Closing her eyes, she bowed her head.
Almost immediately, the familiar golden flame erupted, slowly snaking its way toward the open top of the cube. Abbey reached back through the side and cast a few more of the herbs into the flame. Roaring even higher, the gazing flame gained strength and color. Abbey removed her hand from the cube and backed away a bit. Raising one arm, she silently commanded the flame to split into two separate branches. The smaller of the branches angled toward her.
Opening the other bottle of herbs, she carefully measured some out, then reached into the cube again and dropped the herbs into the nearest of the branched flames.
The two branches rejoined, returning to the vertical. Placing the two bottles on the ground at her feet, Abbey took the piece of vellum in both hands and raised it high.
As she watched the fire, a rectangular, azure window appeared in its midst. Within its confines, an image slowly formed. Faegan wheeled his chair closer to the edge of the cube and peered in.
A street scene was unfolding. It looked like a plaza of some kind. But which city? Faegan wondered. And for that matter, which country? Eutracia or Parthalon? Trying to examine the image was maddening-like trying to solve a shimmering, constantly moving puzzle with several of the pieces missing. But then Faegan saw the familiar statues.
The Plaza of Fallen Heroes! he realized. The Scroll of the Vigors was there in Tammerland, right under their noses!
But suddenly the piece of vellum in Abbey's hand began to quiver and turn azure. Nearly beside herself with fear, the horrified herbmistress turned to Faegan.
"Get out!" she shouted. She shoved her arm into the warp, and dropped the ancient scrap inside. Immediately, she hiked up her skirts and charged toward the protective wall. Shaking off his shock, Faegan levitated his chair and soared over the courtyard to join her and the others.
As they all watched in horror, the vellum in the cube began to emit strange pinpricks of light. With the birth of the lights came great screeching sounds, so loud that the people behind the wall could barely stand the pain in their ears.
The pinpricks became shafts, and the shafts increased in size and began ricocheting against the inner walls of the cube. Some of them soared up through the open top, screaming their way into the empty sky above. The entire cube shook and jumped violently on the grass.
And then the walls of the cube began to crack.
Like sharp, threatening crevices wending their way through melting ice, the fissures in the walls of the cube started to lengthen. Levitating his chair over the top of the wall, Faegan hovered there and raised his arms. Then he loosed an azure bolt at the disintegrating cube, trying to shore it up against the power of the shrieking beams of light. Straining with effort, Faegan began to shake.
Tristan watched in dread as the walls of the cube continued to shake, split, and crack. Hurrying out from behind the wall, Wigg shot another azure bolt against the cube. But even with the lead wizard's added power, it was clear that Faegan's warp was deteriorating. It wouldn't be long now, Tristan realized, before more of the beams of light were unleashed.
Then he heard Faegan scream something out to Wigg. The lead wizard quickly nodded. As one they both sent out azure bolts to lift the cube from the ground, the piece of vellum still inside it. Using all their power, they began moving it over to one side of the courtyard, near the northern wing of the palace.
Transfixed, Tristan realized what the wizards were about to do. His jaw dropped. Were they insane?
With a great, final heave, the wizards shoved the cube toward double, side-by-side stained-glass windows. It tore through them as if they were made of paper, and kept on going.
Tristan watched, aghast, as the flashes of light screamed within the castle chambers. They lit up the rooms with what looked to be lightning strikes. He heard furniture being rent apart, glass breaking, and interior walls tumbling and crashing. Sections of the palace roof heaved, throwing marble pieces high into the air. Some of the beams of light escaped and tore their way across the courtyard to slam into the opposite wing of the palace.
At last, it was over. Dust and debris choked the entire courtyard. Into its midst, swarms of concerned Minion warriors landed, dreggans drawn. Coughing deeply, Tristan, Shailiha, and Celeste walked out from behind the wall to rejoin the wizards.
"Faegan!" Tristan exclaimed. "What in the name of the Afterlife just happened?"
"Never mind that now!" the wizard shot back, anxiously waving his arms. Tristan wasn't sure he had ever seen him so animated. "The Scroll of the Vigors is in the Plaza of Fallen Heroes, I'm sure of it! But it's on the move! And it seems to be wrapped in something, as if its current owner is trying to hide it! This may be our only chance to bring it back!"
Then he looked over at Abbey. "I want you to remain here," he ordered her. "You've done all you can for now. The rest of you come with me! We have to get to the stables!"
But Tristan had a question, and he urgently grabbed Faegan's arm. "What about the Minions? Shouldn't they help?"
"No," Faegan said thoughtfully. "This must be done very carefully." Pausing for a moment, he looked over to Shailiha to see that Caprice was still perched on her forearm. Wasting no time, he quickly beckoned the princess to him.
Faegan whispered something to her. Shailiha raised the arm holding Caprice and closed her eyes. After several moments the flier launched herself into the air and flew away.
Abbey watched in silence as Wigg, Tristan, Shailiha, and Celeste sprinted from the courtyard. Faegan levitated his chair again and went soaring along beside them. In mere moments they had rounded the corner of the partially destroyed palace and were gone.
Completely exhausted, Abbey stared out over the hissing rubble and tried to fathom what had just happened. No quick answers came. Turning back, she looked apprehensively toward the corner where her friends had disappeared.
Slowly, tiredly, she began making her way back to the palace.
CHAPTER
Fifty-seven
A s Tristan sat atop Pilgrim at the edge of the Plaza of Fallen Heroes, a sense of foreboding crept over him. Finding the scroll was going to be difficult at best, and for all he knew Krassus might also be here. Searching the sky he finally found Caprice as she soared gracefully above, all of her senses on alert. Ordering any of the fliers this close to ordinary citizens was always a risk, but Faegan obviously thought the stakes were too high not to employ her talents.
On the way to the plaza, Faegan had shouted out his orders. Tristan, Wigg, Celeste, and Faegan would approach the square from different directions, then wait quietly on horseback at its outer edges. Shailiha would walk calmly to the center and wait. From above, Caprice would have an excellent view of the scene and, it was hoped, would silently inform Shailiha when she spotted the scroll. When Shailiha moved, the rest of them would quickly follow her, and converge on the scroll from different directions.
Assuming it was still here, Tristan thought.
He could just make out Wigg, Faegan, and Celeste as they waited nervously atop their horses at different spots on the plaza's outer edges. They were wearing dark blue consuls' robes to help hide their identities. To the wizards' great consternation, Tristan had refused to wear one, claiming it would interfere with quick access to his weapons.
He glanced back at Faegan, and one corner of his mouth came up in admiration. Since their battle with the demonslavers at the docks, Tristan had learned that it was very painful for the crippled wizard to sit a horse. But somehow Faegan was able to partition his mind and control the pain. And the prince knew that the inquisitive wizard wouldn't have missed being here for the world.