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."

"Do you believe what she said?" Tristan asked anxiously.

With a deep sigh, Wigg nodded. "I believe her because it's too dangerous not to."

Saying nothing more, all three looked at one another. Then they made their way out of the Archives and back to the palace above.

There were plans to be made, and they were clearly running out of time.

CHAPTER

Sixty

S tanding atop a grassy knoll, Tristan gazed out over the Cavalon Delta and the sea beyond. The wind was high again, just as it had been for the last seven days. A contingent of Minion warriors led by the ever-faithful Ox stood some distance away by the litter that had carried Tristan here, waiting obediently in the midday sun.

The Minion fleet had arrived four days earlier with the captured pirate vessels in tow, and all of them were now anchored offshore. More than four hundred ships-some long, narrow, and built for speed, and others wide and slow, but made for carrying heavy loads-lurched gently up and down against their moorings. All of the red banners that had once graced the pirate ships' mainmasts had now been removed, and the ships had all been repaired.

For her part Tyranny had not been content simply to stand by at the palace, like some dainty lady-in-waiting. Three days of uselessly prowling the rooms and grounds had been quite enough for her, despite finding herself immersed in their relative luxury. Tristan smiled. It seemed that no matter how much Tyranny hated traveling by Minion litter, the wonders of the palace had clearly been no match for the constant, intoxicating lure of the sea. Scars had, of course, accompanied her here.

Tristan had been here for the last three days as well. He had brought with him not only the kisa he had promised Tyranny, but also the letters of marque the lead wizard had prepared, both of which were now safely aboard the frigate she had chosen as her personal flagship.

In truth, Tristan had been glad to come here, for there had been little for him to do in Tammerland. With Grizelda and the Harlequin dead and Marcus already questioned, there was no one left to interrogate. Since Wigg, Faegan, and Celeste were the only three among them who could read Old Eutracian, they had vanished into seclusion in the depths of the Redoubt in order to attempt to unravel the mysteries of the Scrolls of the Ancients. They were all desperate to discover the purpose it served, and why Wulfgar was on the way with his demonslaver fleet.

As he looked out over Tyranny's fleet, Tristan smiled. The mainsails of the twelve frigates she had chosen now carried a bright red image of the Paragon painted squarely in their centers. In addition, each also flew his blue-and-gold battle flag high atop its mainmast.

He took a deep breath of sea air and knew he would miss being out there again. A part of him longed simply to cast away his responsibilities and go with her and Scars. The sea had quickly become a part of his blood, and he had greatly enjoyed the freedom and sense of adventure that had come with it.

Looking down the knoll, he saw Tyranny and Scars approaching. As she came nearer, the privateer smiled.

"Traax told us we'd find you here," she said quietly as she turned to look out over the fleets. The breeze was having its way with her short, dark hair. "We'll be leaving soon," she said, her voice cracking a bit. "I want to clear the delta before the evening winds abate."

"I understand," Tristan answered quietly.

There was a genuine look of both sadness and admiration in Scars' eyes as he held out one of his huge, meaty paws. "It has been a pleasure," he said sincerely.

Taking the giant's hand, Tristan gripped it firmly. "And for me," he said. Then he smiled. "If you come across any more demonslavers, twist a couple of them apart for me, will you?"

Smiling, Scars nodded back. Then he turned and walked slowly back toward the shore, where Tyranny's personal skiff lay waiting.

"Have you picked out a name for your new flagship?" Tristan asked her.

"Yes," she answered. "She is now the Reprisal. Appropriate, don't you think?"

Looking down to the sea, Tristan's eyes finally found the ship. She was tall and proud, just like her new captain, and his battle flag snapped back and forth atop her mainmast.

"Yes," he answered softly. "Yes, I do. Where will you go first?"

"Farpoint. It is a short sail from here. There we will release the slaves and hire the additional crew we need to man the ships properly. It shouldn't take long. Then it will be on to the open sea to search again for my brother and begin patrolling for you and your wizards. Whatever demonslavers or remaining pirates we run across we will do our best to make short work of, I promise you." Then she looked down at the ground and began using the toe of one boot to push some grass back and forth, as if she suddenly needed something to do.