"The entire mixture was enchanted," he went on, thinking out loud.
"And if the brain and bone marrow came from a person who had committed suicide, then a special enchantment might well revive a desire to take one's own life. Transferred to a living host, the poison then becomes active. The subject goes mad, and he or she commits suicide involuntarily."
"But why include the oil of encumbrance?" Abbey asked. "That would only seem to weaken the potion, rather than strengthen it."
Placing one hand under his chin, Faegan thought for a moment. "True," he said. "But oil of encumbrance's true nature is to delay the effect of other ingredients. For example, if you wish to make a slow-acting medicine, oil of encumbrance would be the perfect additive."
"But why would the assassin wish to slow the process?" Duvessa asked.
"For one reason only," Faegan answered. "To allow him time to get away. Just imagine how perfect it all is! First, the victim is surreptitiously poisoned. The poison goes to work slowly. Several hours later the victim is seen raving like a lunatic and commits suicide before a group of witnesses. Foul play is never suspected. The entire event is chalked up to madness, and by then the assassin is long gone. The only other mark on the body is the derma-gnasher attack, and everyone else near him also has those." More amazed than before, Faegan sat back in his chair.
"It's as monstrous as it is brilliant," he breathed. "And it means that there is an assassin of the highest order lurking about Eutracia. One who is in league with someone of the craft. Or these two vast talents may reside within a single person. Either way, we are now forced to assume that the members of the Conclave have been marked for death."
"But how would he or she possibly know who the members are?" Adrian asked. "All of our meetings have taken place here in the Redoubt. And the Conclave was formed only several months ago."
Faegan looked back at her with knowing eyes. "Tristan's meeting with the citizens in the Hall of Supplication," he said. "If you remember, he not only introduced each of us, but he also went so far as to explain our various roles. I would not be surprised to learn that Geldon's killer had been sitting there the entire time, sizing us up."
He let go a deep breath, then looked back over at Geldon's corpse again.
"Our enemies have planned exceedingly well," he said. "But who is this assassin, and who of the craft is he in league with? This formula was mixed by an expert, I assure you."
Suddenly Abbey stared at the wizard as though she had just seen a ghost.
"What is it?" he asked her.
"Do you suppose…," she said softly.
"Suppose what?"
As if not knowing how to begin, Abbey took a deep breath. "Fifty years ago-long before Wigg brought me back to Tammerland-a badly wounded man stumbled onto my cottage. He had been savagely tortured, and he was delirious. Several of his fingers had been cut off. I took him in. But by then a massive infection had set in, and there was little I could do for him. Still, he told me a few things before he died."
Faegan leaned closer. "What did he say?"
"He told me that he was a Valrenkian," she said.
Faegan sat back in his chair. "Did you believe him?" he asked.
"At the time I thought it was his delirium talking," she answered. "But as the years wore on, I came to believe it. It was a deathbed confession. Why would he lie?"
"Why indeed," Faegan mused. Then his expression changed and he looked sternly at her. "Why didn't you report this to the Directorate?"
Abbey pursed her lips. "You don't know what things were like then," she said defensively. "You were still in Shadowood. The partials had been banished for nearly three hundred years. Worse yet, before I left, Wigg granted me the time enchantments. That was strictly against Directorate policy. Had I suddenly returned, they were sure to find out. He would have lost his seat on the Directorate, or worse. Despite what he had done to me I still loved him. So I stayed away."
Faegan gave a little smile of understanding. "Did this man say anything else?"
"He wanted to repent," she said. "When he wished to leave that life, they refused. They told him that once you were accepted into their midst, you were a Valrenkian until death. They tortured him, but somehow he managed to escape. But he did also say that he was sorry for the things he had done. And then he whispered the most telling thing of all."
"And that was?"
"That they were a secret society of partial adepts. The last thing he said to me was that they were of the Vagaries, and that they used human and animal body parts in their work. They survive by selling their dark wares throughout Eutracia. Sometimes they kidnap citizens, and other times they rob graves for their raw materials."
Faegan closed his eyes. "So it's true after all," he said softly.
"Who are the Valrenkians?" Duvessa asked.
Opening his eyes, Faegan looked over at the Minion. "Until this moment, I believed them to be more myth than flesh and blood," he answered. "Now I'm not so sure. Legend says that they were originally formed by the Coven of Sorceresses. They were supposedly converted to the Vagaries, and then taught their grisly trades. Right or wrong, these rumors were one of the major factors in the Directorate's decision to banish the partials."
Faegan looked back at Abbey. "Did this man tell you where their community was located?"
Abbey shook her head. "But if what we surmise about Geldon's death is true, then a clue to their whereabouts might be right under our noses."
"What do you mean?"
"You said that one of the ingredients in the poison used to kill Geldon was gingercrinkle, did you not?" she asked. Faegan nodded.
"Gingercrinkle grows only in one place," she went on. "On the southwestern border of Hartwick Wood. Trying to send out search parties to look for this assassin would be pointless. We don't even know what he or she looks like. But if the killer acquired this potion from the Valrenkians, then that would be a good place to begin our search. If we can find them, they might lead us to him."
Faegan looked down at his hands and then back up again. "This issue of the gingercrinkle will probably be a mere coincidence," he said. "But in good conscience I cannot let it go unexplored."
Silence fell over the room for a time as the wizard carefully considered his options. He finally looked over at Duvessa.
"Go and fetch Ox," he said. "I have a new mission for the Minions."
CHAPTER XXXVI
When Tristanfirst heard the incessant pounding, he thought he must be dreaming. Then he saw that the rising azure fluid licked the soles of his boots. His feet burned, and he knew it was the end.
Even though he was close to passing out, something made him look upward. Marble dust fell onto his head and into his eyes. He still heard the muffled sound of hammering, but he couldn't imagine how or why.
Then a wide crack snaked jaggedly across the ceiling. Several others followed. With a great tearing sound, a chunk of the ceiling suddenly fell away, barely missing the four of them.
Hands quickly reached down and grabbed them. With an upward heave, they were all suddenly hauled to the relative safety of the floor above, and then dragged away from the edge of the smoking hole. As Tristan tried to understand what had just happened, Jessamay fainted in his arms.