Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

He looked at the two slavers holding Twenty-Nine.

"From now on, his hands are to be bound behind his back at all times," he sneered. "Even when he is sleeping. The others shall hold the weapons for him to inspect. When it comes time for him to eat, one of you shall feed him." Then Janus turned to look at a door at the far end of the room. "As an added incentive to behave, I think we should show this one a bit more of what actually goes on here behind closed doors."

Janus sauntered to the heavy stone door and opened it. "Bring him," he said casually over his shoulder.

The slavers lifted Twenty-Nine and dragged him toward it on his toes. As the remaining slaves and demonslavers watched, the four of them went through. The door closed behind them.

Still dazed, held upright by the slavers, Twenty-Nine at first couldn't make out the scene before him. But he could hear the insane pleading and screaming well enough. It was coming from men and women alike, and never seemed to pause. As his vision swam into focus, he raised his head and looked.

The first thing he did was scream. Then warm urine ran uncontrollably down the insides of his thighs, forming a puddle at his feet.

Closing his eyes, Twenty-Nine tried desperately to free himself from the slavers and bolt for the door, but he was powerless in their grip. He began to tremble, and then to cry.

"Hold him!" Janus ordered. Removing an ornate dagger from his belt, he came to stand before Twenty-Nine and placed the cool, sharp tip of the blade to the blacksmith's throat. Cold sweat beaded on Twenty-Nine's forehead.

"Either look at what I brought you here to see, or join those in this room," Janus said softly, menacingly. "The same fate awaits you should you shirk your labors or try to take your life again. Do you understand?"

Twenty-Nine opened his eyes. As he did, the men in the dark blue robes he had seen at the docks looked calmly back at him from their slow, deliberate labors. Several of them smiled.

Another, even more terrified scream came from him, mixing with the others still echoing horrifically through the room.

Finally he could take no more. He felt his mind slipping, and he fainted away, hanging limply in the grasp of the demonslavers.

Smiling, Janus put away his knife.

Regret

Twenty-six

"Regret… such a simple, easy word to say. And yet-for so many of us-so difficult to dismiss from our memories. What other single word conjures up not only such sublime sorrow, but also the sweet, forlorn loss of what might have been? Act upon act, regret upon regret, turning with the time enchantments forever. Even so, it is not the wise man who casts away such memories, but rather the foolish one."

– FROM THE PERSONAL DIARIES OF WIGG, ONETIME LEAD WIZARD OF THE DIRECTORATE OF WIZARDS

"L ately I have noticed a distinct twinkle in your eye that I had not seen since my return to Tammerland," Faegan told Wigg wryly, with a wink and a smile as the Minion litter bounced them along through the sky. "My compliments, by the way. While it's true she and I have had our differences regarding the art of herbmastery, Abbey is certainly a lovely and intelligent woman. You're a very lucky man."

Wigg pursed his lips, then turned from the window to scowl at the wizard sitting across from him. The morning air was cold at this altitude, and Wigg defiantly thrust his hands into the sleeves of his robe to warm them. He hoped they would arrive at the coast soon.

Wigg had expected Faegan to bring up the subject of his relationship with Abbey long before this, especially given the way the other wizard loved to tease him. At least Faegan had chosen a private moment between them to broach the subject.

Sighing, Wigg pushed his tongue against the inside of one cheek. "Is it that obvious?" he asked back.

"Oh, yes," Faegan answered happily. "There is a boyish spring in your step and a recurring smile on your face that I have not seen for three centuries. The others may not notice, but I do."

"Abbey and I would very much like to leave the others uninformed. At least for the time being," Wigg said sternly. His face reddened uncharacteristically.

"I understand completely," Faegan said, smiling mischievously.

Shaking his head, Wigg gave a short, derisive snort and returned to watching the ribbon of the Sippora River snaking through the landscape far below.

They had been traveling for the better part of two hours and were very close to their destination. Their goal was to reach the coast by midday. Ox flew point a short distance ahead, while six other Minions carried the litter through the air and four more flew guard. The morning was bright, cold, and cloudless, and the lush greenery of the Eutracian landscape passed below them peacefully, belying the many troubles the nation still suffered.

Suddenly the litter banked to the left and began to lose altitude. Through the window, the jagged coastline could be seen, stony cliffs constantly bombarded by the froth-tipped waves of the Sea of Whispers.

Then Wigg finally saw it: the smooth formation of stone that legend said had been carved out by the restless sea. Shouting out to the Minions, he ordered them to fly up to it and hover just above the waves.

Both wizards gazed silently at the dark, majestic stone face. It was not a new sight for them-the Woman of Stone had long been an attraction of some note for Eutracian citizens-but no matter how many times one had seen it, viewing it was always an eerie, awe-inspiring experience. Especially now, given the revelation that the image before them apparently held far more secrets than anyone had previously imagined.

Wigg opened the door of the litter and stepped out into the air, using the craft to hover just above the waves by the imposing edifice. Faegan levitated his chair, exited the litter, and glided up alongside him. The roaring ocean below splashed constantly against the slick stone, and the sea wind pestered the wizards, snatching at their robes and hair. Looking up, Wigg beckoned to Ox to come lower.

"Order the litter to the cliffs, and wait for us there," he shouted against the sound of the sea. "There's no telling how long we might be. If the provisions in the litter run out, order some of the warriors back to the palace for more, or hunt for what you need. But I want at least enough of you here at all times to carry the litter when we come back out."

Wigg looked back to the edifice, and his jaw hardened. "If we come back out, that is."

Nodding, Ox turned away to carry out his orders. The cold, salty wind continued to whip at the wizards as they hovered just feet above the angry waves. Wigg looked at the Woman of Stone again.

The face was large-at least ten meters high and another four or five meters across-and impressive. Beautiful, but at the same time commanding. Long strands of stone hair hung down past the shoulders to descend into the sea, and the huge eyes lay peacefully closed behind heavy, seductive lids. The nose was slim; the lips were both sensuous and inviting; the cheekbones were high and elegant. Black as night and polished to a smooth luster by the sea, she seemed the very picture of serene, detached femininity.

Whether a face of such elegance and detail could have been carved naturally from the waves had been a great subject of debate for as long as Eutracia had existed. There was a distinct minority who insisted she must be a purely natural phenomenon-a freak of nature, as it were. Most, however, argued that she was far too refined, far too perfect to be an accident, and must therefore be the result of some arcane use of the craft from eons earlier. Wigg was entirely convinced it was the latter.

Wigg looked over to Faegan to comment on the beauty of the face, and stopped, stunned.