"What is this place?" Wulfgar asked again.
"As I told everyone that day on the pier, you are on an island. It is a very special place. It has existed secretly for eons, under one master of the Vagaries or another. Even the Wizards of the Directorate did not know of it. It is called the Citadel, and for good reason."
Wulfgar had no idea what Janus was talking about. He seized on the one idea that made sense. "No one can sail farther than fifteen days into the Sea of Whispers," he countered. "How do you manage it?"
"Yet another secret you shall eventually learn," Janus answered. "But, as I already said, Krassus is the one best suited to answer your inquiries. He will be most delighted to learn that you are finally here. We have been looking for you for some time. Others have searched even longer."
"Why?" Wulfgar demanded. "I don't even know this Krassus. He's nothing to me. Why should he care about my welfare?"
"He cares because of an oath he swore to one of your distant relatives just before the man's unfortunate demise," Janus answered. It was clear that he was enjoying his riddle.
"Ironically, he was murdered by yet another of your relatives. But you wouldn't know about that yet, would you?"
"That's impossible!" Wulfgar snarled. "My relatives are not murderers!"
Janus shook his head knowingly. "Oh, but they are," he answered. "Yet another fact you will soon be forced to deal with."
He snapped his fingers again. From a shelf beneath the food cart, one of the slavers produced an hourglass and handed it to his master. Janus looked first to the woman on the bed, and then back to Wulfgar. He turned the hourglass over and placed it on a nearby table.
"You have one hour to do all you would like to this woman," he said nastily. "Then we shall come back for her. Should she not please you, tell me when I return, and I will see to it that she is appropriately punished. As I said, nothing is too good for our very special guest." The painted monster smiled again.
"And now I must bid you good-bye," he said. "Enjoy her, Wulfgar," he added. "I must say I envy you." He gave them both a short, sarcastic bow.
With that he turned and walked purposefully out of the room, the twin spheres at his side clinking together ominously, the demonslavers behind him. As the massive marble doors closed with a decisive thud, Wulfgar heard the bolt slide into place on the other side.
Turning, he looked at the beautiful woman on the bed.
CHAPTER
Twelve
"Y ou had best be successful this time, Grizelda," Krassus said sternly. "I am growing tired of your failures."
Swaying on her knees, the haggard herbmistress looked up at Krassus. As she did, her stomach lurched again.
She had been seasick for the last four days, and even a dose of nerveweed had not helped. But she was not too ill to understand that the next few moments could mean either the continuance of her life, or a torturous death at the hands of the wizard, should she displease him.
After vomiting into the nearby bucket for what seemed the thousandth time, she slowly wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her tattered robe. Regaining her composure, she surveyed the shifting deck of the Sojourner, her lord's flagship, as she made her way east across the Sea of Whispers. Alabaster-skinned demonslavers hurried about their duties, crewing the ship and keeping the hundreds of slaves chained belowdecks under tight control. Sojourner's bright, white sails were full, and seawater occasionally splashed up over her decks as she pitched up and down in the restless sea. Two other frigates, the Wayfarer and the Stalwart, followed in her wake.
After the herbs and potions Krassus and Grizelda had stolen from Abbey's cottage had been loaded aboard, the three ships had departed Farpoint. They were making good time running before the steady, westerly winds.
Krassus turned to the demonslaver standing next to him. The monster immediately came to attention.
"Make sure all the crow's nests remain manned upon each of our vessels," Krassus ordered. "Signal them to continue keeping an especially sharp lookout, not only on the sea, but also in the sky. With the capture of the prince, I have no doubt that the wizards have sent their Minions after us. I believe we are already well beyond their flying range, but Wigg and Faegan are nothing if not resourceful."
The demonslaver nodded curtly. "My lord," he answered with a bow. He then left to fulfill his orders. Krassus returned his attention to the woman on her knees.
He and Grizelda were on the aft deck, the mizzen sail having just been furled. This would reduce their speed somewhat, but it couldn't be helped. What Grizelda was about to attempt was hazardous, especially with a full sail directly overhead: an uncontrolled fire on board ship in the middle of the Sea of Whispers was something to be avoided at all costs. Besides, performing these rituals in the confines of the chambers belowdecks was unthinkable.
When Tristan had been rendered unconscious in the alley by the slavers, he had been immediately taken to Krassus, then placed aboard the Sojourner. There Krassus had induced a deep sleep over him, and the prince was being force-fed liquid nourishment. The beard Faegan had conjured for him had since disappeared, and in its place there was now a shorter, two-day growth of dark, natural stubble. Still dressed in his usual clothes but his weapons gone, he lay peacefully belowdecks in a windowless stateroom guarded by demonslavers.
Krassus smiled. Capturing the prince had been an unexpected treat-a gamble risked and won. Satisfied, he took a deep breath of the nighttime sea air. But the cold, clear saltiness was too much for his lungs, and he let go a small cough. Several droplets of his blood spewed forth to hit the deck, where they immediately began twisting their way into familiar signatures. Sighing angrily, he wiped them away with the sole of his boot.
Thinking, he turned again to look out over the whitecapped ocean, where waves danced continually in the moonlight. Although Tristan was still untrained in the ways of the craft, Nicholas had warned Krassus that the prince's blood-the strongest in the world-possessed Forestallments that had been placed there by Failee, the failed first mistress of the Coven.
Krassus had been well trained by Nicholas in the art of imbuing Forestallments. The powers imparted thusly into the blood were delayed, or "forestalled," to be brought to life later, either activated at a predetermined time or catalyzed into being by the performance of certain specified acts by their possessor. If the Forestallment was time activated, there was no way to know when it might show itself, unless one knew the nature of the spell to begin with. If it was event activated, it could manifest at any time, provided that the correct action or sequence of actions had been taken by the person in whose blood the Forestallment had been placed. Krassus had no way of knowing the nature of the Forestallments that Failee had placed in Tristan's blood. Her did not want to accidentally activate one of those as-yet-untapped gifts. He would have to be exceedingly careful in his handling of the prince.
His plans were proceeding well, but he could not afford to become complacent. The two ancient wizards of the Redoubt remained very powerful. To defeat them and also accomplish his other goals, he would have to be very clever indeed. And he would have to get his hands on both the Scrolls of the Ancients and Wulfgar, Morganna's bastard son.
True, he still did not have the Scroll of the Vigors, and leaving Eutracia without having found it gave him great pause. But he had the Scroll of the Vagaries, and the work of his consuls back at the Citadel needed to begin. Besides, once his herbmistress was finally able to view the other scroll, he could always instruct his demonslavers to retrieve it for him, wherever it might be.