"And what of this one?" she asked. "Should he not also toil in the service of his lord?"

"A troublemaker, nothing more," Wulfgar answered. "They tell me his number is twenty-nine. He will soon be dealt with, as shall all of the others here in this chamber."

When Twenty-Nine finally saw Wulfgar, he immediately recognized him as the same man he had stood next to on the docks the day they first disembarked. Seeing the slavers bow to the man, Twenty-Nine realized that he and the woman he was with had somehow become of great importance here.

Knowing he was risking his life, he brazenly hurried over to Wulfgar. The slavers reacted immediately, grabbing him and roughly pushing him to the dirt at Wulfgar's feet. With a shiny trident pressing into his back, he could raise his face only enough to look up into his new master's eyes. Wulfgar was intrigued by the slave's wanton display of insolence.

"You know me!" Twenty-Nine pleaded hoarsely. "In the name of the Afterlife, tell these monsters that you know me! We were together at the docks! You looked into my eyes! Don't you remember? Why don't you help us?" His words trailed away as the three sharp tips of the trident lightly punctured the skin of his naked back.

After emotionlessly examining Twenty-Nine's face, Wulfgar looked back up at the slavers. "I have seen him before," he answered coldly. "But I don't care for his welfare. When this group has finally finished their labors and you are ready to dispense with them, bring this one to me. I want him to be one of the forty." The slaver holding the trident to Twenty-Nine's back smiled wickedly and nodded.

"The 'forty'?" Serena asked quizzically.

Wulfgar smiled. "You will understand soon enough," he answered, and he guided her to the doorway at the far end of the room. Without looking back, Serena followed him through.

The next room lay some distance below where they were standing, and it was very large, its brightness in direct contrast to the room they had just left. Like the Scriptorium, this chamber was also littered with white marble tables. The walls and floor of the room were constructed of a very pale green marble, and the many ornate stained-glass windows in its walls lay open to the night. The breeze coming off the ocean filled the air with a cool, welcoming scent.

Consuls were busy at work here. A great pile of what seemed to be demonslaver clothing lay unexplained in one corner of the room, with several slavers standing next to it. Taking her by the hand, Wulfgar led Serena down to the shiny green floor via a long, curved series of steps.

Then a door opened in the wall to their left, and a large, menacing squad of slavers began roughly herding a group of terrified slaves into the room. Nine-tails cracked out in the air, and shiny tridents and swords poked and prodded the unfortunate captives as they moved haltingly along.

Serena recognized some of them as those who had shouted insults at her in the room of cages. As she looked at them, she smiled. They didn't seem so arrogant just now. She wondered what Wulfgar had meant about the sand in the hourglass of their lives growing short.

Wulfgar snapped his fingers, and slavers immediately brought over two luxuriously upholstered red velvet chairs. Motioning to Serena, Wulfgar bade her sit in one, and he took the other. Then two more slavers appeared, bearing goblets of red wine that they offered to their lord and lady. Wulfgar tipped his glass in Serena's honor and took a sip. After joining him in the excellent wine, his queen turned her attention back to the helpless slaves being paraded before her.

The group contained both men and women, and the brands on their shoulders told her that they were a mixed group of endowed and unendowed blood. As the slavers began pushing them toward the marble tables, the confused slaves cried out frantically in terror. Blatantly ignoring their wailing, the slavers began hoisting them up onto the tables and tying them down. The consuls, silent and foreboding in their dark blue robes, carefully watched the proceedings unfold.

When all of the slaves were secured, one of the consuls walked forward to stand obediently before Wulfgar. Lowering the hood of his robe, he looked up into the commanding, hazel eyes of his new master.

Smiling back at the consul, Wulfgar nodded. The consul turned to face the rows of tables. Then Wulfgar's servant bowed his head and raised his arms.

The torches in the room began to dim, their light slowly replaced by the azure glow of the craft. As the glow encompassed the entire room, Serena heard soft tearing sounds that gradually became louder and louder. As the unusual noise increased, so did the screaming of the slaves, the two disparate sounds combining to create a bizarre chorus of anguish. Smiling, the consul standing before them lowered his hands and calmly placed them into the opposite sleeves of his robe.

Then Serena realized what was happening. The twisted loincloths of the men and the simple, one-piece frocks worn by the women were being torn apart by the craft. They fell to the floor, leaving the terrified people on the marble tables naked, humiliatingly exposed.

The consul standing before Wulfgar and Serena turned back to look at Wulfgar. After taking another sip of wine, Wulfgar nodded. Returning to his work, the consul again raised his arms.

The azure glow in the room increased to a brightness that almost made it difficult to keep one's eyes open. The slaves began to writhe painfully in their bonds and scream even louder. And then their transformations began.

First the color of their skin changed into the stark, blanched white so characteristic of demonslavers. Serena watched, her mouth agape, as the slaves' hair began to fall out, sliding from their skulls and bodies to drift down onto the various tabletops and the green marble floor.

Then, surprisingly, their genitalia began to disappear. The women's breasts flattened, coming to resemble those of the males. Gasping with disbelief, Serena realized that what she had long assumed about the demonslavers being male had not been true. They were asexual beings, made that way by the craft.

As she watched, the slaves' fingernails and toenails began to fall away, drifting silently to the floor. In their place talons emerged. Suddenly, still screaming and struggling against their bonds, they all closed their eyes. When they opened them again, their eyes had been replaced with the white, lifeless-looking orbs of the demonslavers. Then their muscles began to bulge, becoming hard and strong. Their ears lengthened to points, and as the victims twisted their mouths with agony, Serena could see that their teeth had become pointed and black.

The azure glow slowly faded, and the room became strangely quiet as the subjects on the tables finally stopped wailing and lay still, their metamorphosis complete.

Turning to look at Wulfgar's profile, Serena smiled. The creation of the demonslavers was ingenious, she thought. First the consuls of the Brotherhood had been turned, and now the Chosen One's subjects, as well-all aligned against them and their wizards.

"How is this possible?" she asked Wulfgar. She took another sip of wine.

"It has to do with something called Forestallments," he answered simply. "And they have to do with the craft. But for now, suffice it to say that the spells for the creation of the slavers were passed from Nicholas to Krassus, who will soon show you how to use your Forestallments, as I am now able to do." He ran a hand down her cheek. "And when that happens, my love, it is a wondrous moment of realization. Your blood will sing. I very much look forward to sharing that day with you." He leaned over and kissed her, then straightened again.

"And now that Krassus has found the particular Forestallment he wanted so badly, and has placed it into my blood signature, he is free to convert all of the remaining slaves, both Talis and R'talis alike, into demonslavers. We have nearly completed transforming them all. He also tells me that only I, of all the endowed beings in the world, carry this special Forestallment in my signature. In my heart I know this single Forestallment, more than any other, is the one upon which our struggle with the Chosen Ones shall soon turn, but he has yet to inform me of its nature. Perhaps tonight he shall."