The Scrolls of the Ancients tcobas-3

by Robert Newcomb

Starving, clothed in rags, her fellow slaves stared out at her from their bondage. It made her nervous, fearful for her safety every time she finished such a meal and the demonslavers put her back into confinement with the others. Two slavers armed with swords sat nearby, watching carefully.

  Although hungry, she didn't really want to eat, for it seemed so cruel to the others. But Wulfgar had told her she must do so when she could, and over the course of the last week she had come to trust his judgment. So she tentatively took her first bite of the delicious veal, trying as best she could to ignore the ravenous, envious glares of her fellow captives as they watched from inside the barred cages.

  This bizarre, unexplained treatment of her had been Janus' doing; she was sure of it. Janus was apparently not willing to honor Wulfgar's request to feed her more without twisting it into something evil. Shaking her head, she thought of the insane, sadistic nature of her predicament. She felt naked and alone as she sat there with her fancy meal, and suddenly she realized that the only time she was ever at ease was when she was with Wulfgar, in his quarters.

  She gazed around the great hall. It was without doubt the largest room she had ever seen, constructed of smooth, beige marble; lit by numerous, open skylights; and otherwise quite stark. All that the chamber contained were the many large cages holding the other R'talis slaves.

  She had never been in a position to count the cages, but assumed their number to be in excess of one hundred. Each of the glimmering, silver coops stood alone, separated from the others by several meters. The cages contained people, cots for sleeping, and buckets used for waste. The buckets were not emptied often enough, and they filled the chamber with their stink.

  None of the captives knew why they had been brought here, or what their eventual fate might be. Even Serena-the only one allowed out of here, had not been able to figure out the answers to those questions.

  She had so far made four more trips to see Wulfgar, each time at his request. She enjoyed visiting him, and found herself growing to like him more and more. He had a strong, understated quality that always made her feel safe, even in this horrific place. Sometimes she wished she could simply stay there with him, but she doubted that Janus would ever grant such a request. He wouldn't want to give up the pleasure of seeing her squirm as she ate in front of the others, and watching them suffer as she was forced to eat the delicacies provided only to her.

  Just then a door opened in the far wall and Janus sauntered in, the twin iron spheres on his belt clinking together as he walked. Serena cringed as he sat down in the chair opposite her and poured himself a glass of wine. Then he placed his legs on the table, crossed one over the other, and leaned back. The painted red mask contorted as he smiled.

  Looking down at her plate, he feigned an expression of disappointment. "You really must eat something, my dear," he said unctuously. "Or, if you prefer, I could have something else brought in." He raised his eyes to her with a menacing, almost envious stare. "After all, nothing is too good for Wulfgar's whore."

  Laying down her fork, Serena glared back at him. "I'm not his whore," she said softly. "We care for each other. Something I doubt you could ever understand."

  Janus placed his free hand sarcastically over his heart. "I'm touched; I really am," he sneered. "In any event, he asks for you again. You must be very good at what you do. Perhaps if Wulfgar tires of you, I might take a turn…"

  Serena remained silent, filled with hatred.

  Standing, Janus picked up a fork and casually stabbed it into a slice of Serena's veal. Then he walked over to the nearest cage and waved it back and forth in the air, sending its enticing aroma toward the slaves. Like starving animals, they pushed to the front of the cage, and hands and arms stretched pleadingly out from between the bars. Turning back to her, Janus smiled.

  "Food," he mused. "Simple, everyday food. Curious, isn't it? To assume power one need not torture, or even kill. One need only withhold simple sustenance, to suddenly become a king among men. Such an interesting, simple, elegant form of punishment and reward, wouldn't you agree? There really is no equal."

  Tears welled up in Serena's eyes. Although she knew that none of this was her fault, she couldn't help feeling as if she were to blame.

  "Stop it!" she begged. "Isn't it bad enough that you force me to eat this way before them? Must you add to that torture? How can you be so cruel?"

  "Cruel?" Janus asked. He seemed genuinely perplexed. "You find this cruel? This is not cruel, my dear. This is merely… theater. But what is happening to the other slaves-those branded Talis-now that could truly be defined as cruel. Those poor bastards have simply become a means to an end."

  Serena was about to ask him what he meant by that, but she stopped herself. Not only did she doubt that he would tell her, but she also wasn't sure she could bear hearing the answer. She lowered her face and placed her hands on her lap.

  Janus smiled again, and waved the piece of meat higher. "You!" he shouted out to a tall man in front. "Show me how far you can reach! Perhaps you will be rewarded!"

  The slave eagerly stretched one arm out, his fingers waggling desperately. Janus walked up to him and carefully placed the veal on the floor, several inches past the end of the man's reach-just close enough to tempt, and just far enough away to make touching it impossible. Then, apparently satisfied, he walked back to the table. Serena buried her face in her hands.

  "Now, then, shall we go?" Janus asked her politely. "We mustn't keep your whore-master waiting."

  Serena rose on shaky legs and followed him toward the door. Despite how badly she felt for those in the cages, she desperately wanted to put this place behind her.

  Pausing before two demonslaver guards, Janus pointed at the first of them. "You," he ordered. "Come with me." Then he bent down, placing his mouth next to the other slaver's ear. "You stay here," he whispered softly, just loud enough for Serena to hear. "If one of them actually reaches that meat, take him out and kill him."

  The slaver turned his white eyes to the cage, and the desperate, crushing mob within. He smiled. "With pleasure." With that, Janus, the other slaver, and Serena walked out the door and into the hallway.

  Night was falling in the Citadel, and the hallways were brightly lit by wall torches. The walk was long, but by now Serena could have negotiated her way to Wulfgar's quarters alone. As they went down one of the hallways, she heard the insane screaming that seemed ever-present in this area of the Citadel, and she suddenly realized that this might be what Janus had been referring to when he mentioned the plight of the Talis slaves. She shivered.

  Finally Janus stopped at Wulfgar's door. At a nod from him, the two slaver guards on duty there slid back the bolt.

  "This is where I leave you, my dear," Janus said simply. "I am needed elsewhere. Do enjoy yourself."

  The two guards escorted her inside, then walked back into the hall. She heard them swing the door shut again and slide the bolt across, locking her in.

  It was quiet and cool in the rooms, a direct contrast to the horror of what she had just left. Hearing her enter, Wulfgar came in from the balcony and came to her. As his strong arms closed around her, she began to cry.

  He started to speak, but decided not to. Instead he just held her, placed his face against her long, dark ringlets, and let her weep.

  When the tears finally stopped, she wiped her eyes and looked up into his rugged, comforting face. Then she led him over to the bed and pulled him down to sit beside her. Taking both his hands in hers, she began to speak.

  She told him of how the painted monster had teased the other slaves, then ordered the slaver to kill whoever might manage to get hold of the prize laid before them on the floor. As he listened, Wulfgar's face darkened, and the muscles in his jaw clenched tight. When she had finally finished, her tears came again.

  Wulfgar held her close. She looked pleadingly into his hazel eyes. "I cannot go on like this," she whispered sadly. "I know Janus will keep humiliating me this way. He enjoys it far too much to
let it stop." Ashamed, she lowered her face again. "What can I do?"

  Wishing he knew what to say, Wulfgar stroked her cheek, wiping away some of the tears. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I feel sorry for the others, but my heart also wants you to survive as best you can. Is that selfish of me? Perhaps." He paused for a moment, thinking.

  "For some unknown reason I seem to be important to those in power here," he said at last. "When this leader named Krassus finally comes, I might be able to persuade him to let you stay here with me."

  Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her face back up to his. "Would you like that?"

  For the first time in days, Serena managed a smile. Her heart was sure of this strong, gentle man.

  She took one of his hands in hers and placed it on her breast.

  Understanding, Wulfgar looked into her eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked gently.

  Smiling, she reached behind him and freed his long, sandy hair from its worn leather band. She watched his mane fall down around his shoulders and ran her fingers through it slowly.

  Narrowing his eyes slightly, Wulfgar gently laid her down on the bed. His breathing had quickened, and there was a strong sense of command about him that she desperately wanted to surrender herself to.

  As his mouth met hers, her body rose to meet him.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-three

  "Y ou did what to my herb cubiculum?" Faegan shouted. Shailiha had never seen him so angry. As if the loss of Tree Town and so many of the gnomes he loved hadn't been enough, now he had just learned that his cubiculum had been partially destroyed. His face was bright red, and his gray-green eyes were practically bulging out, a rare sight indeed. The Paragon swung from its gold chain around his neck, refracting its bloodred light about the room.

  Lionel the Little sat at the table, his little body trembling. His broken spectacles hung off the end of his nose; the singed tuft of hair was bathed in sweat and stuck flat to his forehead. He suddenly wished he had never, ever, heard of herbs.

  "But the explosion was a small one, Master," he countered lamely. "Not as large or destructive as the two others, and I-"

  "There have been others?" Faegan exploded. He slammed both his hands down on the armrests of his chair on wheels.

  Shailiha, Celeste, and Lionel had returned on schedule, after hiding the bags of herbs and the vat of oils, and cleaning up the laboratory, as best they could. They had spent one night in Shadowood, during which time there had been no sign of any other demonslavers. When they finally exited Faegan's portal, they found Wigg, Abbey, and Faegan waiting anxiously for them.

  Seeing that the women's jerkins were bloodied and that they had none of the herbs or oils Abbey had requested, the wizards had demanded an explanation. But first Shailiha anxiously inquired about Tristan, only to learn that there was still no word. After hearing what Shailiha and Celeste had to say, the wizards then ordered everyone to the Hall of Blood Records to discuss the situation further.

  At the table sat Wigg, Faegan, Abbey, Shailiha, Celeste, and Lionel. Shailiha had requested that Morganna be brought to her, and she now held her baby happily in her sling. Atop a pedestal in one corner of the room sat the Tome of the Paragon.

  With a great sigh Faegan leaned forward, placing his hands flat upon the table. He looked directly at Shailiha. As he did, she could feel his immense power.

  "Do you mean to tell me that every remaining bit of dried herb and refined oil left in my cubiculum has been contaminated?" he asked.

  "Yes," she answered sadly as she rocked her child. "We arrived in time to save most of the gnomes from death, and some of Tree Town from fire. But not in time to keep the slavers from stealing what they needed and mixing together the remaining herbs and oils. Had we not arrived when we did, there would most probably be nothing left to use at all. I'm sorry we didn't do more."

  "Don't be sorry," Wigg said compassionately from the other side of the table. "If it hadn't been for the two of you, we would have lost everything. We're very proud of what you have done." Smiling at them both, he placed an affectionate hand over his daughter's.

  "Yes, they are indeed to be commended," Abbey added. "And thank the Afterlife for Celeste's Forestallment. But do any of you fully understand how much more difficult our task has just become?" The herbmistress was clearly frustrated. Sighing angrily, she ran a hand back through her gray-streaked dark hair.

  "What was once considered arduous has now become virtually impossible," she continued. "And we are still no closer to finding Tristan, Wulfgar, or these scrolls you speak of. Not to mention discerning what Krassus' eventual goals in all of this might be."

  Celeste looked over at Faegan. "If only a small bit of one herb blew up the laboratory, then why is it that all of Tree Town didn't go up when the demonslavers were burning the herbs by the bagful?" she asked.

  Faegan scowled. "I can only assume that is because they were so well mixed. I have never experimented with mixing all of my herbs together, because I feared what might happen." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  "So now we know," he said in a soft voice. "Still, this was a terrible way to have to find out."

  Shailiha looked to Wigg. "There is absolutely no word of my brother?" she asked. "None of the Minion search parties have turned up anything?"

  The lead wizard shook his head. "I am sorry," he answered sadly. "But they continue to search, and they won't give up. Several days ago we sent Geldon and Traax to Parthalon, to activate the Minion fleet. They have been on patrol since, plowing the Sea of Whispers in an attempt to intercept Krassus' supposed fleet and recover the Chosen One. We have yet to hear from them."

  Shailiha and Celeste looked wide-eyed at the two old wizards. "So you sent the fleet out anyway?" Celeste asked incredulously. "Why didn't you tell us?"

  "Because you weren't needed, and there wasn't time for us to endure yet another of your blatant pleadings to go along with them," Wigg said, trying to keep his tone light. "You are both very strong, valuable allies, and we thought your considerable talents might be better used for other things. As it turned out, we were right."

  Shailiha glared at the wizards as she tried her best to be angry with them. But in the end, she couldn't. She and Celeste had been so sure they had manipulated them, but in truth it had been the other way around. She was once again reminded that there was always more to dealing with Wigg and Faegan than first met the eye.

  "So what do we do now?" she asked the table in general. Morganna cooed, and the princess gave her a little hug.

  "Abbey and Lionel shall eventually go back to Shadowood to try to unravel the riddle of the herbs and the oils," Faegan answered. "The bulk of the Minion forces will remain here. After all, we cannot be sure that Krassus and his demonslavers aren't still in Eutracia. We must make sure the castle and the Redoubt are well protected." He paused.

  "There is something else I wish to tell you all," he added after a moment, "and this must come first, before anyone returns to Shadowood. I have been doing research into the Tome, to see if I might come up with something more to help us with these problems of the herbs and oils. And after hearing your story, I am most glad that I did."

  Raising one arm, he commanded the Tome to come to him. It rose into the air and floated across the room to come to rest on the table. Narrowing his eyes, he employed the craft to open it to a particular section of the text. Then he looked back up at the lead wizard.

  "Tell me," he asked Wigg, "have you ever heard of the Chambers of Penitence?"

  "No," Wigg answered skeptically. "What are you talking about?"

  "At first I did not remember the phrase either," Faegan replied. "But when I used my gift of Consummate Recollection to scan the Tome for the words 'herbs' and 'oils,' a strange thing happened. I also kept seeing the words 'Chambers of Penitence' in my mind. Not just once, mind you, but over and over again, until they started to crowd everything else out. It was as if the Tome was desperately trying to tell me something. Heretofore
the text had only been a silent, static entity. But now it was as if it had suddenly come alive, just as the Paragon has its own otherworldly form of existence. It was astounding. So I decided to actually read the pages, rather than simply rely on my memory. And when I did, further references to these chambers kept popping up, taking me to other related pages in the text. And after crisscrossing back and forth in the text this way, I was finally led here, to a specific volume of the Vigors. By itself, the passage would be confusing. But now, after having been led here from its many sources, the meaning is becoming more clear."

  "And just what does the passage say?" Wigg asked.

  Faegan looked down at the page. " '… And there shall be discovered many Chambers of Penitence, which shall both help to guide their way in the craft, and also ensure the existence of the Vigors. Each chamber shall be different in its secrets than the last, but each shall reveal aspects of the craft so complex that they must be hidden within the earth. But be forewarned, for the psychic price of such knowledge shall be dear, perhaps even mortal.' "

  Faegan looked up from the great book. "Do you see?" he asked excitedly.

  Wigg leaned forward, intensely interested.

  "Let me show you," Faegan went on. Narrowing his eyes again, he commanded more of the pages to turn to another part of the text. Running his finger down the page, he finally found what he was looking for.

  " 'If it be of the herbs and oils of the craft that one seeks guidance, it shall be found in one of the Chambers of Penitence. Within the chamber they shall find the Floating Gardens of the Craft, eternally guarded by the watchwoman of the waters. But the cost of such knowledge shall be dear indeed, and it should be searched out only in times of great distress, for the risk is great. At the base of the Woman of Stone, one shall begin to find the answers. But only with the help of the Paragon, for it alone shall light the way.' "

  "The Woman of Stone?" Celeste asked. "What is that?"

  "The Woman of Stone is a rock formation on the coast, not too far from here," Wigg answered, rubbing his chin. "Over time, the waves have carved the profile of a woman into the rock wall overlooking the Sea of Whispers. It has supposedly existed for eons. Long enough, it would now appear, for the Ones Who Came Before to know of it as well, and use her as a landmark by which to leave one of these so-called Chambers of Penitence." Pausing for a moment, he looked back over to Faegan.