The Scrolls of the Ancients

CHAPTER

Fifty-two

S tanding 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 her 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, their 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.

As they entered the room, he carefully watched her face.

They were standing in the room that held the R'talis slaves-the same stark prison in which Janus had once forced Serena to take her meals, in plain view of the poor unfortunates starving before her. The chamber was illuminated by many bright wall torches, their shadows crisscrossing the beige marble walls. Even the magnificent table and chair she had been forced to sit at was still here, complete with its tablecloth, elaborate setting for one, and matching gold candlesticks.

Serena slowly walked toward the cages. Many of the captives started shouting insults at her and waving their arms with rage. By now, most of them were little more than skin and bones.

But something was different now, Serena realized. Both Talis and R'talis slaves were here, and the cages were no longer filled to overflowing.

Wulfgar watched Serena as she left the slaves and walked the short distance over to the table. She ran her fingers over the fine gold plates and utensils as if she loved them, revered them. Then she looked back at the slaves.

This time, instead of weeping for the slaves' plight as she had done in previous days, she only smiled. As Wulfgar came closer to her, he realized that the Vagaries swirling in her blood had truly become a part of her soul. He and Krassus had succeeded, he realized. He took her hand.

"And now that you see the world for what it truly is, what say you, my love?" he asked.

Serena nodded slowly. "These puny, untrained beings, many of whom do not even have endowed blood, mean nothing to me," she told him. "I see now that they are no more than human resources for us to mine. Indeed, if my lord would allow it, I would like to once again take some of my meals here, if for no other reason than to see the looks on their faces. It should prove most entertaining. Do you think you could let me do that, my love?"

Wulfgar smiled. "Of course," he answered. "But it may not be possible. The sand in the hourglass of their lives is running short."

"I don't understand," she said.

Taking her by the hand, Wulfgar led her to a door on the other side of the room. As they walked through it, Serena felt an intense, searing heat blast over her, and charred, dense air came suddenly to her nostrils.

The demonslaver forges were still in use, but would not remain so much longer. The slaves, dressed only in their soiled, torn loincloths, worked tirelessly, forging the instruments of sudden death that Wulfgar's demonslavers would soon use in the service of their master. The incessant clanging of the slaves' hammers and the stale, telltale smell of human sweat filled the smoky air. The orange-red coals in the hearths glowed brightly, casting an ocherous aura over everything in the room.

As they walked purposefully through the chamber, the demonslaver guards there bowed obediently. Then Serena noticed one slave whose hands were tied behind his back. She stopped to look at him. He seemed to be supervising the others as they fashioned the various weapons. Curious, she turned to Wulfgar.

"And what of this one?" she asked. "Should he not also toil in the service of his lord?"

"A troublemaker, nothing more," Wulfgar answered. "They tell me his number is twenty-nine. He will soon be dealt with, as shall all of the others here in this chamber."

When Twenty-Nine finally saw Wulfgar, he immediately recognized him as the same man he had stood next to on the docks the day they first disembarked. Seeing the slavers bow to the man, Twenty-Nine realized that he and the woman he was with had somehow become of great importance here.

Knowing he was risking his life, he brazenly hurried over to Wulfgar. The slavers reacted immediately, grabbing him and roughly pushing him to the dirt at Wulfgar's feet. With a shiny trident pressing into his back, he could raise his face only enough to look up into his new master's eyes. Wulfgar was intrigued by the slave's wanton display of insolence.

"You know me!" Twenty-Nine pleaded hoarsely. "In the name of the Afterlife, tell these monsters that you know me! We were together at the docks! You looked into my eyes! Don't you remember? Why don't you help us?" His words trailed away as the three sharp tips of the trident lightly punctured the skin of his naked back.

After emotionlessly examining Twenty-Nine's face, Wulfgar looked back up at the slavers. "I have seen him before," he answered coldly. "But I don't care for his welfare. When this group has finally finished their labors and you are ready to dispense with them, bring this one to me. I want him to be one of the forty." The slaver holding the trident to Twenty-Nine's back smiled wickedly and nodded.

"The 'forty'?" Serena asked quizzically.

Wulfgar smiled. "You will understand soon enough," he answered, and he guided her to the doorway at the far end of the room. Without looking back, Serena followed him through.

The next room lay some distance below where they were standing, and it was very large, its brightness in direct contrast to the room they had just left. Like the Scriptorium, this chamber was also littered with white marble tables. The walls and floor of the room were constructed of a very pale green marble, and the many ornate stained-glass windows in its walls lay open to the night. The breeze coming off the ocean filled the air with a cool, welcoming scent.

Consuls were busy at work here. A great pile of what seemed to be demonslaver clothing lay unexplained in one corner of the room, with several slavers standing next to it. Taking her by the hand, Wulfgar led Serena down to the shiny green floor via a long, curved series of steps.

Then a door opened in the wall to their left, and a large, menacing squad of slavers began roughly herding a group of terrified slaves into the room. Nine-tails cracked out in the air, and shiny tridents and swords poked and prodded the unfortunate captives as they moved haltingly along.

Serena recognized some of them as those who had shouted insults at her in the room of cages. As she looked at them, she smiled. They didn't seem so arrogant just now. She wondered what Wulfgar had meant about the sand in the hourglass of their lives growing short.

Wulfgar snapped his fingers, and slavers immediately brought over two luxuriously upholstered red velvet chairs. Motioning to Serena, Wulfgar bade her sit in one, and he took the other. Then two more slavers appeared, bearing goblets of red wine that they offered to their lord and lady. Wulfgar tipped his glass in Serena's honor and took a sip. After joining him in the excellent wine, his queen turned her attention back to the helpless slaves being paraded before her.

The group contained both men and women, and the brands on their shoulders told her that they were a mixed group of endowed and unendowed blood. As the slavers began pushing them toward the marble tables, the confused slaves cried out frantically in terror. Blatantly ignoring their wailing, the slavers began hoisting them up onto the tables and tying them down. The consuls, silent and foreboding in their dark blue robes, carefully watched the proceedings unfold.

When all of the slaves were secured, one of the consuls walked forward to stand obediently before Wulfgar. Lowering the hood of his robe, he looked up into the commanding, hazel eyes of his new master.

Smiling back at the consul, Wulfgar nodded. The consul turned to face the rows of tables. Then Wulfgar's servant bowed his head and raised his arms.

The torches in the room began to dim, their light slowly replaced by the azure glow of the craft. As the glow encompassed the entire room, Serena heard soft tearing sounds that gradually became louder and louder. As the unusual noise increased, so did the screaming of the slaves, the two disparate sounds combining to create a bizarre chorus of anguish. Smiling, the consul standing before them lowered his hands and calmly placed them into the opposite sleeves of his robe.

Then Serena realized what was happening. The twisted loincloths of the men and the simple, one-piece frocks worn by the women were being torn apart by the craft. They fell to the floor, leaving the terrified people on the marble tables naked, humiliatingly exposed.

The consul standing before Wulfgar and Serena turned back to look at Wulfgar. After taking another sip of wine, Wulfgar nodded. Returning to his work, the consul again raised his arms.

The azure glow in the room increased to a brightness that almost made it difficult to keep one's eyes open. The slaves began to writhe painfully in their bonds and scream even louder. And then their transformations began.

First the color of their skin changed into the stark, blanched white so characteristic of demonslavers. Serena watched, her mouth agape, as the slaves' hair began to fall out, sliding from their skulls and bodies to drift down onto the various tabletops and the green marble floor.

Then, surprisingly, their genitalia began to disappear. The women's breasts flattened, coming to resemble those of the males. Gasping with disbelief, Serena realized that what she had long assumed about the demonslavers being male had not been true. They were asexual beings, made that way by the craft.

As she watched, the slaves' fingernails and toenails began to fall away, drifting silently to the floor. In their place talons emerged. Suddenly, still screaming and struggling against their bonds, they all closed their eyes. When they opened them again, their eyes had been replaced with the white, lifeless-looking orbs of the demonslavers. Then their muscles began to bulge, becoming hard and strong. Their ears lengthened to points, and as the victims twisted their mouths with agony, Serena could see that their teeth had become pointed and black.

The azure glow slowly faded, and the room became strangely quiet as the subjects on the tables finally stopped wailing and lay still, their metamorphosis complete.

Turning to look at Wulfgar's profile, Serena smiled. The creation of the demonslavers was ingenious, she thought. First the consuls of the Brotherhood had been turned, and now the Chosen One's subjects, as well-all aligned against them and their wizards.

"How is this possible?" she asked Wulfgar. She took another sip of wine.

"It has to do with something called Forestallments," he answered simply. "And they have to do with the craft. But for now, suffice it to say that the spells for the creation of the slavers were passed from Nicholas to Krassus, who will soon show you how to use your Forestallments, as I am now able to do." He ran a hand down her cheek. "And when that happens, my love, it is a wondrous moment of realization. Your blood will sing. I very much look forward to sharing that day with you." He leaned over and kissed her, then straightened again.

"And now that Krassus has found the particular Forestallment he wanted so badly, and has placed it into my blood signature, he is free to convert all of the remaining slaves, both Talis and R'talis alike, into demonslavers. We have nearly completed transforming them all. He also tells me that only I, of all the endowed beings in the world, carry this special Forestallment in my signature. In my heart I know this single Forestallment, more than any other, is the one upon which our struggle with the Chosen Ones shall soon turn, but he has yet to inform me of its nature. Perhaps tonight he shall."

Then the consul approached Wulfgar and bowed. Wulfgar nodded.

"Permission to continue, my lord?" the consul asked.

"Of course. When you are finished, you all may leave."

After a low bow, the consul returned to the tables. With a wave of his hand, the bindings holding the newly created demonslavers vanished. As they did, the beings sat up and came to stand on the floor. They were directed to the large pile of clothing in the far corner of the room, which they used to dress themselves. Then the newly minted slavers filed quietly out, presumably to take up the weapons that were still being constructed in the forge. The consuls and senior demonslavers followed in their wake, leaving Wulfgar and Serena alone in the great room.

Rising from his chair, Wulfgar walked over to one of the open stained-glass windows and looked out. Lost in thought, he took a deep breath and leaned against the window frame. The three rose-colored moons were up, and the sea below was calm.

Concerned for him, Serena stood and went to join him, linking her arm in his. "Tell me, my love," she asked, hoping to take his thoughts away from whatever was troubling him. "What is Krassus' part in all of this to be?"

Wulfgar took a deep breath. "For now, we still need him," he answered, his eyes still leveled on the Sea of Whispers. "But not for much longer. I believe Nicholas only meant for Krassus to be a tool, an instrument of victory as it were, rather than to preside over the victory himself. That is to be our task. As Krassus said himself, very soon now he will be dead. And when he is, we alone will be left to carry the battle to the Chosen Ones, and prevail against their practice of the Vigors."

He turned away from the window and looked around the deserted room. "Very soon now, all of the remaining slaves will have been transformed, and the struggle can begin. But what concerns me the most is that we are still not in possession of the other scroll. Nicholas and Krassus have deemed it important that we have them both in order to ensure our victory. And still I do not know why."

She could see the worry in his eyes. "Krassus asked us to join him for dinner, did he not?" she asked. "Perhaps tonight you will finally get the answers you seek."

Wulfgar nodded his silent agreement and escorted her from the room.

The walk back to Krassus' quarters was pleasant, and the new master and his pregnant queen talked of many things as they walked along, arm in arm. The Citadel was quiet now, the only sounds coming from the lighted fountains as they danced and played in the manicured gardens of the inner ward, and the quiet, careful footfalls of the demonslavers on patrol. Finally arriving at the door to Krassus' private quarters, Wulfgar knocked lightly once, then twice more.

An armed demonslaver let them in. Krassus was sitting alone at an elaborately decorated table, his back to them as he gazed thoughtfully out to sea. Enticing aromas drifted up from the sumptuously laid table.

Turning to look at Wulfgar and Serena, Krassus smiled. There was genuine admiration in his eyes for these two magnificent beings of the craft he had been so privileged to help create. Lifting one hand, he beckoned them nearer.

"Come in, my children," he said softly. "Sit with me this night, and we shall talk of the wondrous things to come."

As Wulfgar and Serena took their places at the table, the demonslaver bowed once more. Walking out the door, he closed it behind him and took up guard in the hall outside.