The fifth sorceress, p.52
The Fifth Sorceress, page 52
‘What happened?’
‘They shackled me to a chair in the town square of the city of Florian’s Glade. It had already been in their hands for some time, controlled by an army of blood stalkers. They brought Emily out before me, and once again threatened to kill her.’
‘What did you do?’ Wigg asked.
‘I beckoned Failee to come closer, and spit into her face. I then looked up into the eyes of my only child and said good-bye. Vona dragged her by her hair into one of the houses and slowly cut her throat. She walked back out with a bloody knife and more handfuls of my daughter’s hair and threw them into my face, laughing. I still hear Emily’s screams in my sleep.’
Wigg turned to Tristan and gave him a hard look. The prince immediately understood. We will probably never know who it was Vona killed that day, he thought, but it wasn’t Emily.
‘What happened then?’ Wigg asked gently.
‘They tortured me for the information.’
‘How?’
‘Look at me, Wigg,’ Faegan said, raising his hands slightly in a gesture of disbelief. ‘Can’t you imagine?’
Wigg touched Faegan’s shoulder with a gentleness that the prince had not seen in him for some time. ‘And was it then that you told them?’
‘No,’ Faegan said proudly. ‘I did not. The torture went on for weeks as they slowly crippled me, starting at each of my toes. The used fire, spells, and incantations. Virtually everything I had ever known or learned, they tried upon me. But still I did not talk. Somehow most of my blood and training held out against them, and they failed.’
Wigg closed his eyes and sighed. So much pain and death, he thought. And now, over 300 years later, I am still learning of their crimes.
‘How was it, then, that they finally broke you?’
‘Failee had succeeded in pushing past one small fraction of my mental block that had slipped during the worst of the torture. It had to do with the Vagaries. A very obscure but ultimately useful passage. From it she learned a technique of mental torture that is irresistible. It has to do with dreams, and the complete reversal of a person’s logic and allegiances. Used properly, no one can resist it, not even a wizard with blood as pure as mine. With its use, I eventually gave over to them some of what I had read in the Tome, and, as you said, they subsequently became much stronger, and almost beat you. They kept me prisoner until the end of the war, until things became desperate for them. By that time I was so weak from torture that I was incoherent, and my legs were unable to function. I was so near death that they no longer considered me a threat, and they simply left me to die. But I regained consciousness and used the craft to fashion this chair you now see me in. I knew my only hope was to try to get to Shadowood. Finally, the gnomes found me and took me in. Slowly I was able to regain my health. In return, when I was well I promised to live here among them and give them my protection as best I could.’
He looked at Tristan. ‘The form of mental torture they used on me is called the Chimeran Agonies.’ He paused, letting the prince contemplate what he had just heard, knowing that what he was about to tell Tristan would be one of the most painful experiences of the prince’s life. He put one hand on Tristan’s shoulder. ‘It is what they are torturing your sister with as we speak.’
Tristan sat back in his chair, stunned. They are torturing Shailiha, his mind roared at him. And I am sitting here, having dinner with a madman.
Tristan’s reaction was immediate. He reached behind his back and in a flash had one of his dirks in his right hand. He stood and grabbed Faegan by the robe, yanking the eccentric wizard toward him. ‘How could you possibly know such a thing?’ he demanded. ‘Besides, why would they torture her? They treated her like a queen that day upon the dais! Succiu even called her Sister, and bowed to her! I saw it with my own eyes! You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ He moved the razor-sharp dirk to within an inch of the wizard’s right eye.
As Faegan looked calmly up into the dark blue eyes of the Chosen One, one corner of his mouth turned up. ‘You don’t really think you can harm me with that toy, do you?’ he asked. When Tristan refused to give any ground, Faegan looked over at Wigg. The Lead Wizard spoke directly to the prince.
‘Put the knife down, Tristan,’ Wigg said calmly. ‘This must be done his way. He has all of the answers, and so far we have no reason not to believe him. We must hear him out.’ When Tristan did not relent, Wigg raised the usual eyebrow at the prince. ‘It would be much easier to do all of this with you still alive, don’t you think?’
As much angry with himself as he was at Faegan, the prince reluctantly replaced the dirk in the quiver and sat down. ‘I think it’s about time you told me where my sister is, and what’s happening to her,’ he said menacingly. ‘I have waited for your story as long as I care to.’
Faegan sighed, and decided to begin at the beginning. ‘Your sister is in Parthalon, the kingdom across the Sea of Whispers that is ruled by the Coven. I have long believed that the two nations at one time shared a common heritage because of the same basic similarities in language and customs, but as yet there is no way to be sure. Shailiha and the Paragon were taken there because of a great plan the Coven has in store, one that Failee garnered from my recitation of the Vagaries to her. The incantation they are planning calls for five sorceresses of highly endowed blood. There is no naturally occurring endowed blood in Parthalon. Therefore, if any of them were to mate with the local males to produce a female child to raise, the blood quality would not be high enough for their needs. That is why they came here. To take both the stone and Shailiha. They are using the Chimeran Agonies I described to turn her into one of them.’
And those of the Pentangle, the ones who practice the Vagaries, shall require the female of the Chosen Ones, and shall bend her to their purpose, Faegan thought. The quote from the Vagaries rang as clearly in his mind today as it had 300 years ago when he had first read it. ‘They are turning your sister into the fifth sorceress, and after the incantation she will not only be one of them, she will also willingly be their leader.’
Tristan and Wigg sat staring at each other from opposite sides of the table, speechless. The silence hung in the room for what seemed a long time. Finally, Wigg was the first to break the stillness.
‘So there is a land across the sea?’ the Lead Wizard asked incredulously. He looked at Tristan. ‘We had long suspected it. We even sent numerous sailing expeditions out to try to cross the ocean, but few ever returned. The farthest anyone went and lived to tell about it was fifteen days of sailing.’ He looked hard at Faegan. ‘How do you know such things, unless you have had contact with the sorceresses when they were last here?’
‘There is one in Parthalon who is loyal to me. He sends me messages.’
Tristan sat there in his chair, still stunned. Slowly getting hold of himself he finally asked, ‘How do you receive his messages? Are you able to join with his mind as we believe the Coven can? And how does he supposedly know of the intimate lives of the mistresses?’
‘I am not telepathic to that extent,’ Faegan said. ‘I do have a modicum of telepathic ability, but I cannot completely join to a mind that I have not prepared, let alone never met. However, if I had chosen to study that aspect of the craft I am sure I could accomplish it, and I am familiar with lesser derivations, although some of them are practices of the Vagaries. Remember, I never took the wizards’ vows or accepted the death enchantments – Failee captured me before they had been introduced. Therefore, not only have I read the complete volume of the Vagaries, but I could, if I chose to, also practice them.’ He smiled coyly for a brief moment. ‘I would not, however, enjoy the side effects should I practice them mistakenly, as has the Coven. No, Tristan. In this case the answer is much more simple. My friend across the sea sends me handwritten parchments, tied to the legs of pigeons. These birds are extremely swift and hardy. One can usually traverse the Sea of Whispers in several days of nonstop flight. I read the message, write to him, and send the bird back after it has had sufficient rest.’ He paused, taking a sip of wine.
‘I don’t understand,’ Tristan countered. ‘How is it that these birds can do such a thing, especially in several days? It seems impossible.’
‘Indeed,’ Wigg replied drily.
‘After nearly three centuries of trying, I was unable to cure my legs,’ Faegan answered. ‘I have long known that my usefulness would be forever limited. But when I heard of the return of the sorceresses, I knew I had to try, in whatever fashion I could, to make a contribution to their downfall. Somehow I needed to gain all of the knowledge I could about them, and their impossible, unexpected return. And then an idea came to me. Although no one had ever before been able to cross the Sea of Whispers, it seemed to me that the only place the sorceresses could have come from was across that same sea. So I ordered the gnomes to capture a group of Eutracian pigeons and bring them here to my house in the trees.’
‘You enchanted these birds?’ Wigg asked skeptically, the infamous eyebrow arched.
‘True,’ Faegan answered, a smile finally coming to his lips. ‘As a result they are imaginably swift, and can cross the sea in matter of days, never stopping. Not forever, of course – eventually their hearts would give out. But the spell sustaining them is sufficient for our needs. At first they were simply enchanted to fly east until flying over land or dying in the attempt. It took many birds and many convolutions of the spell before the first of them finally returned to me with proof that it had struck land. It was at that point I began to tie notes to their legs. Naturally I was extremely careful not to reveal where the notes came from, in case they fell into the hands of the Coven. Luckily, they did not. You can imagine my joy at finally seeing one of them return with a note from someone across the sea – someone who is also an enemy of the sorceresses. We have been conversing ever since.’
‘Does this supposed person from across the sea have a name?’ Wigg asked.
‘Geldon. He bravely continues to correspond with me, despite the risk. He contends he does not mind dying, if his efforts will have helped defeat the sorceresses – he hates them that much.’
‘And just who is this Geldon in the social order of Parthalon to be so well informed?’
‘He is a Parthalonian dwarfed hunchback upon whom Succiu has granted time enchantments. He is almost as old as you and I are. He is also Succiu’s slave. He wears a jeweled collar around his neck that is attached to a chain leash. She forces him to help her practice some of her more exotic hobbies. Fortunately, she makes the mistake of taking him with her almost everywhere she goes. He hears much, and risks his life every time he sends a bird to me. His enforced loneliness and hatred of the Coven is so great that he began taking the chance of randomly sending out birds with messages, simply letting them go in the air, not knowing where they would end up or that there was even a nation called Eutracia. I believe at first he was only trying to find a kindred spirit in Parthalon to talk to, someone to sympathize with. Imagine his great surprise when the bird returned from me. We have been “conversing” ever since.
‘And as for trusting him, I did not at first, of course,’ he finally continued. ‘Until the attack upon Eutracia, I kept my return messages to him rather cryptic, saying little. It wasn’t until Succiu and her Minions had come and gone that I began to realize I must take the chance of confiding in him in earnest. This sounds contradictory, I know. He could have been lying. But at this point, I felt there was much less to lose by being forthright – and more to gain if he were indeed genuine. A gamble, assuredly. But then again, so many things in life are. I am still not entirely sure that he can be trusted. But given the severity of our situation, what other choice could there be? If anything he said was true, even the slightest scrap, I needed to know what it was.’ Pausing again, he narrowed his eyes in thought. ‘Even the greatest of wheels sometimes revolve about the smallest of hubs,’ he added quietly.
Wigg leaned forward over the highly polished dining table. ‘Did Geldon know of the impending attack upon Eutracia?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Then why didn’t your loyal letter writer warn you?’ Tristan asked skeptically. ‘I thought the two of you were the best of friends.’
‘He couldn’t. During the period between which he first heard of the plan and the actual attack, the atmosphere at the Recluse was very tense. Succiu kept him with her almost every second. She never sent him out of the Recluse, so he had no chance to send a note to me. I didn’t hear from him during a period of almost three months, and at first I thought him discovered, and dead. Then after the attack he contacted me with a note of great sympathy. He lives each day with the knowledge that he might have been able to warn us, but could not. And each day his hatred of the Coven grows. He cannot write to me simply because he would like to. He must first be sent out of the Recluse by Succiu in order to do it without detection.’
‘How convenient.’ Wigg sniffed.
‘And just why does he supposedly hate the Coven?’ Tristan asked.
‘As I said, Succiu discovered him and made him her slave. At the same time she placed a Blood Pox upon him, and took away his reproductive powers. She spends a portion of each day laughing at him because of it, and embarrassing him in front of whomever she comes across.’
That would be like her, Wigg thought. He scowled and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘So where did she supposedly find this Geldon?’
‘In the Ghetto of the Shunned.’
‘The what?’
‘The Ghetto of the Shunned. It’s a walled city two hours’ ride south from the Recluse. The Coven needed a place to put their so-called “undesirables” while they were subjugating the nation, so they loosed a disease upon the entire population of a nearby city, murdering them. It’s one of the reasons they were able to enslave the nation without the immediate need for any allies. The resulting walled, empty remains of the city suited their needs perfectly. Their enemies are confined there rather than killed outright because it is said that unending relegation to the Ghetto is worse than death, and therefore a greater means of control. It exists to this day, and confines almost two hundred thousand lost souls. There is only one commonly known way in: the front gates, which are controlled by the sorceresses and guarded by the Minions. But, unknown to them all there is a secret way in and out, and Geldon was the one to discover it. Only he and one other know of its existence. The Ghetto is also where he keeps his birds.’ Faegan paused, thinking it over. ‘A perfect location, really. The last place anyone would want to go looking, even if he could.’
Wigg raised his wineglass and looked into the crimson liquid as it twinkled through the crystal. It looks just like blood – endowed blood. The cause of it all, he thought, unknowingly echoing Tristan’s private thoughts by the campfire of two nights earlier. He narrowed his eyes as he formulated his next words.
‘An unknown country across the sea, butterflies that can spell, a supposedly disloyal slave who sends you notes tied to birds, your life here in the trees among the gnomes, and your story of your “dream” torture at the hands of the Coven. All very interesting.’ The obviously skeptical Lead Wizard continued to examine the wine as the glass twirled slowly between his fingertips. ‘There is, however, the greater remaining question. The one you have still to answer.’
Tristan leaned forward intently, waiting.
‘Exactly why did they take Shailiha?’ Wigg finally asked. He returned his gaze to Faegan. ‘Why do they need her to be their fifth sorceress?’
The crippled wizard’s face darkened as he set down his fork and looked first to Tristan, and then back to Wigg. ‘They plan to invoke the Blood Communion.’ Faegan sat back in his wheelchair as if a great burden had just been placed upon him, and his eyes grew shiny.
Tristan had no idea what Faegan was talking about, and he could tell by the look on Wigg’s face that the Lead Wizard did not, either. But the mere sound of it all sent a shiver through him, one that he couldn’t quite explain. ‘Please tell us about it,’ he said.
Faegan sighed heavily and wiped his face with his hands, as if he were suddenly very tired. ‘The Coven will gather in a specific place, the location of which is probably somewhere in the depths of the Recluse. Shailiha, unfortunately, will by then probably be one of them, although still untrained in the craft. She need not be trained for this purpose. They only need her blood, not her talents, and then they can take all eternity to train her if they so choose, as they undoubtedly will. The sorceresses will all be around the Pentangle, their chosen symbol as illustrated in the volume of the Vagaries. I’m sure you have seen it embroidered upon their clothing. In the center sits a white marble altar, upon which rests the goblet that was taken that day in the attack on Eutracia – the same goblet that Wigg found in the Caves, along with the stone. A small amount of blood is taken from each of them, about one-fifth of the total volume of the goblet. Their blood is then mixed, and the goblet filled with it. The Paragon is then hung by its chain directly over the center of the Pentangle. The Vagaries tell us that when all is finally in place, a stream of light from the night sky descends and strikes the Paragon, called down by the very act of having five such highly endowed people standing upon the points of the Pentangle. This light is refracted through the stone, much like a prism, separating into individual beams of colored essence. Each colored shaft of light descends into the blood in the goblet. The five then take turns drinking from it. At this point, the Paragon has united and empowered their blood. All five are as one, sharing the potency of Shailiha’s blood, though alone, none of them will ever command the raw power that she does.’ Faegan paused, running a worried hand down the length of his hawk-like face. He closed his eyes before continuing. ‘Still,’ he said quietly, ‘this is nothing but preparation for what is yet to come.’
