"Pay us our bounty, or we shall take both your bodies and your ships," the faces whispered in the strangest of voices. There were many speaking at once in complete conformity, yet so softly that they could barely be heard.

The new lord of the Vagaries knew full well that the Necrophagians were referring to the forty cowering slaves on deck. To allow safe passage across the sea, the Eaters of the Dead were demanding to be fed. It was known as the bargain of tenfold times four-the pact made with them by Failee, first mistress of the Coven, as she tried to save her life and the lives of her sisters after having been banished by the Directorate of Wizards more than three centuries before. But this time, Wulfgar knew, things would be different.

Leaning over the side of the vessel, Wulfgar raised his arms. "Eaters of the Dead!" he shouted out over the sea. "I honor you, and come prepared to pay your bounty! Or you may choose a different path this day. I suggest that a new bargain be struck-one that will release you from your ages-old bondage and allow you to follow me!"

A deathly silence followed as Wulfgar's entire fleet waited, dead in the water. Finally, the eerie whispering came again.

"Who are you to bargain with us?" came the voices. "And who are you to speak of our freedom? Even Failee, the one with whom we struck our agreement so long ago, did not possess such power. No one can free us of our torment except he or she who shall eventually command the Scroll of the Vagaries."

"I am that man," Wulfgar replied calmly. "I am also the only living being in the world who knows who you truly are, and why you were condemned to this purgatory in the sea. I and the Heretics of the Guild need you now, and your penance can finally be over, should you choose. But first you must follow me, and serve me in my mission." Silence reigned again.

"Do you mean to say that the Scrolls of the Ancients have finally been loosed upon the world?" the voices asked, their combined tones even more hushed this time.

"Yes," Wulfgar replied, determined to stand his ground.

"We require proof," the voices replied. "It is said that he or she who would eventually command the sacred Scroll of the Vagaries would have the proof of it in his blood. Show us your proof now, or be devoured for wasting our time. If you are not that person, we tire of your foolishness."

Smiling, Wulfgar narrowed his eyes and called on the craft. Raising his arms, he levitated himself up and over the warship's gunwales and came to hover only inches above the sea, directly over the horrific faces in the water. Extending his right arm, he turned up his wrist and caused an incision to form. A single drop of red blood dripped from the wound and hovered in the air.

Almost immediately Wulfgar's blood signature began to form. Raising his arms, he caused it to increase in size until it seemed to take up the entire night sky. Hundreds of Forestallments could be seen branching away from the main body of the signature, but there was one among them that clearly stood out, its massive length and width overshadowing all of the others. The magnificent Forestallment seemed to surge with life, as if impatient to fulfill its destiny.

This was the Forestallment Krassus and the consuls had worked so long and hard to find in the depths of the scroll-the same one Wulfgar would soon unleash upon his unsuspecting enemies.

"What say you now, Eaters of the Dead?" Wulfgar asked calmly.

"Are you truly the Enseterat?" the voices asked reverently. "Has he finally come to us?"

"He who was to have been the first Enseterat is now dead," Wulfgar answered. "He was the son of the Chosen One. I am the brother of the Chosen Ones, and have inherited both the mantle and the glorious, unfinished work of the Enseterat."

"What would you have us do in return for our freedom, Enseterat?" the voices asked.

For several long moments, Wulfgar explained his mission and the rewards he would give them for traveling in his service. Another long silence followed.

"We will serve you, Enseterat," the Necrophagians finally whispered with one voice.

Wulfgar turned to look over at the forty cowering, shivering slaves. "Will you be requiring the offering I brought?" he asked.

"That will not be necessary this time," they whispered back. "For we now have a new master, and where we are going, there shall be many such offerings. If we succeed, we shall no longer need them. And if you fail we shall soon consume all that you are, in any event."

"Very well," Wulfgar answered. Raising his arms again, he levitated himself back aboard.

With the new bargain struck, the hundreds of foggy hands released the ships, and the temperature returned to normal. Wulfgar ordered the fleet's sails unfurled. They snapped open to the easterlies and began moving the ships forward. The terrified slaves were ordered chained belowdecks once again.

As the fleet plowed through the sea, the screechlings, the slitherers, and the Eaters of the Dead, all under the command of the Enseterat, followed dutifully behind in its wake. Wulfgar gazed west, toward the sacred home of his prize.

Everything was going according to plan.

CHAPTER

Sixty-two

A fter sleeping like the dead, Tristan opened his balcony doors to find that a beautiful day had arrived. While bathing and dressing, he realized how hungry he was-not only for a good breakfast from the gnome wives, but for the company of Celeste, as well. He was walking down a hallway contemplating a plan to find her after breakfast when he turned a corner and literally bumped into her, along with Abbey and Shailiha. Celeste was dressed in shiny black knee boots, black riding breeches, a white, low-cut blouse, and black riding gloves. She was holding a basket. Shailiha was pushing Morganna's ornate carriage. Caprice circled lazily overhead, in the spacious heights of the hallway. All three women smiled at him as if they all knew something that he did not. The moment he looked into their faces, he knew what it was.

Celeste had told her friends about the change in her relationship with him. One more thing for Shailiha to tease him about. Things would never be the same.

Celeste came closer and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The other two women grinned. Tristan blushed.

"I knew we'd find you on the way to the kitchens," Celeste said happily. She held up the basket. "So I took the liberty of putting some breakfast together for us."

Tristan's eyebrows went up. "Again? You're going to make me fat. Besides, I'm on my way to see the wizards. I want to know what they have discovered about the scroll."

"Yes, my prince, breakfast again," Celeste growled back comically, giving him her best look of feigned ferocity. "But a picnic this time. I thought we could go for a ride." Then her face darkened a bit.

"In truth, this was Father's and Faegan's idea," she admitted. "They knew you would be demanding answers as soon as you awakened, and they asked me to keep you occupied for a bit. They have released me from my translation duties, but they said that they would like to see us all on the balcony of your late father's quarters at midday. That's all I know."

"My father's balcony?" he asked, baffled. "Why in the world would they want to meet us there?"

Shailiha shrugged. "We don't know. But they are in a very somber mood-of that there is no doubt. I suggest the two of you get going. Be back by midday at the latest."

Tristan never had liked having his day arranged for him by others. But he had wanted to see Celeste, and his stomach was growling. Besides, if the wizards wouldn't see him, they wouldn't see him; that would be all there was to it.

Then he remembered Marcus and Rebecca. "What about the two children?" he asked. "Where are they?"