Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

The azure glow in the room increased to a brightness that almost made it difficult to keep one's eyes open. The slaves began to writhe painfully in their bonds and scream even louder. And then their transformations began.

First the color of their skin changed into the stark, blanched white so characteristic of demonslavers. Serena watched, her mouth agape, as the slaves' hair began to fall out, sliding from their skulls and bodies to drift down onto the various tabletops and the green marble floor.

Then, surprisingly, their genitalia began to disappear. The women's breasts flattened, coming to resemble those of the males. Gasping with disbelief, Serena realized that what she had long assumed about the demonslavers being male had not been true. They were asexual beings, made that way by the craft.

As she watched, the slaves' fingernails and toenails began to fall away, drifting silently to the floor. In their place talons emerged. Suddenly, still screaming and struggling against their bonds, they all closed their eyes. When they opened them again, their eyes had been replaced with the white, lifeless-looking orbs of the demonslavers. Then their muscles began to bulge, becoming hard and strong. Their ears lengthened to points, and as the victims twisted their mouths with agony, Serena could see that their teeth had become pointed and black.

The azure glow slowly faded, and the room became strangely quiet as the subjects on the tables finally stopped wailing and lay still, their metamorphosis complete.

Turning to look at Wulfgar's profile, Serena smiled. The creation of the demonslavers was ingenious, she thought. First the consuls of the Brotherhood had been turned, and now the Chosen One's subjects, as well-all aligned against them and their wizards.

"How is this possible?" she asked Wulfgar. She took another sip of wine.

"It has to do with something called Forestallments," he answered simply. "And they have to do with the craft. But for now, suffice it to say that the spells for the creation of the slavers were passed from Nicholas to Krassus, who will soon show you how to use your Forestallments, as I am now able to do." He ran a hand down her cheek. "And when that happens, my love, it is a wondrous moment of realization. Your blood will sing. I very much look forward to sharing that day with you." He leaned over and kissed her, then straightened again.

"And now that Krassus has found the particular Forestallment he wanted so badly, and has placed it into my blood signature, he is free to convert all of the remaining slaves, both Talis and R'talis alike, into demonslavers. We have nearly completed transforming them all. He also tells me that only I, of all the endowed beings in the world, carry this special Forestallment in my signature. In my heart I know this single Forestallment, more than any other, is the one upon which our struggle with the Chosen Ones shall soon turn, but he has yet to inform me of its nature. Perhaps tonight he shall."

Then the consul approached Wulfgar and bowed. Wulfgar nodded.

"Permission to continue, my lord?" the consul asked.

"Of course. When you are finished, you all may leave."

After a low bow, the consul returned to the tables. With a wave of his hand, the bindings holding the newly created demonslavers vanished. As they did, the beings sat up and came to stand on the floor. They were directed to the large pile of clothing in the far corner of the room, which they used to dress themselves. Then the newly minted slavers filed quietly out, presumably to take up the weapons that were still being constructed in the forge. The consuls and senior demonslavers followed in their wake, leaving Wulfgar and Serena alone in the great room.

Rising from his chair, Wulfgar walked over to one of the open stained-glass windows and looked out. Lost in thought, he took a deep breath and leaned against the window frame. The three rose-colored moons were up, and the sea below was calm.

Concerned for him, Serena stood and went to join him, linking her arm in his. "Tell me, my love," she asked, hoping to take his thoughts away from whatever was troubling him. "What is Krassus' part in all of this to be?"

Wulfgar took a deep breath. "For now, we still need him," he answered, his eyes still leveled on the Sea of Whispers. "But not for much longer. I believe Nicholas only meant for Krassus to be a tool, an instrument of victory as it were, rather than to preside over the victory himself. That is to be our task. As Krassus said himself, very soon now he will be dead. And when he is, we alone will be left to carry the battle to the Chosen Ones, and prevail against their practice of the Vigors."

He turned away from the window and looked around the deserted room. "Very soon now, all of the remaining slaves will have been transformed, and the struggle can begin. But what concerns me the most is that we are still not in possession of the other scroll. Nicholas and Krassus have deemed it important that we have them both in order to ensure our victory. And still I do not know why."

She could see the worry in his eyes. "Krassus asked us to join him for dinner, did he not?" she asked. "Perhaps tonight you will finally get the answers you seek."

Wulfgar nodded his silent agreement and escorted her from the room.

The walk back to Krassus' quarters was pleasant, and the new master and his pregnant queen talked of many things as they walked along, arm in arm. The Citadel was quiet now, the only sounds coming from the lighted fountains as they danced and played in the manicured gardens of the inner ward, and the quiet, careful footfalls of the demonslavers on patrol. Finally arriving at the door to Krassus' private quarters, Wulfgar knocked lightly once, then twice more.

An armed demonslaver let them in. Krassus was sitting alone at an elaborately decorated table, his back to them as he gazed thoughtfully out to sea. Enticing aromas drifted up from the sumptuously laid table.

Turning to look at Wulfgar and Serena, Krassus smiled. There was genuine admiration in his eyes for these two magnificent beings of the craft he had been so privileged to help create. Lifting one hand, he beckoned them nearer.

"Come in, my children," he said softly. "Sit with me this night, and we shall talk of the wondrous things to come."

As Wulfgar and Serena took their places at the table, the demonslaver bowed once more. Walking out the door, he closed it behind him and took up guard in the hall outside.

Fifty-three

"I still can't believe you're actually here!" Shailiha squealed happily to her brother for what seemed to him to be at least the hundredth time. She gave him yet another affectionate hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him and causing him to spill his wine. On the prince's other side sat an equally ecstatic Celeste, who had embraced him closely when he descended from the litter.

The hour was late, bordering on dawn, Tristan guessed, and he was tired beyond all measure. Still bloodied and exhausted from the recent fighting, he had already eaten several healthy portions of the gnome wives' wonderful cooking, washed down with a serious amount of red wine.

Not ones to stand on ceremony, Tyranny and Scars had done the same, Scars eating so much so quickly that the diminutive cooks had been forced to make five separate trips back and forth to the kitchens just for him. Of course the territorial little women had fussed worriedly over everything, but Tristan knew that deep down they were secretly delighted.

Looking around the massive oak meeting table in the Hall of Supplication, the prince realized what a disparate group of people had been gathered here. It included himself, Shailiha-with Morganna playing on the floor close by-Celeste, Abbey, Geldon, Wigg, Faegan, Tyranny, and Scars. Or, put another way, he thought wryly, the group consisted of a prince, a princess, an herbmistress, a hunchbacked dwarf from Parthalon, two irascible wizards, a three-hundred-year-old beauty, a female pirate captain, her giant first mate, a baby, and Faegan's blue cat, of course.