The Scrolls of the Ancients

CHAPTER

Twenty-eight

S eated at the ancient, ornate desk in the Scriptorium of the Citadel, Krassus took a moment from his labors to enjoy the feeling of success. Four uneventful days of sailing had passed since he had cleverly avoided the unidentified frigates bearing down on him on the Sea of Whispers. Only an hour earlier he had descended the gangway of the Sojourner and been told by Janus that his consuls believed they had finally identified the bastard son of the late Queen Morganna. Overjoyed, Krassus had immediately come to the Scriptorium to examine the supposed authenticity of the blood signature for himself before going to view the prize from which it had come.

He carefully drew the tripod toward him yet again, then adjusted the parchment squarely under the crosshairs of the lens. This was the fourth time he had done so, as if with each new attempt the results would somehow change. But of course they hadn't. Having already compared the upper and lower shapes of the signature to those of Queen Morganna and Eric, her onetime lover, he looked down through the lens, no less stunned at what he saw this time than the times before.

Nicholas had told him that Wulfgar's signature would be a thing of wonder. But nothing had prepared Krassus for the likes of what now lay before him.

Never before had he seen such a left-leaning signature. Only two others were known to deviate so widely from the vertical axis. Those belonged to the Chosen Ones themselves, and they both leaned to the right.

Taking his eye from the lens, he looked at the assay mark written on the corner of the parchment: 11?2. The blood quality was equal to that of Princess Shailiha, and second only to that of Tristan himself.

Krassus smiled. Janus and his consuls had been right. The slave this signature came from was indeed Wulfgar, the bastard son of Morganna.

Krassus now possessed not only the half sibling of the Chosen Ones, but also the Scroll of the Vagaries. Much of his work could finally go forward. If and when he got hold of the Scroll of the Vigors, he would be unstoppable.

He looked around this part of the Scriptorium. Built of the palest tan marble, the room was light and airy, and its floor was partially covered with highly patterned rugs. The stained-glass windows-now open to let in the sun and the salt air-were numerous. Bookcase after bookcase lined the walls. The texts and scrolls on their shelves were dusty from long neglect, but they would not remain that way much longer. The Scroll of the Vagaries lay nearby on another desk, the engraved gold band around its middle still tightly imprisoning the knowledge contained within.

Smiling, Krassus rose and walked out to the spacious balcony that overlooked the ocean. Standing there feeling the wind on his face, he thought of how honored he had been when Nicholas had told him of this place and what his mission would be. It had been eons since the Citadel had been inhabited and used for purposes of the craft. His endowed blood sang with the excitement that was soon to follow, and his pride at having been chosen as the new master of this fortress isle knew no bounds. For a moment, his mind turned back to the circumstances that had made it so.

He had been captured one day by Nicholas' great birds of prey, and then taken to the Caves of the Paragon, along with other consuls of the Redoubt. But as sole first alternate to the late Directorate of Wizards, Krassus had been kept isolated from Nicholas' other servants, and his blood imbued with the Forestallments required to turn him to the Vagaries.

Krassus' instructions had come to him the very day the Chosen One and Nicholas had first met, deep in the bowels of the Caves. Not only had Nicholas asked Tristan to join his cause, but he had also promised him a lifetime of ecstasy practicing the Vagaries. But in his ridiculous loyalty to the insipid Vigors and the inferior wizards he commanded, the prince had not only refused Nicholas' gracious offer, but had threatened to kill him, as well.

And Krassus had been there the entire time, hiding in a small alcove to one side of the room, listening to every word. After the traitorous prince left, Nicholas had bid his new servant to join him. For Krassus, it had been like standing before a god.

"You heard?" Nicholas asked simply. Incensed by the words of the foolish, traitorous prince, Krassus had nodded angrily.

Nicholas placed a hand on one of Krassus' shoulders. "So now you understand how it is I am treated," he whispered. "My own blood means not only to stop what I have planned at the Gates of Dawn, but to see me dead in the bargain."

It was then that Nicholas had first told him of the Scrolls of the Ancients, and Krassus had begun to understand that the construction and employment of the Gates were but one facet of his master's plans. Then Nicholas had dismissed him, and had never spoken to him again.

And so, after hearing of his master's failure at the Gates of Dawn, Krassus had zealously begun his work. He had sought out the glowing base of one of the Gates, just as Nicholas had ordered. Finally finding it, he had been infuriated to see the secret door in its side already open, and only one of the fabled scrolls present. Luckily, the one remaining was the scroll he needed the most.

Then he had used his new powers to create the demonslavers, steal a fleet of ships and begin capturing slaves in his search for Wulfgar. At the thought of all those Talis and R'talis slaves, his mouth turned upward at the corners. When all was said and done, those hiding in the Redoubt of the Directorate would pay, and pay dearly.

Taking himself away from his memories, he looked quietly out over the sea. It was midday, the sun having just reached the zenith of its golden, luminescent arc. Sighing, he took a great breath of salt air. But then, as his lungs convulsed, he realized it had been too much for him.

Coughing up blood, he reached for the cloth in his robes and covered his mouth. Several small drops escaped, however, and fell to the marble floor to twist their way into his familiar blood signature. Cursing under his breath, he wiped them away with the sole of his boot. Looking back out to sea, the reccurring, frightful realization once again gripped his heart.

He was dying.

He knew he must complete his work before he succumbed, his lungs eventually drowning in their own blood. And to be absolutely certain of success, he had to have the other scroll.

Suddenly there came a knock on the door. Krassus wiped his face and stuffed the bloody cloth back in his robes before answering it.

The wide, double doors at the opposite end of the Scriptorium opened, and Grizelda and Janus walked in, accompanied by two demonslavers. Janus seemed to be especially pleased for some reason. As they approached the desk, Krassus came in from the balcony and sat back down, at the same time motioning his guests to chairs on the opposite side. The armed slavers retreated to take up guard in the hallway, closing the doors behind them.

"I have more good news, my lord," Janus said excitedly. "The frigate loaded with the herbs and oils taken from the raid on Shadowood has just arrived-well ahead of schedule. The goods are being unloaded as we speak." Then his painted smile melted into a partial frown.

"I am told that some of the slavers in the raiding party never returned," he added glumly. "Those remaining aboard their frigate waited as long as they dared, then finally set sail. It is possible that the missing slavers were intercepted, perhaps even killed by the Chosen One's wizards."

Scowling, Krassus considered Janus' news carefully. True, it was possible that Wigg and Faegan had interrupted the raid. But if they had, it appeared they had been too late to keep his slavers from taking what his herbmistress required. The loss of a few more of his servants made no difference one way or the other.

He looked back at Janus. "And our very special guest?" he asked. "How does he fare?"

Janus smiled again, the edges of his red, painted mask crinkling up as he did so. "Very well," he answered. "He remains quite rebellious, however, just as we expected from one of his unique bloodline." He looked eagerly at the tripod and parchment on Krassus' desk. "You have had time to examine the document, my lord?" he asked. "Is he really Wulfgar?"

"One and the same," Krassus replied. "And the woman named Serena-the two of them have become close?"

"Indeed," Janus assured him. "As planned, she is reviled by the other slaves for the superior treatment she receives during mealtimes, and Wulfgar has asked that she be allowed to stay with him at all other times. I have allowed it, of course."

Satisfied, Krassus turned to Grizelda. "Now that you have the herbs and oils you require, I will expect you to successfully view the Scroll of the Vigors and give me some reference point in Eutracia from which to begin the search. Then I shall send you, Janus, and a group of my best slavers to recover it, no matter where it might be. Is that understood?"

Bending forward slightly in her chair, Grizelda smiled greedily. "It shall be an honor, my lord."

"Very well," Krassus replied. Standing up, he made it clear that the meeting was over. "I go to converse with Wulfgar." His smile deepened the creases in his hollow cheeks. "He and Serena are about to begin understanding the nature of their fates. Their reactions should prove to be most interesting."

The three of them walked to the double doors and went out into the hallway. Janus left to escort Grizelda to what would soon become her new workplace, while Krassus went down the opposite length of the hall.

On and on Nicholas' servant of the Vagaries went, as he wound his way up through the labyrinthine halls and spiral staircases of the Citadel. Tiring, he resorted to the craft to carry him up the remaining flights.

Then he continued on to the marble doors that marked the entrance to Wulfgar's quarters. At a single nod from their master, the guards slid back the iron bolt. Then, before he could enter, one of the slavers spoke.

"Forgive me, my lord, but the man inside is very strong. Shouldn't at least one of us accompany you inside?"

Krassus simply smiled. "I am a wizard of the craft," he said patiently, as if he were addressing a confused schoolboy. "What can he do to me that I would not allow?"

With that Krassus opened the double doors and walked into the room. Behind him, he heard the doors close and bolt.

Surprised by the sudden entry of a stranger, Wulfgar and Serena looked up from the balcony.