Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

Almost immediately his coughing began.

This time it was far worse than Wulfgar had ever seen. Krassus leaned weakly against the short balcony wall as his hacking went on in great, uncontrollable spasms. Finally, after what seemed forever, it abated.

Krassus turned around to face them again. His chin and the front of his blue-and-gray robe were covered with blood. Concerned, Wulfgar reached out to steady him, but Krassus waved him away.

"Do not be concerned for me," he said hoarsely as he produced a rag from his robes and began to clean himself. "As far as my existence in this lesser world is concerned, all is as my master said it would be. This malady I am stricken with-my fatal gift from Nicholas-will soon completely overtake me. I estimate that I have scant time remaining before you two are left here without me, to accomplish all that has been ordained by the son of the Chosen One. Only two duties remain for me now before I go to the Afterlife: to secure the Scroll of the Vigors, and to instruct you in your mission." Letting go another short cough, he slowly turned back toward the sea.

"Grizelda and Janus remain unheard from, however," he said softly, the concern showing in his voice. "But even if they already had the scroll, it would take them fifteen days to return it to us. Therefore, we shall use the time wisely." When he turned back to them, it seemed he had regained a bit of his strength. He smiled and looked to Wulfgar.

"First I suggest you show your new queen the wonders of this place," he said. "She will be seeing it all as if for the first time, and there is much to learn about its workings. After you have finished, please join me in my private quarters for dinner, and we will begin the first of our discussions regarding your futures. Tonight, finally, you are to learn why you have been brought here, and why all of this has come about."

Looking across the room, Krassus pointed one hand at the still-hovering Scroll of the Vagaries. It stopped glowing and then rolled itself up. As soon as it finished collecting itself, the familiar golden band with the Old Eutracian engraving rose from a nearby table and floated across to slide down over one end of the scroll. Then the bound scroll flew across the room into the wizard's arms.

Satisfied, Krassus gave them both a short bow. "As I said, the Citadel, and everything in it, is now at your beck and call. Until later." Without further ado, he walked slowly from the room.

After the wizard had left, Wulfgar took Serena's hand. "We shall take Krassus up on his suggestion." Looking into her eyes, he could see that they were alight with curiosity, just as his had been after Krassus had finally turned him to the Vagaries and first shown him the true wonders of this place.

"Come with me," he said gently. He ran the back of his fingers down one of her cheeks. "There is much to show you." Leading her from the stark Scriptorium, he took her down a flight of stairs.

Arm in arm, they walked for a long time. As they went, they would occasionally come across armed demonslavers who bowed deeply to them. The same was true of the blue-robed consuls they passed. Wulfgar would often stop to talk to them. Without exception, they seemed honored to be in his presence.

But it was far more than that, she thought, as she walked beside her powerful lord. The entire Citadel seemed different to her. It was far more alive, more beautiful, and more comforting then she remembered. On the surface, at least, it now seemed a wondrous, enchanting place. Or perhaps it was only she who had truly changed; she didn't know. Regardless, the fortress was a wondrous sight to behold.

Rather than being constructed of marble or brick, the entire Citadel had been hewn from the gray rock that comprised much of the island. It looked quite ancient. It was as if the workers of so long ago had started at the top of a great stone mountain rising up from the sea and then chiseled away what they didn't want, to reveal this massive collection of walls and buildings.

The island itself was angular, and much larger than the area upon which the Citadel stood. A wide spit of fertile land reached its way east from one end, stabbing its long finger out into the Sea of Whispers. This was where the crops were grown, and where the livestock was bred, tended, and eventually butchered for food. Wells dotted the island, supplying fresh water.

The exterior of the fortress was dark and foreboding. It completely belied the beautiful, graceful nature of its interior rooms, columns, and halls, most of which were constructed of elegant colored marble. Taken as a whole, the Citadel gave one the impression of a great, self-sufficient city. Pilastered, crenellated walls surrounded the entire fortress, protecting both the inner ward and the various central buildings. A single portcullis granted access to the outside.

The interior of the Citadel was made up of many keeps, towers, and other structures, most of them hundreds of feet tall and adorned with leaded stained-glass windows that could be swung open to the sea. Elegant catwalks extending from balconies connected many of the towers to one another. The inner ward surrounding them held magnificently manicured gardens complete with stone walkways. Magnificent, illuminated fountains danced both day and night.

In the center, rising above everything else around it, stood a tall spire. Within its center was a circular stairway leading to the top. At its peak there was a broad, exposed walkway that completely encircled it. From here, demonslaver guards could see many leagues out over the Sea of Whispers in any direction. A warning bell was attached to the spire wall, waiting to be rung.

Demonslaver warships patrolled the surrounding sea constantly, their graceful, white sails full as they caught not only the wind, but also the last rays of the setting sun. Many more lay peacefully, sails furled, at anchor just offshore. So many, in fact, that their numbers virtually filled the waters surrounding the island.

The sight of so many vessels brought reassurance to her heart. But they also brought more questions, as well. As she and Wulfgar walked along one of the many torchlit porticos lining the gardens, Serena found she could no longer contain her curiosity.

"Tell me, my lord," she asked him. "Who are the demonslavers that serve us? Where do they come from?"

Wulfgar smiled. After he had been turned to the Vagaries, this had been one of the first questions he had asked Krassus. The answer had both surprised and delighted him.

"The demonslavers serve us in much the same way the Minions of Day and Night serve our enemies, the Chosen Ones," he explained. "Krassus has told me of the Minions. He explained how they were first brought into existence by Failee, the late wife of Wigg, the lead wizard. And how Tristan came to become their current lord and master. While it is true that our demonslavers cannot fly, they are at the very least just as ruthless and loyal."

Wulfgar finally stopped before a pair of double doors. "But before I answer your question about the demonslavers, there is first something I wish to show you," he said.

Pointing one hand to the doors, he caused them to open. He then took Serena by the hand and led her into the room. As he did, some of Krassus' words of explanation came back to him.

Despite her transformation, she would retain all of her former memories, Krassus had told him. Just as he and the many others over the centuries who had been so blessed as to have tasted the joy of the Vagaries did. And if she truly became one of us, the wizard had gone on to say, she would love only the Vagaries and those practitioners equally devoted to its cause. Just as the Heretics of the Guild meant it to be.

As they entered the room, he carefully watched her face.

They were standing in the room that held the R'talis slaves-the same stark prison in which Janus had once forced Serena to take her meals, in plain view of the poor unfortunates starving before her. The chamber was illuminated by many bright wall torches, their shadows crisscrossing the beige marble walls. Even the magnificent table and chair she had been forced to sit at was still here, complete with its tablecloth, elaborate setting for one, and matching gold candlesticks.