to catch his breath. "A prospect that I must say would no longer disappoint me," he added softly.
"Ah, so you wish to make a guessing game of it, do you?" Krassus asked nastily. "Very well then. Let's play!"
He leaned over again and placed his mouth close to Wigg's ear. "Tell me, Lead Wizard. Each time a creature of the Vagaries or one of the Coven died, do you really know why there were such strange atmospheric disturbances? The wind howling until you thought your ears might burst, and lightning across the sky so bright that night seems as day? You always taught us that it was simply to mark their passing into the Afterlife. Not true! And do you know why I seek Wulfgar, the lost one? Again, the answer is no. It seems that even the lead wizard of the not-dearly-departed Directorate still has a great deal to learn about the true workings of your nation, and your craft.
"Because you refused to help me, we are now enemies," he continued brazenly. "I know I do not possess the strength to destroy both of you here today at the same time. Therefore I am forced to wait. But your individual times will come, I promise you. And one last thing: Should any of you doubt the seriousness of my words, I suggest you take a little journey to Farpoint, three days from now. What you shall witness there is of Nicholas' planning and my execution, and should be of great interest to you."
Krassus paused for a moment, obviously relishing his temporary dominion over them all. "Still so much for you to learn, Wigg. And so little time for either of us to accomplish our ends. You, because part of the plans Nicholas imagined still remains in motion. And I, because I will soon perish. My duties done, I will then gladly go to the Heretics-the reward promised to me by the son of the Chosen One."
Smiling, he stretched out his arms. "And now I am forced to bid you all farewell," he said quietly. "Until next time."
The azure glow of the craft began to form again. Amazed, Tristan watched as the consul melted away into nothingness, the glow disappearing with him. He could hear the sound of the intruder's boot heels as they defiantly marched across the gaming table and jumped to the floor. Then, as if completely of their own accord, the balcony doors swung wide open, closing again after a brief pause.
No one had to tell the prince that Krassus had just escaped the palace as easily as he had entered.
The warps surrounding them disappeared, Wigg fell unconscious from his chair, landing hard on the cold marble floor.
CHAPTER
Four
S he had lain there on the stone floor of her cottage for some time, sobbing softly. The cruel man in the two-colored robe and his equally cruel companion had departed, and slowly the wizard's cage surrounding her had dissolved. Her home was a wreck of smashed and battered vials, jars, bottles-even furniture was broken-and she knew it would take many days to repair the damage. But the most difficult task would be replacing the herbs, roots, blossoms, and seeds they had stolen. Some represented the work of more than three centuries, now vanished in a single day. The intruders had known exactly what to take, and her loss was unimaginable.
But because she was the recipient of time enchantments, time was the one thing on her side.
Abbey of the House of Lindstrom slowly came to her feet. After brushing off her burgundy peasant's dress, she stoked the hearth and decided first to prepare herself a cup of nerveweed tea.
Looking to her shelves, she hoped it would still be there. Then she saw it and let out a sigh of relief. The herb had long been known for its calming effects, and she could use a good dose of it just now.
After placing the water into the pot and hanging it over the gathering fire, she righted the table and chairs and sat, despondently, before the hearth. Soon the bone-soaking warmth and sooty smell of the flames started to give her some small measure of comfort. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were still shaking. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to fathom the meaning of what had happened here today.
Why would anyone do such a thing? she wondered. We who possessed these esoteric arts were so few, even before the Sorceresses' War. And now, three centuries later, our numbers have surely dwindled even farther due to the ban by the Directorate. I should have recognized the woman, but I didn't.
The whistling teakettle suddenly interrupted her thoughts. Removing it from the flames, she set it on the table. Then she filled a tea basket with dried nerveweed leaves and lowered them into the kettle to steep.
Something glinted on the floor, and, bending down, she identified it as a rather large shard of broken mirror. She picked it up and gazed into it. The face reflected back to her was awash with great sadness, and even greater confusion.
Although her dark hair was streaked with gray, she remained a very handsome woman. Gray eyes looked back at her with intelligence, and the dark eyebrows arched highly, almost seductively over them. Her jaw was strong yet feminine; her cheeks were still blessed with the rosy bloom of her long-faded youth. Sighing, she carefully put down the mirror.
Interesting, she thought for the thousandth time. The one man on earth she still cared for was also the one who had tried to force her into abandoning her art. She had thought of him so many times over the centuries, even employing her art to regard him from time to time. Despite his recent travails, she knew he was well. Many were the times she had been tempted to go to him, to offer her forgiveness. But that would have caused him nothing but more trouble. It was better, she supposed, to simply live with the memories of those long-ago days than to go chasing after what could never be.
She poured herself a cup of the dark, harsh tea and drank, relishing its warmth as it went down. The nerveweed would soon take hold, and she would then begin the business of straightening up her house. Looking around the thatched cottage, her mind went back to the time she had first come here. She had been alone, ashamed, and angry.
That had been more than three centuries ago. But after the exile of the Coven to the Sea of Whispers, the newly formed Directorate of Wizards had banned all partial adepts-both male and female-from practicing their arts. Hurt and confused, they had been ordered to scatter, no two being allowed to go in the same direction. And so she had finally chosen this place to be alone, and to carry on in secret. But not before one of the wizards-the one who still had a place in her heart-had secretly granted her the time enchantments, tearfully wishing her well.
Abbey's heart skipped a beat. My gazing flame! she thought anxiously. Is it still burning, or did they destroy that, too?
She put her teacup down and bolted from the cottage.
Outside, she hiked up her skirt and began running as fast as she could through the woods. Even though the sun had set, the path before her shone clearly by the light of the three red Eutracian moons.
With huge relief, she saw that the smooth, flat rock was still in place. Chest heaving, she stood before it. She breathed deeply to calm herself, and closed her eyes. Silently, slowly, the rock began to slide to one side across the dewy grass. Opening her eyes, she held her breath.