The Scrolls of the Ancients tcobas-3

by Robert Newcomb

  With that, Krassus again slammed his fist-with a force supplemented by the craft-into Tristan's face. This time the blow was even harder. It launched the chair off its feet and sent it crashing backward to the floor. The prince immediately went unconscious.

  Wasting no time, Krassus walked to the door and violently threw it open. Several demonslavers entered immediately, swords drawn.

  "Get this abomination of the craft out of my sight!" Krassus ordered them, pointing down at the prince. "Signal the Wayfarer and order her to come alongside. Transfer this refuse to her. I want him immediately ordered to the Wayfarer. He is to man an oaring station. And keep him in his clothes-I want him easily singled out from the rest. It should be most interesting to observe how that famous azure blood of his holds up." Looking down at the bloodied prince, the wizard smiled again.

  "We'll see how much he likes to row," he added softly.

  "Begging your pardon, my lord," one of the slavers said. "What shall we do with his weapons?"

  As Krassus looked at the prince's dreggan and throwing knives, his lips came up into a sneer. "Strip him of them," he answered. "Have them transferred to the other ship. I want nothing of this bastard left around to remind me of him."

  Untying Tristan from his chair, the slavers lifted him up as if he were a rag doll and dragged him from the room on his toes.

  CHAPTER

  Sixteen

  S hailiha came awake first. Groaning slightly, she shook her head and opened her eyes to the sky above.

  The weather was unsettled in Shadowood, with dark, slow-moving clouds randomly checkerboarded among the white. The breeze was fairly strong, waving the new grass to and fro, and carried with it the unique, fresh smell of coming rain. Shailiha took a deep breath and sat up slowly, trying to clear her mind from the effects of Faegan's portal.

  Not far from her, Celeste was stirring in the grass. Rising to her knees, the red-haired beauty lowered her head and shook it back and forth lightly before tossing back her long hair. She gave the princess a sly smile.

  Shailiha smiled back. Of course the wizards would never have allowed her to lead the Minions against Farpoint. She and Celeste had known that from the start-just as they had known that making that request was likely to result in the granting of a second request. Neither woman was willing just to sit by like some dainty lady-in-waiting. Doing anything was better than nothing, even if that meant going herb hunting for a three-hundred-year-old partial adept.

  Both women were dressed in black trunk hose, knee-high riding boots, and leather jerkins, with long, close-fitting sleeves. Shailiha's was brown, Celeste's dark gray. The jerkins were gathered at the waist by broad leather belts. On their hands they wore tight, black leather gloves, and daggers hung from their right hips in sheaths that were tied around their thighs. Shailiha also carried a short sword at her left hip; upon the sword's gold hilt was engraved the lion and the broadsword, the heraldry of the House of Galland.

  Reaching beneath her jerkin, the princess searched for both the list of goods that Abbey had given her and the letter of permission that Faegan had penned for Lionel the Little. To her relief, they were both still there.

  "It seems we have finally made it after all," Celeste said. "We had best hurry, though."

  "You're right," Shailiha answered as she readjusted the baldric that held her sword. Then she paused, taking a sniff of the air. For a moment she had thought she smelled smoke… but no, she must have been mistaken. As she rose to her knees, she smiled again at her friend. "For a moment there, I thought the vein in Wigg's temple was going to-"

  She stopped in midsentence. Holding one hand out to indicate silence, she wrinkled up her nose again. This time the smell was unmistakable.

  Placing one finger vertically over her lips, Shailiha indicated that Celeste should follow her on all fours through the grass. Wigg's daughter nodded back. The short ridge that lay just uphill would look down onto the area where the gnomes lived. Casting her eyes to the sky, the princess could now see the dark, acrid smoke that was finding its way to her nostrils. She began to crawl, Celeste right behind her.

  As the women approached the ridge, they went down on their stomachs and wriggled the final distance to the top. As Shailiha cautiously raised her head to look down, the air left her lungs in a rush.

  Tree Town was on fire.

  At least half of the beautifully intricate houses and the huge, magnificent trees that held them were wildly ablaze. Flames shot up toward the darkening sky. Thick black smoke billowed out of collapsing roofs and smashed windows like dark, undulating rivers, rising to lay over the town in a gloomy cloud. Gnome children ran about, screaming for their parents. The adults had formed bucket brigades from the well in the center of the glade, but without their master Faegan here to help them with the craft, they were clearly fighting a losing battle.

  Holding her breath, she tried to peer through the smoke and locate the distinct roofline of Faegan's mansion. Finally seeing it, she let out a small sigh of relief. Somehow, it seemed unaffected by the fire.

  And then, out of the corner of her eye she saw the demonslavers.

  Dozens of the awful monsters were pouring around a corner, screaming and waving swords, torches, and tridents. Laughing wickedly, they tossed their torches into an area of still-intact homes. Immediately the dwellings burst into flames. Armed with pitchforks and knives, a group of male gnomes started bravely for the demonslavers, but were hacked to death amid the fire, blood, and screaming. Some of the white-skinned monsters were walking about in triumph, holding up their tridents with dead gnomes impaled upon them.

  Lowering her head for a moment, Shailiha was sure she was about to be ill.

  But abruptly, unexpectedly, the sounds of havoc stopped, leaving only the snapping and roaring of the flames and the crying and moaning of the gnomes. Shailiha risked another look.

  The demonslavers had gathered the surviving gnomes into a group and forced them to their knees. One of the slavers shouted a command. Then another group of slavers rounded a corner, carrying dozens of large canvas bags, stuffed full and tied shut. They piled three of the bags on the ground and gleefully touched their torches to them. The odd-looking bags went up in flames, emitting a riot of unfamiliar odors and colors.

  As the flames went higher and the bags were consumed, more were thrown on the burning pile. Shailiha knew it wouldn't be long before all the remaining bags had been turned to ashes.

  Then a realization seized her, and she closed her eyes. The slavers hadn't been sent here simply to kill gnomes, or to destroy Tree Town. She and Celeste had to act, and act soon.

  She turned to speak to Celeste, but suddenly a sharp, penetrating scream forced her eyes back down to the horrifying scene.

  Two of the slavers had stepped forward, taken hold of one of the male gnomes, and were swinging him over the burning bags. The more he screamed the closer to the fire they lowered him.

  Then his clothing erupted into flames, and, laughing, they dropped him in.

  Shailiha turned desperately to Celeste. "Can you kill them?" she whispered urgently.

  At first a look of concern came over Celeste's face, but then she nodded. "I can try," she said. "But I cannot be sure I will not kill some of the gnomes, as well!"

  "Better that only some of the gnomes die quickly at your hand, than all of them die that way!" Shailiha responded. She looked down in horror to see that the two slavers were dragging another screaming gnome-a female this time-toward the burning bags.

  "When you see me coming out of the woods at their right, stand up and do your best! Then run down the hill as fast as you can, continuing to kill any of them that might have survived! I'm sorry, but that is as much of a plan as I have, and there is no time!" Silently she drew her sword. "And whatever you do, try your best not to kill me!" Before Celeste could say anything more, the princess was gone, crawling off to the right through the grass.

  Celeste raised her head up a bit. She tried to follow Shailiha's p
rogress, but the brown leather of the princess' jerkin made her blend in with the surroundings. And then, finally, Celeste saw her, standing just inside the edge of the woods at the bottom of the hill.

  Her chest heaving and her palms wet, Shailiha stood with her back against a tree, her sword held upright as she tried to steady herself. Slowly, silently, she turned her head to look.

  The two demonslavers were laughing and swinging the screaming gnome over the fire as the others cheered them on, and it seemed that they might drop her in at any moment. Embers were already teasing the hem of her dress and threatening to burst it into flames. Looking up at the ridge, Shailiha caught a sliver of Celeste's red hair just over the tops of the swaying grasses. Thinking of Tristan and Morganna, she closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her courage.

  And then, her sword held high, she ran out into the glade.

  Celeste acted immediately. Standing straight up, she raised her right arm and pointed her fingers. A magnificent azure bolt shot from her hand in a continuous stream, just as it had yesterday in the courtyard with her father looking on. The bolt screamed down over the grassy field, straight toward the demonslavers taunting the gnomes. Continuing to sustain the bolt, Celeste ran down the hill as fast as her legs could carry her.

  Sawing into a group of slavers, the bolt exploded. Dozens of slavers flew into the air, their torsos blown apart, organs and blood splattering all over the glade. The surviving slavers scattered, looking around for the source of the magic. Still running down the hill, Celeste manipulated the bolt by turning her hand, trying to avoid the gnomes and kill the straggling slavers. Many of the horrible monsters went down.

  But not all of them.

  Screaming, Shailiha ran at the first of the two who had been torturing the gnome. A surprised look came to the slaver's face. Then his white eyes went wide with horror as he realized he was already too late. With a single, perfect stroke, Shailiha took his head off at the shoulders. Blood erupted everywhere and the scalded gnome went flying, landing to one side in the grass.

  Just as Tristan had taught her, she wasted no time gloating over her victory and instead spun on her heels like a dancer, searching for the other slaver. But she was not as experienced as her brother, and she was too slow.

  Had her sword not already been raised she would have died there and then, as the second slaver's blade came singing down at her. The two swords clashed together, sparks flying from their razor-sharp edges, and the princess immediately knew she had lost the upper hand. Turning, she backed up on the balls of her feet as quickly as she could to afford herself some maneuvering room. But her opponent was just as fast.

  The tall, white-skinned monster slashed relentlessly, raining down blow after blow, forcing her to keep backing up. She nearly panicked when she felt the heat of the fire licking at her back and realized she had nowhere left to go. As the monster's blade came whistling through the air yet another time, she knew she had only one option left.

  Raising her sword with both hands, she purposely fell to one side before the roaring fire. The monster's blade flashed over her head, its edge coming so close that she felt it tearing through the ends of her long blond hair. Just as her right hip touched the ground she brought her blade around with all her strength, slicing through the slaver's calves. Screaming wildly, he fell to the ground next to her.

  Coming quickly to one knee, Shailiha raised her sword high and rammed its point straight down between the slaver's eyes and out the back of his head, impaling his skull. She stood, put one boot against his face, and pulled back hard on her sword, freeing it. Blood dripping from her hands and blade, she quickly looked around.

  Dead slavers and gnomes lay everywhere. Celeste's bolts had ceased, and an eerie quiet descended over the glade, punctuated only by the snapping of the fires and the somewhat more subdued crying of the surviving gnomes.

  Turning frantically to search for Celeste, the princess found her alone at the edge of the glade, her right hand still outstretched. The tips of her fingers were badly scorched.

  Before her knelt three demonslavers-apparently the last of those remaining alive. Disarmed, their weapons in a pile a short distance away, they glared up defiantly with a hatred that made Shailiha's blood run cold.

  Shailiha walked to Celeste and gratefully placed a hand upon one of her shoulders. "Are you all right?" she asked. Without taking her eyes off the slavers, Celeste nodded. "If any of them make the slightest move, kill them all," Shailiha said sternly.

  One corner of Celeste's mouth turned up. "Love to," she answered, her eyes never wavering.

  Shailiha walked back to the site of the battle. Some of the survivors had begun to gather up their dead and wounded, while others remained bent over the victims' small, broken bodies and sobbed. It seemed to Shailiha that the wailing might never stop. Another group of survivors had formed bucket brigades, and they were furiously working on the fire. She was heartened to see that some of the homes might be spared, after all.

  Seeing her coming, some of the stunned gnomes stepped tentatively forward. A few of them fell at her feet, kissing her bloody boots. Some others wrapped their arms around her legs, weeping openly. As the gnomes gathered around her, Shailiha lowered her head.

  Looking at what was once Tree Town, she saw that the houses that had been set alight were all but gone, the charred ash of their remains cradled strangely in tree branches that stretched forth like dark, skeletal fingers. But about a third of the houses seemed to have been spared, including Faegan's mansion. About a dozen of the canvas bags that the slavers had been burning remained untouched. She turned back to the gnomes.

  "I am Shailiha, princess of Eutracia," she said loudly. "Some of you might recognize me from the last time I was here. Tell me, does Lionel the Little still live?"

  At first no one spoke, no one moved, and Shailiha's heart fell. Then the crowd parted slightly to allow an old gnome to pass through. His head was bald and shiny, with a single island of gray, wispy hair growing in the center of where his hairline used to be. Sharp, highly intelligent-looking eyes stared back at her. He was dressed in dark, torn trousers, a matching shirt and vest, and upturned shoes. He came to stand before the princess and bowed his head briefly.

  "I am Lionel," he said. "On behalf of all of us, I would like to thank you for what you have done, I would," he said oddly. The gnomes standing around him buzzed with agreement.

  With a bloody hand, Shailiha reached beneath her jerkin and retrieved both the letter Faegan had written, and the list Abbey had provided. She gave him the letter first.

  Seeing Faegan's familiar red wax seal on the back of the envelope, Lionel took it from her eagerly. Reaching into his vest, he produced a pair of cracked spectacles. Pinching them as best he could into place near the end of his nose, he broke the seal on the envelope and opened the letter. As he read, Shailiha gave another quick, anxious glance back at Celeste and the captive slavers. Nothing had changed.

  "I understand, yes I do," Lionel finally said, refolding the letter. For some reason he looked even more crestfallen than before, and Shailiha was reasonably sure she knew why. "And your list?" he asked quietly. The princess handed it to him.

  "This will be nearly impossible, you know," he said apologetically as he scanned the list. "In the end, there may be little I can do, yes, very little."

  "I understand, but it is imperative that we try," Shailiha answered. She turned to look at the slavers, then faced Lionel again. "Please take your survivors away from here," she half asked, half ordered him. "You may come back later for your dead. We will join you at Faegan's mansion. But first there is something I must do, and your people have already seen enough."

  Understanding, Lionel carefully folded the list and tucked it into a vest pocket. "I will await you both, I will," he said simply. "In the meantime, I will do what I can."

  After an indication from the diminutive caretaker, a few of the male gnomes picked up the remaining canvas bags. Then as a whole the crowd began to tru
dge tiredly out of the glade.

  Still holding her bloody sword, Shailiha walked back to the three slavers. Celeste's arm was still raised, poised to let go another bolt. The demonslavers continued to glare at them with their strange, white eyes.

  Without speaking, Shailiha came to stand before the first of them. Bending down, she wiped her sword in the grass, cleaning its blade of demonslaver blood, and slid it back into its scabbard. Then she drew her dagger from the sheath on her right thigh.

  After blatantly running his white eyes up and down her body, the demonslaver leered up at her. Smiling, he ran his black tongue up and over his lips. "You're pretty, bitch."

  Shailiha's eyes narrowed. "You aren't."

  With a quick, unforgiving stroke, she slashed the dagger across the slaver's throat. Blood rushed out, cascading down his chest. At first his eyes registered surprise, then glazed over. Raising her right boot, Shailiha kicked him beneath the chin, launching him over onto his back.

  She stood there for a moment, listening to the desperate gurgling sounds as the life force poured out of him.

  She walked before the second of them. Placing the dagger hard against one of the thing's lower eyelids, she gave it just enough of a nudge that a single drop of blood ran slowly down the dagger's blood groove and onto the handle.

  With her free hand, she pointed to the slaver she had just killed. "That was an object lesson," she said quietly. "I want some answers, and I want them now. Krassus sent you here to eradicate Faegan's stores of herbs, didn't he? That's what was in those canvas bags you were burning. Tell me, how much of it did you destroy?"

  The second slaver just looked up at her. Then he spat all the saliva he could muster into her face.

  With a single thrust, Shailiha drove the point of the dagger upward, cleaving the monster's eyeball. Blood and vitreous fluid poured out of the ruptured orb as the point of the knife continued on, slicing into his brain. As she pulled it back out, his face contorted into a mask of pain, and he fell facedown at her feet.