The Scrolls of the Ancients

by Robert Newcomb

  “Why should we care?” one of the ones in front shouted back. Several of them inched forward menacingly.

  “Because I am willing to cut you all in on the money!” Tristan shouted. Smiling, he looked out into the crowd. “Even the whores! Tell me, do you think Rolf would ever have done that? And Rolf now carries part of the location inside his head. If you try to kill me and I kill him before you do, you’ll still have only half of what you need to find the money! He is worth far more to you alive than dead! Now back off!”

  Greed won out, and some of the men lowered their weapons slightly.

  Tristan looked at the two men still holding their sabers to Scars’ back. “Let him go, or Rolf dies. Do it now!”

  After looking skeptically at each other, they cut Scars’ bonds. But what happened next surprised even Tristan.

  Scars whirled on the first of them, pulled the saber from his hands, and then lifted him over his head to send him crashing down on top of the other one.

  Tyranny wasted no time either. Grabbing up one of the discarded sabers, she was at the prince’s side in a flash.

  “Now what, rich man?” the pirate in front shouted at him. It was clear they were nearing the end of their patience.

  “You let the three of us go, and as a precaution against your doing anything stupid, Rolf comes with us,” Tristan ordered. “I will give you the map tomorrow at dawn, after you deliver my spars and sails to me. Don’t worry—our ships are in no condition to sail very far without what we need. If they had been, we would never have come here.”

  Finding the swindling sailmaker in the crowd, Tristan nodded at him. “Ichabod the sailmaker knows where we are moored,” he shouted. “After what we need has been delivered and we have been given time to make our repairs, we are also to be given at least a half-day’s start. If we are followed, Rolf dies, and your dreams of wealth die with him. If we are not followed, I will set Rolf adrift in a small skiff along with the map, and then you shall have both parts of the location and can do whatever you want with him—even kill him, for all I care. All the more for you. But mark my words—if you try to double-cross us or take us prisoner, not only will I kill Rolf myself, but I will also destroy the map. At that point, I would have nothing more to lose, and you will have lost the chance of a lifetime.”

  Pausing, Tristan looked hard into the crowd before speaking again. “Take it or leave it,” he said with finality.

  Greedy and confused, the pirates started shouting angrily among themselves. Tristan waited and watched, desperately hoping his gamble would pay off.

  “I says we take him up on his offer!” a woman shouted, her voice rising above the din. She had climbed up on one of the tables and was gesturing wildly with her arms. Looking closer, Tristan saw that she was the whore who had propositioned him at the bar.

  “What have we got to lose except for these three?” she went on. “And we might just make a bloomin’ fortune! That sounds like a good bargain where I come from! I say we let them go, and see what happens!”

  Tristan smiled and shook his head slightly. It seemed the whore had done him some good, after all.

  But at the same time he realized that they needed to take quick advantage of the crowd’s hesitancy if they were ever going to get out in one piece; there were flaws in his story, and allowing the pirates time to think things through was certainly not to his advantage.

  Looking over at Scars, Tristan nodded toward the door, and Scars nodded back. Reaching down as best he could, Tristan stuffed the brain hook and vellum back into his boot and began dragging Rolf out by his heels. The dangerous, unsure crowd inched forward a bit more, but no one made a move to stop him.

  Once through the door, Scars came quickly to Tristan’s side and relieved him of Rolf. As though Rolf weighed nothing, the giant tossed him over the front of the saddle of one of the horses tied outside the inn, then freed the reins and mounted. Tyranny and Tristan untied two other horses, jumped into the saddles, and wheeled them around. As they charged away, Tristan looked over at Tyranny, and she smiled at him. Warily turning to look behind him, Tristan finally smiled, as well.

  For the moment, no one was following.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-six

  Marcus shifted his weight against the corner of the building as he watched the sun begin to set over the Plaza of Fallen Heroes. It was that special, indescribable hour of metamorphosis when the sky was just starting to change from the turquoise of day to the indigo of twilight. Then the blackness of a full-fledged night would cover everything, the stars peeking out from their distant hiding places in the heavens.

  Marcus let out an exasperated breath. He had been waiting here for the last two hours, and he had more than one problem on his mind. As he looked around the hundredth time for a suitable victim, his stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he had last eaten.

  Rebecca waited for him at home in the dilapidated shack. She was by now no doubt as hungry as he was, for they’d consumed the last of their food early this morning. Pursing his lips, he thought of her alone with the scroll that lay buried beneath the single, shabby cot. ’Becca must be terrified, he realized. She always was whenever she was left on her own with the strange, wondrous artifact. He only hoped that it had not started glowing again while he was gone.

  Marcus had come back to the plaza for two reasons. One was to find a suitable mark whose pocket he could pick. The second was to tell Mr. Worth that they had a deal for the scroll at thirteen thousand kisa, the amount they had agreed upon two days earlier. He assumed Worth would still want the scroll, but a delivery date had yet to be established, and he needed money to feed himself and Rebecca until then.

  He looked across the street to Worth’s storefront. It was a fairly nondescript place with a glass front and a sign over the door that read artifacts of the craft—all items guaranteed authentic. Several patrons had left the shop this afternoon, cradling their new possessions as though they had just purchased the greatest wonders of the known world. Marcus had smiled at them with rueful skepticism as they rushed home with their supposed treasures.

  Over the course of the last two days he had found and approached two other parties regarding the scroll, but he had not trusted them the way he had Worth. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but for some reason he felt that the fat, ruddy-faced artifacts dealer was for the most part honest, while his encounters with the other two had sent a chill up his spine—a warning he always heeded. Deciding his game was fast becoming too dangerous, he had returned to confirm the deal with Worth.

  As he looked up the street again, he thought he saw a suitable candidate for pickpocketing. As his target exited a clothing shop several doors down the street, Marcus casually shifted his weight away from the wall and began walking directly toward him.

  The man was well dressed and was still counting his coins as he walked out of the shop, his purchases in one hand, his money in the other. Unbelievably foolish, Marcus thought. He had been taught never to exit a place with money still in his hands. Not only could everyone see how much he had, but they could also see which pocket he deposited it in.

  Slowing down, Marcus watched as the fellow stuffed his coins into the right inside pocket of his waistcoat. Perfect, he thought.

  Squaring his shoulders a bit in order to maximize the impact, Marcus hurried his pace again and walked directly into his mark. As the man twisted in an effort to maintain his balance, his coat flew open. One of Marcus’ hands slipped in and out in a flash, then straight down toward the top of his right boot to let the coins fall into it.

  “Watch where you’re going, you fool!” the man shouted angrily as he juggled his packages. After giving the man a quick, seemingly embarrassed nod of regret, Marcus gracefully stepped around him and kept on going.

  But he only took a few carefully measured steps before darting across the street and into Worth’s shop. Looking out one of the windows, he smiled. The man he had just robbed was turning the far corner,
completely ignorant of how much poorer he had just become. Judging by the weight in his boot, Marcus had done very well. He turned back to look over the shop.

  The place was filled with arcane objects, some of which looked very old. Mr. Worth was standing in the back, talking politely to a prosperous-looking man and woman. Marcus walked closer. When Worth saw him his face lit up, and he almost choked on his words.

  After taking care of the couple, Worth hurriedly walked them to the door, locked it, and then turned its sign around, indicating that the store was closed. Then he drew the drapes across the windows and walked back over to where Marcus was standing, a hopeful look crowding in around the edges of his face.

  “You’re back!” he breathed excitedly. “I thought I might never see you again!” Reaching up, he nervously worried one end of his white mustache.

  Marcus tried to display his best look of indifference. “The scroll shall be yours,” he said. “For the thirteen thousand kisa that we agreed upon. Do we still have a deal?” Holding his breath, Marcus prayed that the shopkeeper hadn’t changed his mind.

  “Oh, yes!” Worth exclaimed ecstatically. He was fairly bursting with joy. “Yes indeed! But I will need three days to get the money together.”

  Marcus narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like the sound of this. He had hoped to finish his dealings with Worth as soon as tomorrow, and be done with the scroll forever. He looked skeptically up into Worth’s dark eyes. Worth seemed even more nervous now than the first time they had met. And if he wanted the scroll as badly as he said, then why didn’t he already have the money ready? Marcus wondered. Or did he really have that kind of money at all? A cold sense of dread shot through him.

  “Why the three days?” he asked. “I thought you were in a hurry to own the scroll.”

  “In order to pay you, I must liquidate my entire stock,” Worth replied nervously. “I have talked to two other artifacts dealers, and they agreed to buy me out, lock, stock, and barrel. But it will take three days to accomplish the transaction. Then I can meet you wherever you choose.”

  Marcus thought for a moment, then finally decided that what Worth was telling him made some sort of sense. “Very well,” he said finally. “Meet me at midday, in the same spot where we talked before. Near the stand where the old lady sells the throat larks to release. Do you remember?”

  Worth nodded.

  “Place the kisa into bags, and tie the bags onto a saddled horse,” Marcus added. “I’ll be moving fast, so follow my instructions to the letter, or the deal is off. My sister will be watching you, so don’t try anything stupid. If I receive the wrong signal from her, I’ll leave with the scroll, and you’ll never see me again.” He looked as hard into Worth’s eyes as he dared.

  “I understand completely,” Worth answered quickly. “Everything shall be as you say.”

  Nodding, Marcus started toward the door. Then he paused and turned around. Smoothly pulling the knife from his trousers, he touched the button on its handle. It sprang open with a discernible click.

  “Don’t let my age fool you,” he said sternly. “If you do anything to try to cheat me, I’ll find you again and you’ll be forever sorry.”

  Worth nodded. Walking the rest of the way to the door, Marcus unlocked it and let himself out.

  Back on the street, night had fallen in earnest. Blessedly, he saw no sign of the man he had robbed, so he walked into the nearest alley, pulled off his boot, and counted the coins. Ten kisa. Easily enough to keep them in food until the day he sold the scroll. Happily putting his boot back on, he placed the coins into his pocket and made straight for the farmers’ market. There might even be enough left over to buy one of the sweet cakes his sister loved so much. He smiled. ’Becca would be pleased.

  From behind a curtain in the back of the shop, two figures came forward. The one painted like a harlequin pulled his dagger from its scabbard and casually placed its razor-sharp tip up against one of Worth’s rosy, plump cheeks. The old woman stood next to him, clearly enjoying the anguish that the artifacts dealer was experiencing.

  “Well done,” Janus said. “You have him completely fooled. Keep doing as I tell you, and you just might live through this.”

  “Why don’t you just follow him and take the scroll?” Worth asked nervously. “Why do you still need me?”

  Janus pointed his dagger toward the door Marcus had just gone through. “Despite his early years, that one is exceedingly clever,” he answered. “He has probably lived his entire life on the street, and would surely realize he was being followed. I should know, for I was once just like him. Should he suddenly understand that he is being pursued he would run, and we might lose him forever. No, better to let him come to us willingly. I am agreeable to letting you take your three days to raise the money. That adds a sense of well-needed reality to our little game, don’t you think? Besides, the boy is smart enough to want to check the contents of your moneybags, so you’d best have them full when the time comes. And then I will keep your kisa for myself when this is all over. I’m sure my master will not mind, since he is well beyond such mundane desires. He may well even compliment me on my ingenuity.”

  Janus smiled menacingly. As he did the red mask crinkled up at the corners. “And then, once I have both the scroll and the money, those troublesome children shall die.”

  “How—how did you find me?” Worth asked, his voice trembling. The bizarre man and woman had walked into his shop yesterday and threatened to kill him on the spot. Since then Worth had lived in fear of his life, hoping desperately that Marcus would return.

  Janus smiled. “With the craft, of course. You need not know the details.”

  Terrified, all Worth could do was nod.

  Janus ordered Worth and Grizelda back toward the curtain, and let it close silently behind them.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-seven

  Geldon felt the sharp sea wind running through his hair as he stood at the bow of the Savage Scar, the flagship of the Minion fleet. More than two hundred other such ships sailed with her through the restless Sea of Whispers. The sky was darkening, and the three rose-colored moons had just risen, bathing the froth-tipped waves in their glow.

  As the hunchbacked dwarf swayed back and forth with the rhythmic rocking of the vessel, he looked out across the sea and was again reminded of how much had changed since the Chosen One and the lead wizard had first come to his home nation of Parthalon. There were still so many troubles that would have to be surmounted if Eutracia, Parthalon, and the people he cared so much about were ever to find true peace.

  Reaching up to his throat, he touched the place where he had been forced to wear the jeweled, iron collar of Succiu, second mistress of the Coven of sorceresses. Then a short smile passed his lips. He owed not only his freedom, but his very life to Wigg and Tristan; and he would do anything they asked of him. Right now, that meant seeing the Minion fleet safely to Eutracia.

  Nearly three weeks had gone by since the wizards had sent him through Faegan’s portal to Parthalon. Their orders had been explicit: The fleet was to leave their moorings at Eyrie Point immediately, carrying as many of the Minion warriors as they could hold. On the way back, they were to fan out and search for any sign of Tristan.

  With so many ships and warriors at his disposal, Geldon could scour large sections of the ocean at a time. Even so, he was enough of a realist to know that they had in fact searched only a small fraction of the Sea of Whispers, and it troubled his heart to think that he might never see the prince again.

  The trip so far had been horrific. Several days earlier they had been forced to sail through the area of the sea controlled by the Necrophagians, the beings also known as the Eaters of the Dead. Knowing that there was no choice, Wigg and Faegan had reluctantly granted permission for the Minions to engage in a shipboard battle to the death, an activity guaranteed to provide the forty fresh corpses required to appease the Necrophagians and gain permission to cross these waters.

  After the battle,
in place of the usual Minion tradition of the burning of the dead, Traax had ordered a short period of respectful mourning. Then the corpses had been lowered over the side to be consumed by the horrible faces that came rising hungrily to the surface of the waves.

  The noise and gore that followed had been terrible. Geldon had been unable to watch the once-magnificent warriors consumed by the ever-ravenous, circling maws that prowled the surface of the sea. But at last the Necrophagians, sated for the time being, had disappeared beneath the waves, and the ship had been allowed to proceed with its voyage.

  Geldon wondered whether they would ever know just who the Necrophagians were, or why they existed here in the midst of this harsh, cold ocean.

  Sighing, he shifted his weight on the barrel he was standing upon, placed his hands on the gunwale, and gazed out again at the ever-changing sea. He felt as much as saw Traax quietly come to stand by his side. For a time neither of them spoke.

  From the corner of his eye, Geldon suddenly saw a fleeting shadow cross the deck. Then came another, and yet another. Glancing up, he saw the returning squadron of Minion warriors carefully circle the Savage Scar, then land lightly on the ship’s decks. They looked forlorn, their wings drooping down tiredly. Seeing this, he frowned. Another unsuccessful search, he surmised.

  He watched as the warrior leading this particular group gathered himself up, snapping his wings into place behind his back before he approached. When he reached them the warrior bowed, the heels of his black boots coming together with a crisp, automatic snap.

  “Your report?” Traax asked.

  “Two more ships were boarded and searched, sir,” the warrior answered tiredly. “I am sorry to report that they revealed nothing. And neither of them were slavers.”

  “Very well,” Traax answered.

  It was clear by the look on the Minion commander’s face that he was disappointed. Traax had fought bravely beside Tristan in the skies over Eutracia just before the collapse of the Gates of Dawn, and the two men now respected each other greatly. Added to this was the fact that Tristan was his sworn liege, and so it was Traax’s duty to do everything within his power to find him.