Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

Raising one arm, he commanded the Tome to come to him. It rose into the air and floated across the room to come to rest on the table. Narrowing his eyes, he employed the craft to open it to a particular section of the text. Then he looked back up at the lead wizard.

"Tell me," he asked Wigg, "have you ever heard of the Chambers of Penitence?"

"No," Wigg answered skeptically. "What are you talking about?"

"At first I did not remember the phrase either," Faegan replied. "But when I used my gift of Consummate Recollection to scan the Tome for the words 'herbs' and 'oils,' a strange thing happened. I also kept seeing the words 'Chambers of Penitence' in my mind. Not just once, mind you, but over and over again, until they started to crowd everything else out. It was as if the Tome was desperately trying to tell me something. Heretofore the text had only been a silent, static entity. But now it was as if it had suddenly come alive, just as the Paragon has its own otherworldly form of existence. It was astounding. So I decided to actually read the pages, rather than simply rely on my memory. And when I did, further references to these chambers kept popping up, taking me to other related pages in the text. And after crisscrossing back and forth in the text this way, I was finally led here, to a specific volume of the Vigors. By itself, the passage would be confusing. But now, after having been led here from its many sources, the meaning is becoming more clear."

"And just what does the passage say?" Wigg asked.

Faegan looked down at the page. " '… And there shall be discovered many Chambers of Penitence, which shall both help to guide their way in the craft, and also ensure the existence of the Vigors. Each chamber shall be different in its secrets than the last, but each shall reveal aspects of the craft so complex that they must be hidden within the earth. But be forewarned, for the psychic price of such knowledge shall be dear, perhaps even mortal.' "

Faegan looked up from the great book. "Do you see?" he asked excitedly.

Wigg leaned forward, intensely interested.

"Let me show you," Faegan went on. Narrowing his eyes again, he commanded more of the pages to turn to another part of the text. Running his finger down the page, he finally found what he was looking for.

" 'If it be of the herbs and oils of the craft that one seeks guidance, it shall be found in one of the Chambers of Penitence. Within the chamber they shall find the Floating Gardens of the Craft, eternally guarded by the watchwoman of the waters. But the cost of such knowledge shall be dear indeed, and it should be searched out only in times of great distress, for the risk is great. At the base of the Woman of Stone, one shall begin to find the answers. But only with the help of the Paragon, for it alone shall light the way.' "

"The Woman of Stone?" Celeste asked. "What is that?"

"The Woman of Stone is a rock formation on the coast, not too far from here," Wigg answered, rubbing his chin. "Over time, the waves have carved the profile of a woman into the rock wall overlooking the Sea of Whispers. It has supposedly existed for eons. Long enough, it would now appear, for the Ones Who Came Before to know of it as well, and use her as a landmark by which to leave one of these so-called Chambers of Penitence." Pausing for a moment, he looked back over to Faegan.

"But what of these floating gardens?" he asked. "And who is this watchwoman who is supposedly eternally guarding them? And what does the Tome mean by the 'psychic price to be paid'?"

"We won't know until we go there, will we?" Faegan cackled. His expression and posture reminded Wigg that nothing so entranced his old friend as an unexplained secret of the craft, especially if he was the only one to possess the answer.

"I think we should depart first thing in the morning," Faegan added.

Wigg looked over to Abbey to see a hint of disappointment in her eyes. It seemed they would be separated again, after all. Then he looked back at Faegan and sighed.

He hoped the master wizard was right.

Twenty-four

R aising his sword high, Tristan narrowly parried the sharp strike from the demonslaver's blade. The guard had rushed from the deck above to confront him, even before he had ascended the last two steps of the stairway.

Struggling against the ceaseless blows, he somehow made it topside and gained some badly needed maneuvering room. As his opponent raised his sword yet again, Tristan finally sensed an opening. Sliding in on the balls of his feet, he swung the blade around in a flat, perfect circle. The tip of the sword sliced the slaver's abdomen open, and the monster fell to the deck.

Trying to ignore the desperate pain in his back, Tristan stole a precious moment to get his bearings. There were five ships involved in the struggle. The Wayfarer and the Stalwart lay next to one another in the water. Two of the still-unidentified frigates flanked them. The third lay before their bows. The three mysterious frigates had employed heavy grappling hooks to pull all the ships together and hold them there. There was nothing for the monsters to do but stand and fight. All five of the vessels' decks swarmed with combatants.

Many of the slave ships' sails were torn and hanging down, while their masts had fallen, shattered, to the decks. Rigging lay everywhere, making fighting all the more difficult. Small fires had broken out here and there, dark smoke rising to blur vision.

Suddenly Tristan realized what was wrong about it all.

There were no Minion warriors about. Not a single one. The fighters who were struggling alongside him and his fellow slaves seemed to be a ragtag, unorganized lot at best. Each of them fought with skill and abandon, as if every moment were his last. They seemed to have precious little fear of the demonslavers, and relished killing them, almost as if they all had personal scores to settle. Amid the blood, the screaming, and the clashing of weapons, Tristan found himself stunned and confused.

A trident came whistling through the air, to bury itself directly beside his head in the thick mast that stood just behind him. Instinctively he reached behind his right shoulder to grasp one of his throwing knives, only to remember that they weren't there.

Cursing, he finally saw the demonslaver that had thrown the trident. He stood a little way across the bloody deck, glaring at him. Sword in hand, the monster smiled and nastily beckoned the prince forward.

On impulse, Tristan raised his sword high and ran toward the slaver across the slippery deck. As he neared, though, he caught a glimpse of yet another slaver running around the corner of the wheelhouse, and realized he was trapped. Tristan knew he couldn't possibly take them both-especially without his usual weapons at his command. So he kept going for all he was worth, intent on cutting down at least the first of them.

Holding his blade in a one-handed grip straight out before him, Tristan ran in and roughly pushed the slaver's sword arm to one side with his free hand. Then he plunged the point of his sword directly into the demonslaver's throat. He turned the edge of the blade sharply, then raised one foot and pushed the body off his sword. Blood rushed from the slaver's neck as he fell to the deck.

Tristan turned around as fast as he could to face the one rushing up behind him. If he died this day, so be it-at least he would have the satisfaction of knowing that he had taken several more of the awful demonslavers to their graves with him. But what he saw surprised him.

A great bear of a man had come up behind the other slaver and taken it around the neck with one of his huge arms. The man's other arm was pushing on the back of the demonslaver's head, forcing it down and forward. Suddenly the man gave the slaver's head another forceful shove downward, and Tristan heard the neck snap like a dry tree branch. Then the giant picked up the dead body and threw it a good five meters across the deck, as if it weighed nothing. Tristan couldn't help but stand speechless for a moment, looking into the eyes of the fighter who had just saved his life.