She paused for a moment to look around. Everything was just as she had left it. The room was to be perfectly maintained at all times. If she found the slightest thing disturbed, the handmaidens responsible for maintaining this place would die.
The chamber was large and well lit. Sunlight streamed in through numerous skylights; songbirds could be heard warbling in the outer yard. The brick floor was covered with fresh red rose petals. On the dawn of each new day the old petals were removed, then carefully replaced. Their familiar aroma permeated the air. Two specially chosen handmaidens stood in the far corners. As Serena looked at them, they bowed.
Finally satisfied, she again lifted her gown to stride through the lush foliage and toward the center of the room. When she reached the altar she stopped to look down. Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
The pink marble altar was just large enough to support a small body. An azure glow surrounded it. Reaching through the aura, the bereaved sorceress stroked her daughter’s cold cheek.
The tiny body was covered by a black silk sheet. More rose petals littered the shroud and surrounding altar top. Small and frail-looking, the dead baby girl lay peacefully atop the stone. The child’s eyes were closed in death. A small wisp of downy brown hair adorned the crown of her head. Had she lived, she would have been named Clarice.
In memory of the child’s father, Serena had ordered the floor covered with rose petals of the same variety Wulfgar had chosen to signal his demise. The glow she had conjured over the little corpse would ensure that the body remained perpetually preserved. The spell’s calculations had been purposely convoluted to avoid tampering, and Serena was sure that only she could unravel it. She turned and looked at her handmaidens.
“These petals upon which I stand,” she said. “They were fresh this morning?”
One of the handmaidens bowed. “Yes, Your Grace,” she answered.
Serena returned her gaze to her daughter’s lifeless form. “Good,” she replied. Silence filled the room again.
She suddenly heard someone knocking on the double doors of the crypt. Earlier this morning she had summoned the only two other people she would allow into this room without killing them outright.
“Enter,” she called out.
The doors parted to show two men. She bid them entrance.
Two servants walked into the room. They bowed to their queen, then to the little corpse.“When you are in this sacred place you are to bow to my child as well,” Serena had warned them. Given their queen’s mental state, they knew better than to disobey.
Serena looked commandingly at them. Einar, her senior consul, was dressed in his familiar dark blue robe. Tall and whippet lean, his dark brown eyes stared back at her with confidence. She watched him lower the hood of his robe to expose his sharp features and cruel-looking mouth. Serena trusted and respected Einar. His loyalty to her late husband had been unshakable.
Reznik was another matter. Serena found his kind to be greasy, unpleasant creatures, but she tolerated the partial adepts here on her small island because she found their gifts useful. At fifty Seasons of New Life, Reznik had a wrinkled face, a thick middle, and a balding head. A circular fringe of graying hair fell to his shoulders. Yellow teeth, a hooked nose, and limpid brown eyes finished the unappealing picture. As if suddenly needing something to do, he nervously ran his wet palms down the front of his bloody smock.
Also known as the Corporeals, his group had been granted sanctuary by Wulfgar. There were nearly two hundred of Reznik’s kind here on the island. Corporeals possessed partial, left-leaning blood signatures. They specialized in producing dark wares of the craft that they sold for profit. With no market left in Eutracia for their deadly wares, they gladly served the new queen of the Vagaries at the Citadel. Despite how much Serena looked down on them, even she had become impressed by their unique abilities.
As the leader of the Corporeals, Reznik was an expert herbmaster, potion blender, and cutter-healer. But he had little experience with royalty, and now he made the mistake of speaking first.
“Has the new Vagaries servant entered Eutracia?” he asked.
Serena glared angrily at him, then turned to look at the handmaidens. They each quickly looked at the floor. She turned back to glare at the Corporeal.
“Not here, you fool!” she admonished him. “Follow me.”
She strode past the two men, then caused the doors to open. As she walked out into the daylight, her servants followed. The twin doors shut heavily behind them. Saying nothing, Serena led them through the Citadel’s inner ward.
The island fortress was a majestic place. The Citadel walls rose straight up from the island’s rock. The many interior buildings and turrets were interconnected by an ornate series of catwalks suspended high in the air. Manicured gardens and majestic fountains dotted the grounds. There had been many nights when she and Wulfgar had walked these grounds, talking and dreaming of the day when they would rule the craft, and watch their daughter grow to womanhood. But those days were no more.
Her mind often drifted back to her early captivity in this remote place-days that later led to her enlightened worship of the Vagaries. She loved following their dark teachings. Before departing for Eutracia, Wulfgar had granted her the Forestallment that allowed her communion with the Heretics. She knew her gifts were easily a match for those of the Redoubt wizards. And as the Heretics had told her, not one of her Conclave enemies could commune with the Ones-an advantage she would use wisely in the days ahead.
Still, disadvantages loomed. The demonslavers-the macabre army Wulfgar had employed to invade Eutracia- were all dead, leaving the Citadel largely unguarded. The majestic Black Ships in which Wulfgar had transported his army had also been lost to her. But she still had nearly one hundred consuls at her command, plus the Corporeals. Most important, she possessed the Scroll of the Vagaries-the ancient document containing every Vagaries Forestallment calculation known to man.
She knew that the Conclave would try to take the scroll from her. But by then she would be ready for them. Soon the Redoubt wizards would be dealing with an entirely new host of problems, the likes of which they had never seen.
Choosing a stone bench beneath a willowberry tree, she sat down. As the breeze ruffled her mourning gown she reached down to smooth out the dress. Einar and Reznik came to stand before her. When she was satisfied, she looked up at Reznik.
“Never discuss our plans before my handmaidens,” she said. “You and your people are merely guests here. I will kill you without remorse if you violate my confidence again.”
The blood rushed from Reznik’s face. “Yes-yes of course, Your Grace,” he stammered. “You have my deepest apologies.”
Serena nodded. “Now to answer your question,” she said. “Yes, the Darkling has arrived in Eutracia. By now he should be about his mission.”
Einar smiled. “That is indeed good news,” he said.
“Yes,” Serena answered. “TheJin’Sai and his Conclave are about to get the shock of their lives. I wish I could be there to see it.” She suddenly remembered the little corpse lying in state in the crypt, and her face darkened. “Though it will never make up for Clarice’s death,” she added softly. Einar and Reznik waited while she composed herself.
“Is there news regarding the project I entrusted to you?” she asked her consul at last.
Einar sighed. “The issues are complex,” he answered. “We have done almost all that can be accomplished here at the Citadel. Once we have traveled to Parthalon, the real research can start. But as you know, before we leave we must be sure that the Citadel is protected. The Redoubt wizards and theJin’Sai andJin’Saiou will soon come for the scroll-and for you.”
Serena nodded. “Keep me informed. Your work is vital to the Heretics’ plan.” She again looked at Reznik.
“And you?” she asked. “Have you and your group been helpful to my consuls?”
“We have been as much aid as our limited gifts allow, Your Grace,” Reznik answered. “The going is slow, but Einar and I believe that we are on the right track. Every Valrenkian is doing what he or she can to aid the cause.”
Serena nodded. “Good,” she said. “Leave me. I have much to consider and I wish to be alone.” With deep bows, the two men left for their respective research areas.
Finally alone, Serena looked around. The birds were singing again, and the early-afternoon sun felt good on her face. Standing, she looked up to the barbican surrounding the fortress. She gently levitated herself.
