This one he had selfishly kept, her time enchantments allowing them to lie together in perpetuity, here in this place that was both his prison and his sanctuary.
In truth it had not been his idea to grant the time enchantments to the magnificent creature lying beside him, he knew. He had been ordered to.
Ragnar gloated over how differently things had evolved from the way they had been planned all those years ago. If the one who had ordered the time enchantments placed upon the woman were here now, Ragnar would surely be dead, rather than praised or thanked.
Smiling to himself, he thought of how lucky he had been. How the synchronicity of events had woven itself into an amazing, colorful tapestry of revenge that was finally coming to fruition. The finished product would soon be taken from the loom, as it were, and put to his use.
“You shall leave me now, my sweet,” he said to her, almost gently. “For there are things to which I must attend.” She slowly rose from the bed, not looking at him as she put on her silk robe.
Reaching to the bedside table, Ragnar placed a finger into the vial of yellow brain fluid and licked it hungrily, feeling the familiar, comforting heat go through him. Slowly he turned back to the curvaceous beauty.
“Did I make you happy this time?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be.
She was still standing with her back to him, shivering.
“No,” she said. “You disgust me, and you always shall.” She paused for a moment, lowering her head in shame.
“Even if you take me for yet another three centuries, my answer will remain the same,” she said wearily. “My only blessing is that your madness and addiction have made it impossible for you to leave me with child.” She finally turned to him, her eyes brimming with hate, her hands clenched into tight fists. “I would rather die than carry the abomination of your seed within my womb.”
Had Ragnar been near enough, he would have reached out to strike her. But as it was he simply lay back upon the sheets, lazily tasting another drop of the precious fluid. He leered at her.
“Rest assured, my dear,” he told her, “that we have centuries of this bliss still lying before us.”
“May I take my leave now?” she half begged, half demanded.
“The Chosen One and Wigg will be here within hours. I wish for you to be present when they face us,” Ragnar said unexpectedly, enjoying the sudden look of surprise upon her face. He smiled wickedly. “It is important to me that they both see you.”
“Why?” she asked. “I do not know who they are or why they have come. How could my attendance make any possible difference?” She had never been a part of his plans before, and his suddenly wanting her there now perplexed and frightened her.
Ragnar rose from the bed, walking naked to where she stood. She cringed. Reaching out, he grasped her face with one hand and then quickly backhanded her with the other, forcing her to her knees. She reeled drunkenly for a moment near the floor. She slowly stood again, hate flashing in her eyes.
“My poor sweet,” the blood stalker said softly. “There is still so much you do not know. So much that you most probably will never know. But be there you shall, or I shall give you to Scrounge for his amusement. I don’t wish to share you, and I never have, but if that is what it takes to make you obedient, then so be it.”
Tears running down her cheeks, she lowered her head. She had long seen the way Scrounge looked at her, and she cowered at the thought of being made his plaything, as well.
“Very well,” she whispered. “I will do as you say.”
“Of course you will.” Ragnar smiled, his bloodshot eyes and long teeth twinkling in the soft light of the room. “And you always shall. Go to your chambers and put on your finest dress—the green one, I think. You will be called for.”
Without speaking further she walked to the door, then opened it and went through. Smiling, the blood stalker returned to the vial, tasting the fluid. At last he dressed, also donning the golden wizard’s dagger that been owned by Wigg so long ago.
Soon now, Wigg, Ragnar thought to himself. Soon.
“They are close,” Nicholas said softly, his dark blue, uptilted eyes registering a smile. “Both the lead wizard and the Chosen One. I can already feel the pestilence of their blood. I have seen to it that each of them is unconscious, and that fits our needs perfectly.”
Nicholas was wearing his simple white robe, sitting in one of three highly polished marble thrones of the deepest blue. The azure glow radiating from him flooded the stone chamber, overpowering any light from the large oil chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. The room was sumptuous, the floor and ceiling of palest green marble.
Ragnar gazed at the young man. Nicholas had grown again since Ragnar had last seen him. He now appeared to be at least fifteen Seasons of New Life. His dark, shiny black hair fell to his shoulders, and his high cheekbones, exotic eyes, and firm jaw were becoming more reminiscent of his parents with each passing day.
Beside him, on a white marble altar, sat the Tome, its pages open.
Why would he bring the book here? Ragnar wondered. Surely he cannot want the wizard and the Chosen One to have it.
“Oh, but I do,” Nicholas said softly. “I wish the wizard and the Chosen One to take the Tome with them. It is, after all, what they came for. It seems the least we can do.” He smiled.
“And for reasons beyond your simple understanding, the Tome is now of more use to us in their hands than in ours,” the young man continued. “Besides, I have already read it. I told you not long ago that I would eventually have need for neither the Tome nor the Paragon, that ridiculous bauble of jewelry they all prize so highly. I already no longer need the book. And soon the stone will have no significance for me, either.”
Ragnar and Scrounge were stunned. They looked at each other and then back at the young man in the throne.
“I do not understand,” Ragnar said. “Will the Tome not help them?”
“Nothing can help them now,” Nicholas answered. “The wheels have been set into motion, and there is no return—for any of us.”
Ragnar turned to look at the great book. Covered with shiny, finely tooled white leather, its pages gilt-edged, the Tome of the Paragon was so enormous that it would have taken at least two strong men to carry it. The weakened wizard and prince would never be able to do it—Ragnar was sure of it. More puzzled than ever, he turned his attention back to Nicholas.
“Do not worry about how they are to carry the Tome back with them,” Nicholas said from his throne. “I will employ a secret method of transportation for the book. Do not be alarmed when this happens. Wigg will surely recognize the incantation for what it is, and believe that it was you who accomplished it. They will be skeptical, of course, that you wish them to have it. But in the end they will take the book—of that you can be sure. I will be in hiding, but within earshot. For I do not yet wish to reveal myself to the Chosen One.” Nicholas’ eyes narrowed; his lips turned up in a sneer. “That will come later, at a more opportune time. But I do wish to hear the voice of the one who dares call himself my father.”
Ragnar stood silently, wondering what the young man had planned.
“Both the wizard and the Chosen One have been bled by my wraiths,” Nicholas added. “Although their strength will eventually return, they will be of no immediate danger to you. In addition, a chalice of the prince’s blood is being brought here with them. It is to be taken to your quarters for safekeeping until such time as I shall call for it.” He lowered his head slightly, leaning forward to look into the stalker’s mutated face. “The azure blood of the Chosen One is of the utmost importance. You are to guard it with your life. Should one drop be spilled, your existence is forfeit. Slowly and painfully.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ragnar said nervously.
Nicholas sat back in his throne. “In addition, there are other things you must know before the arrival of the wizard and the prince,” he went on. “First of all, the hatchlings that bring them he
re are not like the ones you are accustomed to. These are representative of the second generation of my work, and are capable of both thought and speech. In addition, these hatchlings carry weapons. These are but three of the developing birds you witnessed that day in the catacombs, all of which are now fully mature. They number in the tens of thousands and gather in camps to the north, awaiting my command. Do not be alarmed at the appearance of these three hatchlings, for they are both your allies and your servants.” Ragnar and Scrounge shook their heads in wonder.
Why would he need that many hatchlings, the assassin wondered, when the consuls are so close to being completely taken? And why does he need the consuls at all?
“I need the hatchlings because there is to be a great conflict,” Nicholas whispered, startling the assassin. “In the firmament, as well as upon the land. The Tome ordains it, but makes no mention of its outcome. It is this, coupled with my plans for the Chosen One, that give us the opportunity to reshape the Prophecies to our liking.” He paused for a moment, thinking, his eyes glistening with the power of the craft. “But the reasons for my capture of the consuls are mine, to be revealed to you only at the proper time.”
“My lord, may I ask a question?” Ragnar asked.
Nicholas nodded silently. “You are about to ask me of the azure vein that runs so brightly through the walls of this place, are you not?”
“Yes, my lord,” Ragnar answered.
“To this I will deign to respond, for the wizard Wigg will have already witnessed it, and will no doubt have discerned the answer for himself. The power you see within the vein is coming from the Paragon itself. Its entire dynamism is being transferred to this place, to be stored. It is slowly being imparted into me a little at a time—for even I cannot absorb all of its majesty at once. Think of it, if your feeble mind will allow. The stone, which empowers all of those trained in the craft, is now instilling its power into just one being. Myself. As I once told you, I shall eventually have no need for the Paragon. For the Paragon, as it were, will be inside me. Within my blood, and mine alone.” Nicholas paused for a moment, letting the import of his words sink in.
“This draining of the stone is the reason for my rapidly advancing growth and wisdom,” he continued softly. “My reading of the Tome has enhanced this process, and was one of the reasons I took refuge here, below ground. I will eventually have unquestionable authority over the craft, both the Vigors and the Vagaries, at the same time leaving all the other endowed of Eutracia quite powerless. As this occurs, the stone slowly dies. Wigg will believe Ragnar to be the cause. He will have many questions, some of which it will be to our advantage to answer.
“Taking the power of the stone for myself is not the ultimate goal, just one more step in the total endeavor,” Nicholas went on. “There is still so much you do not know. But you eventually shall.”
“Will I therefore not also begin to lose my powers as the stone fades?” Ragnar asked nervously. “For my abilities of the craft are tied to the stone as well. I have already felt a minuscule loss in my powers, but could not imagine the cause.”
“Have no fear in that regard,” Nicholas answered. “For reasons you do not yet understand, I have chosen you as my servant. And as my servant, you shall retain your powers.”
Smiling, Nicholas closed his eyes for a moment. “Your woman,” he asked Ragnar. “She will of course attend?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And she is still completely unaware of my existence?”
“Again, yes.”
“Good,” Nicholas said, his eyes still closed. “I have approved of the revenge you have planned for the wizard. I find it uniquely fitting. And Scrounge knows of my personal instructions regarding the prince. But it is ironic, don’t you agree, that your woman should be included here today? I can think of no better revenge than that which you are already taking. And still they will have no concept of its importance. Nor will they after they have left us, and you continue to take her. A true treat for the body as well as the mind, is it not?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Ragnar smiled wickedly. He again touched the never-healing wound at the side of his head. Soon, Wigg, he thought. Soon you will stand before me. And I will have my revenge.
Turning his head, Nicholas smiled. “I can sense they are near,” he said quietly. “Make ready.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-three
They’re back!” Shailiha exclaimed happily to Faegan. “They have reached the last portal!”
They were together on the balcony, watching as a veritable cloud of giant butterflies circled the large, black marble door at the bottom of the atrium.
“Well done, my dear,” the wizard said, and he meant it. Closing his eyes, he commanded the massive black door to open, and the twelve handpicked fliers shot into the great room in a stream of rainbow colors. Quickly he caused the door to close again, sealing the atrium from the tunnel that led to the outside world.
“Bring them up,” he said quietly to the princess.
Shailiha looked down to the fliers. Almost immediately the squadron of special butterflies soared to the brass rail at her left and perched there quietly, the twenty-four beautiful, diaphanous wings opening and closing silently.
She has done it! Faegan thought, amazed. She has successfully sent her first group of fliers out of the Redoubt. And they have returned at her command, finding their way back through the tunnels perfectly.
He had not yet explained to Shailiha his suspicions that her power was the result of an Incantation of Forestallment. He needed more time to absorb all the information contained in the long, detailed scroll that had been left by Egloff: Consummate recollection, unfortunately, did not automatically grant consummate understanding. He was quite aware of the fact that Forestallments had heretofore only been the stuff of myth and legend, and to put such a concept before Wigg and the others required that he be absolutely sure.
But he was becoming more convinced by the moment that this was the result of an event-activated Forestallment, rather than a time-activated one. And the more he saw her with them, the more convinced of it he became. He postulated that it had been the princess’ first physical contact with the butterflies that had initiated it. Even she did not know how it was that she had suddenly been able to do such a thing. To the wizard, this provided even more evidence for his theory. And he now also had a very good idea who had created the forestallment.
The second reason that he had not yet discussed his theories with the princess was because he preferred to explain his discovery to everyone at once. He would therefore wait until the prince and wizard returned to the Redoubt with the Tome of the Paragon. If indeed they ever return, he thought worriedly.
Tristan and Wigg had already been gone too long. It should not have taken them so much time to retrieve the Tome and come back to the Redoubt unless they were in trouble, and the likelihood of just such an occurrence increased with every moment. Given the immense power of whoever was draining the Paragon, he shuddered to think of the forces they might be up against.
With a scowl, he reached down and gathered his robe more closely about his feet, as if by doing so he might also be able to cover up his shame at not succeeding in healing his own legs of the damage done to them by the Coven. If he’d had the use of his legs, he’d have gone with Wigg and Tristan, and perhaps they all would have been there and back again by now.
Still, he was determined to move ahead where he could. He had spent the last two days hurriedly trying to explore the inner workings of Shailiha’s amazing talents with the fliers, yet explaining relatively little to her. Much to his delight, her progress had been dramatic. She no longer trembled or perspired when bonding with the butterflies, and her ability to communicate with them seemed to improve with every moment.
To his mind this had become vital, for there was no one else left in the Redoubt to do his reconnoitering for him. Joshua and Geldon had not yet returned from their trip to Parthalon. And although he had not expres
sed his concerns to the princess, to his mind Tristan and Wigg should now be presumed missing.
Shannon had returned with the horses, and had also told him of their seeing Scrounge, the captured consuls, and the hatchlings. But despite Shannon’s loyalty, the wizard still dared not use the gnome as his other pair of eyes. The appearance of a gnome among the already frightened population could cause more potential harm than good.
The fliers were now the only choice the wizard had to discover what was happening in the world above, and he felt it imperative he teach both the butterflies and the princess how to exit and enter the Redoubt on their own.
As if reading his mind, Shailiha asked, “How is it that the butterflies are able to move the boulder that guards the end of the tunnel, and release themselves into the outside world?” As her talents with the fliers had progressed, so had her thirst for knowledge.
Faegan smiled. “Wigg and I had to change the spells on the boulders and the radiance stones so that they can now be empowered without the aid of endowed blood. We are not altogether happy about it, but it had to be in case one of the unendowed now living here needed quick entrance or exit.” He looked down at the butterflies as they chased happily around the great room. “The fliers need only to touch the roof of the tunnel to enact the radiance stones, and again touch the boulder that hides the entrance to the other end to open the exit. Just as Geldon does when he goes into town. It is only the large black door at the bottom of the aviary that they fliers cannot move by their own powers. I insisted on that for reasons of security when I constructed the aviary. I was in the process of teaching them how to enter and exit the end of the tunnel by themselves when we first became acquainted with your particular abilities.
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