And then Janus let go.
The weapon wheeled unerringly toward the running slave. He never had a chance.
The midpoint of the checkered line caught him in the back of the neck. Instantaneously the lines on either side wound around and around his throat.
The twin spheres closed ranks, smashing with a great cracking noise into his head-one into his face, the other into the back of his skull. Blood and brain matter exploded from his crushed cranium, and he crashed to the ground just before reaching the end of the pier. A hush came over the crowd.
The victim groaned.
"Don't tell me he still lives!" Janus sneered. "How remarkable!"
The Harlequin strode to his victim and uncoiled his bizarre weapon from the slave's mangled neck. The slave groaned one last time as the heartless butcher stood over him, watching him expire.
With a smile, Janus bent over to dip the spheres into the sea to clean them, then replaced them on his belt. He looked over to several demonslavers who had crowded around the body. Suddenly his smile widened.
"I think it safe to say he no longer has the head for this business!" And he gave a sarcastic laugh.
The slavers standing near him broke into raucous laughter.
Twenty-Nine lowered his head in shame. Then his shame quickly turned to anger, filling every corner of his heart. He looked down at his broken hands. Clenching his jaw, he turned to glare at the freak standing so proudly over his bloody victory.
"What shall we do with the body?" one of the demonslavers asked.
Thinking for a moment, the Harlequin turned back to the crowd of slaves and beckoned. Immediately the air became filled with the sounds of snapping nine-tails as the slavers forced the crowd toward the edge of the pier, where the slain slave lay.
"Hear me!" Janus shouted. "For those others of you who might defy us, know that what happened to this slave is perhaps the most lenient of consequences. There exist far more ingenious methods of obtaining your cooperation, I assure you! Your loved ones back in Eutracia know you are gone, but have absolutely no idea of where you have been taken. Nor shall they ever. Rescue is quite impossible. And should any of you be thinking of plotting an escape, also know that you are on an island. Should you try to leave us, only death awaits you in these waters. Allow me to demonstrate!"
Janus calmly turned to several of the slavers standing beside him. He pointed to the mutilated corpse. "Hack the body into pieces, and throw them in," he ordered simply.
Two of the demonslavers came forward, sliding their short, broad swords from the scabbards hanging low on their backs. With amazingly fast strokes, the body was quickly dismembered. Blood ran slowly toward the edge of the pier and dripped into the sea.
Two of the demonslavers grasped the bloody parts and tossed them into the ocean just aft of the Defiant. Then Janus turned to look down into the murky depths and held up a painted hand. The entire crowd went silent.
"Wait for it," he said quietly. Then, slowly, something began to happen.
There was a disturbance in the water.
An area of the sea surface started to glow with the color azure. It began to writhe and churn. Deepening whirlpools, each several meters across, could be seen forming in various spots on the gloomy sea of the subterranean harbor. Everyone stood transfixed, waiting to see what would happen next. And then, almost as if with a single mind, the crowd recoiled.
From the midst of the azure whirlpools, squat, menacing heads silently began rising up out of the sea.
The long, flat skulls were covered with dark red scales. Slanted, yellow eyes, with vertical black irises, darted from side to side as the heads turned menacingly this way and that, searching for whatever had disturbed the surface of the sea. Several of them began slithering hungrily toward the pieces of severed corpse, portions of their long, smooth bodies intermittently rising and submerging as they went. Their strangely forked tails rose silently from the water, only to submerge again. In the center of their backs a spiny fin occasionally swept up in a gentle curve only to fall again, to lie against the sinuous spine.
Dozens of them were rising silently to the surface now, slithering over and under one another, writhing and twisting in the dark sea. The only sound was their eager hissing.
Some of them had reached their meal, and they opened their jaws wide. Astoundingly long pink, forked tongues flashed out to entwine the bloody body parts. Then the tongues retracted, pulling the meat into waiting maws. In each mouth, four long, white fangs-two at the top and another pair at the bottom-flashed as they bit down. With snorting, snuffling grunts of pleasure the monsters swallowed.
The sea became a whirling riot of activity as the grisly feeding frenzy continued unabated.
When the dismembered corpse was finally consumed, the beasts, silent now, slithered back into the depths. The surface of the sea stilled; the azure glow faded away. The bloodied, soiled loincloth of the dead slave floated to the surface of the murky water-all that was left of the man who had dared defy Janus.
Smiling, the Harlequin turned back to the gaping crowd.
"They are called sea slitherers," he said. "Created by my esteemed master. They number in the thousands, and completely surround the waters of these isles. As I said, escape is impossible."
Twenty-Nine stood numbly, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. He turned to look at the man called Wulfgar. It was clear he had given up struggling with the slaver holding him.
Gloating, Janus sauntered back from the end of the pier.
"Enough fun for one afternoon," he said casually. "Our little object lesson is now concluded." He looked commandingly at the two robed ones still seated at the table, then pointed to Wulfgar.
"Have him taken to his quarters," he ordered, "and see to it that my other commands are carried out to the letter. His well-being is paramount. Should any harm befall him, you will have to answer to Krassus himself."
The men behind the table nodded obediently.
"Also see to it that the two parchments carrying his endowed signature and blood assay are securely locked away in the vault of the Scriptorium," he added.
He looked back at the hundreds of filthy slaves standing in the dim light of the torches. "In the meantime, keep processing these vermin," he added. "And be quick about it. Two more ships are approaching, and will be in need of docking berths." He turned on his heel and walked away.
As Janus left, several demonslavers gathered around Wulfgar, presumably forming a security squad to escort him to his quarters.
Strong hands suddenly gripped Twenty-Nine from behind. A knee was slammed into his back, and he was muscled around the end of the table.
His foot shackles rattling, he was herded roughly toward the far wall, where two dark, stone doorways waited. Over one was carved the word Talis. Over the other, R'talis. A steep stairway led upward from each, curving around and out of sight.
Just before being shoved through the door marked Talis, he forced his head around one final time to look at Wulfgar. Perhaps he could give him a look of hope, as Wulfgar had done for him.
But Wulfgar was already gone.
A trident at his naked back, Twenty-Nine began climbing the steep, rough-hewn stairway.
CHAPTER
Seven
"O x sorry," the huge Minion said, wringing his hands. "Ox should been inside palace with Chosen One, not outside with troops. Not happen again. Ox promise."
Tristan smiled over at the slow-witted but loyal Minion, knowing full well how ashamed the warrior felt. The prince had repeatedly tried to reassure him that what had happened had not been his fault, and that Krassus would have slipped by the Minion troops anyway. But as Tristan's supposed bodyguard, Ox hadn't agreed and had continued to castigate himself.
Deciding there was little more he could do to change the warrior's opinion, Tristan uncoiled his long legs and looked out the window, admiring the Eutracian landscape as it flew by below.