The Scrolls of the Ancients

by Robert Newcomb

  “If the pirates reject your terms, and it becomes a case of you or them, then you have my permission to kill them in a fair fight,” he said quietly.

  “It shall all be as you say,” Traax replied.

  Tyranny watched as Traax walked away. “They are amazing,” she said. “I wish they had been at my side when I was hunting down demonslavers.”

  Upon hearing this, one corner of Tristan’s mouth came up. He knew it may yet come to that.

  “Where in the name of the Afterlife did they come from?” she asked quizzically. “And how is it that they obey you so unerringly? I have never seen anything like them.”

  Shaking his head, Tristan gave a short laugh. “That’s a long story,” he answered her. “One that I shall be happy to share with you on the way home.”

  “You should have plenty of time to tell it to me,” she reflected. “It’s still a two-day sail to the coast.”

  Tristan gave her an odd, knowing look. “Actually, we shall be in the palace by sunset, at the latest.”

  She watched, confused as Tristan turned around and faced the decks of her ship again. Two Minion vessels had come up along the opposite side, and the evacuation was already in progress. Minion warriors were taking the weak and the wounded into their arms and flying them across the sea to the waiting ships.

  Then she saw Tristan grin and point to the litter that sat waiting on the deck, not too far from them. Realizing what he intended, she felt the blood rush from her face. She raised her palms up in a desperate gesture of defiance.

  “Oooh, no!” she shouted.

  “Oooh, yes!” he ordered her. “You, me, Scars, and Geldon.” Then he smiled again. “I admit it takes a bit of getting used to, but your prince commands it.”

  Without giving her another chance to argue, he took her by one arm and pulled her over to where the litter stood. They were clearly running out of time, and they needed to go.

  By now, Scars had reappeared with the maps and tools. He looked tired, and was soaked from the waist down by the seawater that was already flooding hip-deep through the lower decks. With a word from his captain, he tentatively got into the litter, finding that he had to stay bent over slightly to keep his head from hitting the roof. At a word from Tristan, Geldon entered next. When it finally came Tyranny’s turn, she turned and gave him a look.

  “You’ll pay for this, you know,” she said coyly.

  Smiling, Tristan raised an eyebrow. “And as you already know, my good captain, that has always been my intent,” he replied. “But first we have to get home.” Looking for Traax in the melee, he finally found him, and walked over.

  “Tyranny, Scars, and Geldon are coming with me,” he said. “I grant you three days to carry out my orders. After that, I expect you and the fleet to return to Eutracia with all due haste.”

  Traax was holding Tristan’s weapons. Smiling, he handed them back to him. “Three days, then,” he answered. He held out his arm. Reaching out, Tristan heartily slapped the inside of his forearm against Traax’s and grasped it. Neither of them spoke more, for there was no need.

  Tristan turned away and walked back to the waiting litter to find K’jarr standing there with two large packages, both wrapped in sailcloth. “Well done,” Tristan told him. He ordered the Minion to lash them to the top of the litter. As the last to get in, Tristan found barely enough room for himself and his weapons, but he managed. He looked back out at K’jarr.

  “I want you and fifty of your finest warriors to escort us home,” Tristan ordered. “What I carry is of the greatest importance, and it must reach there safely. Make your course directly for the palace. And we shall need a few additional bearers, because of the extra weight.”

  Honored to have been given the privilege of seeing the Chosen One and his entourage to Tammerland, K’jarr clicked his heels together, and went to select his warriors.

  At last the litter rose from the deck of the sinking ship. Leaning back, Tristan closed his eyes. He was drained and exhausted, but his heart sang with the knowledge that he was finally going home. Home—to see Wigg, Faegan, Abbey, and Shailiha and her baby.

  And Celeste.

  CHAPTER

  Fifty-two

  Standing in the midst of the white, silent Scriptorium of the Citadel, Wulfgar looked lovingly down at the subject sleeping on the marble table. Krassus stood by his side. The Scroll of the Vagaries hovered nearby, glowing brightly. Wulfgar’s hazel eyes danced with the power of the craft.

  “You have done well,” Krassus said quietly. “Your use of the Forestallment calculations provided by the scroll proved even faster than mine. I have now done all I can for you, because your blood and your current gifts already outshine mine by a considerable degree. Even greater, I daresay, than the combined talents of the two wizards of the Redoubt.” Pausing for a moment, Krassus took his eyes from the subject on the table and turned to Wulfgar.

  “And that is to say nothing of what you will both eventually become,” he added. “After today, you and Serena will no longer need my powers to gift one another with additional Forestallments, the calculations for thousands of which can still be found in the scroll. But for now, far greater, more urgent plans await your newfound talents. The work for which you have been prepared is about to commence.”

  The transformation of the bastard half brother of the two Chosen Ones had easily exceeded the wizard’s wildest dreams—even more so than his late master Nicholas might have guessed, he surmised. Wulfgar stood tall and unflinching in his newly realized gifts. His mind and blood were alight with the power of the craft; his determination to see Nicholas’ work through to its glorious end had become even more resolute than Krassus’.

  He wore emerald-green silk breeches and a short, matching jacket that lay partially open to reveal his chest. Black leather sandals adorned his feet. The hard, smooth muscles of his body rippled every time he called upon them, as if even they had somehow also been enhanced by his recent transformation. His sandy blond hair was still tied behind his neck, but the old worn leather strap had been replaced with a narrow, flat band of solid gold.

  His sessions with Krassus finally complete, Wulfgar was now protected by the time enchantments. He was also fully committed—heart, blood, and mind—not only to the exclusive practice of the Vagaries, but also to the work that his nephew Nicholas had begun, but was unable to finish. As yet, however, the dying wizard had not told him what that was to be.

  Krassus reached down and gently placed one of his palms on Serena’s abdomen. As he closed his eyes, a smile came to his lips.

  “She is pregnant,” he said, opening his eyes again. “Well done. Your firstborn is to be a daughter.”

  “I know,” Wulfgar answered quietly. “Serena has been with child for only a few hours. I saw the azure glow gather around her the moment conception took place. It is good that this happened during, rather than after, the gifting of her blood. For now the child will be born with many of her mother’s Forestallments intact, and will thereby be spared the painful process of their installation.”

  Wulfgar looked again at the woman he so loved. Serena’s strong, beautiful face was placid in sleep, framed by the dark ringlets that spilled gracefully down over her shoulders and breasts. She wore a black, full-length gown of the finest satin, with matching, bowed slippers on her feet. Pure gold adorned her delicate throat, wrists, and fingers.

  She was a true queen, Wulfgar thought. Worthy of standing by his side in their coming struggle with the Chosen Ones.

  “She will command powers of the Vagaries that are virtually unheard of,” Krassus said. “Only you will be more powerful.” Picking up one of Serena’s hands, Krassus held it as though it were made of the finest porcelain.

  “It is now her time in history, as well as yours,” the wizard continued softly. “Awaken her, Wulfgar. Let her finally see the world through her newborn eyes.”

  This time it was her lover’s turn to touch her. Placing his palm on her forehead, Wulfgar watched h
er eyes flutter softly and open. Immediately she looked up into Wulfgar’s face and smiled. He reached out his hand. Grasping it, she slowly sat up on the table. Then she placed her satin slippers on the marble floor and stood up.

  Without hesitation she threw her head back and stretched her body like a cat. Breathing deeply, she smiled again, clearly reveling in her newfound power. Without hesitation, she purposefully walked closer to Wulfgar, placed her arms around him, and kissed him on the lips.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said simply as she drew one of her long, freshly painted nails down his cheek. “Thank you for granting me the time enchantments. And for so generously opening the psychic portals of the Vagaries and exposing their many wonders to my mind. Now I am able to serve you not only with my heart, but also with my endowed blood. I shall be forever grateful.” Suddenly her eyes went wide, and she took a quick breath of realization.

  “Oh . . . ,” she exclaimed, as she placed one hand on her belly. Then she looked back up to him and smiled again. “A girl. It truly seems there is no end to the gifts my lover has bestowed on me.”

  Krassus held his hands out to them, and they each took one. “Come with me,” he said simply. Walking them over to a pair of marble double doors, he employed the craft, and they swung open.

  Still holding hands, the three of them walked out onto a broad balcony overlooking the Sea of Whispers. The red-orange ball of the sun was descending into the ocean, and the night birds called softly to one another. A gentle sea breeze swirled up, bathing everything in its fresh, clean scent.

  Turning around, Krassus looked them both in the eyes.

  “From this point forward your lives and your blood are inextricably bound to each other,” he said solemnly. “And all of what you see before you I bequeath to you and your heirs, just as my late master Nicholas told me to do if he perished in his travails at the hands of the Chosen Ones. This Citadel, the fleet, the demonslavers, the Brotherhood of Consuls, and the island that provides them safe haven are all yours, as are all of the many creatures of the Vagaries that call this sacred isle their home, whether they be of the surrounding earth, sea, or sky. Protected by the time enchantments, from here you will forever perpetuate the Vagaries and strive to destroy the Vigors. Never forget that your enemies—the so-called Chosen Ones and their wizards—shall endeavor to annihilate you from their lair in Eutracia. And so you shall do the same to them from your new home, here in the Citadel.” Smiling at them both, Krassus took a deep breath of the sweet sea air.

  Almost immediately his coughing began.

  This time it was far worse than Wulfgar had ever seen. Krassus leaned weakly against the short balcony wall as his hacking went on in great, uncontrollable spasms. Finally, after what seemed forever, it abated.

  Krassus turned around to face them again. His chin and the front of his blue-and-gray robe were covered with blood. Concerned, Wulfgar reached out to steady him, but Krassus waved him away.

  “Do not be concerned for me,” he said hoarsely as he produced a rag from his robes and began to clean himself. “As far as my existence in this lesser world is concerned, all is as my master said it would be. This malady I am stricken with—my fatal gift from Nicholas—will soon completely overtake me. I estimate that I have scant time remaining before you two are left here without me, to accomplish all that has been ordained by the son of the Chosen One. Only two duties remain for me now before I go to the Afterlife: to secure the Scroll of the Vigors, and to instruct you in your mission.” Letting go another short cough, he slowly turned back toward the sea.

  “Grizelda and Janus remain unheard from, however,” he said softly, the concern showing in his voice. “But even if they already had the scroll, it would take them fifteen days to return it to us. Therefore, we shall use the time wisely.” When he turned back to them, it seemed he had regained a bit of his strength. He smiled and looked to Wulfgar.

  “First I suggest you show your new queen the wonders of this place,” he said. “She will be seeing it all as if for the first time, and there is much to learn about its workings. After you have finished, please join me in my private quarters for dinner, and we will begin the first of our discussions regarding your futures. Tonight, finally, you are to learn why you have been brought here, and why all of this has come about.”

  Looking across the room, Krassus pointed one hand at the still-hovering Scroll of the Vagaries. It stopped glowing and then rolled itself up. As soon as it finished collecting itself, the familiar golden band with the Old Eutracian engraving rose from a nearby table and floated across to slide down over one end of the scroll. Then the bound scroll flew across the room into the wizard’s arms.

  Satisfied, Krassus gave them both a short bow. “As I said, the Citadel, and everything in it, is now at your beck and call. Until later.” Without further ado, he walked slowly from the room.

  After the wizard had left, Wulfgar took Serena’s hand. “We shall take Krassus up on his suggestion.” Looking into her eyes, he could see that they were alight with curiosity, just as his had been after Krassus had finally turned him to the Vagaries and first shown him the true wonders of this place.

  “Come with me,” he said gently. He ran the back of his fingers down one of her cheeks. “There is much to show you.” Leading her from the stark Scriptorium, he took her down a flight of stairs.

  Arm in arm, they walked for a long time. As they went, they would occasionally come across armed demonslavers who bowed deeply to them. The same was true of the blue-robed consuls they passed. Wulfgar would often stop to talk to them. Without exception, they seemed honored to be in his presence.

  But it was far more than that, she thought, as she walked beside her powerful lord. The entire Citadel seemed different to her. It was far more alive, more beautiful, and more comforting then she remembered. On the surface, at least, it now seemed a wondrous, enchanting place. Or perhaps it was only she who had truly changed; she didn’t know. Regardless, the fortress was a wondrous sight to behold.

  Rather than being constructed of marble or brick, the entire Citadel had been hewn from the gray rock that comprised much of the island. It looked quite ancient. It was as if the workers of so long ago had started at the top of a great stone mountain rising up from the sea and then chiseled away what they didn’t want, to reveal this massive collection of walls and buildings.

  The island itself was angular, and much larger than the area upon which the Citadel stood. A wide spit of fertile land reached its way east from one end, stabbing its long finger out into the Sea of Whispers. This was where the crops were grown, and where the livestock was bred, tended, and eventually butchered for food. Wells dotted the island, supplying fresh water.

  The exterior of the fortress was dark and foreboding. It completely belied the beautiful, graceful nature of its interior rooms, columns, and halls, most of which were constructed of elegant colored marble. Taken as a whole, the Citadel gave one the impression of a great, self-sufficient city. Pilastered, crenellated walls surrounded the entire fortress, protecting both the inner ward and the various central buildings. A single portcullis granted access to the outside.

  The interior of the Citadel was made up of many keeps, towers, and other structures, most of them hundreds of feet tall and adorned with leaded stained-glass windows that could be swung open to the sea. Elegant catwalks extending from balconies connected many of the towers to one another. The inner ward surrounding them held magnificently manicured gardens complete with stone walkways. Magnificent, illuminated fountains danced both day and night.

  In the center, rising above everything else around it, stood a tall spire. Within its center was a circular stairway leading to the top. At its peak there was a broad, exposed walkway that completely encircled it. From here, demonslaver guards could see many leagues out over the Sea of Whispers in any direction. A warning bell was attached to the spire wall, waiting to be rung.

  Demonslaver warships patrolled the surrounding sea constantly, thei
r graceful, white sails full as they caught not only the wind, but also the last rays of the setting sun. Many more lay peacefully, sails furled, at anchor just offshore. So many, in fact, that their numbers virtually filled the waters surrounding the island.

  The sight of so many vessels brought reassurance to her heart. But they also brought more questions, as well. As she and Wulfgar walked along one of the many torchlit porticos lining the gardens, Serena found she could no longer contain her curiosity.

  “Tell me, my lord,” she asked him. “Who are the demonslavers that serve us? Where do they come from?”

  Wulfgar smiled. After he had been turned to the Vagaries, this had been one of the first questions he had asked Krassus. The answer had both surprised and delighted him.

  “The demonslavers serve us in much the same way the Minions of Day and Night serve our enemies, the Chosen Ones,” he explained. “Krassus has told me of the Minions. He explained how they were first brought into existence by Failee, the late wife of Wigg, the lead wizard. And how Tristan came to become their current lord and master. While it is true that our demonslavers cannot fly, they are at the very least just as ruthless and loyal.”

  Wulfgar finally stopped before a pair of double doors. “But before I answer your question about the demonslavers, there is first something I wish to show you,” he said.

  Pointing one hand to the doors, he caused them to open. He then took Serena by the hand and led her into the room. As he did, some of Krassus’ words of explanation came back to him.

  Despite her transformation, she would retain all of her former memories, Krassus had told him. Just as he and the many others over the centuries who had been so blessed as to have tasted the joy of the Vagaries did. And if she truly became one of us, the wizard had gone on to say, she would love only the Vagaries and those practitioners equally devoted to its cause. Just as the Heretics of the Guild meant it to be.