Most people in Eutracia regarded the rumors about Valrenkium and the Corporeals to be nothing more than myths, grown stronger over time and embellished even further by the return of the Coven of Sorceresses. But Satine knew differently.
Walking deeper into the village, Satine finally began to hear the screams, and the telltale odor wafted to her nose. Steeling herself, she hurried on to Reznik’s cottage. Tying her horse to a rail, she looked around warily before untying the two heavy saddlebags she had brought with her. She slung them over her shoulder and walked to the door, which she opened without knocking. The familiar interior of the cottage yawned before her. She pushed the door closed with one boot.
Reznik was nowhere to be seen. She walked to a nearby table and put the saddlebags down.
The place had changed little since her last visit: a mishmash of tables, beakers, books, scrolls, and other items of the craft. An adjoining room served as the library, its walls lined with overflowing bookcases. Beyond that lay an atrium, the sunlight streaming in through its glass ceiling and down onto the various plants of the craft the herbmaster cultivated. The herbs gave the cottage an earthy smell, belying the cruel work that went on here.
Satine saw the open trapdoor in the center of the floor. She walked over to it and looked down.
Soft light flickered on the wooden steps. The clink of glass could be heard, as well as someone whistling contentedly. As she stood there wondering what to do, cool air wafted up the steps to greet her.
Finally making up her mind, she reached beneath her cloak and placed her palms upon two of her dagger handles. All of her senses alert, she started down.
Satine had never been down here before. In fact, she hadn’t known this room existed. The chamber belowground was larger than the house above it. It was cold here—far colder than it should have been for this time of year. Looking around, she could see why.
From floor to ceiling, great blocks of ice were piled up against the walls. They twinkled an icy blue as they caught the light of the numerous table lamps. Still, there was something wrong about it all, she realized. The blocks were not melting. Nor did any water collect upon the dirt floor. Suddenly even colder, Satine pulled her cloak closer.
Reznik sat at a worktable in a far corner of the room. He wore magnifying spectacles and a woolen overcoat. He carefully examined a glass tube full of violet fluid, which Satine recognized immediately.
Hearing her approach, Reznik stopped whistling and looked up.
“Come in, come in!” he said enthusiastically. Uncoiling a little, Satine walked farther into the room.
Reznik came to greet her. After looking her up and down, he smiled.
“I expected you a bit sooner,” he said slyly. “The sentry at the entrance to the tunnels sent a runner, telling me that you had finally arrived. It seemed to take you longer than usual to reach my home. There was no difficulty, I trust?”
He was toying with her, she knew. Reznik knew everything that went on in Valrenkium. If this place had a ringleader, it was he. If he hadn’t been the one who had erased her marks at the intersections, he would certainly know who had.
But that was all right, she thought. After today she wouldn’t need to play this vile bastard’s games.
“No trouble,” she said confidently. “I just took my time.” Wanting to change the subject, she looked around the room. “I’ve never been down here. What is this place?”
“This is where I store my most precious ingredients,” Reznik answered. “I keep it cold in here, so that the goods remain preserved.”
Satine grimaced. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know more, but her curiosity was getting the best of her. Table after table was covered with fluid-filled jars. Some contained what were clearly human body parts; others held colorful, grotesque items she could not identify.
“You use blocks of ice to accomplish this,” she mused, forcing down her revulsion. “But where do you get them this time of the year? And why don’t they melt?”
One corner of the herbmaster’s mouth came up. “I am a partial adept, remember? My arts are organic in nature. They have to do with things of the earth, sea, and sky. For me, enchanting a few blocks of ice to remain frozen is but a small thing.”
Satine looked down at the vial in his hand. “That’s mine, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he answered. “There are three more just like it. I believe this is the finest batch I have ever produced. I have also formulated a new enhancement for it that I am especially proud of.”
She took the vial from him, walked it over to one of the tables, and held it before the light of an oil lamp. As usual, the nearly transparent fluid was a soft violet in color, but this time there were slight overtones of crimson that she had never seen in previous batches.
She didn’t know much about Reznik’s art, but she was intimately familiar with the formula she always purchased from him because her life depended upon it. That was why she had always insisted upon coming here to collect her goods, rather than buying them from a Valrenkian agent on the street.
She looked back at him. “You incorporated the derma-gnasher venom as usual?” she asked.
“Yes. It was fresh today.”
“And the oil of encumbrance?” she asked. “That is vital.”
“Of course.”
“The organs you used, they came from a fresh, endowed suicide?”
“Yes,” Reznik gloated. “I took them and the marrow the same day the body was delivered to me.”
“Good,” she answered. “You have also enchanted the fluid to immediately dissolve the delivery mechanism?”
“I assume that your methods will remain the same?”
“Yes.”
“If that is the case, then you will be pleased,” he answered. “As usual, the contents of one of the vials has been sweetened with honey.”
Satine held the vial to the light again. She gave it a gentle shake. “What are these crimson clouds I see swirling in there?” she asked. “They were never present in my other purchases.” She looked back at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t like surprises, Reznik.”
“Ah,” he said as he walked closer. He seemed quite pleased with himself. “That is the enhancement I told you of. Those clouds you see are a new form of preservative.”
“How does it work?”
Reznik smiled. “Do you remember my once telling you that the bone marrow of a child is always red?”
She nodded.
“The marrow is red until adulthood. Then it turns yellow, signaling the end of its maturation process. The addition of the livelier red marrow will keep the fluid ‘active,’ so to speak, and it will therefore hold its potency longer. It was something of a breakthrough, if I don’t mind saying so. I hope you are pleased.”
She was, but she chose not to show it. “And the delivery systems?” she asked.
Reznik reached across the table, took up a small leather case, and handed it to her. She opened it and looked inside. As usual, all seemed to be in order.
“Well done,” she said simply. “Is there anything else that I need to know?”
“Only that I wish you good hunting.”
He went back to the worktable, gathered the other two vials, and gave them to her. Satine placed the three vials and the leather case into her cloak’s specially sewn pockets, then retied the strings. They both turned and walked up the steps to the cottage above.
Satine opened one of the bulging saddlebags on the table. Several gold kisa spilled from it and rattled onto the tabletop. Reznik smiled.
“It’s all there, I assume?” he asked politely.
“Of course,” Satine answered. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. She was eager to leave. She wanted to be safely through the sandstone maze by nightfall.
“In that case our business is concluded,” Reznik said. He gesture
d to a pot that sat upon another wood-burning stove. “Unless you would like to join me in a bowl of bone soup?” he offered. “I made it fresh this morning. Some company would be welcome.”
Satine felt her stomach turn over. She couldn’t imagine eating anything in this place, much less wanting to know what kind of creature the bones had come from.
“Uh, er, no—no, thank you,” she answered stiffly. “I need to be going.”
“Suit yourself,” the herbmaster said. Sitting down, he took up a broad soup ladle. He gave her another look.
“Goodbye, Satine,” he said. “Until next time.”
“Goodbye,” she answered.
Walking out the door, she climbed upon her gelding and wheeled him around to begin her journey back. She took a final look at the brick cottage that held so many awful secrets.
And good riddance, she thought.
Prodding her horse forward, the Gray Fox began her ride back through the winding streets of Valrenkium.
CHAPTER XVIII
_____
SADDENED AND ANGERED BY WHAT HE SAW, TRISTAN WALKED slowly among the wounded still filling the palace courtyard. The Orb of the Vigors had done this, and it infuriated him to be waiting here rather than taking some kind of action to stop it.
The sun had just started to set over the western wall of the palace. The songbirds had quieted, and the turquoise of the sky had slowly faded into the deeper indigo of evening. The stars and moons would be out soon, and with them would come the comforting chirps of the night creatures.
All about him, torches were lit, their soft glow throwing shadows across the walls and grounds. Minion healers continued to work hard tending the wounded. He had walked by Duvessa only moments ago, and they had nodded to each other. Her white cutter’s smock had been covered with blood.
By now, some of the wounded had left their care. Others whose injuries made it impossible for them to travel had stayed behind. To the prince it seemed that the palace still overflowed with them. Tents had been erected for those well enough to sleep outdoors in the courtyard. They gave the entire place the chilling look of a military field hospital. In many ways, he supposed that it was.
He had tried to converse with some of the patients. A few spoke to him, but most only looked up at him in anger and distrust—as though he had somehow trapped them here on purpose. Eventually he gave up and walked on, his head lowered.
He desperately wanted to hear from Geldon, but no word had come. Tristan worried about both the dwarf and Ox. Each had saved his life more than once, and he owed them more than he could ever repay. He couldn’t stop wondering where the orb had traveled after its deadly assault on Brook Hollow. Had more of his people been killed?
A sudden breeze came up, bringing with it the familiar scent of myrrh.
Smiling, he turned to see Celeste approach. She wore a light blue gown with matching slippers. A strand of freshwater pearls lay elegantly around her neck. The glow from the torches created highlights in her long, red hair. But as she came nearer, Tristan’s smile dissolved. It was clear that something was wrong.
Finally reaching him, she took him in her arms and held him close. When they parted, he saw that her eyes were shining with tears. She wiped them away with one hand.
Tristan ran one of his palms across her cheek. “What is it? Has something happened?”
Shaking her hair back over one shoulder, Celeste composed herself. “Shailiha told me I might find you here,” she said softly. “I need to speak to you. Is there someplace we might go to be alone?”
“Of course.”
He led her around one side of the palace, through a manicured gap in a tall witherblossom hedge, and then on into another yard. They sat together on one of the marble benches that lay along the edge of the grass.
This had once been his mother’s private gardens. None of the wounded were here. The gardens had long been in disrepair. Still, just being here and away from the depressing courtyard almost made Tristan forget his troubles.
When he looked back into Celeste’s eyes, her anxiousness crowded in on him again. “What is it?” he asked.
Taking both of his hands into hers, she looked him in the eyes.
“I am not with child,” she said.
Looking down for a moment, Tristan took a deep breath. “I see.” Reaching up, he placed one palm upon her cheek. “How long have you known?”
“Three days,” she answered. “I wanted to tell you sooner. But you and Father had already gone searching for the orb.” She looked away.
“I’m sorry, my love,” she said so softly he could barely hear her. “In truth, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed—I suppose it is a little of both. But at least for now, it is not to be. And perhaps, worst of all, we still do not know if we can ever be intimate with each other again.” She paused.
“I miss you in that way,” she whispered then. “More than you could ever know.”
Reaching out, he lifted her face back to his. “And I you,” he said. “Have you told your father?”
Celeste shook her head. “Only Shailiha,” she answered. “I needed someone to talk to while you were away. We have become close, she and I.”
The moonlight showed a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Shailiha tells me that you used to be quite a handful when you were growing up,” she said. “But now between your twin sister and me, you don’t stand a chance of misbehaving.”
Tristan smiled back. “How true.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. As he held her, he could feel her body rise up to meet his and hear her breathing quicken.
Then, summoning his will, he took her by the shoulders and gently moved her away. As he did, her head arched back, exposing her lovely throat to the moonlight. The anger he felt about his azure blood began to boil over again, and with a long sigh, he forced it back down. Eutracia needed both his and Celeste’s gifts right now. Protecting his land and the craft had to take precedence over personal needs.
Bending over, he gave Celeste one last kiss—a brief one, almost chaste. Then, his arm around her waist, he walked her from the private gardens and on toward the twinkling lights of the palace.
CHAPTER XIX
_____
“IT IS TIME TO BRING THEM, WULFGAR, AND TO BOARD THEM onto your Black Ships. Then only the coming of the ships’ captains shall be required to launch your invasion. Bring the beasts now, and witness the majesty of their power. For they will destroy both the palace and the Redoubt of the Directorate, that vile seat of the Vigors. Load them onto the Black Ships, our son of the lower, lesser world. We will be watching.”
Sleeping soundly, Wulfgar at first heard the words as if in a dream. Startled awake by the clear choir-voiced message, the Enseterat blinked open his good eye.
He immediately understood. Yesterday he had employed yet another of the Forestallments granted him by the Scroll of the Vagaries. It allowed him to conjure the great beasts into the world. As their gigantic shapes had taken form, even he had been awed by their splendor.
He rolled over in bed and looked into the face of his sleeping queen. Her dark ringlets were spread out across her pillow, and her face was the very picture of contentment. Beneath the elaborate quilt, he could see the swollen, impending promise of their child.
Serena, Wulfgar found himself thinking. How aptly she was named, and how much he loved her. He would soon be forced to leave her side. But this time he would return in triumph.
Wulfgar slid from the bed, put on a silk robe, and walked to the balcony. The day had broken clear and fresh, and the seabirds sang to one another as they coasted effortlessly over the waves below. Stretching the sleepy muscles in his back, he inhaled the bracing air.
He would indeed load the amazing beasts today, just as his fathers and mothers of above had ordered him to. Then he would perform
the only other task remaining, and set out to make both Eutracia and the craft of magic his own.
“My love?”
Turning, he saw Serena had awakened. Propped up on one elbow, she looked at him lovingly as he stood there, the morning sun on his ravaged face. He walked over to her and sat down on the edge of the bed. He ran his good hand through the ringlets of her hair. He smiled again.
“Today is to be very special,” he said softly. “The Heretics spoke to me in my sleep and told me that I am to load the beasts aboard the Black Ships. I shall need your help, for your gifts easily surpass those of Einar.”
Serena smiled. “I will do all I can for you, my lord,” she answered.
She rose. Placing one hand upon her abdomen, she sleepily padded her way toward the elegant washroom. Wulfgar went to the velvet pull cord and gave it a sharp tug, telling the demonslavers that he wanted breakfast. He then walked back out onto the balcony.
This would be an eventful day.
HOLDING SERENA’S HAND, WULFGAR WALKED HIS QUEEN DOWN the wide, marble stairway leading from their throne room. It was nearly midday. The sea winds were light; the ocean was calm. As they approached the terrace at the bottom of the steps, Serena saw Einar standing there. She smiled at the consul, and he bowed respectfully.
Wulfgar gazed out at his fleet of Black Ships. Their dark, majestic shapes lay peacefully at anchor. Each time he saw them he was amazed. He had been even more awed when the Heretics told him what these warships were capable of.
He looked over at Einar. “Have the beasts been gathered?”
“Yes, my lord,” the consul answered. “I suggest that we begin promptly. My ability to keep them under control is not limitless. They are immensely powerful, and equally strong-willed.”
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