The new master of the Citadel reached out and snapped his fingers at a pair of armed demonslavers, who approached immediately. They briskly escorted him to the end of the terrace and down the short steps to the sea. The three of them climbed aboard the skiff tied there, and one of the slavers set it adrift. Then the creatures began rowing their master out toward his waiting flagship.
Placing one hand over her eyes to shield them from the setting sun, Serena looked over the scene. It was an awe-inspiring sight.
The moored demonslaver fleet stretched nearly as far as the eye could see. Each was heavily loaded with arms and provisions, and slavers by the thousands could be seen amassed on the decks. Their sails furled, the vessels swayed peacefully in the water, the gentle movements belying the deadly nature of their purpose.
Vast numbers of screechling maelstroms darkened the surface of the waves. And beneath them, mere shadows, writhed the hordes of sea slitherers.
As she watched, the sails of Wulfgar's flagship finally unfurled and snapped open to the wind. The flagship snaked its way amid the others and began to lead the way west, toward the open sea. The sails of the other vessels followed suit and filled with wind. One by one, the warships of the great armada began plowing their way toward Eutracia, the screechlings and slitherers following obediently in their wake.
Serena and Krassus stood there for some time, watching the departing fleet disappear over the horizon. After finally bidding good night to the wizard, the queen of the Citadel walked up the marble steps that led to the throne room and proceeded on to her private quarters.
K rassus continued to sit silently as the night gathered around him. Shivering from the cold, he pulled his gray-and-blue robe closer and thought of all that he had been able to accomplish, and of the wonders that Wulfgar and Serena would yet live to see.
It was then that he finally felt the oncoming sensation, and he knew that it was over.
Finally giving way to their disease, his lungs ruptured once and for all, and he began drowning in his own blood. It flowed warmly from his mouth and splattered down on the floor of the terrace.
As if in slow motion Krassus fell gently from his chair.
With his passing came a sudden wind. Then lightning tore across the night sky in unbelievable streaks, its branches seeming to reach everywhere. As the howling wind increased, it roiled the sea, causing the waves to smash violently into the edge of the terrace.
And then the wind and the lightning slowly abated, leaving the dead body of the wizard silent and still in the pale, rose-tinted moonlight.
A ll of her oil lamps extinguished except one, Serena was about to retire. Then she saw the lightning flashes, and she knew. Raising one hand, she caused the transparent wall that had once barred her entrance to the balcony to vanish. Carrying her lamp out onto the balcony, she looked over the ocean. As the wind and the lightning finally relented, she smiled to herself.
Taking a breath, she blew out the light.
PART V
Retribution
CHAPTER
Fifty-nine
It is not for myself that I go forth to do this thing, but for all of those who came before, who tried but failed in their attempts to ensure that the Vagaries shall one day rule supreme.
– Wulfgar
G lad to be home finally, Tristan sat drinking wine at a butcher's table in the palace kitchens. It was early evening, and Wigg and Faegan sat there with him, along with the young man named Marcus. The massive hearths were directly behind them; copper pots and pans hung overhead, dangling from iron hooks.
When the gnome wives had first seen the two dirty, half-starved children, they had insisted on feeding them immediately, regardless of whatever the wizards might have to say about it. The wonderful smells of the women's creations still hung stubbornly in the air.
Tristan felt mournful. The loss of Pilgrim had been a shock that he knew would take a long time to recover from. At least the stallion had not died in vain: They had successfully secured the Scroll of the Vigors, and for that he was glad. The document was safe and sound, locked below the palace in the Hall of Blood Records. But before they examined it, the two wizards wanted some answers, and they were determined to get them as soon as they could.
After Tristan had removed Pilgrim's saddle and bridle, Wigg had lowered his head to call the craft and set fire to the horse's body. At first Tristan couldn't bring himself to watch. But in the end he had finally looked over, tearfully doing his best to honor the companion that had seen him through so much.
Then Wigg had respectfully done the same thing with the body of the artifacts dealer and what was left of the harlequin. As Wigg went about his work, frightened citizens had begun to mill tentatively around the edges of the plaza, but upon seeing the lead wizard's use of the craft, none of them had approached.
On the way back to the palace, Wigg had explained to the prince what had unfolded in the plaza. Wigg had been the first to see Rebecca run away. Suspicious of such a young, obviously terrified girl running through the square, he had ridden his horse over to her and scooped her up. As for the artifacts dealer, it seemed that it had been Grizelda who had so conveniently plunged the dagger into his back. They still didn't know who the bizarre harlequin had been, but they hoped that the herbmistress would soon shed some light on that subject, as well. For now, she was securely locked behind one of the hundreds of doors deep in the bowels of the Redoubt.
The clubfooted girl named Rebecca had been too terrified by what she had seen to be of much help with the wizards' questions. Seeing this, Shailiha and Celeste had requested-and received-permission to take her away to feed her, bathe her, and reassure her as best they could.
Now the wizards wanted to hear from the young man named Marcus. His knife had been discovered and taken from him on the way to the palace. So far, the dirty, curly-haired redhead had barely stopped eating, and there seemed to be no end to the amount of food he could consume.
"Now then," Wigg began. "What is the name of your family house?"
"First things first," Marcus answered arrogantly, as if he owned the palace he was sitting in. He kept on chewing as he talked. "Where is my thirteen thousand kisa?"
Reaching out, he rudely swiped up yet more of the sliced lamb and stuffed about three bites' worth into his mouth all at once. Chewing hurriedly, he washed it down with another glass of goat's milk. After wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he turned to look greedily at Tristan's wine goblet.
"Give me some of that, and I'll gladly tell you who I am," he said confidently. "It seems the least you could do. I didn't ask to come here, you know."
With a brief snort, Faegan smiled and shook his head. But it was clear that the lead wizard didn't think any of this was particularly humorous.
Knowing that Marcus was still hungry, Wigg called on the craft. Almost immediately all of Marcus' precious food and drink rose into the air. The young man's eyes went wide. Then Wigg caused all of the dishes to go flying out the kitchen door and into the adjoining hallway. Without taking his eyes from Marcus, Wigg folded his arms across his chest and calmly leaned back in his chair. With that, everything fell crashing to the hallway floor-the dishes smashed, the food ruined, and the drinks spilled.
Frozen in place, Marcus stared at Wigg as if the wizard had just descended from one of the moons. Leaning in, Wigg cast his aquamarine eyes sternly at the young man and lowered his voice.