Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

He craned his neck to look at the brand on his left shoulder and was heartened to see that it had almost completely healed. He shook his head again at the insanity of it all. It had taken him three days of twice-daily bathing before he had felt truly free of the filth and stink of the ship's hold. But he would never be free of the bizarre brand.

As he continued to stare out over the ocean, his thoughts turned to Eutracia, and to the royal family. Most people believed the king and queen to be dead, along with the Directorate of Wizards. It was widely rumored that they had perished in the royal palace on Prince Tristan's coronation day. Some even said that the king had died at the prince's own hand.

Questions about the survival of the royal twins had stubbornly remained. But if they lived, as so many people thought, why weren't they coming to the aid of their citizens?

No one seemed to know. But if the other rumors were indeed true about the winged ones that had come and murdered both the royal family and the entire Royal Guard, then perhaps even Tristan and Shailiha could do little to stem the tide of the slavers-especially without the powers of the Directorate to help them.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bolt sliding, and the double doors of his bedroom swung open. Breakfast time.

Two demonslavers entered, swords drawn. A third slaver pushed the now-familiar silver cart loaded with food and drink into the room. Then, unexpectedly, two other persons came through the door. Wulfgar stood quickly and came in from the balcony.

Janus stood there proudly, dressed in his usual flagrant clothes. The twin iron spheres dangling, as always, from his right hip clanked together menacingly as he walked. The dark eyes surrounded by the red, painted mask surveyed the room cautiously.

Beside him stood a woman. Janus roughly shoved her forward, as though displaying her for Wulfgar's approval.

She was beautiful. Tall and shapely, she wore her long, brunette hair in ringlets that twirled down to her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, and bright blue. A magnificent yellow taffeta gown trimmed with white lace draped gracefully from her bare shoulders to the floor, the hem just reaching the tops of her matching silk slippers. On her left shoulder was an angry, healing brand: R'talis.

As Janus took a few steps closer, Wulfgar cringed. Janus looked Wulfgar up and down, and then nodded his approval.

"You clean up nicely," he cooed. "A vast improvement over that day at the docks, I must say."

Without looking around, he raised one hand and snapped his fingers. The two demonslavers immediately grabbed the woman and tossed her onto the four-poster bed as though she were a toy. Surprisingly unafraid, she glared back at them with hate in her eyes.

"As you might have already guessed, she's for you," Janus said calmly, as if he were giving Wulfgar a birthday gift. "R'talis, of course. Nothing but the best for our honored guest. She pleases the eye, does she not? After four days of boredom, I thought you could use some 'companionship.' In any event, do with her as you will."

Wulfgar turned to look at the beauty on the bed, then looked back at Janus. "I don't know how to thank you," he said sarcastically.

"Think nothing of it," Janus answered. "There are many more where she came from, should she displease you."

He removed his gold snuffbox from a pocket of his doublet and snorted a pinch up one nostril. An explosive sneeze followed. He looked Wulfgar up and down another time, then cast his masked eyes back to the woman on the bed.

"Why am I here?" Wulfgar demanded. "What is this place? And why have I been granted such special treatment?"

Janus sighed. "I often forget how truly uneducated you are," he said softly. "No matter. As soon as Krassus arrives, he will help you overcome your handicap. He is due to arrive in a matter of days. Then we will see just how strong you really are."

"What is this place?" Wulfgar asked again.

"As I told everyone that day on the pier, you are on an island. It is a very special place. It has existed secretly for eons, under one master of the Vagaries or another. Even the Wizards of the Directorate did not know of it. It is called the Citadel, and for good reason."

Wulfgar had no idea what Janus was talking about. He seized on the one idea that made sense. "No one can sail farther than fifteen days into the Sea of Whispers," he countered. "How do you manage it?"

"Yet another secret you shall eventually learn," Janus answered. "But, as I already said, Krassus is the one best suited to answer your inquiries. He will be most delighted to learn that you are finally here. We have been looking for you for some time. Others have searched even longer."

"Why?" Wulfgar demanded. "I don't even know this Krassus. He's nothing to me. Why should he care about my welfare?"

"He cares because of an oath he swore to one of your distant relatives just before the man's unfortunate demise," Janus answered. It was clear that he was enjoying his riddle.

"Ironically, he was murdered by yet another of your relatives. But you wouldn't know about that yet, would you?"

"That's impossible!" Wulfgar snarled. "My relatives are not murderers!"

Janus shook his head knowingly. "Oh, but they are," he answered. "Yet another fact you will soon be forced to deal with."

He snapped his fingers again. From a shelf beneath the food cart, one of the slavers produced an hourglass and handed it to his master. Janus looked first to the woman on the bed, and then back to Wulfgar. He turned the hourglass over and placed it on a nearby table.

"You have one hour to do all you would like to this woman," he said nastily. "Then we shall come back for her. Should she not please you, tell me when I return, and I will see to it that she is appropriately punished. As I said, nothing is too good for our very special guest." The painted monster smiled again.

"And now I must bid you good-bye," he said. "Enjoy her, Wulfgar," he added. "I must say I envy you." He gave them both a short, sarcastic bow.

With that he turned and walked purposefully out of the room, the twin spheres at his side clinking together ominously, the demonslavers behind him. As the massive marble doors closed with a decisive thud, Wulfgar heard the bolt slide into place on the other side.

Turning, he looked at the beautiful woman on the bed.

Twelve

"Y ou had best be successful this time, Grizelda," Krassus said sternly. "I am growing tired of your failures."

Swaying on her knees, the haggard herbmistress looked up at Krassus. As she did, her stomach lurched again.

She had been seasick for the last four days, and even a dose of nerveweed had not helped. But she was not too ill to understand that the next few moments could mean either the continuance of her life, or a torturous death at the hands of the wizard, should she displease him.

After vomiting into the nearby bucket for what seemed the thousandth time, she slowly wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her tattered robe. Regaining her composure, she surveyed the shifting deck of the Sojourner, her lord's flagship, as she made her way east across the Sea of Whispers. Alabaster-skinned demonslavers hurried about their duties, crewing the ship and keeping the hundreds of slaves chained belowdecks under tight control. Sojourner's bright, white sails were full, and seawater occasionally splashed up over her decks as she pitched up and down in the restless sea. Two other frigates, the Wayfarer and the Stalwart, followed in her wake.

After the herbs and potions Krassus and Grizelda had stolen from Abbey's cottage had been loaded aboard, the three ships had departed Farpoint. They were making good time running before the steady, westerly winds.