“Shrews feed both during the night and the day,” Baktar continued. “And only upon either humans or Minions. In the short time since they appeared, they have taken thousands of victims—civilians and Minions alike. We estimate their numbers to be in the hundreds, perhaps even the thousands. They always return to the water after they hunt, remaining out of sight to rest. They can run as fast across the land as they can swim in the water.”
Joshua, whose eyes had remained on the foot, went over to it and picked it up. He closed his eyes, and the glow of the craft engulfed the severed appendage, remaining there. He gently placed the foot down next to the wounded warrior.
Baktar bent to examine the strangely glowing, severed foot, then turned back to the consul. “Can you use the craft to reattach this?” he asked earnestly. “Tempting the shrew to come to the surface requires indomitable courage, and volunteering for this task has become a great honor among us. The warrior who was brave enough to tempt this shrew is a particularly excellent fighter, and I would not like to lose his services.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot reattach the foot,” Joshua answered. “Such an incantation is beyond my ability in the craft. I have seen to it that the wound will heal quickly, with no infection and with less pain than normal. But there are some others who might be able to do as you ask. That is why I have enchanted the foot—to preserve it. Tell me, what is the wounded man’s name?”
Baktar smiled slightly. “Ox,” he replied. “What he lacks in wit he more than makes up for in courage.” He paused for a moment, looking down at the stricken warrior.
“Why is it that you were so eager to cut open the shrew’s stomach?” Joshua asked.
“It is a matter of Minion honor that we cremate our dead,” Baktar replied. “When we take a shrew, the stomach is opened to see what it contains. If it is a warrior, we burn the dead body in honor. If it is a civilian, a selected group from the participating squad of shrew slayers buries the corpse.”
“Shrew slayers?” Joshua asked.
“Yes,” Baktar explained. “Commander Traax formed the slayers soon after the shrews first made their appearance, since our last orders from the Chosen One were to protect the populace. Hunting the shrews has partially kept us from doing all else that the Chosen One ordered. Still, we felt this work was important. There are now many groups of shrew slayers who do nothing else, day and night. They are all volunteers. In my opinion they are to be commended.”
Geldon looked back at the dead body of the swamp shrew. Commended indeed.
“That’s why all of the bones are here, isn’t it?” Joshua asked. “The shrew swallows its prey whole. It then slowly digests the organs and flesh, regurgitating the bones and clothing back up on the shore.”
“Yes,” Baktar answered. “Sadly, one of the best ways to find a shrew, just as we found this one, is to look for the bone trail of its victims. But there is yet another reason for opening the stomach of a captured shrew as quickly as possible.”
“And that is?” the consul asked.
“Their stomachs have sometimes been known to contain victims that were still alive,” the Minion warrior said simply.
Geldon felt his stomach turn over. “You must be joking!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, it is quite true,” Baktar said, then snorted as if he did not quite believe it himself. “There is in fact one warrior here among us today who has survived that very ordeal.”
“Who is he?” Geldon whispered in awe.
“He is Ox, the one who lies at your feet.”
Now Geldon understood why the warrior would volunteer for such a thing. This had become personal for him.
But there was something else that puzzled Geldon. “Where did all of these bodies of water come from?” he asked Baktar. “They were not here when I left Parthalon, and I have only been gone a matter of weeks.”
“We were hoping you, the Chosen One, or his wizards could tell us that,” Baktar answered discouragingly.
“What do you mean?”
“Several days after the death of the sorceresses, certain areas across our land began to take on the glow of the craft, both day and night. This lasted for several days. We were not at first concerned, assuming it to be the work of the Chosen One and his wizards. But when the glow finally faded, in every place where it had come and gone there was a body of water, each one somehow more beautiful than the last. This is when the shrews first appeared.”
Geldon turned questioningly to the consul. Joshua merely shook his head.
“Only Wigg and Faegan would possess the knowledge to unravel such a thing,” the consul said quietly.
Geldon let out a long breath, but before he could say anything else, a young Minion officer stepped forward from the ranks. He clicked his heels together. “Forgive me, sir, but our work here is done. Is it your order that we continue north, as previously planned? Or are we to camp here for the night?”
Baktar looked to Geldon. “What are your wishes?” he asked.
“My business with Traax is important,” Geldon said. “Provided your troops are not too tired, I would like to carry on.”
Baktar smiled. “Minion troops are never too tired,” he said.
Baktar gave the order to regroup and watched his forces as they picked up the hundreds of litters. As only one of the craft could, Joshua reached through the azure glow that surrounded the severed foot and placed the appendage carefully within his robes.
Geldon and Joshua returned to their litters. The wounded, still-unconscious warrior named Ox was carefully placed into another. Geldon looked over to see that Joshua again had one hand firmly clamped over his eyes.
Without further fanfare they rose into the sky, their great numbers briefly darkening the land below them as they went. As the sun set gracefully into the retreating horizon of the lake, Geldon pondered that there was much more to learn about what had happened here.
But first he would have to deal with Traax.
17
Closing his eyes, Ragnar placed his thick index finger into the gaping wound along his right temple. He found no fluid there today. But he soon would. The three rose-colored moons of the Eutracian night sky would again soon be full, and his gash would produce anew the yellow fluid. Just as it had been doing for the last three hundred years.
He dipped his finger into the vial of brain fluid that Scrounge had drawn from him not so long ago, then inserted it into his mouth. Immediately he felt searing heat run through his tortured body.
Wigg and the Chosen One will soon be here, he thought, again dipping his finger into the vial. And at last Wigg will stand before me and receive his just reward for the three centuries of pain and disgrace he has caused me.
He stood from the ornate, velvet-upholstered chair and paced slowly around the room like a caged animal. Ever since the child had told him of the impending arrival of his enemies, his memories had come to haunt him even more than usual. His eagerness to face Wigg grew with each passing day.
His personal chambers were both his prison and his home. The furniture and draperies were of the highest quality. Magenta streaks darted across the black marble walls like shooting stars in the sky. The candlelight flickered softly, barely piercing the darkness that he preferred for his personal reveries.
Soon, Wigg, we will make a new history together. He smiled to himself. This time it shall be you, not I, who will carry the burden of suffering for all eternity.
He reached to the marble table that stood nearby and took up a sheathed dagger that lay there. He fondled it gently, almost lovingly, then placed the coolness of its scabbard along the length of his heated, maddened brow. This dagger had once belonged to Wigg. It would serve in the plans Ragnar had for the lead wizard. The child had already granted him permission.