"Now, then, shall we go?" Janus asked her politely. "We mustn't keep your whore-master waiting."

Serena rose on shaky legs and followed him toward the door. Despite how badly she felt for those in the cages, she desperately wanted to put this place behind her.

Pausing before two demonslaver guards, Janus pointed at the first of them. "You," he ordered. "Come with me." Then he bent down, placing his mouth next to the other slaver's ear. "You stay here," he whispered softly, just loud enough for Serena to hear. "If one of them actually reaches that meat, take him out and kill him."

The slaver turned his white eyes to the cage, and the desperate, crushing mob within. He smiled. "With pleasure." With that, Janus, the other slaver, and Serena walked out the door and into the hallway.

Night was falling in the Citadel, and the hallways were brightly lit by wall torches. The walk was long, but by now Serena could have negotiated her way to Wulfgar's quarters alone. As they went down one of the hallways, she heard the insane screaming that seemed ever-present in this area of the Citadel, and she suddenly realized that this might be what Janus had been referring to when he mentioned the plight of the Talis slaves. She shivered.

Finally Janus stopped at Wulfgar's door. At a nod from him, the two slaver guards on duty there slid back the bolt.

"This is where I leave you, my dear," Janus said simply. "I am needed elsewhere. Do enjoy yourself."

The two guards escorted her inside, then walked back into the hall. She heard them swing the door shut again and slide the bolt across, locking her in.

It was quiet and cool in the rooms, a direct contrast to the horror of what she had just left. Hearing her enter, Wulfgar came in from the balcony and came to her. As his strong arms closed around her, she began to cry.

He started to speak, but decided not to. Instead he just held her, placed his face against her long, dark ringlets, and let her weep.

When the tears finally stopped, she wiped her eyes and looked up into his rugged, comforting face. Then she led him over to the bed and pulled him down to sit beside her. Taking both his hands in hers, she began to speak.

She told him of how the painted monster had teased the other slaves, then ordered the slaver to kill whoever might manage to get hold of the prize laid before them on the floor. As he listened, Wulfgar's face darkened, and the muscles in his jaw clenched tight. When she had finally finished, her tears came again.

Wulfgar held her close. She looked pleadingly into his hazel eyes. "I cannot go on like this," she whispered sadly. "I know Janus will keep humiliating me this way. He enjoys it far too much to let it stop." Ashamed, she lowered her face again. "What can I do?"

Wishing he knew what to say, Wulfgar stroked her cheek, wiping away some of the tears. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I feel sorry for the others, but my heart also wants you to survive as best you can. Is that selfish of me? Perhaps." He paused for a moment, thinking.

"For some unknown reason I seem to be important to those in power here," he said at last. "When this leader named Krassus finally comes, I might be able to persuade him to let you stay here with me."

Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her face back up to his. "Would you like that?"

For the first time in days, Serena managed a smile. Her heart was sure of this strong, gentle man.

She took one of his hands in hers and placed it on her breast.

Understanding, Wulfgar looked into her eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked gently.

Smiling, she reached behind him and freed his long, sandy hair from its worn leather band. She watched his mane fall down around his shoulders and ran her fingers through it slowly.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Wulfgar gently laid her down on the bed. His breathing had quickened, and there was a strong sense of command about him that she desperately wanted to surrender herself to.

As his mouth met hers, her body rose to meet him.

Twenty-three

"Y ou did what to my herb cubiculum?" Faegan shouted. Shailiha had never seen him so angry. As if the loss of Tree Town and so many of the gnomes he loved hadn't been enough, now he had just learned that his cubiculum had been partially destroyed. His face was bright red, and his gray-green eyes were practically bulging out, a rare sight indeed. The Paragon swung from its gold chain around his neck, refracting its bloodred light about the room.

Lionel the Little sat at the table, his little body trembling. His broken spectacles hung off the end of his nose; the singed tuft of hair was bathed in sweat and stuck flat to his forehead. He suddenly wished he had never, ever, heard of herbs.

"But the explosion was a small one, Master," he countered lamely. "Not as large or destructive as the two others, and I-"

"There have been others?" Faegan exploded. He slammed both his hands down on the armrests of his chair on wheels.

Shailiha, Celeste, and Lionel had returned on schedule, after hiding the bags of herbs and the vat of oils, and cleaning up the laboratory, as best they could. They had spent one night in Shadowood, during which time there had been no sign of any other demonslavers. When they finally exited Faegan's portal, they found Wigg, Abbey, and Faegan waiting anxiously for them.

Seeing that the women's jerkins were bloodied and that they had none of the herbs or oils Abbey had requested, the wizards had demanded an explanation. But first Shailiha anxiously inquired about Tristan, only to learn that there was still no word. After hearing what Shailiha and Celeste had to say, the wizards then ordered everyone to the Hall of Blood Records to discuss the situation further.

At the table sat Wigg, Faegan, Abbey, Shailiha, Celeste, and Lionel. Shailiha had requested that Morganna be brought to her, and she now held her baby happily in her sling. Atop a pedestal in one corner of the room sat the Tome of the Paragon.

With a great sigh Faegan leaned forward, placing his hands flat upon the table. He looked directly at Shailiha. As he did, she could feel his immense power.

"Do you mean to tell me that every remaining bit of dried herb and refined oil left in my cubiculum has been contaminated?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered sadly as she rocked her child. "We arrived in time to save most of the gnomes from death, and some of Tree Town from fire. But not in time to keep the slavers from stealing what they needed and mixing together the remaining herbs and oils. Had we not arrived when we did, there would most probably be nothing left to use at all. I'm sorry we didn't do more."

"Don't be sorry," Wigg said compassionately from the other side of the table. "If it hadn't been for the two of you, we would have lost everything. We're very proud of what you have done." Smiling at them both, he placed an affectionate hand over his daughter's.

"Yes, they are indeed to be commended," Abbey added. "And thank the Afterlife for Celeste's Forestallment. But do any of you fully understand how much more difficult our task has just become?" The herbmistress was clearly frustrated. Sighing angrily, she ran a hand back through her gray-streaked dark hair.

"What was once considered arduous has now become virtually impossible," she continued. "And we are still no closer to finding Tristan, Wulfgar, or these scrolls you speak of. Not to mention discerning what Krassus' eventual goals in all of this might be."

Celeste looked over at Faegan. "If only a small bit of one herb blew up the laboratory, then why is it that all of Tree Town didn't go up when the demonslavers were burning the herbs by the bagful?" she asked.

Faegan scowled. "I can only assume that is because they were so well mixed. I have never experimented with mixing all of my herbs together, because I feared what might happen." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.