On and on Nicholas' servant of the Vagaries went, as he wound his way up through the labyrinthine halls and spiral staircases of the Citadel. Tiring, he resorted to the craft to carry him up the remaining flights.

Then he continued on to the marble doors that marked the entrance to Wulfgar's quarters. At a single nod from their master, the guards slid back the iron bolt. Then, before he could enter, one of the slavers spoke.

"Forgive me, my lord, but the man inside is very strong. Shouldn't at least one of us accompany you inside?"

Krassus simply smiled. "I am a wizard of the craft," he said patiently, as if he were addressing a confused schoolboy. "What can he do to me that I would not allow?"

With that Krassus opened the double doors and walked into the room. Behind him, he heard the doors close and bolt.

Surprised by the sudden entry of a stranger, Wulfgar and Serena looked up from the balcony.

CHAPTER

Twenty-nine

T he wind in his hair and the sea air in his lungs, Tristan leaned against the pitching gunwale of The People's Revenge as the great frigate plowed her way west through the Sea of Whispers. His dreggan and his throwing knives had been returned to him, and it felt good to have them lying across his back again.

The ship seemed amazingly alive, the seamen and the many grateful slaves she was bringing home swarming over her decks. Tyranny's crew did all they knew how for the newly freed captives. But her men were not professional healers, and their gifts in such matters were limited. Now, after having had the opportunity to look them over more closely, Tristan sadly concluded that many of these poor souls would not survive even the relatively short voyage to Eutracia, no matter how well the crew cared for them.

So far, Tyranny seemed to be keeping to their bargain of heading straight for the Cavalon Delta. But the winds had proven fickle, and the frigates had been forced to tack in order to stay on course, something that Tristan soon learned would make the voyage longer.

Four uneventful days had passed since he had made his bargain with the highly interesting sea captain, and sometimes his great desire to be home convinced him that he could almost smell the rich, fertile soil of the Eutracian coast. Soon he would set foot on dry land and see his loved ones again.

One corner of his mouth turned up as he thought of parading the brash Tyranny and the huge colossus named Scars unannounced through the royal palace and finally introducing them to everyone. Then he would live up to his part of it, demanding that the wizards not only pay her a ransom of one hundred thousand gold kisa, but that they award her with the letters of marque she so valued. In his mind's eye, he could already see the vein in the lead wizard's right temple throbbing, and Faegan's ever-curious, gray-green eyes flashing with mischief.

Tristan had encountered Tyranny often during the last four days as she inspected the decks and spoke with both her crew and the slaves she had rescued. Sometimes it seemed to him that she had spent time with every slave aboard, and he thought he knew why: She was trying to glean from them any information she could about her lost brother. Twice she had graciously invited him to take his evening meal with her in her quarters, where they had talked at length about their respective backgrounds. Tristan had used the opportunity to tell her about his past, and bring her up to date with all that had happened in Eutracia since the return of the Coven. He soon found that he not only respected this rather admirable outlaw, but genuinely liked her, as well.

Perhaps he had promised her too much, he suddenly realized. He gave a quick, derisive laugh. Too much or not, he was sure that taking her and Scars before the crusty, indomitable wizards would be worth it.

But despite how badly he wanted to get home, he had swiftly come to love the sea, complete with all of its whims and dangers. After Scars had finally come to the conclusion that Tristan was indeed not one of the enemy, he and the prince had arrived at an uneasy truce. The surprisingly eloquent giant had taken him under his wing, instructing him in the ways of the great boat. Tristan had certainly not become a seasoned crewmember, but he was fascinated by what Scars was teaching him; and each day he found himself eager to learn more.

He now understood the differences between the various sails, spars, and booms, and how the rigging and sheets worked to help steady them and raise and lower the sails. He had learned the various types of maneuvers the ship was capable of, such as running before the wind, tacking, and being in irons. Tristan had even gingerly climbed the rigging all the way to the crow's nest, to gaze out over the ocean and feel the splendid, exaggerated motion of the ship as she pitched and rolled beneath him, dozens of meters below. Seeing his battle flag flying high atop the mainmast had done his heart good.

To his great surprise, Scars had suggested that Tristan take the ship's wheel for a time-under the giant's watchful eye, of course. If what Tyranny had told him was true, it was the same wheel that had once steered the Resolve, the vessel Wigg had used more than three centuries earlier to banish the Coven of sorceresses from Eutracia. As Tristan had placed his hands on the worn, curved grips that graced the wheel's outer ring, he almost thought he could feel the gnarled, ghostly hands of those who had gone before, turning it with him. Sensing the great ship obey him had been an experience he would never forget.

He had found a small plaque mounted below the wheel. On it was inscribed the name of every single person who had commanded the various vessels the wheel had served over the course of the centuries. Toward the top, he had seen Wigg's name. And the last name was Tyranny's. Smiling, Tristan shook his head and wondered how many other names would be added to the plaque before the wheel was finally lost to the sea or otherwise destroyed. He found himself hoping that would never happen.

Turning to look toward the bow, he felt the sharp, pulling sting of the whip marks across his back. They were healing, but they still hurt. He knew that when he returned to the palace, the wizards would gladly enact an incantation of accelerated healing over them, and they would soon mend. But in truth he had to admit that it was neither the vicious beating by the demonslaver nor the healed scars that would forever remain on his back that now plagued him so.

There had recently come to him a new, unexpected form of mental, rather than physical anguish. It was something that had been building inexorably in his soul ever since that fateful day in Parthalon when his blood had suddenly turned from red to azure. It was a foreign, insidious feeling, and one that had finally come to fruition for him not only at the savage whipping, but when Tyranny had pulled him out of the ragged line of slaves to speak to him.

As the contradictory, rather frightening thought went through his mind, he closed his dark blue eyes for a moment. The unthinkable had happened.

He was coming to curse his glowing, azure blood.

He was not distressed by the fact that his blood was endowed. That much of it was his natural heritage, his birthright. But that his blood now glowed, that it had turned the same color that always accompanied any significant use of the craft, was just too bizarre.

His azure blood kept him from learning the craft, because the wizards were concerned with the unknown ramifications of such a thing, should they try to instruct him. That angered and frustrated him, for his desire to learn burned within him as hotly as ever. Even the Tome, the great book of magic, stated that the male of the Chosen Ones must be trained, so that he could attempt to join the Vigors and the Vagaries together into a single art, thereby putting an end to the eons-old conflict between the two sides of the craft. But as things stood now, even Wigg and Faegan were at a loss over what to do. And with all of the problems that had been thrust upon them since the unexpected return of the Coven, using valuable time to begin his training had clearly been out of the question. Worst of all, he felt guilty because he was no closer to fulfilling his destiny, as the Tome said he must.