Then Wulfgar saw that the Scroll of the Vagaries glided along by Einar's side. An azure glow surrounded it, telling Wulfgar that the consul had been recently working with it. Normally Wulfgar would be furious that the precious document had been removed from the scriptorium without his permission. But something about the fearless look on his lead consul's face told him that he should hear what the man had to say.

Einar stopped before him, the scroll hovering just a meter or so away. Wulfgar pointed to the parchment.

"Why did you bring the scroll here?" he demanded.

"I wanted to bring you this news personally," Einar said. His eyes flashed with promise, and his gaze was steady.

"We have found the Forestallment that we seek," he said. "It's true, my lord. The calculations exist."

Wulfgar stared wide-eyed at the consul, then looked at the scroll. "Can it be true?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord. That is why I took the liberty of bringing the scroll here to you. Knowing how anxious you have been, I wanted to prove it to you immediately, and in private."

Wulfgar smiled. "Then by all means proceed."

Einar raised his hands, and the scroll began to unroll itself. On and on it went, until Wulfgar thought that it might extend itself completely. Then it stopped. Narrowing his eyes, Einar caused a specific portion of the text to duplicate itself in glowing azure and rise from the body of the parchment to hang in the air. Wulfgar walked closer and began to read the Old Eutracian text. The translation read: "And it shall come to pass that the bastard sibling of the Jin'Sai will one day wish to hear, rather than simply read, of the mysteries that make up his blood. And when that day comes, the calculations for such a Forestallment shall be provided herein for his use. Only he, the Jin'Sai, and the Jin'Saiou are capable of accepting such a gift, for the quality of their blood knows no equal. Therefore the Enseterat -or the Lord of the Vagaries, as he shall also be known-shall finally be able to commune with us, and all will be revealed."

Inarticulate with joy, Wulfgar looked at the groups of numbers and symbols in Old Eutracian that comprised the formula for the Forestallment. The formula was both the longest and the most elegant solution of the craft he had ever seen. He looked back at Einar.

"You have analyzed the calculations?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord. I believe that the end result shall be as the scroll promises. I have never seen so involved a formula. As such, the risk of error is great. For that reason, I suggest that if my lord still wishes to go ahead, that only I perform the transferal. And that it be done here in the throne room, in the strictest of privacy. Gifting you with this Forestallment will be arduous for both of us. I do not wish the demonslavers and the other consuls to hear you, should you cry out. This is why I brought the scroll to you, rather than requesting that you come to it."

Lost in thought, Wulfgar walked the short distance over to the open wall of the throne room. He looked to the sea. The winds had risen and the froth-tipped waves were restless and angry, much like the building conflict in his heart.

Given the length and complexity of the calculations, Wulfgar understood the risk. The installation of so powerful a Forestallment in his blood would be the single most painful experience of his life-probably even more excruciating than the injuries he had suffered at the hands of the wizards of the Redoubt. Once the process began there could be no reprieve, no turning back. Even considering the unusual strength of his blood, he couldn't be sure he would survive it.

But these were risks he would simply have to take. He looked back over at the waiting consul.

"Very well," Wulfgar said. He walked to his throne and sat down.

"You don't wish to lie down, sire?" Einar asked, sounding concerned.

"Where? On the floor?" Wulfgar shook his head. "No. My throne will do."

As the consul walked to his master's side, the hovering text followed him. Narrowing his eyes, Einar caused the glowing numbers and symbols to rise to a place just above his master's head. He placed one palm upon Wulfgar's brow.

"Are you ready, sire?"

Taking a deep breath, Wulfgar closed his eyes.

"Proceed," he answered. "And may the Afterlife watch over all of your gifts this night."

AS satine walked her gelding down the nearly deserted streets of Tammerland, the city seemed gray and mournful. Dead bodies littered the gutters. Rain had recently fallen. It had soaked through her cloak, and the dampness caused her to shiver. Pulling the garment closer, she rode on.

She had been navigating the streets for the last three hours. Dawn would soon arrive. With so few people out and about, it sometimes seemed that she had the entire city to herself, a sensation that she did not mind.

After leaving Ivan, she had followed the winding tunnel to a cramped, windowless shed that opened onto an abandoned alleyway. From there she had made her way to the adjoining street and back to the still-closed archery shop, where she had reclaimed her horse.

Satine had two more stops to make before commencing her sanctions, and she was on her way to the first of them-a personal job, not professional, but one she meant to see through, despite the delay it would cause.

Satine rode the twisting, dilapidated streets until she reached the dead-end alley she had been searching for. She stopped her horse and jumped down. The place was deserted. Deciding to leave the gelding in the street, she tied him to a nearby rail. Then she unfastened the worn leather satchel from the back of her saddle and quickly entered the alley. After another look around, she slipped behind a pile of trash. She hurriedly began changing her clothes in the forgiving darkness.

The woman who emerged looked far different. Her usual leather clothing was gone. Instead she wore a close-fitting outfit of black cloth. On her feet were supple black slippers. Her black scarf was wound completely around her head and face, leaving only her watchful eyes showing. Black gloves covered her hands; her long braid she neatly tucked beneath her clothing. Cloak, bow, and quiver were left behind. Her only weapons were her sword, her four daggers, and her skill. If she was lucky, they would be all she would need. If she were unlucky she would soon be dead, and it wouldn't matter.

She searched the length of the alleyway again. She was still alone. Hurrying to the other side, she flattened herself against the slick wall.

Praying it would hold, she grasped the rusty downspout with both hands and, like a spider, quickly climbed to the roof.

She took a few precious moments to look around again. Still, she saw no one. Turning north, she ran and jumped across the rooftops toward her target.

Satine knew the rooftop terrain well. She had been raised in this area of Tammerland and had played upon these roofs as a child. This night she was a child no more, and her task was deadly serious.

She knew that the sun would soon rise, chasing away her cover of darkness. If she did not reach her target in time, her chance would be lost. Once her sanctions had begun in earnest, there might never be another opportunity like this one.

Finally seeing the familiar roof up ahead, she took a flying leap between buildings and landed surely on all fours. Just as she had hoped, the nearby skylight emitted a soft glow through its frosted glass. Someone in the house beneath her had already risen, and she knew who it would be.

Moving silently to the skylight, she removed one of her daggers from its sheath and began to pry open the window. As it gave way its hinges creaked, and she winced. She replaced the dagger in its sheath, raised the window, and surveyed the room. Then she grasped the edge of the skylight, curled her supple body over it, performing a perfect forward somersault down into the waiting room below, dropping silently onto a table that stood against the near wall.