“And done,” she answered back. “And thank you.” Turning on her heel, she walked out the door.
With Tyranny and Scars finally gone, Wigg turned his aquamarine eyes toward the prince. He didn’t waste any time getting started.
“Much has happened while you were away,” he said solemnly, “and very little of it has been good.”
Tristan listened intently, and for the next two hours the people he cared for so much told him of all that had happened in his absence. When they were done, Tristan slumped back into his chair, stunned. There was so much new information to absorb, his mind didn’t know where to begin. Then Faegan gave him the most recent piece of news.
“The Minion patrols have informed us that no demonslaver activity seems to be taking place anywhere in the kingdom,” the ancient wizard said. “None of their slave ships have been spotted within the Minions’ flying range from the coast. For the time being, at least, we seem to be free of them.” Thinking for a moment, he gave Nicodemus another stroke on the head. “But that can only mean one thing.”
No one had to tell Tristan what that was. “If they have given up taking slaves, that means they have finally found Wulfgar,” he said softly, sadly. He looked over at Shailiha and clasped her outstretched hand. “And if Krassus now has both the Scroll of the Vagaries and Wulfgar, our futures will be very dark indeed.”
For a moment his thoughts went to the half brother he had never seen, had never even known existed until only a short time ago. What was Wulfgar suffering at the hands of the wizard Krassus? Tristan wondered. Were they soon to become mortal enemies? Finding his reflections too painful to cling to, his mind sheered away.
“What about the Isle of Sanctuary?” he finally asked. “Tyranny says that there were papers left behind that seem to indicate the Directorate’s involvement. And there are some extraordinarily beautiful buildings there. Some of which, I’m sorry to say, have been desecrated by the pirates. How is it that we have never heard of this place until now?”
Sighing, Wigg looked over at Faegan and waited for the inevitable reaction. It wasn’t long in coming.
“Yes, please do explain,” Faegan said with a frown. It was suddenly clear to everyone that even he did not know about Sanctuary. And if there was one thing Faegan couldn’t abide, it was being left in the dark—especially when the subject had to do with the craft.
“The Isle of Sanctuary was not ‘created’ by the Directorate,” Wigg explained. “At least not in the sense that we could cause an entire land mass to suddenly rise up out of the Sea of Whispers. We do not possess such gifts, I’m sorry to say. The island already existed. It was uninhabited, of sufficient size for our needs, and had not yet been charted. It therefore seemed perfect. Faegan had already been taken prisoner by the Coven at that time, so he had no knowledge of it.”
“But why would you require such an island, Father?” Celeste asked.
“The Tome ordered us to create a secret place of the craft,” Wigg answered softly. “A ‘sanctuary’ for the Vigors, as it were—hence the name. It was to be a place far away from prying eyes. It was to be a sacred place, to be used only by the Chosen Ones who would eventually come into our world. Given that description, this site couldn’t very well be the Redoubt, now, could it? As I said, the island seemed perfect for our needs. The buildings were constructed soon after the formation of the Directorate. The moment the buildings were completed, a strange, immovable fog bank surrounded the island. To this day I neither know how, nor why.”
“Yes, I remember now,” Faegan said to himself as he reached back into his amazing memory. “There is such a command in the Tome. But as far as I knew, it had never been carried out.”
He leaned back in his wheeled chair, thinking further. “Sanctuary must be the sacred place from which the Chosen One finally combines the two sides of the craft,” he finally exclaimed. He trained his gray-green eyes on Wigg. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Faegan’s words suddenly, painfully reminded Tristan of the fact that the wizards still refused to train him in the craft or allow him to wear the Paragon, because of the unknown nature of his azure blood. He thought of the savage whipping he had suffered, and how the strangely colored blood dripping down onto the filthy deck had caused fear and distrust among the other slaves.
“I believe you are,” Wigg told Faegan. “But as yet, there is no way to validate this hypothesis. Now, given what we have learned here today, where does this knowledge lead us?” He sat back in his chair, patiently awaiting the answer.
Silence reigned again until Morganna, tired of her toys, fussed for Shailiha to pick her up. As Shailiha lifted her daughter into her arms she grasped the implications of Wigg’s riddle.
“Krassus’ fortress,” she said, so softly that the others could barely hear. “It is meant to be the direct antithesis of Sanctuary, isn’t it? The secret asylum of the Vagaries. The place from which the Heretics of the Guild mean to have their servants stop us from attempting to combine the two sides of the craft.” She hugged Morganna closer to her chest in a protective embrace.
“The Citadel,” Tristan breathed to himself.
“What?” Wigg asked curiously.
“The Citadel,” Tristan repeated. “That’s what it is called. We know this because Scars was able to force it from one of Tyranny’s captured demonslavers.”
“Yes, of course,” Faegan said to himself. “I understand now. Sanctuary—a sacred place of the Vigors, where Tristan’s process of combining the two opposing arts might go forward in peace. And the Citadel—an equally sacred place of the Vagaries—a place of darkness, from which the process shall be killed.”
“Indeed,” Wigg replied. “And now Wulfgar and the Scroll of the Vagaries presumably reside there, both of them under Krassus’ control. If all that we have just deduced is in fact true, it now seems that the crisis before us is of even greater magnitude than we first thought.”
Tristan looked back down at the piece of vellum he had risked life and limb to bring home. “We have to find the Scroll of the Vigors,” he said thoughtfully. “It seems the only chance we have of unraveling what this is all about.” He looked tiredly over at the herbmistress. “Can you really use your gifts to find it?” he asked her.
“If the sample you brought back is genuine, then yes, we have a chance,” she answered. “But it will not be simple, and it will require all of my powers to accomplish.”
Turning to Wigg, she placed one of her hands over his. “But I’m tired, and I need to rest before I try.” She rubbed her brow. “If you like, we could all reassemble at midday, in the courtyard. Then we shall see what we shall see.”
“And what about the herbs you said Abbey needs?” Tristan asked Faegan. “Have they been separated again? Will they work this time, or blow us all sky high?”
His fatigue also beginning to show, Faegan closed his eyes and shook his head. “The plants and roots Wigg and I brought back from the Chambers of Penitence finally dried out, and we were able to use them to separate and categorize my other stores,” he answered. “It was a long, amazing process to behold. But whether they will work properly is still anybody’s guess. I suppose at midday, we’ll find out.”
Wigg stood. “Then I suggest we all try to get some rest. It seems that in a few hours, we may need it.”
Testing the sleepy muscles in his legs, Tristan also stood. He felt as if he had been awake his entire lifetime. After retrieving his weapons from the back of his chair, he walked over to Shailiha and Celeste and gave them each a kiss.
“It’s good to have you home,” Celeste whispered into his ear. “And when you have the time, there is something I would like to tell you.” She hugged him again and held him close, as if never wanting to let him go. The myrrh in her hair drifted up to him, reminding him of so much he had thought he might lose forever.
“It’s good to be back,” he answered her sleepily. “You’ll send someone to wake me?”
Smiling at him, Celeste nodded.
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He walked to the door, turned to smile at them all again, then gratefully left the room, his dreggan and throwing knives draped loosely over one shoulder. The serpentine hallways of the palace yawned back at him as he went. The heels of his knee boots rang out sharply, reminding him of how lonely life could sometimes be in this massive, overpowering place. And of how many people had once constantly come and gone through these beautiful halls, and of how relatively few did now. From time to time he would come across a lone Minion sentry, silently standing guard at one of the many hallway intersections. Each sentry bowed and snapped his heels together as Tristan passed, but it was all he could do to nod back in return. Finally he found himself back at his own quarters.
Dropping his weapons into a nearby chair, he pulled off his clothes and tossed them aside. Then he walked to the open stained-glass windows and looked out for a moment. The first rays of dawn were finally scratching their way up over the horizon, and the birds had begun to sing. Smoke rose lazily from the Minion campfires, curling its way into the sky. Finally closing the windows, he drew the heavy, red velvet draperies across them.
Naked, he slipped in between the cool, silk sheets of his bed. Paradise, he thought.
In mere moments, the Chosen One was fast asleep.
CHAPTER
Fifty-four
Come with me, my love,” Wulfgar said to his queen. “There is still more I wish you to see.”
Dawn had broken over the Citadel several hours earlier, bringing with it the promise of a fine day. The sea was high again, and the white sails of the constantly patrolling warships dotted the ocean like so many floating daisy petals.
After sharing their evening meal with Krassus the previous night, both Wulfgar and Serena were now fully aware of all the details of their impending mission. As he walked alongside his queen, the new lord of the Citadel could feel his endowed blood almost sing with the promises such a venture held. And soon, very soon now, it could all begin.
Wulfgar led Serena across the magnificent gardens of the inner ward. As they passed down one of the many stone walkways, bees buzzed, birds sang, and the beautifully blooming flowers, trees, and shrubs filled the air with their scents. Finally reaching the western side of the compound, Wulfgar walked along the shaded portico lining the inner wall, then came to a stop before two imposing doors guarded by armed demonslavers. As he and Serena approached, the slavers bowed deeply. Calling upon the craft, Wulfgar caused the doors to open. He took his queen by the hand, and they walked in.
Serena had seen many wondrous things here at the Citadel, but none compared to the splendor that lay before her now. The room was huge, and its entire western side lay open from floor to ceiling to reveal both the sky above and the sea below. The floor was fashioned of dark green marble, shot through with swirls of the palest gray. A series of black columns rose from the floor, to support the rather low ceiling. In one corner of the room stood Krassus, in his blue-and-gray robe. Turning his thoughtful gaze from the sea, he bowed. Serena acknowledged his presence with a nod.
Then she heard the sounds of splashing water. Looking to her right, she saw several women of about her own age, naked except for the flowers in their hair, happily bathing in a descending series of ornate marble pools. The scented water splashed down from a wide, curved trough in the wall above.
Seeing Serena, the women stopped what they were doing, stood, and bowed to her. Turning, Serena looked questioningly back to Wulfgar.
“They are your new handmaidens,” he said to her. “I selected them myself, from the few R’talis slaves who remain alive. Their minds are now ours, and they have been granted the benefits of the time enchantments. They are yours to command for all of eternity.”
“My lord’s gifts are truly great,” she said, smiling. She took one of his strong hands into hers and kissed it gently.
“Come,” he said, beckoning to her. “There is more.”
He led her toward the open side of the room, where two thrones of black marble sat overlooking the sea. On either side of the thrones stood a huge, freestanding column of dark red marble. Each of them was circled by garlands of violet flowers, and topped by a shallow black urn in which burned a bright flame.
From the edge of the shiny floor a series of wide, dark green marble steps led down to the sea. The stairway was lined by more freestanding columns, each topped with a flaming urn. The steps emptied out onto a broad terrace that lay just above the waves that continuously rolled over its leading edge. The clean, salty sea air drifted up to Serena and stirred her dark ringlets.
The train of her magnificent black gown snaking along behind her as she went, Wulfgar’s queen walked tentatively over to touch the smooth, cool marble of one of the thrones. As she did, it was as if the massive seat of power suddenly sparked something deep inside her. She could feel her R’talis blood, graced as it was by the presence of so many Forestallments of the Vagaries, begin to swirl hotly, quickly through her veins. And like her lord, she was filled with the urgent need for their sacred mission to begin.
Krassus walked over to touch Serena’s arm, bringing her back to the moment. Smiling, the wizard walked her back over to Wulfgar, and the three of them looked out over the sea.
“Come,” Krassus said to them simply, and they descended the marble steps to the terrace. There, Serena could see that their entire fleet of slaver warships had stopped patrolling and had formed a massive, protective ring in the sea before them. Within the ring lay a great expanse of open water.
“Bring them, Wulfgar,” Krassus said quietly. “Bring them all. They’re yours to command now, by way of the gifts I have imbued into your blood. Bring them, so that your queen may know the many that now do your bidding.”
With a nod to the wizard, Wulfgar turned to face the sea and raised his arms.
Almost immediately the vacant area of ocean surrounded by the demonslaver vessels seemed to come alive with huge, swirling eddies. Then the watery tornadoes rose from the ocean and into the air: dark, impenetrable maelstroms. As Serena watched breathlessly, they started to glow and turn colors, spinning so fast that they became fluid riots of alternating hues. Wulfgar spread his fingers.
As he did, several of the screechlings that made up one of the packs spun off and flew to where the three of them were standing. After circling them for several moments, the screechlings returned to the maelstroms that continued to whirl just above the waves.
Suddenly, another area of the sea began to churn, and Serena saw hundreds of menacing serpentine heads rise up slowly out of the sea. Their eyes were yellow and slanted with vertical black pupils. Each of the menacing heads was covered with dark red scales, and was a good two meters across. Pink, forked tongues slipped in and out of mouth slits as the creatures tested the air. Occasionally the beasts’ forked tails would rise up out of the water, only to submerge again as they slithered their way through the waves.
Suddenly, Serena noticed a softly distant pounding. It grew in strength, soon blotting out every other sound, even the crashing of the waves against the edge of the terrace. Looking up, she saw the source of the rising cacophony.
In their eagerness for their mission to begin, the thousands of white-skinned demonslavers aboard the warships were standing at attention on the decks, relentlessly banging their swords on their shields.
Wulfgar finally lowered his arms and turned to his queen. She saw a determined, powerful look in his eyes that she knew could never be conquered. As the ceaseless pounding continued, she turned back to the sea and took his hand. Krassus smiled.
CHAPTER
Fifty-five
When Tristan first heard the knock on the door, he wanted whoever it was to go away and let him sleep in peace. Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone? Hadn’t he done enough?
He rolled over, hoping whoever it was would go away.
The knocking came again, even more insistent this time. Tristan realized that it sounded more like someone kicking at the door, than knocking on it. S
hannon the Short, he thought, sent by Wigg to come and wake him up.
He threw off the sheets and hobbled stiffly over to the chair in the corner, where he grabbed up his trousers and pulled them on. Then he went to the door and opened it.
Celeste stood there, smiling at him. She was dressed in black, form-fitting riding breeches, black knee boots, and a low-cut, yellow silk blouse that was ruffled at the neck and wrists. Her dark red hair tumbled down over her shoulders. Tristan could smell the familiar fragrance of myrrh, and it helped to awaken his senses. In her hands she held a large silver tray, its contents covered with a lid.
She gave him an unnecessary, highly coquettish curtsy. “Are you going to make me stand on ceremony all day, Your Highness, or are you going to let me in?” she asked. Then she nodded at the tray in her hands. “After all, I bring gifts.”
“Oh, over here,” Tristan said. He led the way to the opposite side of the dim room, where he drew back the drapes and opened the stained-glass balcony doors, revealing a bright, clear day.
Celeste, her eyes on the tray, followed him and carefully placed the food on the balcony table.
“How much of the day has gone by?” he asked sleepily.
“It is nearly midday. You have had only five hours of sleep, but I’m afraid it’s going to have to do. We are due to meet the others in the courtyard in one hour.”
She lifted the lid from the tray. “Spotted quail’s eggs,” she said with another smile. “Poached, just the way you like them—or so the gnome wives in the kitchens tell me. Cured ham slices, gingerwheat toast with violetberry jam, and tea—extra strong and extra hot. And all enough for two.”
She placed her hands on her hips and turned to look at him. Then she puckered up her mouth and shook her head.
“You’re a mess,” she said, giving him a grin. She took in the shadows on his face from not having shaved, the comma of dark hair lying down over his forehead, and the dirty trousers. “Shall we eat first, or do you wish to bathe?”
The Scrolls of the Ancients Page 49