With that, Krassus again slammed his fist-with a force supplemented by the craft-into Tristan's face. This time the blow was even harder. It launched the chair off its feet and sent it crashing backward to the floor. The prince immediately went unconscious.

Wasting no time, Krassus walked to the door and violently threw it open. Several demonslavers entered immediately, swords drawn.

"Get this abomination of the craft out of my sight!" Krassus ordered them, pointing down at the prince. "Signal the Wayfarer and order her to come alongside. Transfer this refuse to her. I want him immediately ordered to the Wayfarer. He is to man an oaring station. And keep him in his clothes-I want him easily singled out from the rest. It should be most interesting to observe how that famous azure blood of his holds up." Looking down at the bloodied prince, the wizard smiled again.

"We'll see how much he likes to row," he added softly.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," one of the slavers said. "What shall we do with his weapons?"

As Krassus looked at the prince's dreggan and throwing knives, his lips came up into a sneer. "Strip him of them," he answered. "Have them transferred to the other ship. I want nothing of this bastard left around to remind me of him."

Untying Tristan from his chair, the slavers lifted him up as if he were a rag doll and dragged him from the room on his toes.

CHAPTER

Sixteen

S hailiha came awake first. Groaning slightly, she shook her head and opened her eyes to the sky above.

The weather was unsettled in Shadowood, with dark, slow-moving clouds randomly checkerboarded among the white. The breeze was fairly strong, waving the new grass to and fro, and carried with it the unique, fresh smell of coming rain. Shailiha took a deep breath and sat up slowly, trying to clear her mind from the effects of Faegan's portal.

Not far from her, Celeste was stirring in the grass. Rising to her knees, the red-haired beauty lowered her head and shook it back and forth lightly before tossing back her long hair. She gave the princess a sly smile.

Shailiha smiled back. Of course the wizards would never have allowed her to lead the Minions against Farpoint. She and Celeste had known that from the start-just as they had known that making that request was likely to result in the granting of a second request. Neither woman was willing just to sit by like some dainty lady-in-waiting. Doing anything was better than nothing, even if that meant going herb hunting for a three-hundred-year-old partial adept.

Both women were dressed in black trunk hose, knee-high riding boots, and leather jerkins, with long, close-fitting sleeves. Shailiha's was brown, Celeste's dark gray. The jerkins were gathered at the waist by broad leather belts. On their hands they wore tight, black leather gloves, and daggers hung from their right hips in sheaths that were tied around their thighs. Shailiha also carried a short sword at her left hip; upon the sword's gold hilt was engraved the lion and the broadsword, the heraldry of the House of Galland.

Reaching beneath her jerkin, the princess searched for both the list of goods that Abbey had given her and the letter of permission that Faegan had penned for Lionel the Little. To her relief, they were both still there.

"It seems we have finally made it after all," Celeste said. "We had best hurry, though."

"You're right," Shailiha answered as she readjusted the baldric that held her sword. Then she paused, taking a sniff of the air. For a moment she had thought she smelled smoke… but no, she must have been mistaken. As she rose to her knees, she smiled again at her friend. "For a moment there, I thought the vein in Wigg's temple was going to-"

She stopped in midsentence. Holding one hand out to indicate silence, she wrinkled up her nose again. This time the smell was unmistakable.

Placing one finger vertically over her lips, Shailiha indicated that Celeste should follow her on all fours through the grass. Wigg's daughter nodded back. The short ridge that lay just uphill would look down onto the area where the gnomes lived. Casting her eyes to the sky, the princess could now see the dark, acrid smoke that was finding its way to her nostrils. She began to crawl, Celeste right behind her.

As the women approached the ridge, they went down on their stomachs and wriggled the final distance to the top. As Shailiha cautiously raised her head to look down, the air left her lungs in a rush.

Tree Town was on fire.

At least half of the beautifully intricate houses and the huge, magnificent trees that held them were wildly ablaze. Flames shot up toward the darkening sky. Thick black smoke billowed out of collapsing roofs and smashed windows like dark, undulating rivers, rising to lay over the town in a gloomy cloud. Gnome children ran about, screaming for their parents. The adults had formed bucket brigades from the well in the center of the glade, but without their master Faegan here to help them with the craft, they were clearly fighting a losing battle.

Holding her breath, she tried to peer through the smoke and locate the distinct roofline of Faegan's mansion. Finally seeing it, she let out a small sigh of relief. Somehow, it seemed unaffected by the fire.

And then, out of the corner of her eye she saw the demonslavers.

Dozens of the awful monsters were pouring around a corner, screaming and waving swords, torches, and tridents. Laughing wickedly, they tossed their torches into an area of still-intact homes. Immediately the dwellings burst into flames. Armed with pitchforks and knives, a group of male gnomes started bravely for the demonslavers, but were hacked to death amid the fire, blood, and screaming. Some of the white-skinned monsters were walking about in triumph, holding up their tridents with dead gnomes impaled upon them.

Lowering her head for a moment, Shailiha was sure she was about to be ill.

But abruptly, unexpectedly, the sounds of havoc stopped, leaving only the snapping and roaring of the flames and the crying and moaning of the gnomes. Shailiha risked another look.

The demonslavers had gathered the surviving gnomes into a group and forced them to their knees. One of the slavers shouted a command. Then another group of slavers rounded a corner, carrying dozens of large canvas bags, stuffed full and tied shut. They piled three of the bags on the ground and gleefully touched their torches to them. The odd-looking bags went up in flames, emitting a riot of unfamiliar odors and colors.

As the flames went higher and the bags were consumed, more were thrown on the burning pile. Shailiha knew it wouldn't be long before all the remaining bags had been turned to ashes.

Then a realization seized her, and she closed her eyes. The slavers hadn't been sent here simply to kill gnomes, or to destroy Tree Town. She and Celeste had to act, and act soon.

She turned to speak to Celeste, but suddenly a sharp, penetrating scream forced her eyes back down to the horrifying scene.

Two of the slavers had stepped forward, taken hold of one of the male gnomes, and were swinging him over the burning bags. The more he screamed the closer to the fire they lowered him.

Then his clothing erupted into flames, and, laughing, they dropped him in.

Shailiha turned desperately to Celeste. "Can you kill them?" she whispered urgently.

At first a look of concern came over Celeste's face, but then she nodded. "I can try," she said. "But I cannot be sure I will not kill some of the gnomes, as well!"

"Better that only some of the gnomes die quickly at your hand, than all of them die that way!" Shailiha responded. She looked down in horror to see that the two slavers were dragging another screaming gnome-a female this time-toward the burning bags.