So far the going had been difficult. Although Nicholas had known what he needed gleaned from the scroll, even the son of the Chosen One had been unaware of where it had been placed among the seemingly countless other calculations and inscriptions so elegantly written on the very long, uniform piece of vellum. Each calculation the scroll relinquished had to be tested on a person of untrained, endowed blood-an R'talis slave-to determine whether it was the one they were looking for. The one magnificent calculation that-in its unparalleled, awesome power-would finally and irrevocably smash everything the wizards of the Redoubt stood for had so far eluded them.
Krassus looked up at the consul standing obediently before him. "Your report?" he demanded.
"For purposes of security," the consul answered, "it seems the writers of the scroll chose to bury this most powerful of calculations somewhere deep within the body of the text and leave it untitled. Although hundreds of useful Forestallments have now been mapped and recorded, the one we search for, the one shown to you by Nicholas, still eludes us. To narrow our examination, we are now putting into use only the untitled calculations." He paused. "It seems that the Heretics of the Guild did not make our task a simple one."
Growing ever more impatient, the wizard scowled. Saying nothing, he rose from his desk and left the room, followed by the obedient consul. Striding across the length of the Scriptorium, he stopped before a particular entryway, through which doorway the azure glow of the craft seeped out. Anxious to view the process, he walked in.
The room was large. Along one wall lay a long, rectangular table covered with reams of parchment. More than a dozen consuls were seated there, recording their observations with ink-laden quills.
Hovering before them in the stillness of the room was the glowing, partially unrolled Scroll of the Vagaries.
The engraved golden band that had once been secured around its center had been removed, and the scroll was unrolled to reveal the beautiful, elegant script spread across its ancient surface. One by one the consuls selected portions of the script. The passages began to glow as they were chosen, lifting themselves from the parchment and hovering in the air before the consuls.
The consuls read the Old Eutracian script floating before them, first deciphering and then recording what they read onto sheets of individual parchment. When each was satisfied that his translation was correct, he ordered the glowing words back to the scroll. Then the name and use of the spell, if given, was recorded on the parchment and passed to a waiting demonslaver, who took it from the room. The consul would then begin anew, selecting the next available passage from the scroll.
And so it went, the faithful scribes deciphering and recording the contents of the scroll while their watchful master looked on. Krassus finally walked to the next room.
Constructed of pure white marble, this chamber was much larger than the one he had just left, and the work here had a more intense, deadly feel to it. Demonslaver guards wandered warily about, their white eyes missing nothing. Bookcases covered every inch of the walls, their shelves lined with ledgers that were arranged in perfect sequential order. From time to time the consuls would come to the shelves either to take fresh volumes, or to replace those they had just finished with.
These volumes contained the information gleaned from the endowed slaves as they had departed the ships at the underground pier. The blood signatures and assay ratings had been dutifully recorded, along with the names, ages, dates and locations of capture, and sex.
Krassus turned his attention to the center of the bright, sterile-looking room. One hundred white marble tables, each a very precise two meters long by one meter wide, stood arranged in neat rows. Upon each lay a live human body-a conscious, endowed slave, bound to its surface at arms, legs, and throat, and covered by a curved dome of transparent azure. Over each of the tables stood a lone consul, carefully going about his meticulous work. Krassus chose one to observe.
After finding the page in the ledger that held the information about the slave lying before him, the consul caused a perfect duplicate of the slave's previously recorded blood signature to rise from its pages. It came to rest next to the deciphered script on the parchment brought to him from the room housing the scroll.
The consul then reached one hand through the azure dome and placed his palm on the slave's forehead. Terrified almost beyond insanity, the helpless slave struggled, but to no avail.
Closing his eyes, the consul recalled the calculations of the still-unidentified Forestallment just gleaned from the scroll. Then he carefully began infusing it directly into the endowed blood of the slave.
The slave on the table began to convulse. Foam ran from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes rolled back up into his head as his body jerked violently: a marionette dancing on someone else's strings. Although he screamed wildly, no sound could be heard through the azure dome.
Such an interesting phenomenon, Krassus reflected emotionlessly. To see one convulse and scream so violently, yet hear no sounds of torment.
And then, finally, it was over. The slave collapsed, eyes closing.
As the consul removed his hand from the slave's head, the azure dome faded away.
"Is he dead?" Krassus asked casually.
"No," the consul answered. "Some of them live, though most die. Interestingly, it seems that those with a blood assay value of four or better often survive, and can be subjected to the process again. Such information may prove useful one day."
Narrowing his eyes, the loyal consul again called on the craft. He caused a small incision to form in the slave's right arm and ordered a single drop of the slave's blood to land on the parchment next to the blood signature.
Reaching into his robes, the consul produced a vial. Opening it, he released a single drop of red water taken from the Caves of the Paragon. Almost immediately the two drops began to move across the page toward one another, quickly becoming one.
As the slave's blood signature formed, the consul removed another piece of parchment from his robe. It held an exact copy of the Forestallment branch they all searched for-the one given to Krassus by Nicholas just before his death. After closely comparing the two, he shook his head. They were not of the same length, nor did the various branches match as they trailed away from the blood signatures.
"Negative again, Master," he said. He summoned one of the many demonslavers in this area to come to the table. "Take this one away," he ordered.
Suddenly they heard a shout of unmitigated joy come from the other side of the room. Navigating his way between the busy tables, Krassus hurried over to the consul who had cried out.
"What is it?" he asked, not daring to hope.
"I have found it, Master," the consul breathed, his excitement barely allowing him to get the words out. Krassus looked down at the tabletop to see that the female slave the consul had been using was dead.
"Show me," he ordered. His hands were trembling with excitement.
With a slight bow, the overjoyed consul handed over both his copy of the long, angular Forestallment branch they searched for, and the copy of the blood signature just taken from the dead slave. Krassus examined them carefully. As he did, his heart leapt.
There could be no mistake. This was the Forestallment branch that Nicholas had ordered him to search for. Now the next stage of this amazing journey in the craft could finally begin. He turned to one of the demonslavers, his dark eyes flashing.
"Bring me Wulfgar," he said quietly.
CHAPTER
Forty
A s the skiff approached the shoreline of the Isle of Sanctuary, the sheer beauty of the island astounded Tristan. The other skiffs had already been beached, and the last of the crew could be seen eagerly headed down a path into the woods.