“What have you learned?” Einar asked eagerly.
Removing the spectacles from his face, Reznik stretched his back. “Patience, my friends,” he said. “I know nothing yet, other than that Failee’s spell failed. We need to learn why, and only my herbs and oils can tell us that.”
Reznik picked up a leather-bound text. The title on the book’s spine readHaruspication Oils, Herbs, and Elixirs: Their Uses in Deciphering Entrails. The book was massive, and its page edges were worn and dog-eared. After placing the dusty book on the table, Reznik repositioned his spectacles on his face, then unfastened the book’s leather binding straps. He opened it and started leafing through its fragile pages.
After a time he walked to the room’s far side. Many shelves lined the wall, each one holding dozens of different colored bottles. These too had accompanied him from the Citadel. He found the one he wanted and placed it into a smock pocket. Locating the other two bottles took longer, but they finally came to hand.
After walking back to the table, he placed the three bottles alongside the tray holding the liver slice. He opened one bottle, then took up an eye dropper. Placing the dropper’s end into the bottleneck, he siphoned off a few drops of the precious oil. He then judiciously emptied the dropper’s contents onto the liver slice.
A quizzical look came over Einar’s face. “What are you using?” he asked.
“Oil of encumbrance,” Reznik answered, without looking up. “It’s rare. This small bottle alone would bring at least two thousand kisa.”
“What does it do?” Einar asked.
“As one might gather from its name, oil of encumbrance slows down certain organic processes,” Reznik answered. “Combined with other herbs and oils, it becomes more effective.”
Reznik opened another bottle, took a pinch of dried herbs between his fingers, then sprinkled them onto the slice. Sitting back, he waited for the combination to take effect.
“That herb you just added,” Jacob said. “What is it?”
“It’s a ground root called maiden’s breath,” he answered. “It grows wild in Eutracia. When dried and pulverized, its orange blossoms are good for many things-especially when added to oil of encumbrance.”
His curiosity growing, Einar came closer. After gazing at the slice he looked at Reznik. “How does this particular combination of oil and herbs serve our purpose?” he asked.
“When added together, oil of encumbrance and maiden’s breath work to slow the decay process,” Reznik answered. “Now we can examine the liver sample at our leisure, without fear of losing its freshness, and whatever message it might tell us.”
Reznik picked up the third bottle and held it to the light. The amber container was tightly sealed with a specially hinged lid. He removed the cork and took a wary sniff to test the herb’s freshness. The pungent aroma made him recoil.
“This is ground blossom of tansy ragwort,” he said, running one finger under his nose. “It is a common ragwort with a yellow flower. It is an aggressive form of weed that is toxic to some cattle.” As he removed two pinches from the bottle, the herbmaster smiled.
“Eutracian farmers are forever trying to stamp it out,” he added. “Little do they know how valuable it can be.”
As he had with the other ingredients, Reznik sprinkled this latest addition onto the specimen. Standing, he took a high-powered magnifying glass into one hand. In his other he again took up the silver tongs. Grasping the parchment-thin slice ever so gently, he held it to the light.
“Now then,” he said. “We will see what we will see.”
Holding up the glass, he carefully examined the specimen. A discouraged look conquered his face.
“It’s just as I feared,” he said. Looking at Einar, he beckoned the consul closer. “Look through the glass,” he said, “and tell me what you see.”
Einar did as he was asked. To his surprise, against the backdrop of the oil lamps the translucent slice looked rather beautiful. The red tissue had turned pink, and its depths were shot through with dark, weblike striations. He looked at Reznik.
“It’s intriguing,” he said. “But what do these marks mean? I suspect that they don’t occur naturally, or were there before she died.”
“That’s correct,” Reznik answered. “Look again.”
As the consul again looked at the specimen, Reznik leaned closer. “I believe that those striations indicate that Failee’s spell is flawed-too weak, probably,” the Valrenkian said. “Even so, my guess is that her calculations are taking us along the right path. During our next attempt I will try to raise the spell’s power by adding other precious herbs and oils. It might take many tries before I find a mixture that works, but I remain optimistic.”
“Will you examine the woman’s other organs as well?” Einar asked.
Reznik shook his head. “They would tell us little. And taking another sample from this woman’s liver would do no good either, because the result would be the same. I will start formulating the first of what I’m sure will be many recipes. We will force the next subject to ingest it before he or she is killed. Then we will try again.”
Reznik walked back over to his table, donned his spectacles, and again consulted the great book that he had used before. As he looked though the pages he took up a quill and started making notes.
For his part, Einar was discouraged but far from defeated. He knew the secret would be found-he could feel it in his bones. But it would take much time and patience, he realized. He looked at Jacob and Aaron.
“Bring us another subject,” he said.
As the two consuls left the room, Einar went to look over Reznik’s shoulder.
CHAPTER XXXVI
“COME OUT OF THERE!” THE MAN SHOUTED. HIS VOICEwas deep and lively. Although he clearly meant business, he gave Tristan a humorous smirk.
“You look ridiculous!” he added. “It’s a pity you have nothing to steal but those meager trinkets lying around your neck!” The bizarre-looking man furtively cast his eyes toward Tristan’s weapons, lying just out of reach on the riverbank. “Although that sword with the gold hilt looks tempting,” he added dryly.
Standing waist deep in the rushing Sippora, Tristan shivered. Whoever the intruder was, he had him dead to rights. The prince knew there was no point trying to reach his weapons, for he could be easily killed before he left the water.
Tristan watched in dread as the man bent down to grasp the discarded dreggan and knife quiver. After tossing the quiver over one shoulder, the man stood and sheathed his sword. Then he drew Tristan’s dreggan, letting the baldric drop to the ground. For some time he admired the magnificent Minion blade in the moonlight.
Tristan quickly looked around. To his dismay, hundreds more equally mysterious figures lined the surrounding ridge. Shivering more violently, he wrapped his arms about himself. He couldn’t imagine how so many men had slipped by his Minions. He tried looking past his captor and toward the warrior campsite, but the riverbank blocked his view.
“Who are you?” Tristan demanded. “What do you want?”
“The answer is simple,” the man replied. “I want your horse, your gold jewelry, and anything else of value you own. And I mean to get them.”
Tristan tensed as he thought about losing the Paragon and his gold medallion. Where in the name of the Afterlife were Hector and his twenty warriors?
“Do you plan on standing in that freezing water all night?” the man demanded. Emphasizing his point, he pointed the dreggan at Tristan. “If so, I hope you have already fathered all the children you want.”
Tristan scowled. Naked and dripping water, he walked up the slippery riverbank to stand beside his discarded garments.
“May I dress?” he asked sarcastically. “Or are you going to steal my clothes, too?”
“The rags you may keep,” the stranger answered. “I wouldn’t wear them on my worst day.”
Tristan dressed quickly. Running his hands through his wet hair, he pushed it back from his forehead. He stood there for a few moments, glaring at the man who had so surprisingly appeared.
The figure was imposing, almost theatrical. About Tristan’s age, he was tall and muscular. He wore a white,
