a lit cigarillo could be found clamped between her lips. In truth, Tristan had never minded her habit. But he smiled wryly as he wondered how long it would take Wigg to make a fuss about it.
To Tyranny’s left sat the First Wizard. His craggy face looked worried and drawn, perhaps due in part to lack of sleep, Tristan guessed. There was also a hint of sadness there, as if he had been reminded of some deep personal pain. Secured to its familiar gold chain, the Paragon hung around the wizard’s neck. The herbmistress Abbey sat on Wigg’s other side. A pot of steaming tea, nine cups, and a platter piled with sugared scones sat before her.
Tristan knew how much Abbey loved Wigg and that despite the wizard’s protests, Wigg secretly enjoyed the way she looked after him. TheJin’Sai respected her deeply. As he watched her pour a cup of hot tea for Wigg, he found himself hoping that she had laced it with one her esoteric stimulants. It had already been a long day, and like Wigg, he too could do with a bit of propping up.
Next to Abbey sat Faegan, comfortably situated in his chair on wheels. Like Wigg he looked desperately tired. In his hands he held Nicodemus, his centuries-old dark blue cat, and his precious violin lay on the table before him. Nicodemus purred pleasantly as Faegan absentmindedly scratched the cat’s throat.
The next seat was vacant, for it belonged to Sister Adrian. Then there was Traax. Like Tyranny, Traax seemed agitated. He too had been devastated when they had not been able to intercept the grotesque man- serpents. As Tristan looked at him, the warrior clenched his jaw and shifted in his seat, eager for the meeting to start. Traax respectfully nodded back at Tristan, his dark eyes reflecting a mixture of devout loyalty and his deep need to hunt the monsters that prowled Eutracia.
Shailiha sat on Traax’s left. Clothed in a simple blue dress, she wore a string of freshwater Eutracian pearls, and two more hung from her earlobes. She regarded her brother affectionately. As was often the case during Conclave meetings, Caprice perched quietly atop the princess’s chair, gently folding and unfolding her butterfly wings to keep her balance. Tristan pointed at his medallion, then gave his sister a knowing smile. Shailiha nodded and smiled in return.
Next to Shailiha sat Jessamay. Like the other mystics, the Vigors sorceress seemed tired. But Tristan knew that her fatigue came from her long hours of helping the Minions construct the new Black Ship cradles, rather than from conferring with her fellows in the craft.
On Tristan’s immediate right sat Aeolus. The bald-headed mystic andK’Shari master sat peacefully, waiting for the meeting to start. He did not seem as tired as the other mystics. His years of martial training accounted for that, Tristan guessed.
Seeing Aeolus reminded Tristan of something, and he instinctively looked down at one of his upper arms, then the other. Like Wigg and Aeolus, Tristan bore the dual tattoos of Aeolus’ martial schooling. And like Aeolus, Tristan commanded the gift ofK’Shari, allowing him to gain total calm during battle-a priceless advantage to any warrior. Tristan had gained the gift of forestallment, immediately granting his endowed blood expertise in hundreds of martial techniques, many of which he had yet to realize. Although Aeolus had been working with him to bring them to the fore, they believed that Tristan had only scratched the surface of what he might ultimately attain. To the best of Tristan’s knowledge, he and Aeolus were the only two people in the world who claimed the gift.
Tristan again regarded his tattoos. One was that of a serpent, indicating hand-to-hand combat mastery. The other was a sword, attesting to expertise with various weapons. He was proud of those two marks, and he knew that they would be with him until the day he died.
In the center of the table lay the Tome of the Paragon and the two Scrolls of the Ancients. The Scrolls were wound tight and secured at their centers with golden bands. Each relic still showed slight traces of azure subtle matter, reminding the prince of the other reason this meeting had been called. The rest of the room was littered with various scrolls and texts that had probably been taken from the still-disheveled Archives of the Redoubt and used in the mystics’ research.
Curiously, Failee’s centuries-old red leather tooled grimoire sat atop the table as well. It had been some time since Tristan had seen it, and he had to admit that he had nearly forgotten about it. Taken from the depths of the Recluse, the book was said to contain many of Failee’s most secret spells, her private correspondence, and her personal memoirs. Tristan had no idea how much of the book Wigg had read, and out of respect for the wizard’s feelings he had never asked. Even so, the grimoire’s presence here today would surely serve some important purpose.
Feeling a pinch in his back, Tristan realized that he was still wearing his weapons. Unbuckling his baldric and knife quiver, he placed them over the back of his chair. The fire in the hearth across the room burned and snapped pleasantly, its comforting flames and pleasant odor belying the wizards’ possibly dark pronouncements. Tyranny let go yet another lungful of smoke into the air; Jessamay poured herself a cup of Abbey’s strong, dark tea.
Tristan looked first at Wigg, then at Faegan. “What have you learned?” he asked simply.
After scrubbing his face with his hands, Wigg tiredly leaned forward and placed his forearms on the table. He took another sip of Abbey’s tea, then looked Tristan straight in the eyes.
“There is so much to tell that we scarcely know where to start,” he said.
“Better too much than too little,” Tristan answered. “I suggest that you start at the beginning, old friend.”
Wigg nodded and sat back. “The terrible creatures that tortured and killed the people of Birmingham are called Blood Vipers,” he began. “Like the Swamp Shrews that once tormented Parthalon, they serve but one purpose-exacting revenge. The formula for their conjuring was perfected by Failee late in the Sorceresses’ War, when the defeat of the Coven was near. There are probably tens of thousands of Blood Vipers loose in Eutracia by this time. But unlike the leaderless Swamp Shrews, these creatures are commanded by a shrewd and cunning master. He is called the Viper Lord, and he will stop at nothing to wreak vengeance in Failee’s name. He commands the craft in the name of the Vagaries.”
“With all due respect, how can you know this?” Shailiha asked skeptically. “Surely you did not unearth all this information simply by examining the creature and the six corpses that Tyranny brought home.”
“No,” Wigg answered. “While Faegan was performing a necropsy on the blood viper, Aeolus, Abbey, and I searched the Tome and the Scrolls for information that might help us understand more. I soon wondered whether Failee’s grimoire might shed some light on the mystery. I was right. Despite how well I thought I knew Failee, what I found there shocked me. When these secrets were coupled with Faegan’s necropsy report, we had many of our answers. We then concentrated our efforts on researching the subtle matter and how we might cross the Azure Sea. Some of what we are about to tell you will seem incredible, but you must hear us out.”
Intrigued, Tristan leaned forward. “Go on,” he said.
“Failee’s formula to conjure the Blood Vipers was found in her grimoire,” Faegan answered. He paused to give Nicodemus another welcome scratch. “Even now we are just starting to understand how brilliant she was. Like the Swamp Shrews that she conjured to take revenge on innocent Parthalonians, she created the Blood Vipers to take revenge on Eutracians should she lose the Sorceresses’ War. It was a part of her failed scorched-earth policy. But in several ways this plan was even more diabolical.”
“How so?” Shailiha asked.
Faegan gave the princess a short smile. “The first difference should be obvious enough,” he answered. “Unlike the leaderless shrews that appeared soon after her death, here in Eutracia the Blood Vipers came alive only after lying dormant for more than three centuries-long after the war had ended. One day not long ago they arose, and with them came their lord. They quickly started exacting vengeance in Failee’s name, starting with the poor souls in Birmingham. Unless they are stopped, they might well kill every person in Eutracia.”
Tristan rubbed his chin, thinking. “If the vipers and their lord were conjured by forestallment, there are two possibilities,” he said. “Either some act triggered their coming, or they were brought alive after a certain amount of time had passed. Which was it?”
For the first time in several days, Wigg smiled. “Well done,” he said to Tristan. “It was an event-activated forestallment. At first we couldn’t be sure, but then I found something else in the grimoire that helped us deduce the answer.” Another look of sadness overcame the wizard. “That, plus a few personal recollections from the distant past that I’d rather forget,” he added softly.
Wigg reached across the table and took the red grimoire into his hands. As he did a pained expression came over his face, as if he wished that his explanation could be handled some other way. Tristan saw that a slim golden bookmark had been inserted between two of the grimoire’s many gilt-edged pages. Wigg opened the book to the marked place, then ran a bony index finger down the two facing, wrinkled pages. After a time he found what he had been searching for, and he returned his attention to the group.
