Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

Then two massive hands reached out to take hold of the thing on Tristan's right side and muscle it down to the deck. Tristan landed hard on his back, the teeth of the other creature still embedded in his shoulder. But his right arm was free. Trying as best he could to ignore the pain, he dropped his dreggan and reached back for one of his throwing dirks. Turning wildly to his left, he plunged the point of the dirk directly into the monster's left eyeball, killing it instantly. With its death, Tristan finally found himself free of its jaws. He threw it to one side and dragged himself to his feet to see Scars standing near him, the other beast still screaming and writhing in his awesome grip.

With a single grunt, Scars tore the screaming thing in half and threw the two pieces to the deck. Giving the prince a short nod, he immediately went about finding more of the things to kill.

Wasting no time, Tristan began using his dreggan to hack the things out of the air as best as his injured shoulders would allow. Many died at his hands. Somehow he managed to avoid being taken again. After what seemed an eternity, he saw that the struggle was finally abating. His chest heaving, he walked to the gunwale and looked over. A mass of torn clothing and dead bodies bobbed on the surface of the water. Then he turned back to look at the ship.

Bodies-human and monster both-lay everywhere, and the deck was awash with blood. Several of the ship's spars were broken and dangling awkwardly from their ropes. Sails lay in tatters, completely beyond repair.

Looking across the sea, he saw that the other two ships had fared no better. The stench of blood filled the air, and a terrible silence engulfed the stricken vessels as they rocked listlessly from port to starboard and back again. After all of the screaming and noise, everything seemed strangely quiet.

Looking across the deck, his azure blood still oozing from each of his shoulders, Tristan searched for Tyranny. He finally found her standing on the mizzen deck, her face down, her sword hanging from one hand as though she no longer had the will or the strength to raise it. She was covered with blood, and as he started toward her she slowly turned to him and looked him in the eyes.

Just as he reached her she collapsed, and he quickly hoisted her limp body into his arms. Holding her there, he looked sadly at the bloody, mangled ship and wondered what would become of them now.

Thirty

S tirring from her nap, Celeste yawned, then stretched her back and arms as she lay on the huge, four-poster, canopied bed. The large hourglass on the nearby stand told her that a little less than two hours had gone by since she had left Shailiha and Abbey to make their way down into the Redoubt and to the Hall of Blood Records.

She rose up on her elbows and looked out through one of the four open, stained-glass windows lining the exterior wall of her private quarters. The soft indigo that always preceded dusk had begun to encroach on the turquoise edges of the sky and would soon overtake it altogether. Then the many lights from the Minion campfires would begin to flicker like stars in the night. Beautiful and reassuring. But then the usual frightening thoughts crowded in again, and she lay back down on the bed, staring at the red velvet canopy above her.

She was desperately worried, as was everyone remaining here at the Redoubt. Tristan had been gone for days, and there had been no success in the search launched by the Minions. Even Ox's hopefulness seemed to deteriorate with each passing hour, despite the fact that he was trying to act like a warrior and not let his concern show.

Wigg and Faegan had not returned from their journey to the place the Tome called the Chamber of Penitence, and her fear for her newfound father and the crippled wizard was great. But it was Tristan upon whom her heart dwelled the most.

She rose from the bed and padded in her slippers to the other side of the room to retrieve her pearl-handled hairbrush from the dresser, then mechanically began brushing her hair, her worry for Tristan still filling her thoughts.

She wanted desperately to be near him again, to see him, to know that he was safe. Sometimes she thought she might burst with the conflicted feelings that surged through her whenever the prince was near. But it was easy to simply miss him and worry about him when he was gone, especially now that he was in danger.

As she ran the brush through her long, deep red hair, she heard the evening wind comfortingly rustling the trees outside her window. Then she heard the squeak of a window hinge. The wind was stronger than she'd thought, and she turned to shut the windows, in case a storm was rising.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she dropped the brush.

Three of the four windows were shut and locked, and the last one was hauntingly closing by itself.

Before she could run for the door, an azure beam appeared out of nowhere, snaked itself around her waist, and threw her across the length of the room, back onto her bed. She raised an arm to counter with a bolt of her own, but the glow had her pinned to the bed. She was caught in a wizard's warp, she realized, just like the one Krassus had used against them all that day in the card room, when he had assaulted Wigg and violated the wizards' minds.

She tried to scream, but found to her horror that her voice carried no sound. Terrified, she turned her eyes as best she could to look over at the windows.

The last of them had finished closing, and the latch was slowly coming down, locking itself into place. Her heart pounded relentlessly as she waited and watched, unable to do anything else.

Now another glow was building in the room, growing brighter and brighter until it began to take on a shape. Her terrified mind convinced her that it must be Krassus, come back to the palace for some reason. But as she looked closer, she began to recognize the shape standing so dangerously close to the edge of her bed. Tears welled up in her eyes and cascaded maddeningly down her cheeks.

The thing spoke.

"Hello, my darling," it said in a deep, melodious voice. "It has been far too long since we have lain together. I have missed you dearly."

She was going to faint-she knew it. But then her mind was touched by that of the being standing before her, and she was fully conscious once more.

It was Ragnar, the half wizard, half blood stalker who had for over three hundred years kept her his prisoner, abusing her incessantly.

She saw the bald, shiny head, dangling earlobes, and the long, yellow incisors that that jutted down just below his smiling bottom lip. His white robe was untied and slightly open down the center. He was clearly aroused. The mad, bloodshot eyes looked up and down her body with a hunger that seemingly knew no bounds. The small wound in the side of his head was still there, and as a drop of yellow ooze dripped from it, he reached up to wipe it away. Then he placed the wet fingertip into his mouth and smiled.

"So many questions, aren't there, my love?" he asked, lowering his awful face closer to her own. The smell of his fetid breath brought back horrible, mind-numbing memories of her times with him.

"Did you and the wizards actually believe that Nicholas, my beloved master, would really want me dead?" he added. "Or did any of you, as you reveled in the destruction of the Gates of Dawn, actually see my corpse? No. I now serve Krassus, and together he and I carry on a part of Nicholas' glorious work. But first I am going to take you back to the Caves with me. And this time you will never leave, I promise you."

As he spoke, he ran the long, pointed fingernails of one hand down the side of her face. "You always were my favorite." Then a strange look came over him, and he lowered himself even closer.