"What is it?" Tristan asked softly, sensing that something was very wrong.

One simple, awful word came down to him: "Pilgrim."

Tristan's daze evaporated, and he whirled around to find the stallion still lying on the ground, an unfamilar weapon tangled around his legs. Tristan felt his heart tear in two.

Both the stallion's forelegs were smashed and bleeding. In horrific pain, Pilgrim whinnied weakly as he saw the prince look at him. Dropping to the ground, Tristan gently cradled the horse's head in his lap.

His face stern, Wigg gave the care of the young man and the crying girl over to Faegan. Then he placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe and came to stand next to the prince.

Tears flooding his eyes, Tristan looked beseechingly up at his old friend and mentor. But deep in his heart, he already knew the answer.

With a tear in one eye, Wigg slowly shook his head.

Crying freely now, his body shaking with grief, Tristan held Pilgrim closer. "Can you make it painless?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Coming nearer, the lead wizard placed a hand on Tristan's shoulder. "Of course," he answered softly.

For what he knew would be the last time, Tristan gently stroked Pilgrim's velvety muzzle.

"I will never forget you," he whispered. As if somehow understanding, Pilgrim whinnied back to him softly.

Without looking up, Tristan nodded. Wigg raised his right arm.

The dappled stallion closed his eyes.

Uncontrollably, shamelessly, Tristan raised his tear-streaked face to the sky and cried like a child.

CHAPTER

Fifty-eight

"C ome back to me safe, my love," Serena said to Wulfgar. Placing one hand on her abdomen, she looked up into his hazel eyes. "Both I and your unborn daughter will be anxiously awaiting your return."

As he stood with her on the stone terrace overlooking the ocean, Wulfgar reached out to touch her face. "Wish me luck," he said softly. "For it is all about to begin."

Then he turned to look at Krassus. The ailing wizard was sitting in a chair, taking in the last rays of the slowly setting sun.

"We both thank you for all of our gifts," Wulfgar said to him. "If I never see you again, rest assured that I will not stop until I have accomplished all that I have been charged with. Thanks to you, the Chosen Ones shall soon suffer a fate even they could never have imagined."

Smiling, Krassus looked up at his two magnificent creations. "It is not me whom you and your queen should thank for your gifts," he answered weakly. "Nor for the mission with which you have been entrusted. It is the Heretics of the Guild upon whom you should shower your gratitude and undying loyalty. For they, in all their glorious wisdom, are the ones who are ultimately responsible not only for your powers, but also for the mission you have been honored to carry out." Taking a short, painful breath, the wizard cast his dark gaze back out over the sea.

"And do not weep for me," he added softly. "I am only thankful that I could live to see this day, and entrust all the wonders of this place to you." He lifted his head and looked wistfully up at the sky.

"Very soon now I shall go to them, and I do not fear it. It is my reward, and I welcome its coming."

Wulfgar walked over to the wizard, bent down, and gently kissed his creased, weathered cheek. Then he turned and embraced his queen.

He had no need to remind Serena that by now all of the remaining slaves had been turned to their cause, save for the forty who had been placed in confinement aboard his personal ship. Or that a specially selected group of demonslavers had been left behind to guard the Citadel, as had the consuls under his command. For these things his queen already knew. Wulfgar had by now enacted all of Serena's Forestallments. In his absence, his servants would obey all of Serena's orders as unquestioningly as if they had been his own.

Krassus had at first been against Wulfgar starting out on his quest so soon, for they were not yet in possession of the Scroll of the Vigors. But in truth, Wulfgar was now far beyond the wizard's control in such matters. Besides, the consuls had recently come to him to say that the Scroll of the Vagaries had glowed suddenly and unbidden, and Krassus knew exactly what that meant.

Krassus' senses told him that Wigg and Faegan had employed the vellum he had slipped into the prince's boot. By now they had most probably perished in the attempt due to the enchantment he had so ingeniously placed upon it. If the wizards of the Redoubt were dead, Wulfgar's chances of success had increased exponentially, especially since neither of the Chosen Ones was trained in the craft. But he had told Wulfgar that there was no way to be certain, until he arrived in Eutracia. Even so, it seemed the future now belonged to Wulfgar and Serena. And so, he had finally given his blessing to the early commencement of Wulfgar's mission.

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.