Arm in arm, they walked for a long time. As they went, they would occasionally come across armed demonslavers who bowed deeply to them. The same was true of the blue-robed consuls they passed. Wulfgar would often stop to talk to them. Without exception, they seemed honored to be in his presence.

But it was far more than that, she thought, as she walked beside her powerful lord. The entire Citadel seemed different to her. It was far more alive, more beautiful, and more comforting then she remembered. On the surface, at least, it now seemed a wondrous, enchanting place. Or perhaps it was only she who had truly changed; she didn't know. Regardless, the fortress was a wondrous sight to behold.

Rather than being constructed of marble or brick, the entire Citadel had been hewn from the gray rock that comprised much of the island. It looked quite ancient. It was as if the workers of so long ago had started at the top of a great stone mountain rising up from the sea and then chiseled away what they didn't want, to reveal this massive collection of walls and buildings.

The island itself was angular, and much larger than the area upon which the Citadel stood. A wide spit of fertile land reached its way east from one end, stabbing its long finger out into the Sea of Whispers. This was where the crops were grown, and where the livestock was bred, tended, and eventually butchered for food. Wells dotted the island, supplying fresh water.

The exterior of the fortress was dark and foreboding. It completely belied the beautiful, graceful nature of its interior rooms, columns, and halls, most of which were constructed of elegant colored marble. Taken as a whole, the Citadel gave one the impression of a great, self-sufficient city. Pilastered, crenellated walls surrounded the entire fortress, protecting both the inner ward and the various central buildings. A single portcullis granted access to the outside.

The interior of the Citadel was made up of many keeps, towers, and other structures, most of them hundreds of feet tall and adorned with leaded stained-glass windows that could be swung open to the sea. Elegant catwalks extending from balconies connected many of the towers to one another. The inner ward surrounding them held magnificently manicured gardens complete with stone walkways. Magnificent, illuminated fountains danced both day and night.

In the center, rising above everything else around it, stood a tall spire. Within its center was a circular stairway leading to the top. At its peak there was a broad, exposed walkway that completely encircled it. From here, demonslaver guards could see many leagues out over the Sea of Whispers in any direction. A warning bell was attached to the spire wall, waiting to be rung.

Demonslaver warships patrolled the surrounding sea constantly, their graceful, white sails full as they caught not only the wind, but also the last rays of the setting sun. Many more lay peacefully, sails furled, at anchor just offshore. So many, in fact, that their numbers virtually filled the waters surrounding the island.

The sight of so many vessels brought reassurance to her heart. But they also brought more questions, as well. As she and Wulfgar walked along one of the many torchlit porticos lining the gardens, Serena found she could no longer contain her curiosity.

"Tell me, my lord," she asked him. "Who are the demonslavers that serve us? Where do they come from?"

Wulfgar smiled. After he had been turned to the Vagaries, this had been one of the first questions he had asked Krassus. The answer had both surprised and delighted him.

"The demonslavers serve us in much the same way the Minions of Day and Night serve our enemies, the Chosen Ones," he explained. "Krassus has told me of the Minions. He explained how they were first brought into existence by Failee, the late wife of Wigg, the lead wizard. And how Tristan came to become their current lord and master. While it is true that our demonslavers cannot fly, they are at the very least just as ruthless and loyal."

Wulfgar finally stopped before a pair of double doors. "But before I answer your question about the demonslavers, there is first something I wish to show you," he said.

Pointing one hand to the doors, he caused them to open. He then took Serena by the hand and led her into the room. As he did, some of Krassus' words of explanation came back to him.

Despite her transformation, she would retain all of her former memories, Krassus had told him. Just as he and the many others over the centuries who had been so blessed as to have tasted the joy of the Vagaries did. And if she truly became one of us, the wizard had gone on to say, she would love only the Vagaries and those practitioners equally devoted to its cause. Just as the Heretics of the Guild meant it to be.

As they entered the room, he carefully watched her face.

They were standing in the room that held the R'talis slaves-the same stark prison in which Janus had once forced Serena to take her meals, in plain view of the poor unfortunates starving before her. The chamber was illuminated by many bright wall torches, their shadows crisscrossing the beige marble walls. Even the magnificent table and chair she had been forced to sit at was still here, complete with its tablecloth, elaborate setting for one, and matching gold candlesticks.

Serena slowly walked toward the cages. Many of the captives started shouting insults at her and waving their arms with rage. By now, most of them were little more than skin and bones.

But something was different now, Serena realized. Both Talis and R'talis slaves were here, and the cages were no longer filled to overflowing.

Wulfgar watched Serena as she left the slaves and walked the short distance over to the table. She ran her fingers over the fine gold plates and utensils as if she loved them, revered them. Then she looked back at the slaves.

This time, instead of weeping for the slaves' plight as she had done in previous days, she only smiled. As Wulfgar came closer to her, he realized that the Vagaries swirling in her blood had truly become a part of her soul. He and Krassus had succeeded, he realized. He took her hand.

"And now that you see the world for what it truly is, what say you, my love?" he asked.

Serena nodded slowly. "These puny, untrained beings, many of whom do not even have endowed blood, mean nothing to me," she told him. "I see now that they are no more than human resources for us to mine. Indeed, if my lord would allow it, I would like to once again take some of my meals here, if for no other reason than to see the looks on their faces. It should prove most entertaining. Do you think you could let me do that, my love?"

Wulfgar smiled. "Of course," he answered. "But it may not be possible. The sand in the hourglass of their lives is running short."

"I don't understand," she said.

Taking her by the hand, Wulfgar led her to a door on the other side of the room. As they walked through it, Serena felt an intense, searing heat blast over her, and charred, dense air came suddenly to her nostrils.

The demonslaver forges were still in use, but would not remain so much longer. The slaves, dressed only in their soiled, torn loincloths, worked tirelessly, forging the instruments of sudden death that Wulfgar's demonslavers would soon use in the service of their master. The incessant clanging of the slaves' hammers and the stale, telltale smell of human sweat filled the smoky air. The orange-red coals in the hearths glowed brightly, casting an ocherous aura over everything in the room.

As they walked purposefully through the chamber, the demonslaver guards there bowed obediently. Then Serena noticed one slave whose hands were tied behind his back. She stopped to look at him. He seemed to be supervising the others as they fashioned the various weapons. Curious, she turned to Wulfgar.