a potion might halt the downward spiral, Wigg had ordered Abbey and Adrian to rush to Faegan’s herb cubiculum, to see what they might come up with.
Leaving Jessamay to watch over Faegan, Wigg walked over to Shailiha and Tyranny. The look on his face was discouraging. He poured himself a glassful of wine.
Tyranny finally stopped pacing. Blowing smoke from her nostrils, she tossed her spent cigarillo into the fireplace. She gave the First Wizard a hard look.
“Will he live?” she asked.
Wigg took a long slug of wine, then shook his head. “Only if Abbey and Adrian can come up with something unprecedented,” he answered. “His heartbeat is almost nonexistent, and his lungs barely rise and fall. It might be only a matter of time.”
Jessamay walked over to join them. There was obviously something on her mind.
“What is it?” Wigg asked anxiously.
“I have an idea,” she said.
Wigg put down his wineglass. “What is it?”
Jessamay pointed to the cluttered desk sitting in the corner. “A blood criterion and a signature scope sit over there,” she said. “I believe we should examine his blood. It can’t hurt.”
Wigg scowled. He was willing to do anything to help Faegan, but he failed to see how Jessamay’s suggestion would help.
“We can,” he answered, “but it won’t tell us anything. You know as well as I that blood signatures always look the same, whether the subject is ill or not. So what do you hope to learn?”
“I have no idea,” Jessamay answered. “That’s why I believe we should do it.”
“Very well,” Wigg answered. “As you say, it can’t make things worse.”
He turned to Tyranny and Shailiha. “Fetch me some blank parchment,” he said. “Then clear the desk, except for the criterion and the scope.”
Eager to contribute, the women hurried to the desk. Shailiha shuffled through the drawers while Tyranny cleared off the desktop. Holding up a clean parchment sheet, Shailiha looked over at Wigg.
“We’re ready,” she said.
“Place the parchment on the desktop,” he said. Shailiha did as he asked.
Wigg walked back over to the bed. Faegan remained calm, but Wigg knew it wouldn’t last. Reaching down, he lifted Faegan’s hand. The First Wizard summoned the craft.
A short incision formed in Faegan’s palm. Liberating one blood drop, Wigg caused it to hover in the air. The wound closed. With a short wave, Wigg sent the blood across the room to land on the thirsty parchment.
Wigg went to the desk and sat down. He drew the scope nearer and positioned the parchment beneath it. When he was satisfied, he stared down through the lens.
He adjusted the scope over the paper until the wire crosshairs embedded in its lens split the signature into four perfect quadrants. As expected, the scope showed Faegan’s blood signature leaning far rightward. The curved lines forming half of the signature came from his mother. The other half, containing straight lines and sharp angles, was from his father.
Wigg sighed. “It’s just as I expected,” he said as he continued to read the signature. “His recent trauma is not evidenced here. Perhaps the criterion will tell us something, but I doubt it. Either way, I-”
Wigg suddenly stopped speaking. His mouth fell open.
“What is it?” Jessamay asked.
Wigg quickly raised one hand, demanding silence. The three curious women crowded nearer. After a time, Wigg lifted his face.
“I beg the Afterlife…,” he whispered.
“What is it?” Jessamay asked.
Wigg stood from the chair. “Look for yourself,” he said. “Please tell me I’m dreaming.”
Taking a seat, Jessamay looked down through the lens. At first she noticed nothing unusual. Then she saw the source of Wigg’s amazement. Confused, she looked up at him.
“How is this possible?” she asked. “You told me that neither your signature nor Faegan’s carried Forestallments.”
Wigg stared into Jessamay’s eyes. “That’s right!” he answered. “At least not until now!”
Wigg caused a small incision to open in his hand. A blood drop lifted from it to land on the parchment. Sitting down, he quickly repositioned the scope, then looked through the lens. Anxious moments passed. Finding himself at a loss to explain things, he slumped back in the chair.
“As expected, my blood carries no Forestallments,” he whispered.
“I don’t understand,” Shailiha said. “When did Faegan grant himself a Forestallment?”
“Don’t you see?” Wigg answered. “He didn’t!”
“How can you be so sure?” the princess asked. “He’s forever tinkering around down here. Maybe one day he-”
“No, no!” Wigg interrupted. “Don’t you see? He couldn’t possibly have done this!”
“Why not?” Tyranny asked.
Jessamay looked at the two women with knowing eyes. “The answer is simple,” she said. “We don’t know how.”
“She’s right.” Wigg said. “We have the Scroll of the Vigors, but we do not know how to imbue its Forestallment formulas into one’s blood.”
“Then how did Wulfgar come by them?” Tyranny asked.
“There can be only one answer,” Wigg said. “Someone at the Citadel possesses the needed skill. How he or she learned is another matter.”
Wigg turned to look at Faegan. He was grateful to see that the crippled wizard was still calm. He looked back at the three women.
“You haven’t grasped the larger question, have you?” he asked.
“I have,” Jessamay said quietly. Worry showed on her face. “Who granted the Forestallment to Faegan’s blood?” she asked.
“Who indeed?” Wigg said. “There can be only one answer.”
Shailiha suddenly understood. A look of astonishment overcame her face.
“Xanthus,” she breathed, scarcely believing it herself. “But how-when?”
“I believe the Forestallment was granted to Faegan’s blood when Xanthus attacked him,” Wigg answered. “The Darkling’s bolt carried the calculations. When the bolt’s energy shocked Faegan’s system, the Forestallment calculations entered his blood. Faegan gave Xanthus the perfect justification to do this when he attacked him. Remember, Xanthus said that his powers came directly from the Heretics. Is it so difficult to imagine that the Darkling could do such a thing? Before he went with Xanthus, Tristan wisely deduced that it had not been Xanthus’ intention to kill Faegan, because the bolt struck his chair, rather than Faegan’s person. Xanthus’ attainment ofK’Shari supposedly means that he never misses his intended mark. Xanthus left Faegan alive on purpose, so that he might carry the Forestallment.”
“By imparting the spell into Faegan’s blood that way, the Darkling intended us to discover it later,” Shailiha mused. “He wanted us to find it during our efforts to heal him. But something doesn’t figure. Why would Xanthus bother to grant Faegan a Forestallment, when he must have also known that the bolt carrying it might kill him?”
“There might have been no choice,” Wigg said thoughtfully. “It could have had something to do with the high power requirements needed to perform both acts simultaneously. In doing so, Xanthus took the chance that Faegan would survive.”
Wigg looked back over at his injured friend. “If Faegan dies, his blood signature will also die. We might never know what this Forestallment does.”
When Wigg looked back at the three women, there were tears in his eyes again.
“What I am about to tell you will be shocking,” he added softly, “but it needs to be said. I will do everything in my power to save him-you know that. But if he dies, it might be for the best.”
Shailiha was immediately outraged. “What are you talking about?” she shouted. “Have you suddenly gone mad? The man lying in that bed is your greatest friend!”
