“Winslow?” Wulfgar asked. She nodded.
“From Farpoint?”
Another nod.
Uncrossing his legs, Wulfgar leaned forward in his chair and looked intently into her face. “Is your father by chance Simon Winslow, the animal healer?”
Surprised, she stopped chewing for a moment. “Yes,” she answered. Then her eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”
“I know Simon well,” he said, smiling. “We do business. His practice is on the west side of town, is it not? On Baylor Street. I take horses there whenever I am unable to cure them myself. Your father is very good at what he does—the best in the city, as far as I am concerned. My parents are Jason and Selene, of the House of Merrick.”
Finally starting to believe, she stopped chewing and put her plate down for a moment. Her eyes searched his face. “The Merrick Stables?” she whispered incredulously.
“Yes,” he answered. “I am their son, Wulfgar.”
She relaxed a little. “My father has spoken often of you,” she said. “He respects you and Jason greatly.”
Wishing he could talk to her forever, a sudden, darker thought crossed Wulfgar’s mind. Standing and walking from the balcony, he went into the bedroom to fetch the hourglass Janus had left behind. It was the only gauge he had to tell him when the painted freak and his monsters would return. When Serena saw it again, her face hardened.
“Why are we here?” she asked. “And how is it that you are being treated so differently from the rest of us?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “They made a great fuss over me when they took my blood at the pier, and then I was immediately brought here. They are waiting for someone called Krassus to arrive. Apparently he will tell me more.” He thought for a moment.
“Tell me,” he said. “How much of this building have you seen? Did you notice any way out?”
“I’m sorry, but I saw no exits,” she answered honestly. “And I viewed little, compared to the gigantic size of this place. I have heard some of the slavers refer to this structure as the ‘Citadel.’ All of us with this R’talis mark, the men and women alike, are kept in gigantic cages. They give us just enough food and water to keep us alive. New R’talis prisoners arrive every day. We have no idea where the people with the other kind of brand are being held, or even if they still live. Every morning Janus and his slavers come and take a different selection of us away. Those taken never return. It is all very strange.”
Wulfgar looked at the hourglass. More than half of the contents of the top globe had already spilled down.
“What happened this morning?” he asked.
“Janus came to us early. I now know that it was to select one of the women for you,” she said ashamedly. “But none of us knew that then. We thought that he was simply taking more of us away. When he chose me, I was terrified. He had me taken to other quarters, rather like these. This gown was laid out on the bed, and there was a room for bathing.” Then her face lowered.
“He watched the entire time as I bathed myself and changed into this dress,” she whispered. “All the while he was smiling, and clinking those strange spheres of his in one hand. It sent shivers down my spine. Then he and his slavers brought me here. Along the way I saw many dark hallways, lit by torches, and a very large, open courtyard. But most of the time was spent navigating stairways. The walk was very long, and hundreds of demonslavers filed by us in the halls. I also saw a few of the men in the dark blue robes. I can tell you that this place, this Citadel as they call it, is very well guarded.”
Wulfgar’s heart fell. If there was any way to escape, he still hadn’t found it.
“There was something else about my walk here,” she added softly, taking him away from his thoughts. “Something horrible.”
“What?” he asked anxiously.
Serena closed her eyes. “The screaming,” she whispered.
“Please go on,” he said. He could tell she was upset, and a part of him hated having to press her further.
“One of the halls we went down was lined with huge marble doors,” she said, shaking her head. “From the other side came horrible, insane screaming, from men and women alike. It went on and on, until we finally rounded the corner and it faded away. It didn’t seem to bother Janus at all.” She paused to wipe away a tear. “I can’t begin to imagine what was going on behind those doors.”
Silence passed for a time. When Serena felt like talking again, they spoke of Farpoint and told each other more about their families. They ate a bit more, and sipped more tea.
When Wulfgar turned to look at the hourglass, he saw that very little time remained. He looked into Serena’s eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked urgently.
For a moment she hesitated, then seemed to decide. “Yes,” she finally said.
“Good,” he answered back. “You were brought here to please me. And Janus said that if you did not, he would punish you. I can’t allow that to happen.”
“Come with me!” he ordered. Then he stood and led her back into the bedroom, where he pushed her gently onto the bed.
Going back to the balcony, he retrieved the hourglass and replaced it on the table in the bedroom where Janus had left it. Then he pushed the food cart back into the room. Hurrying back to the bed, he sat down next to her and looked into her eyes.
“If you want to survive this day, you must do as I tell you,” he ordered. “Stand up!”
Wulfgar quickly pulled the bedspread and silk sheets apart and purposely tangled them. Then he mussed up the pillows. “Turn around!” he ordered.
To her surprise, he quickly began unlacing the back of her gown. After it was partially undone, he whirled her around to face him. Then he grasped the bodice of her gown with both hands and tore it down the front, partially exposing her breasts. Ordering her to lift first one foot then the other, he removed both her slippers and tossed them aside. He ran his hands through her ringlets, making a mess of them. Then he did something even more unexpected.
Reaching down, he quickly captured her right hand tightly in his. Then, before she could protest, he placed her fingernails hard against his left cheek and scratched himself. Drops of blood began running from the three scrapes, and he purposely did not wipe them away.
Horrified, Serena looked up into his face. Tears came to her eyes once more. Taking her by the shoulders, Wulfgar shook her, trying to get her to focus on what must be done. He felt her suddenly go limp, as though she had almost given up.
“Listen to me!” he whispered. “Your life depends on it! The bolt on the other side of the door will slide open at any moment. When it does, I’m going to kiss you. Kiss me back like you mean it! Don’t stop until I do, and then let me do all the talking! Be surprised by nothing I do or say! Do you understand?”
Slowly, the strength he had first seen in her eyes came back. She nodded.
Wulfgar took her into his arms and held her tightly. Untying the sash of his robe, he let it fall open, pressing his naked body against her. He tried as best he could to give her a smile of encouragement.
Turning to look at the hourglass, they both saw that the last few grains of sand were sliding into the lower globe. For several moments the room went silent, the only sounds the beating of their hearts and the waves crashing on the rocky shore below.
Right on time, the bolt on the other side of the double doors began to scratch its way across. Wulfgar turned to look into Serena’s eyes a final time. They both held their breath.
Just as the doors opened a crack, he bent her deeply beneath him and put his mouth down on hers.
The double doors burst open, and Janus and his slavers walked arrogantly into the room. Ignoring them, Wulfgar kissed Serena hard, letting his hands explore her body as if he owned her. Understanding, Serena obeyed him and responded passionately, running her hands through Wulfgar’s long, blond hair. Widening her stance, she moaned and pulled him harder against her. For a moment Wulfgar stopped kissing her, and bent her back even farther to slowly
bury his face in the torn bodice of her dress.
“Well done!” Wulfgar heard the painted freak call out.
As if angry to have been interrupted, Wulfgar slowly, reluctantly stopped what he was doing. Breathing harder than he needed to, he turned his damaged cheek toward Janus, so the freak could get a good look. But he did not let go of Serena. Her body locked tightly against his, he felt a quick shudder of fear go through her.
Janus walked over to them and ran his index finger across Wulfgar’s bloody cheek. “So she can scratch, as well,” he mused. “But it looks as if you have tamed her—at least for the time being.” He smiled. “Tell me,” he asked conspiratorially. “Was she good?”
Wulfgar let Serena go. “Good enough for me to want more,” he growled as he closed his robe. “As you can see, I had a bit of trouble getting her to disrobe the first time. I was about to take her all over again, but you returned before I could.” He gave Janus a wicked, knowing smile. Then he looked back to Serena.
“It’s just like breaking a horse,” he said nastily. “After the first ride, they’re usually far more willing.” He smiled again. “It’s always better when they help.”
Smiling, Janus gave Wulfgar a nod. Then, suddenly, his eyes narrowed and he took a menacing step closer to Serena.
“But if you were going to take her once more, why did you let her dress herself again?” he asked.
Wulfgar thought his heart might stop. He hadn’t considered this. Then he remembered something Serena had told him about her captor.
He smiled. “I like to watch. Don’t you?” Then he shot Serena a nasty, disparaging look, as though she were the lowest whore in creation.
“Oh, yes,” Janus said. “Indeed I do.” Apparently satisfied, he motioned two of his slavers forward. “Take this trollop back where she came from,” he ordered. They immediately grasped Serena by both arms and began roughly shoving her toward the door.
“Wait!” Wulfgar interjected. As he took a brazen step forward, one of the slavers drew his sword. What he was about to dare was risky, he knew. But he had to try.
“What is it?” Janus demanded.
Wulfgar let go another leering, brutish smile. “Bring her to me again in a day or two,” he said adamantly. “I want more.” Wryly rubbing the scratches on his face, he looked Serena up and down again.
“And give this she-cat something better to eat,” he added commandingly. “I like them with a few more curves on their bones.”
His demands had been a gamble, to be sure. Despite the lustful look on his face, his heart was pounding with worry, wondering how the painted freak would react.
Raising an eyebrow, Janus took two quiet steps closer, reached down to the twin spheres hanging from his belt, and began clinking them together. Janus’ closeness made Wulfgar want to cringe, but he held his ground. The freak turned to study the woman once more, then looked back at Wulfgar. As he smiled, the painted red mask crinkled menacingly at the outer edges of his eyes.
“You are clearly in no position to make demands, Wulfgar,” he said. “Surely you know that. Yet I commend your courage. I suppose what you request could be granted.” He smiled again. “Until next time, then.”
Saying nothing more, he went out the double doors. As the slavers pushed Serena toward them, she turned to give Wulfgar a final glance. There were tears tracing down her cheeks. He knew she dared not speak, but it didn’t matter. The thankful look on her face said it all.
As the great doors closed with finality, Wulfgar heard the bolt scratch its way across on the other side.
His chest was heaving. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He stood there that way for some time, listening to the crashing of the waves as they broke on the rocky shore hundreds of feet below. For a short, delicious moment, he thought he could still smell the perfume she had been wearing. Then he opened his eyes and walked to the balcony.
Looking down, he saw the plate and teacup Serena had just used. As if it could somehow bring her back, he took a sip. It was still warm.
Even so, his loneliness was already again so great that it was almost as if she had never been here. He hung his head for a moment. Some of what he had just said and done to her sickened him, but it had been necessary. And despite it, he still had no idea whether he would ever see her again, or whether he had helped her plight.
Looking out over the sea, he watched sadly as the white-sailed masts of yet two more ships broke over the western horizon.
CHAPTER
Fifteen
Krassus looked at the ancient parchment lying on the table before him. The oil lamp hanging from the ceiling cast its golden light down upon it as it countermatched the ceaseless, rhythmic swaying of the ship. The beautiful script on the dry, ancient document seemed to call to his blood, beckoning him to enter its timeless, infinite wonder.
The fabled document was truly majestic, just as Nicholas had promised. About one meter long and half a meter in diameter, it was rolled around a solid gold rod with a fluted, golden knob at each end. A wide gold band engraved in Old Eutracian secured the massive document around its middle. Heavy marble bookends kept it from rolling off the table.
He stood and stretched, then walked across the sumptuous room and swung open one of the stained-glass windows that lined the curved, graceful stern of his flagship. Dappled sunshine bounced off the froth-tipped waves, and the salty sea air immediately invaded the room. The air was brisk, and the Sojourner was making good time as she ran before the wind.
He smiled. He already had the male of the Chosen Ones—and the Scroll of the Vagaries. Two prizes remained to be secured: Wulfgar, the bastard son of Morganna, late queen of Eutracia, and the Scroll of the Vigors.
Obtaining the first scroll had been simple enough. Indeed, had its mate been there with it as Nicholas had promised, he would now have them both. But when he had finally found and entered the glowing, enchanted base of one of the destroyed Gates of Dawn, he had been shocked to find only the Scroll of the Vagaries present. The other had obviously been taken, but by whom? And why hadn’t this one been taken, as well? The gold that made up their center rods and end knobs alone was worth a king’s ransom. These confounding questions had plagued him ever since that fateful day, and he meant to have his answers.
The mystery had led him to two frightening conclusions. First, whoever had taken the other scroll probably had no idea of its overall importance, or he would have returned to steal the second one. And second, if the thief truly did not know what he had, then the missing scroll could be in grave danger—the gold in it melted down, for instance, and the pages tossed away or destroyed outright.
His need to find the other scroll intensified with each passing day. But he also needed to get to the Citadel as soon as possible, to begin the other part of his task.
Only one loose end remained to be dealt with. As he had learned when invading the wizards’ minds, there was yet another place in Eutracia where the herbs, blossoms, and roots used in blaze-gazing had been collected in abundance—and his plan for that problem would be accomplished this very day, far away from where the Sojourner sailed toward the secret island in the sea.
Turning from the window, Krassus looked at the two other persons in the room. Grizelda sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table. She looked tired and worn. Under Krassus’ orders, she had been using her gazing blaze to try to locate the Scroll of the Vigors. Her approach had been to employ bits of blank vellum taken from the edges of the scroll already in their possession in the hope that they would be enough of a match to let her view the whereabouts of its mate. So far she had been unsuccessful.
This greatly angered Krassus, for it might also mean that there was no way to find the missing scrolls from a distance. Or, worse, it might indicate that the scroll he sought had already been destroyed. These were not scenarios he was willing to accept.
The other person seated at the table was Tristan. Bound to his chair, he was still unconscious due to the spell cast over him.
He looked pale and drawn, and the dark stubble on his face was becoming thicker by the day. His head slumped down toward his chest.
Krassus looked back at Grizelda. “I think it’s time for the good prince to rejoin the world,” he said simply.
The herbmistress’ face darkened with worry. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but are you sure this is wise? You said yourself that he can be very dangerous, even though he is still untrained. And the scroll is here, in this very room. Do you really want him to see it?” Her face suddenly pinched with fear that she had just overstepped her bounds.
“What difference could it possibly make?” Krassus replied confidently. “Given his situation, he cannot possibly harm us. And I want him to see it. I want the Chosen One to know how close we are to vanquishing his wizards before he is forever confined within the purgatory that is the Citadel.” Pausing for a moment, Krassus’ face became harder.
“Besides, he is of little importance,” he continued. “If he dies, he dies. And if he survives the voyage, he will live out his days as a slave on the Citadel—unless I finally decide to kill him, of course. Either way, I win.”
With that Krassus narrowed his eyes, and the glow of the craft began to surround the prince. Moaning softly, Tristan began to stir.
Weakly, he lifted his face. His eyes were glazed, and his jaw was slack. Drool dripped from the corners of his mouth.
“Welcome back, Chosen One,” Krassus said quietly. “You have been gone five days. You are groggy, but you are basically well, and should suffer no lasting effects from my ministrations. I trust your dreams were pleasant.”
Trying to focus his eyes, Tristan looked blankly around the room. Through the haze of his vision he saw Grizelda, and the scroll resting on the table before him. But his first concerns were not for them, or for himself.
“Faegan . . . and Shailiha,” he croaked anxiously, his throat so dry it might have been made of paper. “Are they—”
“Dead?” Krassus smiled. “No, I’m sorry to say they are not. But it wasn’t for my lack of trying. The bridge Faegan so cleverly conjured allowed them to get away, but it seems the poor quality horse you were on didn’t make it to the other side. Your sister and the crippled wizard were lifted into the air by your Minions just as my slavers began to corner them in the woods.”
The Scrolls of the Ancients Page 17
