Bratach looked at Ivan, then back at Satine. "Oh, my news is important, I assure you," he said. "But you aren't going to like it."
"Tell me."
"The wizards of the Redoubt know who you are. Worse yet, they have your description."
Her jaw set, Satine took a breath and sat back a little.
"How?" she asked.
"A captured Valrenkium told them. The prince's Minions took him from his village and the wizards forced him to talk. They also know about Reznik. We have no word that search parties have been sent out looking for you, but we don't know that they haven't been, either. How do you wish to proceed?"
Taking a deep breath, Satine looked toward the ceiling. This was the worst possible news. Still, she remained calm. She looked back at Bratach.
"I will continue with the sanctions," she said.
Bratach looked narrowly at her. "Very well-it's your neck. I needn't tell you that you must use extreme caution from now on. Wulfgar will be arriving soon. Because of that we have decided to up the ante, so to speak. This will only make things more difficult for you, but there it is."
"What do you mean?"
Bratach reached into his robe and produced a parchment, which he flattened on the tabletop. He picked up a knife and rammed it through one of the portraits depicted there.
"This is your next victim," he said. "I suggest you approach your task with care."
Satine recognized the face immediately. They've upped the ante indeed, she thought.
"What else can you tell me?"
"Very little, I'm afraid. As far as we know this person is still out of the country. We await word from our confederate inside the palace. When we have more information, we will tell you. Until then you must wait."
Looking around the dingy cellar, Bratach smiled. "Might I recommend that you hide here until we learn more? I know it's not much, but staying here would save you time."
Satine shook her head. This was the last place she wanted to be holed up. Now that the wizards had her description, she knew she needed to stay off the streets, but it wouldn't be here, in a dank cellar with Wulfgar's consul and his greasy lackey.
"I'll make my own arrangements," she said.
"Very well," Bratach answered. "But you must check the shop window every day-twice a day would be even better. We cannot be sure when your target will return to Eutracia. But when it happens, you'll have to move fast."
Nodding her agreement, Satine stood from the chair. "Is there anything else?"
Bratach shook his head. "Just make sure that you come into the shop the moment you see that we have news for you."
Satine walked to the door. As she opened it, its hinges creaked. It would be a long walk back around to pick up her horse, but it would be the safest way.
After giving the two men a final look, she entered the tunnel and closed the door behind her. The winding, dimly lit passage yawned before her.
She had been wise to refuse Bratach's offer to stay in the cellar. But she also knew that she could no longer risk staying at the inn she had chosen. After going back to collect her things, she would have to move on. As the sound of her footsteps rang out against the bricks in the tunnel floor, her mouth turned up into a slight smile.
The Gray Fox knew exactly where to go, but there were things she needed to do first.
PART 4 DELIVERANCE
CHAPTER LXIII
"Even if we find the Scroll Master and make Tristan's blood whole again, Faegan and I fear that his struggle against his half brother may alter the craft forever. But if the craft is to survive, the confrontation must occur-no matter the outcome…" -Wigg as Tristan entered the little room and saw the demonslaver in the glowing cage, he couldn't help but have mixed feelings. Forced into slavery by the consul Krassus, then morphed into the nightmarish creature now glaring back at them, this being had once been a Eutracian citizen. Did I once know this person? the prince asked himself. If I did, does it matter now?
Wigg, Faegan, and the prince had come to this lonely chamber of the Redoubt just after Tristan dismissed the Conclave. Wigg, Tristan, and Celeste would depart Tammerland soon. If Wulfgar attacked before they returned, Faegan and the others would be left alone to defend the capital. Whatever information they might glean from the slaver could prove vital.
The cage Wigg had conjured to hold the demonslaver was fairly large. The azure bars shone brightly in the relative darkness of the otherwise empty room. A tray of uneaten food and a flask of water lay on the floor of the cage.
When the demonslaver saw them approach he charged angrily to the front of the cage, the black talons at the ends of his fingers curling tightly around the bars. Curling his lips back, he hissed at them, his pointed teeth and black tongue showing up eerily in the glowing light of the cage.
"Trying to get answers from him without the use of the craft will be pointless," Tristan warned Wigg. "I suggest we don't waste the time."
Nodding, Wigg looked over at Faegan.
"I agree," the crippled wizard said. "Let's get on with it."
Wigg closed his eyes. The demonslaver's eyes went wide, and his head snapped back and then came slowly forward again. His demeanor gradually calmed. He let go of the azure bars, and his muscular arms fell to his sides.
Wigg opened his eyes and looked at the demonslaver. "What are Wulfgar's battle plans?" he asked.
"I do not know," the slaver answered. "I am only a guard. We do not have access to such information."
"How many demonslavers does the Enseterat command?" Tristan demanded.
"Perhaps ten thousand. Many were lost in the sea battles with the prince's warriors."
"How many consuls reside upon the Isle of the Citadel?" Faegan asked.
"There are many there who wear the blue robe," their prisoner answered, "but I do not know their numbers. The most senior among them is named Einar."
Tristan saw a flash of recognition cross Wigg's face. "Do you know this Einar?" the prince asked the wizard.
Wigg nodded. "He is of highly endowed blood and an expert regarding the various calculations of the craft. Wulfgar could not have made a better choice to sit at his right hand."
"Is Wulfgar in possession of the Scroll of the Vagaries?" Faegan asked the demonslaver.
"I have no knowledge of such things."
"Who is Wulfgar's woman?" Tristan asked.
"She is Serena, his queen. She is pregnant with his daughter. She will give birth in two moons."
Wigg and Faegan exchanged grave looks. "What are Wulfgar's plans for the Black Ships?" Faegan asked.
"He will use them to crush the Jin'Sai. The Black Ships now carry great beasts-beasts too massive for demonslaver vessels to hold. That is why the Black Ships and their captains were summoned from the depths of the sea. But that is all I know about them."
His eyes alive with curiosity, Faegan wheeled his chair closer to the cage. "Tell us more about these beasts," he said.
"They are huge things, their backs so long that twenty of us can ride them at one time. Their tails end in massive, bony paddles. When they walk, the ground literally trembles beneath their feet. Our lord calls them Earthshakers."
Pulling thoughtfully on his beard, Faegan sat back in his chair. "What else can you tell us?"
"I know nothing more. I am only a guard. Guards are never made privy to our lord's plans, or granted access to the inner recesses of the Citadel."
Tristan looked at Wigg. "Can you tell whether he's hiding anything from us?"
Wigg closed his eyes again. After several more moments went by, he looked back at Tristan and Faegan and shook his head.
"I hate to say it, but I believe him," Wigg answered. "We'll get no more out of this one, for he has no more to give. Like the Minions, it seems that the demonslavers have a strict chain of command. Within the demonslaver cadres, this one ranks among the lowest of the low."
They heard a knock on the door. Tristan walked over and opened it to see Shannon the Small standing there, his ever-present ale jug gripped firmly in one hand. A puff of blue smoke rose from his corncob pipe. There was a sad look on his face.