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.
CHAPTER
Twenty-nine
T he wind in his hair and the sea air in his lungs, Tristan leaned against the pitching gunwale of The People's Revenge as the great frigate plowed her way west through the Sea of Whispers. His dreggan and his throwing knives had been returned to him, and it felt good to have them lying across his back again.
The ship seemed amazingly alive, the seamen and the many grateful slaves she was bringing home swarming over her decks. Tyranny's crew did all they knew how for the newly freed captives. But her men were not professional healers, and their gifts in such matters were limited. Now, after having had the opportunity to look them over more closely, Tristan sadly concluded that many of these poor souls would not survive even the relatively short voyage to Eutracia, no matter how well the crew cared for them.
So far, Tyranny seemed to be keeping to their bargain of heading straight for the Cavalon Delta. But the winds had proven fickle, and the frigates had been forced to tack in order to stay on course, something that Tristan soon learned would make the voyage longer.
Four uneventful days had passed since he had made his bargain with the highly interesting sea captain, and sometimes his great desire to be home convinced him that he could almost smell the rich, fertile soil of the Eutracian coast. Soon he would set foot on dry land and see his loved ones again.
One corner of his mouth turned up as he thought of parading the brash Tyranny and the huge colossus named Scars unannounced through the royal palace and finally introducing them to everyone. Then he would live up to his part of it, demanding that the wizards not only pay her a ransom of one hundred thousand gold kisa, but that they award her with the letters of marque she so valued. In his mind's eye, he could already see the vein in the lead wizard's right temple throbbing, and Faegan's ever-curious, gray-green eyes flashing with mischief.
Tristan had encountered Tyranny often during the last four days as she inspected the decks and spoke with both her crew and the slaves she had rescued. Sometimes it seemed to him that she had spent time with every slave aboard, and he thought he knew why: She was trying to glean from them any information she could about her lost brother. Twice she had graciously invited him to take his evening meal with her in her quarters, where they had talked at length about their respective backgrounds. Tristan had used the opportunity to tell her about his past, and bring her up to date with all that had happened in Eutracia since the return of the Coven. He soon found that he not only respected this rather admirable outlaw, but genuinely liked her, as well.