"I love your daughter," he said softly, irrevocably. "Forgive me, Wigg, but I do."

Wigg smiled. "I know," he answered gently.

"You do?"

"Of course. Everyone in the palace knows. They also know how she feels about you. Only a fool could miss the way the two of you look at each another."

"I'm sorry," Tristan replied carefully, not knowing exactly what to say. "I know how damaged she was. And I stayed away, because I wanted to respect that. But she tells me she is much better now. I'm glad for her, and I've never seen her so vibrant and alive. But I also know how little time the two of you have had to come to know each other, and I didn't want to intrude on that, either." Pausing, he looked down at his hands. "Despite how much I cared, being with her seemed impossible. For so many reasons.

"Still, I couldn't help but love her," he went on. "When I first saw her that night on the cliffs, the feeling swept over me like a storm, and it simply won't go away."

Wigg looked over thoughtfully at the man he loved so much. From the time he had watched Tristan come into the world, he had done everything in his power to prepare him for the teachings he would eventually impart into his blood, and for the destiny the prince was chosen to fulfill. But not even the lead wizard could have foreseen the turmoil and loss that would accompany Tristan and Shailiha on their unexpectedly dangerous journey to enlightenment. And now, in the midst of it all, had come Celeste. Reaching out, Wigg put a hand on Tristan's shoulder.

"You have my blessing, if that's what you're asking for," he said quietly. "Nothing would make me happier than to see the two of you together. And I mean that. She loves you, Tristan. And with an ardor I have seldom seen over the course of my three centuries."

As Tristan looked up, Wigg could see a tear in his eye. Realizing that the same thing was about to happen to him as well, the wizard promptly stood, cleared his throat, and busily rearranged his robes.

"Now then," he said, his wizardly demeanor apparently having retuned, "I must get back to Faegan and Celeste. They'll be wondering where I've been." One eyebrow came up. "And you know how Faegan can be."

As Wigg turned to go, Tristan reached out and gently took the wizard by one arm. "Thank you," he said softly.

"There is no reason to thank me," Wigg answered back. "In truth, I doubt there is any power on earth that could keep the two of you apart. All I ask is that you continue to treat her well."

"I will," the prince answered back, his voice cracking a bit.

With a final, comforting smile, Wigg left the room.

His mind awash with the memories of everything he had been through and thoughts of all that might still lie ahead, Tristan remained there in silence for some time before he finally ordered the parchment back to its drawer. Suddenly exhausted, he left the room and began the long walk to his chambers.

Very soon now, he knew, he and the others would hear what the wizards had to say about the Scrolls of the Ancients.

CHAPTER

Sixty-one

F rom his place in the bow of his warship, Wulfgar watched and listened as the oncoming waves split noisily against the prow. Looking higher out over the breadth of the nighttime sea he felt his long, sandy hair sway behind his back in the wind, in time with the ceaseless rocking of the ship.

The voyage of the last seven days had been uneventful, and the cold winds had remained brisk, allowing his fleet to make good time. The screechlings and sea slitherers had kept pace well, following dutifully behind in the wake of his vast armada. Demonslavers prowled the decks, the ships' running lamps pointing up their lifeless white skin. As the ship swayed beneath him, Wulfgar took a deep breath of the crisp sea air.

Looking at the reflections of the rose-colored moons in the ever-surging waves, his thoughts turned back to Serena and Krassus. He had no doubt that the diseased wizard was dead. Watch for the lightning and the wind, he had told Serena. Then shall you know that he has truly expired. When it happens, order a contingent of slavers to lay his body in a small skiff and set it ablaze as they push it out to sea. Wulfgar and Serena owed everything to Krassus, and he deserved to be well remembered. Then Wulfgar's thoughts drifted to his beautiful new queen.

He loved her deeply, and missed her as he missed nothing else in the world. Since she had been turned to the Vagaries, she had never been away from his side until now. He missed how she looked, how she smelled, and the supple touch of her skin. He wanted to hold her in his strong arms and take her over and over again, making her beg, then gasp, and finally cry out in joy, just as she always did. And already he missed the daughter she carried, even though her pregnancy was still without outer evidence. He would finish Nicholas' work quickly, and return home to the Citadel in triumph.

Nicholas, he thought. The nephew he had never seen. What a magnificent being he must have been! How he would have loved meeting him, conversing with him, planning with him. Part of Wulfgar could even understand how Krassus had been so willing, almost eager, in fact, to die and go to him, even though it had been Nicholas himself who had made it so.

But Nicholas' plans lived on-first in the blood of Krassus, and now in Wulfgar's. He would reign supreme, he swore. The practitioners of the Vigors would soon know the exquisite sting of their defeat, as would the entire world.

Then the wind stopped completely, and he knew. Even though there was no land in sight, Wulfgar's fleet had arrived at the first of their destinations. And the new lord of the Vagaries was prepared.

Wulfgar turned to his first mate. "Furl the sails, tie off the wheel, and signal that the same be done to every other ship in the fleet," he ordered. "There are to be absolutely no exceptions. Have the forty remaining Talis slaves brought up out of the hold." Pausing, he smiled. "We are about to have guests."

With a nod, the first mate went off to perform his duties.

Then the fog rolled in over the night sea from seemingly nowhere and everywhere, quickly engulfing the entire fleet. Thick and gray, it clung to his clothes and his skin. With the arrival of the fog, the temperature plummeted, and soon Wulfgar could see his breath.

The fog coalesced into hundreds of great columns that rose up out of the sea. And then, just as Krassus had told him would happen, the columns morphed into giant hands, each pair of them grasping a ship by the opposite ends. All his ships were thus caught. The demonslavers looked up in awe but remained disciplined, ready to carry out any commands their master might order.

Wulfgar stood in sheer joy at this example of the Vagaries. To his enlightened mind it was not only magnificent, but was also something to take advantage of-and he would be the first being in the history of the world to do so.

Turning to look down the deck, Wulfgar saw that the forty Talis slaves had been brought topside. They stood in four neat lines of ten each, shivering from both the cold and their sense of foreboding.

As Wulfgar expected, the sea around the fleet began to bubble and roil, as if something was trying to come to the top. Then faces began to form on the surface of the ocean. They were the Necrophagians-the endowed, ages-old Eaters of the Dead.

And I am the only living being who both truly knows what they are and can also call them into his service, Wulfgar thought as he greedily looked over the side of the ship.

He stared at the faces. There seemed to be hundreds of them, their flesh a horrible mixture of sea green and dark red, streaked with ancient wrinkles and boils. Where eyes and mouths should have been there were only dark, empty holes. And then came the expected demand.