“Of course he is,” Wigg answered calmly. “But you’re forgetting something. Xanthus is a Vagaries servant, sent here by the Heretics. He said so himself. After hearing that, do you really believe that Faegan’s new Forestallment is something benevolent? Why else would Xanthus do such a thing, if not to advance the Heretics’ cause? I humbly submit that you’re wrong, Princess. I agree that Xanthus wants Faegan to live. But he wasn’t hoping that we’d find the Forestallment. Instead, he was hoping that wewouldn’t. ”
“Why?” Tyranny asked.
Jessamay turned to look at the three others. Her face had gone white.
“So that he might create an enemy in our midst,” she whispered. “The new Forestallment carries several branches. Even now one might be slowly altering Faegan’s signature to the left. Just imagine-a wizard with Faegan’s power, secretly controlled by the Vagaries and possessing Forestallments we know nothing about. He could destroy everyone before we knew what hit us.”
Stunned, Shailiha looked back over at the injured wizard. She couldn’t imagine Faegan as an adversary. But she had to respect the possibility. Until Tristan came home, the hard decisions would be hers. She suddenly felt the world lying heavily on her shoulders, but she adamantly resolved to take up where Tristan had left off. She looked sternly into Wigg’s eyes.
“Despite his blood, Faegan is still one of us,” she said. “We will make every effort to heal him. If he dies, he dies. There may be nothing we can do about that. If he lives, we will watch him closely. I want his blood signature examined every few hours. If any changes are detected, we will deal with them then.”
Wigg found himself smiling at her. Shailiha had made the wise and moral choice. In the world of the craft, that was not often a simple thing.
“Well done,” he said.
Just then the doors opened. Everyone turned to see Sister Adrian and the herbmistress Abbey standing there. They were both out of breath from hurrying. Abbey held a dark-colored vial in her hands.
The women scurried across the room. Abbey gently passed the vial to Wigg.
“We did the best we could under the circumstances,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Adrian and I put every type of stimulant into it that we could find. In fact, I worry that it might betoo potent. If Faegan’s heart has been damaged, he might not survive it. Then again, if the potion isn’t strong enough, it won’t work. Time is running out. If this doesn’t succeed, we won’t have the luxury of another chance.”
Wigg walked the vial to the other side of the room. Jessamay followed him. As he held it to the firelight, they examined it closely. Like they had a life of their own, the potion’s violet undertones moved about on their own accord. Wigg removed the vial’s top, then cautiously sniffed its contents. Recoiling smartly, he scowled. He quickly shoved the stopper back into place. Looking back at Abbey, he was almost afraid to ask.
“What on earth did you put in here?” he demanded. “It smells awful!”
“The best of the best,” Adrian answered. “We used crushed nether root, oil of ground black adder, and dried patchouli leaf, to name a few. They’re all very strong stimulants. A single taste in these combined dosages might keep you awake for a week. Patchouli is especially noted for strengthening the heartbeat. But the resulting mixture tended to thicken. So we added some Slippery John blossom, to make sure that the mixture wouldn’t morph from its liquid state into a colloidal suspension. That’s what makes it move on its own. The liquid form will be far easier to digest, resulting in greater effectiveness.”
Adrian suddenly blushed. “The Slippery John blossom was my idea,” she added softly.
“And a good one,” Abbey said.
“You must hurry, my love,” Abbey warned Wigg. “Given its volatile nature, this bastard concoction of ours may have a brief shelf life.”
Wigg looked tentatively at Jessamay. She thought for a moment, then nodded her concurrence.
“I agree,” she said. “It seems we have no other choice.”
Just then they heard Faegan moan and start thrashing about again. It was clear that Wigg’s charms were wearing off.
Wigg looked at Jessamay. “I will need your help,” he said.
“Of course,” she answered.
They hurried to the bedside. Faegan’s convulsions were wilder now, causing the covers to fall off. That shocked the others. None of them had seen Faegan’s gruesome legs. Abbey, Adrian, and Tyranny looked to the floor. Determined to watch, Shailiha forced herself to hold fast. The princess finally saw with her eyes what her heart knew Faegan had to continually endure. She had never believed it possible that her respect for the old wizard could strengthen, but it did.
Wigg looked at Jessamay. “Follow my instructions exactly,” he ordered. “I will conjure another spell to ease his pain. As I do, summon the craft to open his mouth. Remember, Faegan is immensely powerful. Despite his weakened state, it might take everything you have. I will conjure another spell to keep his throat open. Then I will administer the potion. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Jessamay answered.
“Good,” Wigg said. “Let’s start.”
Suddenly Wigg had another thought. He turned to look at Abbey. “Assuming this potion works, how long will it be before it takes effect?” he asked.
“Several minutes,” she answered. “After that, things will happen fast. Because it is a stimulant, the potion might temporarily raise his power. You might have to control him as it goes about its work.”
Shaking his head, Wigg rolled his eyes. “Nowshe tells us!” he grumbled.
Wigg summoned the craft, then placed one hand on Faegan’s forehead. Almost at once the crippled wizard started to still. After Faegan had calmed, Wigg looked over at Jessamay.
“You may start,” he said.
Calling the craft, Jessamay summoned the needed spell. Faegan’s mouth parted a bit, then stopped. His unconscious mind was fighting Jessamay. Concentrating harder, she managed to open his mouth a bit more, but not much.
“Is that the best you can do?” Wigg asked.
Jessamay nodded. “Even in his weakened state, his gifts are exceptionally strong.”
Wigg caused the vial to leave his hands. It floated to a place just above Faegan’s blanched face. Then the stopper lifted free and the vial moved toward Faegan’s lips. Changing his commands slightly, Wigg used the craft to start pouring the mixture into Faegan’s mouth, a little at a time.
Wigg was forced to stop twice because Faegan started choking. Finally the violet mixture was gone. Wigg caused the empty vial and its stopper to fly across the room and land on the desk. Precious minutes ticked by. The silence in the room was palpable.
Faegan suddenly stirred. He groaned again, then screamed.
It’s starting, Wigg realized. May the Afterlife grant that we have done the right thing!
Faegan’s thrashing came again, this time more violent than ever. Wigg quickly surmised that the potion was working, rather than his pain spell wearing off so soon.
But Wigg hadn’t shared his greatest fears with the others. He saw the danger as being two-sided. In Faegan’s unconscious state, his mind might lash out to use the craft any way it could, with no regard to the consequences. If Abbey was right about the potion raising his powers, matters could become worse.
Wigg was even more concerned as to whether Faegan’s new Forestallment had been activated by Xanthus when the Darkling had used his azure bolt. To Wigg’s mind, the idea that Xanthus had activated it before leaving with Tristan seemed likely. If Faegan could already employ his new Forestallment, even in his unconscious state, it might prove disastrous. If he awakened and used it, he could be unstoppable.
We might be waking a horrific monster of the craft, Wigg worried. But what’s done is done.
Without warning, Faegan sat straight up in bed with his eyes open-even though Wigg sensed that his friend was still unconscious. Wigg stood aghast as he watched Faegan ominously raise his arms and, laughing insanely, start using the craft.
Almost at once the room started to shake. Ancient dust and mortar came loose from among the shifting stones to fall like so many gray snowflakes. Then the shaking started. It soon seemed like the entire Redoubt was coming apart.
The walls buckled, the ceiling drooped, and the floor heaved. Then rumbling sounds came, quickly becoming so loud that the First Wizard could barely hear himself think. Two ceiling stones let loose, to hit the floor with a
