Wigg walked slowly through the rubble, bits of glass crunching beneath his boots. With a great sigh, he shook his head and turned back to Faegan and the prince.
"Such a shame," he said. "But at the time it was all I could think of to contain the lights. Even then I had no way of knowing whether Krassus' enchantments might take the entire palace down. In a way, we were very lucky."
"The power behind his spell was great indeed," Faegan added thoughtfully. "And very cleverly wrought. Your solution worked. Had the shards impacted anything softer than stone, the results would have been catastrophic." After a last look around, the three of them finally proceeded to the Redoubt.
As they came to stand before the doors, Faegan called the craft and unlocked them. Inside, Grizelda was still trapped within the azure wizard's warp. When she saw them enter, her lips turned up into a sneer.
Tristan looked at the herbmistress. She had changed little since that day on Krassus' flagship. He took in the long, dry, gray hair that hung haphazardly down around her weather-beaten face; her long, hooked nose; and the tattered, dirty brown robe wrapped around the gaunt body. She glared back at the prince with venom in her eyes.
"Good evening," Tristan said politely. "I hope you find the accommodations to your liking. At least here we don't force anyone to row. But should you prove uncooperative, I'm sure something like it could be arranged."
"So you escaped after all." Grizelda sneered. "My compliments. But your capture of me won't do you any good, Chosen One. I will never give up the things you so desperately need to know. I have a new lord now, and I won't betray him. Your days are numbered, and are dwindling rapidly. Soon I shall be free again, and you are in wizards' warps." To emphasize her point, she spat wetly against the inside of her cage.
"Your manners leave something to be desired," Tristan answered back. He turned around to face the wizards for a moment. "Charming, isn't she?"
Faegan and Wigg came the short distance to Tristan's side. "Is Krassus holding Wulfgar prisoner at the Citadel?" Faegan asked her bluntly. "Has the lost brother of the Chosen Ones been turned to the Vagaries?"
Grizelda smiled again. "That much I will answer, because of the joy I shall feel when I see the looks on your faces. Besides, it does not matter, for you can never stop him now." Obviously relishing her next words, she paused for a moment.
"You are quite wrong in assuming that Wulfgar is a prisoner of the Citadel," she answered at last. "By now he is most certainly its master-as well as the master of all the demonslavers and the other creatures of the Vagaries that have been newly conjured for his use." Raising one of her long, thin arms, she pointed an accusatory finger at the three of them.
"Blasphemers!" she whispered ominously. "Would-be destroyers of the sacred side of the craft! You can never defeat Wulfgar, for he already possesses powers that you could only dream of! He will soon set things right, just as they should have been eons ago. Things have been set into motion that you, in your feeble, exclusive practice of the Vigors, couldn't possibly begin to understand. Things that even Nicholas himself left undone. Wulfgar is coming for you, of that you may be assured. And no power on earth can stop him."
"Why is it that you follow the Vagaries?" Wigg asked.
Grizelda smiled. "You are familiar with the concept of Forestallments?"
Wigg nodded.
"Krassus imbued my partial signature with the Forestallments that finally brought my blood and mind to the light," she answered proudly. "Just as I am sure he has also done for Wulfgar by now. And Wulfgar may do the same for you." Pausing, she smiled again. "Assuming he doesn't kill you outright, of course."
She looked at the prince, and her smile widened. "It seems we shall soon see whether endowed blood is truly thicker than water."
"Who was the Harlequin?" Tristan asked. "I had never seen him before."
"Merely an unendowed servant of Krassus'," Grizelda replied. "He had his uses, but was of no real consequence. In truth, I cannot say I am sorry he is dead."
"What purposes do the Scrolls of the Ancients serve?" Wigg asked urgently.
Grizelda shook her head adamantly. Then she smiled again and made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Clearly, you haven't been listening," she answered. "No more questions."
Wigg looked over at Faegan.
"Would you like to do the honors, or should I?" Faegan asked.
"I will," Wigg answered. "Because she is only of partial blood, it shouldn't prove too difficult."
The lead wizard walked closer to the gleaming cage. As he did the herbmistress' eyes widened, and she scrabbled toward the back of the cube.
Wigg closed his eyes and began to call the craft. Tristan recognized what the lead wizard was doing: He was employing his powers to probe her mind, in an attempt to glean the answers to their many questions. Fascinated, Tristan watched the process unfold. As Grizelda felt the power of the wizard's consciousness entering her own, a look of horror crossed her face. And then, somehow, things started to go terribly wrong.
Placing her hands on either side of her head, she screamed. On hearing her cry out, Wigg opened his eyes and immediately ceased the spell. But by then it was already too late. Tristan watched in horror as the herbmistress shook her head violently and screamed again, insanely. He couldn't believe his eyes.
Her face was beginning to melt away.
Tristan gasped. As Grizelda bent over in exquisite agony, the skin ran from her face in steaming rivulets to reveal the barren, white skull beneath. Her green eyes drooled their way out of the sockets and flowed down what was left of her cheeks. Dead, she collapsed to the floor of the warp. Then her blood started to run from the remains of her mouth, ears, and empty eye sockets, to gather in steaming pools on the floor of the cube.
The blood rushed from Wigg's face. Stunned, he took a halting, tentative step toward the cube. "What have I done?" he gasped. "What in the name of the Afterlife just happened?"
Wheeling his chair closer, Faegan looked carefully down at the roiling blood, and then examined the rest of what used to be Krassus' herbmistress. Apparently satisfied, he wheeled his chair back a bit and looked up at Wigg.
"It wasn't your fault," he said. "This would have happened no matter which one of us had employed our gifts on her."
"What do you mean?" Tristan asked.
"I suspect that this was yet another of Krassus' safeguards, designed to keep us from getting too close to the truth," he answered. "Do you see how her blood steams? She admitted that Krassus laid a Forestallment into her signature to bring her to the Vagaries. I now think he gave her another one, as well-one specially designed to make her blood boil the moment her mind was invaded. Particularly the blood that was collected in her brain-the very seat of the answers we needed so badly, but will now never possess." Pausing for a moment, he thought to himself.
"How clever," he added softly. "The Tome makes mention of such blood-boiling devices of the craft, but I am not adept at them. Had I been, I might have been able to stop this. But even then, I doubt that what would have been left over could have been much good to us."
Tristan finally tore his eyes away from the horror in the cube and looked at the wizards. "Krassus has been ahead of us every step of the way, hasn't he?" he asked sadly.
Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe, the lead wizard nodded slowly. "And if Grizelda was telling the truth, then Wulfgar is now of the Vagaries, and returning to Eutracia with his demonslavers."