The eyes in the black face then narrowed slightly, and the glow of the craft appeared again, this time surrounding the two blood signatures. The signatures began to enlarge, until each of them was about two meters across in length.
Spellbound, the wizards stared in awe until the huge blood signatures faded and then disappeared.
"Clearly, you are both of the Vigors," the Stone Woman said. "So now it is time for you to decide. Do you still wish to enter this Chamber of Penitence?"
Faegan turned to the lead wizard. Wigg took a deep, apprehensive breath, then nodded. Faegan looked back into the lovely, azure eyes.
"We do," he said.
"Very well," she answered. "Behold."
Her mouth opened wider, exposing perfect, white teeth. Farther and farther her lips parted, until the opening was about two meters high. Only fathomless darkness could be seen beyond, its depths occasionally interrupted by haunting, eerie flashes of azure light, like lightning across a night sky. Then her eyes closed, and she remained still.
Faegan again looked at Wigg, who responded with a raised eyebrow. Without speaking further, the two wizards glided forward, entering the Chamber of Penitence.
From where they stood on the sea cliffs above, Ox and the other Minions of Day and Night watched in horror as the wizards disappeared into darkness and the lovely stone mouth closed behind them.
CHAPTER
Twenty-seven
"I 'm afraid, Marcus," Rebecca said quietly. "I've never done anything like this before. Are you sure this is going to work?"
She shivered in the cold of the early morning, as she held tightly onto her brother's strong, comforting hand. Her stomach growled again. She hadn't had enough to eat this morning, and this place Marcus had led her to scared her. Hoping her brother knew what he was doing, she limped alongside him through the human carnival known as Bargainer's Square.
With the demise of the Royal Guard, Bargainer's Square had become a hotbed of vice and crime. It seemed to Marcus as if all of the wicked of Eutracia had for some reason suddenly descended on this single spot. It had been Bargainer's Square where he had accidentally found himself the night he had narrowly evaded the old harlot and her partner, running for his life down the dark, lamplit street. But from that wayward experience had also come an unexpected blessing: the rug shop where he had finally stopped running to catch his breath.
He had taken little notice of it at the time, but now, two days later, he had suddenly realized how the little shop might be of great help with his problem regarding the scroll. And so he had visited the shop once it was open and had formulated his plan. Yesterday he had brazenly stolen the contents of the canvas bag now slung over his shoulder. Today he would act. Looking into 'Becca's trusting brown eyes, he gave her an encouraging smile.
"I know it's scary here," he said as he led her through the bizarre maze of people, noises, and vice. "And I'm sorry. But you must trust me. I haven't steered us wrong yet, have I? Now stay close to me, keep your head down, and try not to talk. We don't need any undue attention."
Nodding and biting her lip, Rebecca tried to smile.
Bargainer's Square was actually a huge, circular plaza, paved with cobblestones. A great many streets opened onto the gathering place from various directions.
Shouting, cursing, and the smells of bad food and cheap liquor wafted on the breeze. Street vendors, each of them trying to holler louder than the next, filled the area. Virtually all of the men and many of the women were armed in some fashion. Seeing two children walking alone in this part of town was highly unusual, and many furtive, lecherous glances came their way. Whores, pimps, and male prostitutes stood on the corners, their leering smiles tacitly promising sex for money. Cockfights and dogfights could easily be found in the alleyways, with men and women crowded around them, eagerly throwing their money away.
Marcus gripped Rebecca's hand tighter, and they continued on.
When they reached the rug shop, he guided Rebecca to the other side of the busy street and into the opening of a relatively quiet alleyway. Peering out, he verified that the store was indeed open for business. From what he could see through the parted double doors, the shop already had a smattering of patrons inside, which he considered a good thing. When the time came, he would need all the distractions he could get.
Kneeling down before her, he pointed to the store. "That's it," he whispered. "I'll go inside first, while you wait here. After a few moments, if you don't see me come back out, walk in and begin doing as I instructed you. Keep one eye on me. When you see that I have gone, make your way out and meet me where I told you to, all right?"
Trying to be brave, Rebecca nodded. Giving her a final, encouraging smile, Marcus started across the street.
He approached the shop casually, and entered as nonchalantly as he could. Inside, the proprietor was going from one patron to another, eagerly explaining to them why he or she simply could not live another moment without one of his beautiful, most certainly inexpensive rugs. He was a stout man whom Marcus was sure wouldn't be able to run very well-yet another plus for choosing this place.
Marcus ambled over to a pile of rugs in one corner, his eyes going to the back of the shop. There was a short counter that ran partway across the back, leaving a space for access to the rear door. A brief smile crossed his lips: everything was in perfect order.
The rear door of the shop was wide open to allow a cooling morning draft for the heavy, already sweating proprietor, just as it had been the last time Marcus had visited here. The owner, it seemed, was nothing if not a creature of habit. Feeling the weight of the bag across his shoulder, Marcus thought of its contents and smiled again. Then, turning his head toward the door, he saw 'Becca enter the shop. She looked scared to death.
As her brown eyes finally found him, he winked at her, letting her know that he was about to proceed. Biting her lip again, she nodded back and walked near the proprietor, just as her brother had told her to do. Marcus then walked to one side a bit, to a little oasis of bare floor.
Slowly, carefully, he took the canvas bag from his shoulder. Making sure his back was to the others, he untied the top of the bag and turned it over. As the contents came falling out to the floor, he tossed the bag aside and quickly looked over at 'Becca. Then he winked again, telling her to start.
It has often been said that the high-pitched, earsplitting scream coming from a young girl is unequaled, and Rebecca's proved no exception. Taking great lungfuls of air, she screamed for all she was worth, sending shock waves through the little shop. The outcry was so piercing that at first Marcus thought the glass panes in the double doors might burst.
"Snakes!" Rebecca shrieked, pointing frantically across the room and jumping up onto one of the piles of rugs. She pointed again. "Big snakes!" Then, her eyes wide with false terror, she put her hands up to the sides of her head, jumped frantically up and down atop the pile of rugs, and let go another insane scream.
Pandemonium immediately engulfed the shop. A woman screamed and clambered onto the pile of rugs with Rebecca; then another joined them. Just as Marcus had hoped, the snakes quickly separated and began slithering across the floor, trying to find refuge among the piles of rugs or make for the freedom of the open doors. The startled patrons scattered. Women screamed; men simply stood there, frozen in horror.
The snakes Marcus had freed from the canvas bag were especially large, hungry, and highly agitated.
Long, thick, and brightly patterned, these snakes were known as slickribbons, and they were very quick. Marcus had boldly stolen an entire wire cage full of them from the front shelf of one of the exotic animal vendors in the square, and then had run for his life, narrowly avoiding being caught. Black, shiny, and menacing-looking, slickribbons had triangular yellow markings on their backs, making them highly prized for their skins. They were not venomous or harmful to humans in any way, but right now the terrified people in the shop didn't care about that. All they wanted to do-the proprietor included-was
get out.
As the customers swarmed toward the front door, Marcus calmly picked up the rug he wanted. It was rolled up and secured by twine, but he guessed by its thickness and the length of the roll that its size would do for what he had planned. Hoisting it over one shoulder, he sauntered through the open back door and went out into the alley.
Walk, he reminded himself. Walk as if you own this rug. Whatever you do, don't run.
Suddenly enjoying herself immensely, Rebecca let out another earsplitting scream just for fun, jumped down off the pile of rugs, and joined the rush for the open doors.
CHAPTER
Twenty-eight
S eated at the ancient, ornate desk in the Scriptorium of the Citadel, Krassus took a moment from his labors to enjoy the feeling of success. Four uneventful days of sailing had passed since he had cleverly avoided the unidentified frigates bearing down on him on the Sea of Whispers. Only an hour earlier he had descended the gangway of the Sojourner and been told by Janus that his consuls believed they had finally identified the bastard son of the late Queen Morganna. Overjoyed, Krassus had immediately come to the Scriptorium to examine the supposed authenticity of the blood signature for himself before going to view the prize from which it had come.
He carefully drew the tripod toward him yet again, then adjusted the parchment squarely under the crosshairs of the lens. This was the fourth time he had done so, as if with each new attempt the results would somehow change. But of course they hadn't. Having already compared the upper and lower shapes of the signature to those of Queen Morganna and Eric, her onetime lover, he looked down through the lens, no less stunned at what he saw this time than the times before.
Nicholas had told him that Wulfgar's signature would be a thing of wonder. But nothing had prepared Krassus for the likes of what now lay before him.
Never before had he seen such a left-leaning signature. Only two others were known to deviate so widely from the vertical axis. Those belonged to the Chosen Ones themselves, and they both leaned to the right.
Taking his eye from the lens, he looked at the assay mark written on the corner of the parchment: 11?2. The blood quality was equal to that of Princess Shailiha, and second only to that of Tristan himself.
Krassus smiled. Janus and his consuls had been right. The slave this signature came from was indeed Wulfgar, the bastard son of Morganna.
Krassus now possessed not only the half sibling of the Chosen Ones, but also the Scroll of the Vagaries. Much of his work could finally go forward. If and when he got hold of the Scroll of the Vigors, he would be unstoppable.
He looked around this part of the Scriptorium. Built of the palest tan marble, the room was light and airy, and its floor was partially covered with highly patterned rugs. The stained-glass windows-now open to let in the sun and the salt air-were numerous. Bookcase after bookcase lined the walls. The texts and scrolls on their shelves were dusty from long neglect, but they would not remain that way much longer. The Scroll of the Vagaries lay nearby on another desk, the engraved gold band around its middle still tightly imprisoning the knowledge contained within.
Smiling, Krassus rose and walked out to the spacious balcony that overlooked the ocean. Standing there feeling the wind on his face, he thought of how honored he had been when Nicholas had told him of this place and what his mission would be. It had been eons since the Citadel had been inhabited and used for purposes of the craft. His endowed blood sang with the excitement that was soon to follow, and his pride at having been chosen as the new master of this fortress isle knew no bounds. For a moment, his mind turned back to the circumstances that had made it so.
He had been captured one day by Nicholas' great birds of prey, and then taken to the Caves of the Paragon, along with other consuls of the Redoubt. But as sole first alternate to the late Directorate of Wizards, Krassus had been kept isolated from Nicholas' other servants, and his blood imbued with the Forestallments required to turn him to the Vagaries.
Krassus' instructions had come to him the very day the Chosen One and Nicholas had first met, deep in the bowels of the Caves. Not only had Nicholas asked Tristan to join his cause, but he had also promised him a lifetime of ecstasy practicing the Vagaries. But in his ridiculous loyalty to the insipid Vigors and the inferior wizards he commanded, the prince had not only refused Nicholas' gracious offer, but had threatened to kill him, as well.
And Krassus had been there the entire time, hiding in a small alcove to one side of the room, listening to every word. After the traitorous prince left, Nicholas had bid his new servant to join him. For Krassus, it had been like standing before a god.
"You heard?" Nicholas asked simply. Incensed by the words of the foolish, traitorous prince, Krassus had nodded angrily.
Nicholas placed a hand on one of Krassus' shoulders. "So now you understand how it is I am treated," he whispered. "My own blood means not only to stop what I have planned at the Gates of Dawn, but to see me dead in the bargain."
It was then that Nicholas had first told him of the Scrolls of the Ancients, and Krassus had begun to understand that the construction and employment of the Gates were but one facet of his master's plans. Then Nicholas had dismissed him, and had never spoken to him again.
And so, after hearing of his master's failure at the Gates of Dawn, Krassus had zealously begun his work. He had sought out the glowing base of one of the Gates, just as Nicholas had ordered. Finally finding it, he had been infuriated to see the secret door in its side already open, and only one of the fabled scrolls present. Luckily, the one remaining was the scroll he needed the most.
Then he had used his new powers to create the demonslavers, steal a fleet of ships and begin capturing slaves in his search for Wulfgar. At the thought of all those Talis and R'talis slaves, his mouth turned upward at the corners. When all was said and done, those hiding in the Redoubt of the Directorate would pay, and pay dearly.
Taking himself away from his memories, he looked quietly out over the sea. It was midday, the sun having just reached the zenith of its golden, luminescent arc. Sighing, he took a great breath of salt air. But then, as his lungs convulsed, he realized it had been too much for him.
Coughing up blood, he reached for the cloth in his robes and covered his mouth. Several small drops escaped, however, and fell to the marble floor to twist their way into his familiar blood signature. Cursing under his breath, he wiped them away with the sole of his boot. Looking back out to sea, the reccurring, frightful realization once again gripped his heart.
He was dying.
He knew he must complete his work before he succumbed, his lungs eventually drowning in their own blood. And to be absolutely certain of success, he had to have the other scroll.
Suddenly there came a knock on the door. Krassus wiped his face and stuffed the bloody cloth back in his robes before answering it.
The wide, double doors at the opposite end of the Scriptorium opened, and Grizelda and Janus walked in, accompanied by two demonslavers. Janus seemed to be especially pleased for some reason. As they approached the desk, Krassus came in from the balcony and sat back down, at the same time motioning his guests to chairs on the opposite side. The armed slavers retreated to take up guard in the hallway, closing the doors behind them.
"I have more good news, my lord," Janus said excitedly. "The frigate loaded with the herbs and oils taken from the raid on Shadowood has just arrived-well ahead of schedule. The goods are being unloaded as we speak." Then his painted smile melted into a partial frown.
"I am told that some of the slavers in the raiding party never returned," he added glumly. "Those remaining aboard their frigate waited as long as they dared, then finally set sail. It is possible that the missing slavers were intercepted, perhaps even killed by the Chosen One's wizards."
Scowling, Krassus considered Janus' news carefully. True, it was possible that Wigg and Faegan had interrupted the raid. But if they had, it appeared they had been too late to keep his slavers from taking what his herbmi
stress required. The loss of a few more of his servants made no difference one way or the other.
He looked back at Janus. "And our very special guest?" he asked. "How does he fare?"
Janus smiled again, the edges of his red, painted mask crinkling up as he did so. "Very well," he answered. "He remains quite rebellious, however, just as we expected from one of his unique bloodline." He looked eagerly at the tripod and parchment on Krassus' desk. "You have had time to examine the document, my lord?" he asked. "Is he really Wulfgar?"
"One and the same," Krassus replied. "And the woman named Serena-the two of them have become close?"
"Indeed," Janus assured him. "As planned, she is reviled by the other slaves for the superior treatment she receives during mealtimes, and Wulfgar has asked that she be allowed to stay with him at all other times. I have allowed it, of course."
Satisfied, Krassus turned to Grizelda. "Now that you have the herbs and oils you require, I will expect you to successfully view the Scroll of the Vigors and give me some reference point in Eutracia from which to begin the search. Then I shall send you, Janus, and a group of my best slavers to recover it, no matter where it might be. Is that understood?"
Bending forward slightly in her chair, Grizelda smiled greedily. "It shall be an honor, my lord."
"Very well," Krassus replied. Standing up, he made it clear that the meeting was over. "I go to converse with Wulfgar." His smile deepened the creases in his hollow cheeks. "He and Serena are about to begin understanding the nature of their fates. Their reactions should prove to be most interesting."
The three of them walked to the double doors and went out into the hallway. Janus left to escort Grizelda to what would soon become her new workplace, while Krassus went down the opposite length of the hall.
On and on Nicholas' servant of the Vagaries went, as he wound his way up through the labyrinthine halls and spiral staircases of the Citadel. Tiring, he resorted to the craft to carry him up the remaining flights.
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