The Scrolls of the Ancients

by Robert Newcomb

  “How many more groups still search the sky tonight?” he asked the warrior.

  “Just one, sir,” the officer replied. “But I respectfully suggest that no more be sent out until dawn. Heavy clouds are rolling in from the west, making the surface of the sea difficult to observe. It was only by luck that we were able to find the fleet again.”

  Traax nodded his understanding, his face darkening a bit more. “You are dismissed,” he said simply. With another click of his heels, the warrior walked away to take advantage of some well-deserved rest. Traax turned back to look at Geldon.

  “Our search continues to go poorly,” he said to the dwarf. “The Chosen One’s wizards will not be pleased.”

  “I know,” Geldon answered, equally dejected. “We are now just a bit more than two days from the coast. The farther west we sail, the less likely we are to find the prince. But orders are orders.”

  Saying nothing more, he turned back to the sea and again cast his eyes out over the waves. Traax, too, remained silent, lost in his own maze of concerns.

  The silence was broken by the return of the last of the night’s Minion search squadrons, coming to land on the deck.

  At first glance these warriors seemed even more exhausted than the previous group had been. But then Geldon could see that they were talking animatedly among themselves; they looked almost happy, in fact.

  The officer in charge hurried up to Geldon and Traax and bowed, clicking his heels. His name was K’jarr, and he was one of the finest long-distance fliers in the Minion force. Geldon found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

  “Speak,” Traax ordered quickly. “Do you have word of the prince?”

  “Regrettably no, sir,” K’jarr answered. “But we have discovered something else that might be of use to us in our search.”

  “And that is?”

  K’jarr smiled. “We found a small patch of fog. It is less than a two-hour flight, south-southwest from the fleet’s current position.”

  At first Traax seemed annoyed by what he viewed to be an inconsequential find. “And this is important because . . .” he said, exercising his considerable authority as he allowed his words to trail off.

  “Its nature is highly unusual,” the officer answered. “It does not ebb and flow with the winds, as one would expect. Instead it just stays in one place constantly, somehow always retaining its shape. Then, after about an hour of high surveillance, we began to observe the ships.”

  Geldon’s eyes lit up. “What ships?” he asked eagerly.

  “A great many vessels came and went from within the depths of the fog,” K’jarr replied. “It is difficult to say for sure, but to me they looked like fighting ships. It seemed they were preparing for something. We continued to circle high above, using the clouds for cover. I doubt that we were observed. Instead of soaring down to investigate further, I thought it best to bring the squad directly back, so as to give you my report as soon as possible.”

  After nodding his approval to the officer, Traax turned questioning eyes toward Geldon. “Does any of this mean anything to you?” he asked urgently.

  “No,” the dwarf answered. “But if ships are coming and going from the midst of this unlikely haze, there must surely be more to it than meets the eye. If it truly does not move, then it is probably some manifestation of the craft. Magic is afoot.”

  “Exactly,” Traax answered with a menacing grin. It was the first time Geldon had seen him smile since Tristan disappeared. “Do you think your wizards would mind very much if we made a small detour?” he asked conspiratorially.

  Geldon thought for a moment. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “But we’re about to, anyway.” He looked back at the officer who had just given them the mysterious news.

  “Give the heading to the helmsman, and tell him to make the appropriate course change,” he ordered. “We are going to investigate this immovable fog bank of yours. How long do you think it will take the fleet to reach it?”

  “If the winds hold, we should be there by dawn,” K’jarr answered. “Perhaps sooner.”

  “Very well,” Geldon said. “Go now.”

  The officer bowed to both of them and clicked his heels together, then left.

  “Tomorrow should prove to be a most interesting day,” Traax said quietly.

  Taking a deep breath, Geldon looked back into the Minion’s intelligent, hazel eyes. “And so it shall,” he agreed.

  Neither of them fully realized just how meaningful Traax’s observation was about to become.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-eight

  Serena was worried. Wulfgar had changed.

  Not so much that she did not continue to love him, and not in any way that made her fear for her safety. If anything, he seemed to love her even more. But he was more commanding, more sure of himself, more discerning in his thoughts and actions than she had ever seen.

  Plus, he seemed to have an even greater desire to be free of the confines of his quarters. He would often stand and stare at the restless sea for hours, saying nothing. And then, without a second’s warning, he would begin pacing the rooms like a caged, predatory animal, eager to be released on an unsuspecting world. More than once she had asked him what was preoccupying him so, but somehow he never answered her, distracting her instead with a kiss or by bringing up a different subject.

  Since she had come to Wulfgar’s quarters to live, he had been taken away by the demonslavers twice, and it was only since then that she had begun to notice the changes in him. She was sure his visits outside of these rooms were the cause of his strange metamorphosis, but she was at a loss as to why and how.

  As he continued to pace back and forth before the azure window that Krassus had created, Serena realized that it was as if Wulfgar had been suddenly, involuntarily thrust into something far larger than himself and was being inexorably carried away upon the swelling rise of its tide.

  “What is it, my love?” she asked gently. “What troubles you so?”

  He stopped for a moment and turned to her, a short smile on his lips. Reaching down, he gently stroked one of her cheeks with the back of his hand. She took his hand into her own and pressed it closer, never wanting to let it go. Lifting her face, she looked into his eyes.

  Wulfgar’s eyes had always been beautiful. Hazel, compassionate, and strong, they had been one of the first things that had attracted her to him. But since his two mysterious visits to the outside they seemed literally to shine, as if they had been shot full of energy that was waiting to be released. They were mesmerizing, and she quickly found herself lost within their polished depths.

  “There is nothing wrong, my darling,” he answered softly. “Everything is finally starting to become as it should be. As it was foretold it would be. Only during my last few sessions with Krassus have I finally come to understand. There is much to tell.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, still pressing his hand to her cheek.

  Sitting down beside her, he looked lovingly into her eyes. “You are to become my queen,” he said simply.

  His words passed though her heart like a sudden storm. Stunned, she searched his face. “But you are not a king,” she answered gently, not wanting to hurt him. She was surely honored by his words, and wanted to be with him forever. But a queen . . .

  “I don’t understand,” she said, finally letting go of his hand. As she did, she found that her own hands were now trembling.

  “I know,” he answered. “At first neither did I. But Krassus has begun to show me the way. I no longer fear him, or his demonslavers. In fact, I now embrace them. Just as you soon will.”

  Realizing that she was curious, he turned his right wrist over and narrowed his eyes. As he did, a small puncture formed in his skin. Stunned and frightened, Serena instinctively pulled back. But Wulfgar only smiled, tacitly telling her that it was going to be all right.

  He then turned his wrist over again, and a single drop of his blood fell to the silk bedsheets. As she watche
d, Serena’s eyes went wide.

  The blood twisted its way into a small pattern with curved lines on the top, and straight, angular lines on the bottom. It also had many smaller lines leading away from it, like branches shooting off from the trunk of a tree. It seemed to stir something within her—something long hidden, and immensely powerful. She looked back up at him, a thousand unanswered questions on her face. Wulfgar pointed down at the bloody signature.

  “Within that pattern lies the source of all that there is, and all that shall ever be,” he said quietly. “Endowed blood.”

  Looking at the brand on her shoulder, he rubbed his fingers across it. “R’talis blood,” he added softly. “The blood you carry, as well.” He then allowed silence to speak for a time, as he sensed her trying to absorb the gravity of his words.

  “But how is it that you see yourself a king?” she finally asked.

  Smiling, he took one of her dark ringlets into his hand and stroked it gently. “Each time I leave this place, I come one step closer to claiming my throne,” he answered cryptically. “Just as you shall soon do, for such a seat awaits you, also. All you have to do is reach out and take it, as I am doing.” Lost in his thoughts for a moment, he looked away. “I have seen such wonders, Serena . . .”

  Suddenly a knock came on the door. It was almost hesitant, as if the person on the other side did not wish to disturb them, but must. Smiling, Wulfgar turned.

  “Enter,” he commanded. Serena heard the bolt slide away. The huge double doors opened, and a single demonslaver entered the room. Remarkably, he was unarmed. Then the slaver did something she would never forget.

  Looking at Wulfgar, the monster bowed.

  “Yes?” Wulfgar asked.

  “Please forgive the intrusion, but it is once again time,” the slaver said simply. “He asks for you.” His tone was surprisingly kind. Perhaps even subservient, Serena realized. Wulfgar nodded at the slaver, then looked back at her.

  “I will return, and then we can talk more,” he said. “I apologizefor locking the bolt, my love, but it is for your own good. Soon you, too, will have no need for the chambers to be secured. Just be patient.”

  Saying nothing more, Wulfgar left with the slaver. They closed and bolted the double doors behind them. Serena stared at the door for some time, still overcome by her lover’s words.

  Finally getting up and walking to the window, she realized that she had already begun to miss him. The three moons cast their magenta shimmerings upon the waters of the ocean, highlighting the tips of the ever-restless waves. Even though the transparent, azure wall separated her from the outside world, for a moment she thought she could almost smell the familiar saltiness of the sea breeze.

  She tried to sort through the mysterious things Wulfgar had told her, but no answers came. As she gazed into the distance the silent waves beckoned, but provided no clues. She shook her head.

  A queen, her mind repeated to her over and over again. But a queen destined to rule over whom?

  As the sea crashed against the shore below, she stood there for a long time, just as Wulfgar had done, her mind lost in the maze of complexities that had been laid before her.

  Lying on his back on one of the white marble tables of the Scriptorium, Wulfgar looked calmly up into Krassus’ dark eyes. He was not tied down this time, for there was no longer any need for such crude measures. The Scroll of the Vagaries hovered close by, glowing with the power of the craft. Krassus smiled.

  “Are you ready?” he asked simply.

  “Yes,” came the willing, eager answer.

  “You’re beginning to love the way you feel, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, then,” Krassus asked. “What is it that you want?”

  “I want more.”

  Smiling, the wizard resumed his work.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-nine

  As the first rays of dawn crept down through the strange, unmoving fog surrounding the Isle of Sanctuary, Tristan stood wearily against the gunwale of the People’s Revenge. He had been up all night helping with the repairs, and he was exhausted. Letting out a deep breath, he hoped that their labors would be enough to let them survive another day.

  He desperately needed to get the parchment hidden in his boot back to the wizards, but he was beginning to doubt whether he would live long enough to make that happen. So far there had been no sign of the pirates, but he knew that couldn’t last much longer. Every moment that passed decreased their chances of escape.

  Late the previous afternoon they had arrived back at their ships without incident, Scars still holding the unconscious Rolf over the front of his saddle. After boarding the vessels and tying Rolf securely to one of the masts, Tristan had convinced Tyranny to order her three ships to another location, well within the depths of the fog bank. But when he had tried to convince her of his other suggestion, her face had darkened and she had proven far more stubborn. In a way he understood her concerns, for there were parts of his plan he didn’t care for, either. In fact, had Scars not finally agreed with him, he probably wouldn’t have made any headway with her at all.

  “I won’t do it!” she had shouted loudly into the darkness of the nighttime fog, stamping one boot against the deck of The People’s Revenge. They hadn’t dared light the ships’ lanterns, but in the rose-colored moonlight, Tristan could easily see the anger on her face. Her sharp jaw stuck out angrily.

  “I didn’t come all this way just to leave them behind!” Defiantly she folded her arms across her breasts. “Only the Afterlife knows what will become of them if I do! Frankly, you surprise me! What you managed to do back there in the Wing and Claw was wonderful, and I will be forever grateful for it, but what you ask of me now I will not grant!”

  “I know how you feel, Tyranny,” Tristan countered gently, trying to calm her down. “But my story won’t hold up long, and I fear they may come for us anytime now, rather than keep their side of our so-called ‘bargain.’ If we are ever to get out of here in one piece, we must start work right away. If we are forced to try to outrun them in our current condition we are done for—you said so yourself. I know you don’t want to leave anyone behind, but you must trust me when I tell you that this is the only way.”

  Tristan’s plan was admittedly desperate. It involved cannibalizing the other two vessels and repairing The People’s Revenge with what they had stripped from them. Then the remaining slaves and skeleton crews would be brought aboard, the other two ships would be scuttled, and Tyranny’s flagship would set sail for Eutracia.

  He knew full well that if they did this they would be packed to the rigging with extra crewmen, freed slaves, and provisions, and that that would drastically slow them down. Still, it was all he could think of that might gain them some semblance of a fighting chance. Back in the Wing and Claw he had never really expected the pirates to keep their end of the deal. His entire scheme had only been about getting away safely and buying some time.

  But Tyranny would have none of what he was proposing. Knowing they were wasting precious time, he looked over to Scars and silently beseeched the faithful giant to agree with him. Finally, Scars relented and cleared his throat.

  “I fear he may be right, Captain. We have just enough material from the two other ships to get the job done. If we start now and everyone lends a hand, we may be able to finish before dawn and leave before the pirates are any the wiser. Sometimes one simply has to know when to cut one’s losses and move on. This seems to be one of those times.”

  Her face still a mask of grim determination, Tyranny continued to glare at them.

  “I believe it’s what your late father would do, were he here with us today,” Scars added.

  Tristan looked over again at the first mate, and each of them knew what the other was thinking. In order to get this done, they could simply tie Tyranny up and lock her belowdecks, he supposed, as long as her crew went along with it. But something in his heart wouldn’t let him. They were all stronger with h
er than without her, and he wanted the ship’s captain to be a willing part of whatever they did.

  When they had first arrived back at the ships, Tyranny had ordered a head count. It revealed that more than fifty of her total crew were still on shore. And she had immediately made it clear that she wouldn’t hear of leaving them behind.

  In a way Tristan agreed with her, but he also knew that if any of them were going to survive, they had to get going. Any crewmembers not back on board by the time they were ready to sail would simply have to turn pirate—if they hadn’t decided to do so already—or otherwise take their chances on the island. Finally deciding enough was enough, he took Tyranny by the shoulders and forced her around to face him.

  “And what about your brother, eh?” he asked sternly. “You still remember him, I assume! How much good do you think you can do him if you’re dead? Isn’t he the real reason you started all this in the first place?”

  Letting go of her, he pointed to some slaves sitting on the deck. Sick, ragged, and coughing, many of them looked as though they wouldn’t even survive the two days it would take to get home.

  “And what about them?” he asked. “Your men still on shore may be left behind, but they knew the risks. If they don’t get back in time, so be it. But these slaves you have shed blood to save rightfully deserve their own chance, don’t you think? Or have you somehow forgotten about them, too?” His dark gaze didn’t give her an inch.

  “You trusted me once, and now I’m asking you to do so again,” he said, somewhat more gently. Reaching into his boot, he withdrew the ancient slip of parchment and held it before her eyes. “I know this can’t look like much to you, but I must get it home at all costs. There are things at stake here that you can’t possibly imagine. Things of the craft of magic.” Then his mood lightened a bit. “Besides,” he added coyly, “wouldn’t you like to live long enough to spend that one hundred thousand kisa I promised you?”