Tristan opened his eyes. To his amazement he saw a figure before him on the riverbank. It wasn’t Minion. The intruder held a sword unlike any the prince had ever seen. As the stranger pointed his sword at him menacingly, Tristan couldn’t imagine how the fellow had gotten past his Minions.
“It seems I have you at a disadvantage,” the unfamiliar voice said. A smile came.
Tristan opened his eyes. To his amazement he saw a figure before him on the riverbank. It wasn’t Minion. The intruder held a sword unlike any the prince had ever seen-and it was pointed right between Tristan’s eyes.
CHAPTER XXXV
AS ACTINIUS STRODE ACROSS THE RECLUSE’S OUTERward, he pulled his robe closer against the cold night air. Two consuls named Jacob and Aaron followed him.
Actinius scowled. He would have preferred to remain inside where it was warm, but he had an important task to perform. The first of many, he guessed, because Einar and Reznik were finally ready to start their work. As the three men crossed the outer ward, lumbering shrews and partly camouflaged envelopers could be seen prowling and soaring about, their numbers nothing compared to those waiting in hiding as they protected the Recluse.
It was nearly midnight in Parthalon, and the three magenta moons cast eerie shadows across the ward’s colorful terrazzo floor. By this time most of the Minion blood had been cleaned away from the multicolored tiles. Walking on, Actinius approached the newly constructed cages.
Hundreds of wooden crates stood in the moonlight. Each crate had been constructed at the Ghetto of the Shunned. Then the crates had been crammed full of lepers and flown to the Recluse by Serena’s envelopers. Should more subjects be needed, they too would be brought from the Ghetto. Actinius came to stand before one of the cages. He turned to his consuls.
“Any one of them will do,” he said matter-of-factly.
Jacob walked to the cage and unlocked the door. Aaron quickly selected a female prisoner of middle age. She would have been attractive, had leprosy not assaulted her face and body. As Aaron grabbed her and hauled her out, she screamed and kicked at him. Actinius quickly held up one hand.
“Remember our instructions!” he reminded the consuls. “There is to be no craft use. It might compromise our research.”
The woman screamed again, then lunged forward to viciously bite Aaron on the hand. Laughing, Actinius stepped closer and rendered her unconscious with a single swipe across the face. She fell to the tile floor. After Aaron slung her across his back, the cage door was locked again and the three mystics returned to the Recluse.
As they climbed the castle’s broad steps, the men saw that the Recluse remained busy, despite the late hour. Every oil lamp was lit, and enchanted to stay that way. Consuls and Valrenkians hurried here and there, each following Einar’s various orders. More shrews and envelopers prowled the majestic hallways and salons. On reaching the grand foyer, the men turned down one hall, then walked toward the nearest secret doorway leading to the lower regions.
Half an hour later they arrived at their destination. As they walked in, Einar and Reznik looked up from a scroll they were huddling over. Seeing his first test subject casually slung over Aaron’s shoulder, Einar frowned.
“Is she dead?” he demanded.
“Only unconscious,” Actinius answered. “It was needed.”
Einar nodded. “Very well,” he said. “But don’t do it again.”
He pointed to a stone table on the room’s other side. “Over there,” he ordered. As Aaron placed the body on the table, Actinius looked around.
They were standing in another of Failee’s research chambers. Einar realized that it would have been easier to conduct his experiments in a room aboveground, but for security’s sake he had decided to work here. Like many of the underground chambers, this room had been cut from the surrounding rock. It was spacious and well lit. Bookcases lined the walls. Its center encircled by a golden band, the precious Vagaries scroll lay atop a table standing in one corner.
A parchment holding Failee’s recently discovered formula lay unrolled and suspended by enchantment against another wall. The parchment took up the wall’s entire length. Other tables laden with various instruments, books, and bottles also stood nearby. Actinius knew that those were Reznik’s things. On the wall over the table, another chart had been hung. It showed a strange, oblong form that was mapped into various sections. Each section was labeled in Old Eutracian.
Einar looked at Actinius. He nodded. The consul walked to the table supporting the unconscious woman. Reaching into the folds of his robe, he produced a waterproofed leather bag. After placing it over the woman’s head he pulled its drawstring tight around her neck.
“Be careful!” Einar said. “Do not damage her throat!” Nodding, Actinius loosened the drawstring a bit.
Awakened by her sudden inability to breathe, for several agonizing moments the woman struggled against her murderer. Soon her jangling slowed, then stopped altogether. Actinius removed the leather bag from around her head.
Walking to the table, Einar and Reznik looked down at her. Starving her lungs had been the best way to kill her without using the craft or otherwise damaging her body.
“What is your opinion?” Einar asked Reznik. “Is this subject suitable?”
“Yes,” the Valrenkian answered. “This manner of death most closely matches the original victim’s.” Satisfied with Reznik’s answer, Einar went to stand before Failee’s elegant formula.
Walking to the other table, Reznik selected an hourglass and a razor-sharp boning knife. Walking back, he bent over the fresh corpse. With one stroke he cut away the woman’s rags, then dropped them to the floor. Bending over farther, he placed an ear against her bare chest.
“You may start,” Reznik said.
As Actinius turned the hourglass over, Einar started reading Failee’s formula aloud. When he finished he walked over to stand beside Reznik. Standing up, the Valrenkian shook his head.
“Her liver will tell us more,” he said simply. Taking up his boning knife, he sliced open the dead woman’s abdomen.
Fascinated, Einar, Aaron, and Jacob neared to watch the Valrenkian work. Being a partial adept, Reznik possessed skills that they did not-skills that would prove vital to their mission. Among his other talents, Reznik was a haruspex, or “reader of entrails.” And because the blood that was so vital to the craft was filtered through one’s liver, that organ would best tell them what they needed to know.
For the first time since meeting Reznik, Einar was genuinely glad that the Valrenkian partial adept was a part of their group. Haruspication was an immensely detailed art that called for years of specialized training. It could truly be mastered only by partial adepts, because only they had full access to the Paragon’s organic facet. True haruspices were few and far between, and Reznik was perhaps the world’s finest. Among his other talents was tasseomancy, otherwise known as tea leaf reading. He was also a shell, smoke, and pendulum scryer, and could use those items for divination.
Reznik lifted the red liver from the gaping abdominal cavity. It dripped blood as he walked it to another table and placed it onto a pewter tray. He then looked up at the diagram on the wall that Actinius had wondered about earlier.
Actinius suddenly understood that the oblong shape depicted there was that of a human liver. The organ in the diagram was sectioned off into various oddly shaped areas. Each section was labeled in Old Eutracian. Silently translating the labels into the present day’s dialect, he saw such phrases as “Life Forces,” “Aging,” “Illnesses,” and “Intelligence.” Walking nearer, Actinius watched Reznik sit on a stool standing before the table.
First the Valrenkian turned the liver so that its position exactly matched the one in the diagram. He then took up a pair of magnifying spectacles and arranged them on his face. After wiping his hands down the length of his bloody smock, he picked up another knife and methodically started sectioning the liver into pieces matching those shown in the diagram. As the time passed, Ei
nar, Aaron, and Jacob remained watchful. They couldn’t help but find their appreciation for Reznik’s talents growing with every moment.
Referring to the chart, Reznik segregated the liver section known as “Life Forces.” It was an oblong piece about the size of a hen’s egg, and looked just like the one in the diagram. Putting it into a separate pan, Reznik placed the first pan aside. Taking up a finer knife, Reznik shaved off a slice. It took several tries before he had the thinness he wanted.
Using a pair of silver tongs, he held the slice to the light. It had been shaven so thin that it was translucent. After placing the slice into another pan, Reznik leaned back and took a deep breath.
“What have you learned?” Einar asked eagerly.
Removing the spectacles from his face, Reznik stretched his back. “Patience, my friends,” he said. “I know nothing yet, other than that Failee’s spell failed. We need to learn why, and only my herbs and oils can tell us that.”
Reznik picked up a leather-bound text. The title on the book’s spine readHaruspication Oils, Herbs, and Elixirs: Their Uses in Deciphering Entrails. The book was massive, and its page edges were worn and dog-eared. After placing the dusty book on the table, Reznik repositioned his spectacles on his face, then unfastened the book’s leather binding straps. He opened it and started leafing through its fragile pages.
After a time he walked to the room’s far side. Many shelves lined the wall, each one holding dozens of different colored bottles. These too had accompanied him from the Citadel. He found the one he wanted and placed it into a smock pocket. Locating the other two bottles took longer, but they finally came to hand.
After walking back to the table, he placed the three bottles alongside the tray holding the liver slice. He opened one bottle, then took up an eye dropper. Placing the dropper’s end into the bottleneck, he siphoned off a few drops of the precious oil. He then judiciously emptied the dropper’s contents onto the liver slice.
A quizzical look came over Einar’s face. “What are you using?” he asked.
“Oil of encumbrance,” Reznik answered, without looking up. “It’s rare. This small bottle alone would bring at least two thousand kisa.”
“What does it do?” Einar asked.
“As one might gather from its name, oil of encumbrance slows down certain organic processes,” Reznik answered. “Combined with other herbs and oils, it becomes more effective.”
Reznik opened another bottle, took a pinch of dried herbs between his fingers, then sprinkled them onto the slice. Sitting back, he waited for the combination to take effect.
“That herb you just added,” Jacob said. “What is it?”
“It’s a ground root called maiden’s breath,” he answered. “It grows wild in Eutracia. When dried and pulverized, its orange blossoms are good for many things-especially when added to oil of encumbrance.”
His curiosity growing, Einar came closer. After gazing at the slice he looked at Reznik. “How does this particular combination of oil and herbs serve our purpose?” he asked.
“When added together, oil of encumbrance and maiden’s breath work to slow the decay process,” Reznik answered. “Now we can examine the liver sample at our leisure, without fear of losing its freshness, and whatever message it might tell us.”
Reznik picked up the third bottle and held it to the light. The amber container was tightly sealed with a specially hinged lid. He removed the cork and took a wary sniff to test the herb’s freshness. The pungent aroma made him recoil.
“This is ground blossom of tansy ragwort,” he said, running one finger under his nose. “It is a common ragwort with a yellow flower. It is an aggressive form of weed that is toxic to some cattle.” As he removed two pinches from the bottle, the herbmaster smiled.
“Eutracian farmers are forever trying to stamp it out,” he added. “Little do they know how valuable it can be.”
As he had with the other ingredients, Reznik sprinkled this latest addition onto the specimen. Standing, he took a high-powered magnifying glass into one hand. In his other he again took up the silver tongs. Grasping the parchment-thin slice ever so gently, he held it to the light.
“Now then,” he said. “We will see what we will see.”
Holding up the glass, he carefully examined the specimen. A discouraged look conquered his face.
“It’s just as I feared,” he said. Looking at Einar, he beckoned the consul closer. “Look through the glass,” he said, “and tell me what you see.”
Einar did as he was asked. To his surprise, against the backdrop of the oil lamps the translucent slice looked rather beautiful. The red tissue had turned pink, and its depths were shot through with dark, weblike striations. He looked at Reznik.
“It’s intriguing,” he said. “But what do these marks mean? I suspect that they don’t occur naturally, or were there before she died.”
“That’s correct,” Reznik answered. “Look again.”
As the consul again looked at the specimen, Reznik leaned closer. “I believe that those striations indicate that Failee’s spell is flawed-too weak, probably,” the Valrenkian said. “Even so, my guess is that her calculations are taking us along the right path. During our next attempt I will try to raise the spell’s power by adding other precious herbs and oils. It might take many tries before I find a mixture that works, but I remain optimistic.”
“Will you examine the woman’s other organs as well?” Einar asked.
Reznik shook his head. “They would tell us little. And taking another sample from this woman’s liver would do no good either, because the result would be the same. I will start formulating the first of what I’m sure will be many recipes. We will force the next subject to ingest it before he or she is killed. Then we will try again.”
Reznik walked back over to his table, donned his spectacles, and again consulted the great book that he had used before. As he looked though the pages he took up a quill and started making notes.
For his part, Einar was discouraged but far from defeated. He knew the secret would be found-he could feel it in his bones. But it would take much time and patience, he realized. He looked at Jacob and Aaron.
“Bring us another subject,” he said.
As the two consuls left the room, Einar went to look over Reznik’s shoulder.
CHAPTER XXXVI
“COME OUT OF THERE!” THE MAN SHOUTED. HIS VOICEwas deep and lively. Although he clearly meant business, he gave Tristan a humorous smirk.
“You look ridiculous!” he added. “It’s a pity you have nothing to steal but those meager trinkets lying around your neck!” The bizarre-looking man furtively cast his eyes toward Tristan’s weapons, lying just out of reach on the riverbank. “Although that sword with the gold hilt looks tempting,” he added dryly.
Standing waist deep in the rushing Sippora, Tristan shivered. Whoever the intruder was, he had him dead to rights. The prince knew there was no point trying to reach his weapons, for he could be easily killed before he left the water.
Tristan watched in dread as the man bent down to grasp the discarded dreggan and knife quiver. After tossing the quiver over one shoulder, the man stood and sheathed his sword. Then he drew Tristan’s dreggan, letting the baldric drop to the ground. For some time he admired the magnificent Minion blade in the moonlight.
Tristan quickly looked around. To his dismay, hundreds more equally mysterious figures lined the surrounding ridge. Shivering more violently, he wrapped his arms about himself. He couldn’t imagine how so many men had slipped by his Minions. He tried looking past his captor and toward the warrior campsite, but the riverbank blocked his view.
“Who are you?” Tristan demanded. “What do you want?”
“The answer is simple,” the man replied. “I want your horse, your gold jewelry, and anything else of value you own. And I mean to get them.”
Tristan tensed as he thought about losing the Paragon and his gold medallion. Where in the name of the Afterlife were Hector and his t
wenty warriors?
“Do you plan on standing in that freezing water all night?” the man demanded. Emphasizing his point, he pointed the dreggan at Tristan. “If so, I hope you have already fathered all the children you want.”
Tristan scowled. Naked and dripping water, he walked up the slippery riverbank to stand beside his discarded garments.
“May I dress?” he asked sarcastically. “Or are you going to steal my clothes, too?”
“The rags you may keep,” the stranger answered. “I wouldn’t wear them on my worst day.”
Tristan dressed quickly. Running his hands through his wet hair, he pushed it back from his forehead. He stood there for a few moments, glaring at the man who had so surprisingly appeared.
The figure was imposing, almost theatrical. About Tristan’s age, he was tall and muscular. He wore a white, blousy shirt, its full sleeves collected loosely at the wrists. Baggy black trousers were tucked into his soft, laced top-boots. A gray fur vest lay over the shirt, and a brimless hat of the same material sat at a jaunty angle atop his head.
His longish brown hair escaped the hat’s bottom here and there, and he wore a neatly trimmed, matching goatee. His sharp jawline and dark eyes glinted in the moonlight. Several gold chains adorned his chest, and many of his fingers bore glittering rings. His free hand rested loosely on a curved hip dagger, its leather scabbard accented with silver filigree. A matching sword dangled from his left hip. The weapons seemed to be a natural part of the man’s persona, showing that he knew how to use them.
Tristan suddenly realized that despite not knowing the fellow’s name, he understood his heritage. The intruder was a Eutracian highlander. As their eyes met in a contest of wills, Tristan tried to remember what Wigg had once said about them.
The highlanders were as much myth as reality. Living in colorful wagons, they were reputed to be marvelous horsemen. The men did whatever fighting was called for, while their women stealthily performed the thieving and duping of unsuspecting innocents as their caravans traveled from town to town. It was often said that a highlander maid could easily steal a man’s purse, horse, and heart all in the same night. The legend went on to warn that the man’s purse would be taken surreptitiously, his horse taken quietly, and his heart taken willingly.
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