Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

Serena slowly walked toward the cages. Many of the captives started shouting insults at her and waving their arms with rage. By now, most of them were little more than skin and bones.

But something was different now, Serena realized. Both Talis and R'talis slaves were here, and the cages were no longer filled to overflowing.

Wulfgar watched Serena as she left the slaves and walked the short distance over to the table. She ran her fingers over the fine gold plates and utensils as if she loved them, revered them. Then she looked back at the slaves.

This time, instead of weeping for the slaves' plight as she had done in previous days, she only smiled. As Wulfgar came closer to her, he realized that the Vagaries swirling in her blood had truly become a part of her soul. He and Krassus had succeeded, he realized. He took her hand.

"And now that you see the world for what it truly is, what say you, my love?" he asked.

Serena nodded slowly. "These puny, untrained beings, many of whom do not even have endowed blood, mean nothing to me," she told him. "I see now that they are no more than human resources for us to mine. Indeed, if my lord would allow it, I would like to once again take some of my meals here, if for no other reason than to see the looks on their faces. It should prove most entertaining. Do you think you could let me do that, my love?"

Wulfgar smiled. "Of course," he answered. "But it may not be possible. The sand in the hourglass of their lives is running short."

"I don't understand," she said.

Taking her by the hand, Wulfgar led her to a door on the other side of the room. As they walked through it, Serena felt an intense, searing heat blast over her, and charred, dense air came suddenly to her nostrils.

The demonslaver forges were still in use, but would not remain so much longer. The slaves, dressed only in their soiled, torn loincloths, worked tirelessly, forging the instruments of sudden death that Wulfgar's demonslavers would soon use in the service of their master. The incessant clanging of the slaves' hammers and the stale, telltale smell of human sweat filled the smoky air. The orange-red coals in the hearths glowed brightly, casting an ocherous aura over everything in the room.

As they walked purposefully through the chamber, the demonslaver guards there bowed obediently. Then Serena noticed one slave whose hands were tied behind his back. She stopped to look at him. He seemed to be supervising the others as they fashioned the various weapons. Curious, she turned to Wulfgar.

"And what of this one?" she asked. "Should he not also toil in the service of his lord?"

"A troublemaker, nothing more," Wulfgar answered. "They tell me his number is twenty-nine. He will soon be dealt with, as shall all of the others here in this chamber."

When Twenty-Nine finally saw Wulfgar, he immediately recognized him as the same man he had stood next to on the docks the day they first disembarked. Seeing the slavers bow to the man, Twenty-Nine realized that he and the woman he was with had somehow become of great importance here.

Knowing he was risking his life, he brazenly hurried over to Wulfgar. The slavers reacted immediately, grabbing him and roughly pushing him to the dirt at Wulfgar's feet. With a shiny trident pressing into his back, he could raise his face only enough to look up into his new master's eyes. Wulfgar was intrigued by the slave's wanton display of insolence.

"You know me!" Twenty-Nine pleaded hoarsely. "In the name of the Afterlife, tell these monsters that you know me! We were together at the docks! You looked into my eyes! Don't you remember? Why don't you help us?" His words trailed away as the three sharp tips of the trident lightly punctured the skin of his naked back.

After emotionlessly examining Twenty-Nine's face, Wulfgar looked back up at the slavers. "I have seen him before," he answered coldly. "But I don't care for his welfare. When this group has finally finished their labors and you are ready to dispense with them, bring this one to me. I want him to be one of the forty." The slaver holding the trident to Twenty-Nine's back smiled wickedly and nodded.

"The 'forty'?" Serena asked quizzically.

Wulfgar smiled. "You will understand soon enough," he answered, and he guided her to the doorway at the far end of the room. Without looking back, Serena followed him through.

The next room lay some distance below where they were standing, and it was very large, its brightness in direct contrast to the room they had just left. Like the Scriptorium, this chamber was also littered with white marble tables. The walls and floor of the room were constructed of a very pale green marble, and the many ornate stained-glass windows in its walls lay open to the night. The breeze coming off the ocean filled the air with a cool, welcoming scent.

Consuls were busy at work here. A great pile of what seemed to be demonslaver clothing lay unexplained in one corner of the room, with several slavers standing next to it. Taking her by the hand, Wulfgar led Serena down to the shiny green floor via a long, curved series of steps.

Then a door opened in the wall to their left, and a large, menacing squad of slavers began roughly herding a group of terrified slaves into the room. Nine-tails cracked out in the air, and shiny tridents and swords poked and prodded the unfortunate captives as they moved haltingly along.

Serena recognized some of them as those who had shouted insults at her in the room of cages. As she looked at them, she smiled. They didn't seem so arrogant just now. She wondered what Wulfgar had meant about the sand in the hourglass of their lives growing short.

Wulfgar snapped his fingers, and slavers immediately brought over two luxuriously upholstered red velvet chairs. Motioning to Serena, Wulfgar bade her sit in one, and he took the other. Then two more slavers appeared, bearing goblets of red wine that they offered to their lord and lady. Wulfgar tipped his glass in Serena's honor and took a sip. After joining him in the excellent wine, his queen turned her attention back to the helpless slaves being paraded before her.

The group contained both men and women, and the brands on their shoulders told her that they were a mixed group of endowed and unendowed blood. As the slavers began pushing them toward the marble tables, the confused slaves cried out frantically in terror. Blatantly ignoring their wailing, the slavers began hoisting them up onto the tables and tying them down. The consuls, silent and foreboding in their dark blue robes, carefully watched the proceedings unfold.

When all of the slaves were secured, one of the consuls walked forward to stand obediently before Wulfgar. Lowering the hood of his robe, he looked up into the commanding, hazel eyes of his new master.

Smiling back at the consul, Wulfgar nodded. The consul turned to face the rows of tables. Then Wulfgar's servant bowed his head and raised his arms.

The torches in the room began to dim, their light slowly replaced by the azure glow of the craft. As the glow encompassed the entire room, Serena heard soft tearing sounds that gradually became louder and louder. As the unusual noise increased, so did the screaming of the slaves, the two disparate sounds combining to create a bizarre chorus of anguish. Smiling, the consul standing before them lowered his hands and calmly placed them into the opposite sleeves of his robe.

Then Serena realized what was happening. The twisted loincloths of the men and the simple, one-piece frocks worn by the women were being torn apart by the craft. They fell to the floor, leaving the terrified people on the marble tables naked, humiliatingly exposed.

The consul standing before Wulfgar and Serena turned back to look at Wulfgar. After taking another sip of wine, Wulfgar nodded. Returning to his work, the consul again raised his arms.