After killing the Night Witches in Tanglewood, Khristos had used the remaining darkness to herd his creatures south toward Hartwick Wood. Because he assumed that more of theJin’Sai ’s flying patrols were searching for him, traveling across open ground during daylight was unacceptable. But if he could enter the forest before sunup, his forces could hide amid its dense cover as they continued toward the caves. Pushing his servants hard, he and his vipers reached the forest’s edge just as dawn arrived.
Gracchus had unexpectedly reached out to touch Khristos’ mind once more, soon after the last of the female Minions had died. ThePon Q’tar cleric told him much-including how to safely navigate the labyrinthine caves. Most of what Gracchus told him sounded too fabulous for words. Even so, Gracchus’ guidance had brought Khristos to this place of places. As his servants hissed and writhed behind him, Khristos walked deeper into the room.
Like the many chambers and passageways that led him here, this magnificent underground room had been hewn from living rock. Measuring several hundred meters in both directions, the room’s walls and floor had been clad with light green marble shot through with streaks of black. It shone beneath the light of hundreds of enchanted sconces and chandeliers lining the seemingly endless walls; each light source had been enchanted by its maker to burn forever and without smoke. Despite the great size of the room, the air was stifling and the temperature was warm, even hot.
But even more amazing were the contents of the room. On the floor, stretching as far as Khristos could see, lay countless rows of huge, broken eggshells, their thin white sides translucent in the light. Just as Gracchus had predicted, what remained of the eggs’ contents still glowed brightly with the color of the craft.
It’s true, Khristos realized. Nicholas’ spell still lives. Taking several more steps, he looked closer at the shells.
Each of the broken, slimy eggs dripped a thin azure fluid down the outside of its shell. The fluid seemed fresh-perhaps as fresh as when Nicholas had first conjured these treasures of the craft three years ago. The stinking fluid from the many eggs had pooled on the floor, adding to the fetid odor pervading the room.
Singling out one shell for examination, Khristos levitated his body so as not to step into the stinking fluid. As he glided closer, he became even more impressed by Nicholas’ gifts.
Standing about five feet high and four feet wide, the shell had been pecked open at its top, showing how the creature that had grown inside it finally emerged to join the world. Conjured by the thousands, Nicholas’ hatchlings had been instrumental in his attempt to open the Gates of Dawn and unleash the forces of the Vagaries west of the Tolenka Mountains on Eutracia. But it was not to be, for Tristan and his Minions had battled Nicholas’ winged servants high in the sky over Farplain and then issued the final blow later, near the entrance to Shadowood. Khristos hadn’t the immense knowledge required to create such wonders, nor did he need it. His only concern was that these masterpieces of the craft still existed, and that they could be used to further his purposes.
Nicholas had been Tristan’s bastard son, Gracchus had said. A product of one of the Coven sorceresses’ rape of theJin’Sai, Nicholas had been one of the most perfect beings ever seen on this side of the world. Because of the quality of Nicholas’ magnificent blood, the spell used to conjure these eggs might survive for all time. So too would remain this wondrous chamber and the secrets that it contained. Secrets, Khristos began to realize, that would spell the final downfall of theJin’Sai, his twin sister, and the pompous Conclave.
Khristos levitated a bit higher so that he could peer down into the broken shell’s depths. He smiled, for what he saw relieved his worried heart.
The bottom of the egg still held some glowing azure fluid. That was welcome, but it was only part of what he needed. The real prize lay amid the fluid still trapped in the egg’s curved bottom. It was the red umbilical cord that had nourished the hatchling while it gestated in this egg, only to become detached and abandoned when the creature broke free to join its brothers.
Khristos did not know how the nurturing process had worked. Perhaps the azure fluid had been the creatures’ food and it had once nearly filled the eggs. The cords might have been the devices that supplied the fluid to the growing embryos. But that doesn’t matter now, he realized. What counts is that they are still here and they remain usable.
He looked down the seemingly endless rows of broken eggs and he smiled. Gracchus was right, he thought. There are more than enough here to serve my needs. He turned and looked at the thousands of Blood Vipers who waited behind in a room nearly the size of the one he had just entered.
“Come, my children!” he shouted. “Come and feast on the wonders of the Vagaries that have been left behind! Take your strength for the struggle that is to follow!”
As though they were possessed of one mind, the famished creatures slithered into the massive room to gorge themselves. As they entered, Khristos hovered higher so as to not hamper their feeding frenzy.
The famished beasts ripped into the eggs with abandon. The fluid ran down their faces and arms as they chewed savagely on the cords, and Khristos smiled as he realized that his great concern had been overcome. Before making his pact with Gracchus, Khristos’ only purpose had been to exact Failee’s revenge. But to his dismay he soon realized that his lost love’s goal would be nearly impossible to achieve.
Because he had been released from the river, he immediately knew that the sorceresses had lost the war, making his duty clear. But as Khristos ransacked Eutracian towns, it became evident that finding and killing enough persons of endowed blood to sustain his throngs of followers would be nearly impossible. So that their strength would continually grow, Failee had engineered the Blood Vipers to feed only on the livers of the endowed. After they had fed on enough endowed victims, even theJin’Sai ’s Conclave would be unable to stop them.
But Khristos soon realized that Failee’s plan was hopelessly flawed. Because not enough endowed persons could be found, Khristos’s vipers had begun to starve before his eyes. Then he made his highly unexpected pact with Gracchus and everything changed. Now there was a new foe to vanquish in Failee’s name. Khristos would do everything in his power to destroy Tristan and to see that the Vagaries ruled unopposed everywhere east of the Tolenkas, just as Failee had hoped. It gladdened his heart to know that the First Mistress’s great vision might yet be fulfilled.
Now there is plenty for my servants to eat, bringing the final victory even closer, he realized. Gracchus is indeed wise. As he watched the creatures gorge, Khristos’ consciousness drifted back in time to the previous night, when Gracchus had reached out from across the Tolenkas to again touch his mind.
Sensing Gracchus’ ken, Khristos kneeled reverently in the bloody cobblestone square. Seeing their master supplicate himself, all the Blood Vipers stopped what they were doing and bowed.
“Khristos,” the Viper Lord heard Gracchus say.
“I am here,” he answered.“Command me.”
“Go to the caves,” Gracchus said.“From your experiences in the Sorceresses’ War you know where they can be found. What you do not know is that while you lingered in the river, the late son of the reigning Jin’Saienlarged the caves, then set them to a particular purpose-one that failed but can still serve us. Because of the great power of his blood, Nicholas’ spell lives there still. Let your vipers feed on what nourished his growing hatchlings, for it will provide the same increased powers as that which you took from the bodies of the endowed. The Jin’Saiwill come soon, and you must be ready for him. He must be stopped from crossing the Azure Sea at all costs. Let your vipers feed and grow stronger, for soon the greatest struggle of your life will begin.”
“I will obey,” Khristos answered.
As his mind returned to the present, Khristos let go a smile. His vipers could gorge themselves to their hearts’ content and only increase their strength. As he watched his servants feed, he found himself eagerly waiting the impending f
ight.
Come to me, you filthy Vigors worshipper, he thought. Let us finish what was started so long ago.
CHAPTER XXI
The young boy sat on the floor and shivered. The usual wooden stool was not here this time. He briskly rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself as the chilliness seeped through the damp floor and crept into his bones. He did not realize that the goose bumps forming on his skin came more from his rising fear than from the cold.
As usual, he had awakened prone upon the floor. And like the times before, he could not remember who he was or where he would go after his next lesson with the robed ones. Despite his fear he decided that he didn’t care. He only wanted these sessions to end so that he might never have to come here again. Had the barren room offered up a way to kill himself, he would have done so gladly rather than face another unknown horror.
Perhaps they know that, he thought. That is why they took the stool away, thinking that I might use one of its legs to stab it into my heart and end this madness.
After a time the door creaked open to show the boy’s faceless master. As the door parted, a shaft of bright light cut through the darkness, hurting his eyes. His vision slowly adjusted, and another shiver went down his spine. Finally he looked up into the empty confines of the dark cloak hood.
If only my master would show his face, he thought. If his countenance was kind, I might not be so afraid.
The master extended one hand, then crooked a finger, beckoning the boy to stand.
“Come,” he said simply. Like the times before, his voice sounded hollow but commanding.
The boy stood on shaking legs and walked to the door. The hallway beyond looked the way he remembered, with its two rows of opposing white doors. The stark corridor held no scent, no sound, and no life except him and the tall cloaked figure standing by his side. Placing one hand atop the boy’s shoulder, the faceless master started guiding him down the seemingly endless hallway.
Soon they stopped before a door. The master pointed at the gold door handle and it levered downward. As the boy followed the master into the room, he was surprised and saddened by what he saw.
Like the hallway, the chamber was stark white and without furniture. A man stood naked in the center of the room, his hands and feet chained to four iron rings embedded in the floor. He looked to be about forty Seasons of New Life. He was filthy and emaciated, and his body bore many battle scars. His eyes seethed with hatred as he struggled against his chains.
Looking closer, the boy saw a square beeswax plaque hanging around the man’s neck from a leather string. The plaque served but one purpose, the boy knew. This man was a recently captured Shashidan who would soon be sold into slavery in Ellistium’s great forum. When the final bid was accepted and the gavel came down, the auctioneer would record the price and the buyer’s name into the plaque with a stylus. Then the slave’s new owner would lead him in chains to one of the many cashiers’ tables to arrange payment.
Suddenly another thought went through the boy’s mind. As the realization hit home he felt even colder and more alone.
How can I know such things, he wondered, when I can remember nothing else? I understand about Shashida, the slave market, and Ellistium, but I cannot even speak my own name.
Before he could find his answers his master spoke again, breaking the boy’s concentration. He had been on the verge of something, he realized. Even so, he wisely decided to say nothing of his newfound revelations. The master pointed at the man chained to the floor.
“He is a worthless convict,” the master said. “Worse, he was once an enemy soldier and a magic practitioner of the worst kind. He cannot speak to you, because after he committed his crime, his tongue was cut out in punishment.”
Pausing for a moment, the master pointed at the beeswax plaque hanging from the man’s neck. “He has been marked for sale at auction,” the master said, “but with no tongue he won’t bring much.” Then the empty hood hauntingly turned toward the boy’s face.
“He killed his slave handler while on the way to the forum, dealing the poor man a gruesome death,” he added. “It is up to you to determine his fate. There is only one correct decision, and choosing wisely will be today’s lesson. It is one of the most important that you will ever learn.”
The empty hood turned toward the chained slave once more. “His future rests in your hands,” the master said. “Over the course of your life you will be forced to make many such choices, and each must be the right one. There can be no mistakes and no second-guessing, for such errors will be taken as a sign of weakness by those who would destroy you.”
Before continuing the master placed his hands into opposite robe sleeves. “The usual penalty for murder is death,” he added sternly. “But one day you will have the power to commute such sentences and show mercy, should you wish to. So what is it to be? Will you spare him and send him back to the auction block? Or will you order his demise?”
Before the boy could answer, the master waved an upturned palm. At once a gleaming sword appeared in his hand. He held it out.
“Take it,” he said. “Make your choice, but first know this: If you wish the slave to die, it must be by your own hand. Moreover, should you choose to free him, unpleasant consequences could arise.”
With trembling hands the boy took the sword. Despite its heaviness it felt like it belonged in his grasp. The feeling surprised him.
“What consequences?” the boy asked.
“I will not say,” the master answered. “In life one must suffer the unknown results of his decisions, whatever they might be. That is how it will be today. Choose.”
As the boy looked at the slave his whole body started to tremble. Why should the decision be mine? his mind cried out. Who am I to have the power of life and death over others?
The boy lowered his sword. “I will not choose,” he answered. “Nor can you force me to do so.”
He raised his face to again look into the empty, frightening hood. “The choices you offer are worse than nothing. You say that I must either condemn this helpless man to slavery for the remainder of his life or kill him here and now…I do not know which fate is worse.”
The master stepped nearer, his imposing presence stabbing even greater trepidation into the young boy’s heart.
“Youwill choose,” he ordered. “And you will do so this instant. Indecision can be as deadly as the blade in your hand. Choose-or you will remain in this place, learning one harsh lesson after the next until you are an old man and your bones turn to dust. What is it to be-mercy or death?”
The boy looked back at the seething slave. “If I must choose, I choose mercy,” he said. “Free him and return him to the auction block.”
“Very well,” the master answered. “Be prepared to deal with the consequences of your decision.”
Before the boy could answer, an azure cloud gathered around the faceless master. Two seconds later the cloud vanished, taking the master with it.
Stunned, the boy quickly turned to look at the slave. As he did, several smaller azure clouds formed around the slave’s hands and feet. Soon the Shashidan’s manacles vanished, leaving him free.
To the boy’s astonishment the slave let go a wicked smile and charged straight for him, tendons knotting and teeth flashing.
This can’t be happening! the boy thought. I just saved him from certain death! Surely he knows that!
But the time for wondering had passed. There was only one course of action, the boy realized. He would have to defend his life.
As the slave neared him the boy felt a sudden, unbidden tingling course through his veins. As though it were second nature he quickly turned on the balls of his feet, then raised his sword high and brought it around with everything he had, taking the slave’s head off at the shoulders with one cut. As the blade passed through the slave’s neck, for the briefest of moments the boy thought that he saw it glow azure. Then the severed head and the body to which it had once belonged crashed to the white floor
, spurting blood as they went. The headless body convulsed and bled for several moments before finally going still. The killing had taken less than six seconds.
His chest heaving, the boy again lifted the sword and regarded it with wonder as the slave’s still warm blood ran down it and onto his hands. He watched as the strange azure glow slowly left the blade.
Has all this been a dream? he wondered.
Dropping the sword, he lifted his hands before his face and stared at them with horror as if they belonged to someone else-a cattle butcher, perhaps, who cut into flesh as a way of life and was accustomed to having his hands bathed in blood.
Yes, he thought. He stared back down at the dead slave, marveling over how simple a thing it had been to kill another human being. I am much like that cattle butcher. But I have now become a butcher of men…
Just then another azure cloud appeared. Seconds later, the faceless master stepped from its midst. With a wave of one hand he caused the cloud, the corpse, and the severed head to vanish. As he turned toward the boy he again placed his hands into opposite sleeve robes.
At first the boy couldn’t find his voice. Finally the words came in a whisper.
“How?” he breathed. Had the boy been able to see his master’s face, he would have found the approving expression that he had hoped for earlier.
“You possess a rare gift,” the master said. “It is calledK’Shari. I granted it to your blood as you lay asleep on the stone floor. As you grow to manhood you will learn much more about it-how to harness it, embrace it, and make it your own. But for now that is all you need to know about it.”
For the first time since coming to this bizarre place, enough anger roiled up inside the boy to finally overcome his fear. He took a threatening step closer to the frustrating mystic.
“You left me alone with that freed slave!” he shouted. “You knew that he would try to kill me, didn’t you? Yet you vanished, you coward, only to reappear after it was over! Why bother to teach me these strange lessons if you value my life so little?”
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