BY THE TIME TRISTAN, YASMIN, RAFE, AND BALTHAZARreached the camp’s meeting place, many highlander onlookers had already arrived. Tristan quickly realized that these meetings must be public affairs.
Like in the camp clearing, a large bonfire burned. An iron tripod stood over the bonfire’s flames, and a black pot hung from the tripod’s apex. A strange white fog billowed from the pot’s lip, its clouds disappearing as they drifted gently down.
Some of the surviving wagons had been wheeled to this place. Thirteen chairs, each upholstered in red velvet, stood in a nearby circle. Ten elders sat waiting while three of the chairs remained vacant. It was obvious that news of Tristan’s proposal was filtering through the camp, because more curious highlanders were arriving by the moment. Although many were tired and bloodied, they seemed highly interested in this stranger who had killed their enemies as if they had been his own.
Walking toward the circle of chairs, Rafe bade Tristan to follow him. Before Tristan went, Yasmin touched him on the arm.
“Good luck,” she whispered. “The elders are stern, but wise. State your case strongly, then be quiet unless spoken to. You are still adango, after all.”
After nodding back, Tristan walked to join Rafe. The chieftain indicated that Tristan should sit. Before doing so, the prince thought for a moment. As a gesture of goodwill he unbuckled his baldric and quiver, then laid his weapons in the dewy grass. Only then did he take his seat.
As she watched, Yasmin sensed a familiar presence arrive by her side. She looked over to see Sonya, one of her sisters who had danced with her. Sonya gave Yasmin a coy look, then turned her attention back to the prince as he sat waiting for the meeting to start.
“You have eyes for him,” Sonya whispered conspiratorially. “I can tell! Tell me-is he as clever as he is handsome?” She ran her gaze over Tristan, then looked back at her sister. “Does he have brothers in Tammerland?” she whispered eagerly.
Scowling, Yasmin turned to glare at Sonya. “Be still, you harpy!” she admonished her. “I wish to listen!” Smiling, Sonya returned her gaze to the meeting.
Tristan looked politely at the council elders. “Elder” was an apt word, he realized. Each of the surviving five men and five women had to be at least seventy Seasons of New Life, perhaps older. Several of the men had long white beards. The women’s hair was equally white, and their faces were deeply creased by decades of hard nomadic life. But regardless of their gender, each clan elder looked commanding. These were people who would not be easily swayed, Tristan realized.
Without ceremony, one of the male elders started speaking in the clan’s secret language. He spoke for some time, then finally went quiet. After looking over at Tristan, Rafe came to his feet. He bowed to the man who had spoken.
“I understand, Gunther,” he said. He then turned to look at the crowd. “To all those present this night, I suggest that we speak only Eutracian. Thisdango has risked his life for us. It seems only right that he understands what we say.”
After conferring with the other elders, Gunther nodded. “Very well,” he said. “You may tell us what thedango has in mind.”
For the next quarter hour Rafe outlined Tristan’s proposal. He looked over at the prince several times to ensure that he was delivering Tristan’s offer correctly. The prince nodded his agreement but did not speak. Rafe was forceful and concise, just as Yasmin had counseled Tristan to be when his turn came. Rafe was doing a good job, making the prince wonder whether he would need to speak at all. When he had finished, Rafe sat down. Gunther looked commandingly at Tristan.
“Tell us, dango, ” he said. “In return for commanding our horsemen, will you really give us all the things you promise? Are you in fact the crowned prince of all Eutracia? Or are you merely some poseur commanding a pack of flying beasts?” Even from across the wide circle, Tristan felt Gunther’s eyes boring their way into his.
“If you are lying to us,” Gunther added menacingly, “we will kill you here and now, regardless of how many Zorians you and your warriors slaughtered. We do not tolerate deceivers in our midst.”
Tristan looked over at Rafe. The chieftain nodded. Tristan stood and looked at each elder in turn.
“I am indeed who I claim to be,” he said respectfully. “And if your clan follows me to Tammerland and allows me to command your horsemen for a time, I will grant you all that I have promised. You have my word on it.”
Not knowing what more to say, Tristan reclaimed his seat. He could only hope that his words had somehow been enough. He was asking much from these people, he knew. But if they would only believe him, they would gain much, as well.
Gunther huddled again with his council members. He looked back at the prince.
“Before making such a huge decision, we will need proof,” he said simply.
Tristan’s mind raced. He looked over at Rafe for guidance, but the chieftain seemed equally stymied. Tristan looked back at Gunther.
“Proof of what?” he asked.
“That you are indeed the prince,” Gunther answered, “and that you are telling the truth about your many promises. Once we have it, we will vote on the matter.”
Tristan thought for a moment. Other than his word and the items hanging around his neck, he had little to offer. Standing again, he grasped the Paragon and gold medallion with one hand and lifted them from his chest for everyone to see. They twinkled brightly in the bonfire’s orange-red light.
“I bear a medallion carrying the heraldry of the House of Galland,” Tristan answered. “There are only two such discs in the entire world. My twin sister, the princess, wears the other. The red jewel around my neck is the Paragon, which allows all magic to flow into those of endowed blood. Surely you have heard of it! Moreover, I alone command the Minions of Day and Night-the flying warriors who helped bring you victory this night. Are these things not enough to prove my identity?”
Shaking his head, Gunther folded his gnarled hands in his lap. “Tell me,” he said. “If I suddenly appeared to you wearing two unremarkable baubles and commanding but twenty fighters, would those things be enough for your citizens to suddenly give up the lives they had known for centuries, and follow me into the unknown? I think not! As I said, we need proof. There is one among us who can either verify or dispel your claims. If we summon her, do you agree to honor her pronouncements about you, whatever they might be?”
Tristan looked quizzically at Rafe. Standing, the highlander chief placed his mouth near the prince’s ear.
“If you have been lying, you must tell me this instant!” Rafe whispered urgently. “If this goes no further, I might be able to convince the elders to spare your life. But if you have been truthful then I suggest you agree with their demands. The one they will call forth will unquestioningly uncover the truth. She is never wrong.”
“Who is she?” Tristan asked.
“Agree, and you will see,” Rafe answered. “Until she is summoned, by highlander law that is all I am allowed to tell an outsider about her.”
Tristan remained adamant. He looked over at the seated elders. “Then bring her, whoever she is,” he said aloud. “I welcome the opportunity to prove myself.”
Gunther nodded. “So be it,” he answered. He looked at Balthazar. “Go and fetch Arwydd,” he ordered. Balthazar obediently disappeared into the crowd.
Tense moments passed. As the bonfire crackled and burned, the pot hanging over its flames continued to spew its mysterious fog. Then Balthazar returned to stand at the crowd’s inner edge. The crowd gradually parted, allowing a narrow pathway to form.
At first Tristan could see no one. Then he heard a strange mixture of sounds. As the crowd parted wider, a woman shuffled into the meeting area. Tristan hadn’t known what to expect. Even so, her appearance surprised him.
The woman named Arwydd was old and haggard. Her feet and hands were bound by rusty chains. Gray hair fell to her shoulders. Unlike the other highlanders’ colorful dress, she wore only a tattered robe. Simple leather sandals adorned her dirty feet. Despite her weathered condition, her brown eyes were bright and missed nothing as they darted around the camp. Her hooked nose rested over a wide mouth. Because she was chained, Tristan guessed that she might be dangerous. Then Tristan discovered another striking feature about the mysterious woman, and his heart went out to her.
A heavy oxen yoke lay slung across her shoulders. Deep and long, the smooth wooden yoke forced her upper body down. Her arms raised to cradle the yoke at either end, the woman shuffled into the circle’s center. More chains led from iron rings in the yoke’s ends to wrap around her body. The chains collected before her abdomen and were secured one to another by a rusty padlock.
As she trod toward the circle’s center, Tristan heard the sounds of tinkling glass. Looking closer, he was again surprised. Many small bottles sat atop the yoke, secured into holes that had been carved into the yoke’s upper surface. Suspended from eyehooks, strange-looking iron tools dangled from the yoke’s ends. They too knocked lightly together as she walked. Tristan noticed that the tools and bottles were positioned in such a way that they were unreachable to her unless she was freed from her chains. The combination of the clinking chains, tinkling bottles, and dangling tools conspired to form an odd chorus that would surely announce her presence wherever she went.
Tristan was enraged. Thinking that he might have misjudged Rafe, he glared harshly at the highlander chieftain.
“This is barbaric!” he hissed. “How can you allow such a thing?”
Like the other highlanders, Rafe seemed unperturbed by the woman’s plight. “Do not be so judgmental before knowing the facts,” he answered. “Her situation is not yours to decide.”
“Who is she?” Tristan demanded.
“She is a Zorian soothsayer,” Rafe answered. “She was captured during one of our raids, when my father led the clan. Because he recognized her talents, he let her live among us. At first we believed that she had accepted us. But then my mother and father suddenly died one night, poisoned. When she was questioned, the old crone gleefully admitted her crime. She laughed about it, dancing in happy celebration before our eyes. It was all I could do to keep the angry crowd from tearing her apart.” Rafe’s expression hardened as he looked into Tristan’s face.
“I became the clan leader the next day,” he added softly. “Perhaps more than anyone, I also wanted her dead. But like my father, I recognized her usefulness. Even so, I couldn’t allow her to go unpunished. Forever carrying the tools of her trade across her back like a beast of burden was my idea. It somehow seemed right. As you might have already gathered, she cannot reach her possessions unless she is freed.”
As he was reminded of his own parents’ murders, Tristan’s attitude toward Rafe softened a bit. He found himself unable to condemn the chieftain, for he had done far worse in seeking justice for the vicious way the Coven had murdered his mother, and forced him to kill his father.
A sudden worry struck Tristan. “If Arwydd hates you all so much, how can you rely on her to tell the truth?” he asked anxiously. “My life seems to depend on what this crone has to say!”
Rafe gave Tristan a flinty look. “Because she knows that if what she says is learned to be false, she will be killed,” he said simply. “We have never known Arwydd to be wrong.”
Looking back at the bent-over soothsayer, Tristan groaned. He could only hope that Rafe was right. He would tell the truth, for his life hung in the balance. But his mind was filled with worry.
“Arwydd!” Gunther called out. “Come here!”
The old woman shuffled over to the head elder. Rising up a bit from beneath the crushing yoke, she looked him in the eyes. Gunther pointed to Tristan.
“We need to know whether thisdango tells the truth,” he said. “In return for commanding our horsemen, he has promised us wondrous things. We find his tales difficult to believe. You are to work your skills on him.”
Swinging the yoke around, Arwydd looked at Tristan. Her gaze was penetrating. She regarded him for some time before turning back to Gunther.
“I will do what I can,” she answered in a gravelly voice. “He is an interesting specimen, that one. To do this properly, I will need two things.”
Gunther’s eyes narrowed. “And what are they?” he asked.
“I must be unchained,” she answered, “for I must have access to my tools and bottles. And I will need three goats. I must perform a sacrifice.”
Gunther nodded, then gave Balthazar a commanding look. The huge highlander left the clearing again. As everyone waited for Balthazar’s return, Gunther left his chair and walked to the soothsayer. He reached beneath his shirt and produced a rusty key, that hung around his neck from a leather string. He unlocked the padlock securing Arwydd’s chains. Removing them from her body and the yoke, he dropped the chains to the ground. Arwydd carefully placed the yoke at her feet with her precious bottles facing skyward.
As the mysterious woman was freed, Tristan saw many in the crowd recoil, and frightened children scurried to hide behind their parents. Gunther held a wizened finger before the woman’s eyes.
“One false move and you’re dead,” he growled.
Rubbing her chafed wrists, Arwydd smiled crookedly. For the next quarter hour, Gunther explained Tristan’s offer to her.
Turning, Arwydd walked to stand before the prince. Tristan grimaced as she neared. He didn’t fear her, but there was something about her that was disconcerting. Tilting her head this way and that, she looked deeply into his eyes. She grasped some of his hair, then made a great show of feeling it and smelling it. After letting go a soft grunt, she walked back to her ox yoke.
Freed from her chains, she had easy access to her tools. From the yoke’s underside she selected a pair of scissors, then walked back to the prince. Smiling, she snapped the scissor blades open and shut several times. Unsure of what was about to happen, Tristan gave her a deadly look.
“If you harm me, you won’t have to worry about Gunther,” he whispered. “I’ll kill you before he can stand from his chair.”
Saying nothing, Arwydd gleefully snipped away a lock of the prince’s hair. She put the hair in a pocket of her robe, then backed away.
Just then Balthazar reappeared. He was shepherding three common goats. The goats bleated as he led them into the clearing. Another highlander followed him. The second fellow carried three tent pegs and a small mallet.
Arwydd pointed to a spot near the fire. “There,” she said simply.
Balthazar and his companion set about pounding the stakes into the ground and tying the goats to them. They then returned to the crowd.
Arwydd looked at Tristan. “Select one of the goats,” she said simply.
Tristan gave her a skeptical look. “Why?” he asked.
“It is not my job to educate you in such matters,” she snapped back. “But if you must know, the task I am about to perform might not be valid unless the subject in question picks the sacrificial goat himself. It makes no difference which one you choose, provided it is you who do it. I suspect that your life hangs on my pronouncements, dango. Do you wish to keep arguing with me, or shall I simply tell Gunther that you are lying and get things over with quickly?”
Tristan looked over at Rafe, and the chieftain nodded. “Very well,” Tristan answered. “I choose the one in the middle.”
Arwydd walked back to her yoke and took up four branding irons and a knife. She shoved the irons’ business ends into the bonfire coals. She then walked to the tethered goats. Quick as a flash, she grabbed one of the middle goat’s horns, lifted its head, and slit its throat. Bleeding profusely, it wobbled shakily for a moment, then fell dead. Wasting no time, Arwydd starting boning out the goat’s hindquarters.
She soon produced four wet bones. Two were from the goat’s upper rear legs where they met the hip joint. The other two were the smaller shank bones from between the goat’s knee joints and ankles. After wiping them clean with a rag, she walked over to the fire and dropped them into the black pot.
After returning to her yoke she selected a bottle. Uncorking it, she walked back to the fire, then poured some of the bottle’s contents into the boiling pot. The strange white fog rose higher, vanishing into the sky and releasing a terrible odor that smelled like rotting flesh. She then reached into her pocket, removed the lock of Tristan’s hair, and also dropped it into the pot.
Tristan looked over at Rafe. “Does she command the craft?” he asked quietly.
“No one knows,” Rafe answered. “Father always suspected her of it. Most highlander clans have a soothsayer in their midst. But none compare to Arwydd. We are simple folk, and have no way to know if she commands magic.”
Using a pair of tongs secured from her yoke, Arwydd retrieved the blanched bones from the pot. After again drying them with the rag, she placed the bones in a line on the ground. Then she removed the first of the irons from the fire. Holding it against the first bone, she branded it on either side. She repeated the strange process with subsequent irons until each bone had been branded twice with its own distinctive markings.
After picking up the bones, she looked at Tristan and crooked one finger at him. Standing from his chair, he walked to her. Except for the sounds coming from the crackling fire, the meeting place was deathly silent. Arwydd’s haggard features seemed evil and gloating in the bonfire light.
“I am ready to start,” she said. “Be careful how you answer my questions, dango. You might lie, but the bones never do.”
Tristan nodded. “Go ahead,” he answered. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Very well,” she said. “Tell us your name.”
Arwydd looked deeply into Tristan’s eyes. For a moment, he felt dizzy. As quickly as it had come, the sensation passed.
“I am Tristan of the House of Galland, prince of Eutracia,” he answered loudly, so that everyone could hear.
Arwydd squatted and picked up the bones. She put her hands together, then moved them in a wide circle. As she dropped the branded bones to the ground they clattered into a small pile. Arwydd went to all fours to smell the bones and look at them from several different angles. Then she looked up at Gunther.
“He is who he says,” she answered simply.
The crowd immediately let go a collective gasp. As the elders busily conferred, Tristan looked over at Rafe. Rafe grinned back broadly.
Coming to her knees, Arwydd picked up the bones the same way she had done before. She again looked Tristan in the eyes.
“Gunther says that if you are allowed to command our horsemen, the Kilbourne clan will be rewarded in specific ways. Are you speaking the truth?”
Again Tristan’s dizziness came, then left just as quickly. “Yes,” he answered. Then he paused, thinking. “I will also order my sister and my wizards that in the event of my death, it will be their duty to see that the rewards are given to you just the same.”
Arwydd again cast the strange bones to the ground, then crawled around as she interpreted them. It took longer this time for her to form her decision. She finally looked up at Gunther again.
“He tells the truth,” she answered. “If he is allowed to command our horsemen for a time, he truly intends to reward you, and in the exact way he mentioned.”
This time the spectators positively buzzed with excitement. Tristan imagined them asking themselves if thedango would really give so much.
Tristan looked at the elders. From their surprised expressions he gathered that they had fully expected Arwydd to tell them that he had been lying. Confused by her findings, they huddled together urgently.
Rafe leaned closer. “It seems you have caused quite an uproar,” he said. “For your sake, it is good that so many spectators attended this meeting. There is no way that the elders can say that something else happened here. Before these gatherings were made public, the elders were not above such trickery. This time they will be forced into taking a vote, whether they like it or not.”
Rubbing his chin, Rafe glanced around the circle of august men and women. When he looked back at Tristan, there was a skeptical expression on his face.
“What troubles you?” Tristan asked. “The elders have their proof. I should think that considering all that I’m offering, the vote would be a mere formality.”
Rafe sighed. “In your world, that might be the case,” he answered. “But highlander logic can be strange. You are asking a great deal of the elders. Despite your magnificent offer, I believe the vote will be close.”
As Gunther ordered the elders to stand, Tristan guessed that the vote was drawing near. “Is there anything more that I can do to influence the outcome?” he whispered to Rafe.
“If you could find another last-minute way to help the clan, it might sway some of the undecided elders to your cause,” Rafe answered. “But given your limited freedom, I don’t know what that would be.”
Tristan gave Rafe a sly smile. “I do,” he answered.
Without consulting the chieftain, Tristan stood and faced the elders. He was about to make a bold move, but he was willing to risk it.
“Before you vote, I wish to be heard!” Tristan shouted brazenly.
A hush came over the crowd. The dangois either very stupid or very brave to speak to the elders without first having been addressed! he could almost hear them saying. What could possibly be important enough to make him invite the council’s wrath?
Gunther wheeled around angrily. “How dare you?” he growled. “Even though Arwydd has validated your claims, you’re in no position to give orders!”
“It is about Arwydd that I wish to speak!” Tristan answered. “I mean the council no disrespect. Even so, I fear that your soothsayer is more than she claims to be. I believe she practices the craft’s dark side!”
The crowd gasped. Tristan turned to look at the old woman. Her gaze toward the prince turned even more hateful. Gunther gave Tristan a skeptical look.
“How dare you?” he demanded. “You have been in our midst for less than a day, yet you claim to know more about her than we do!”
Walking closer, Tristan held out his hands in a display of friendship. “Allow me to prove it to you,” he said. “If I am right, I will have removed a terrible danger from your midst. You have long known that she is treacherous. But I fear that you greatly underestimate her talents, and her resolve to hurt your clan further. I am told that she has already killed Rafe’s parents. Don’t let her kill again! If I am wrong about her, then you have lost nothing. But if I am right, I will have done Clan Kilbourne yet another service.”
Glowering at Tristan, Gunther thought it over. He finally let go a deep breath. “Very well,” he said. “But we still believe that she is an asset to the clan. Before I let you prove your charges, I must know what it is you will do.”
Tristan smiled. “The answer is simple,” he said. “I need only take one drop of her blood.”
Screaming with rage, Arwydd pointed an accusatory finger at Tristan.
“Blasphemer!” she shouted. “It is not I, but you who are the deceiver!” Going to her knees, she looked into Gunther’s face. “Please don’t let thedango touch me!” she begged. “He will kill me sure!”
Tristan looked at Gunther. “I don’t need to touch her, if that worries you,” he said. “Select two clansmen whom you trust, and I will tell them what to do.”
Gunther rubbed his chin, thinking. “Very well,” he answered. “Rafe and Balthazar, come here.” The two highlanders hurried to stand before the head elder. “What would you have them do?” Gunther asked Tristan.
Walking over to where his weapons lay, Tristan retrieved one of his dirks. He returned to hand it to Rafe. The look in Rafe’s eyes said that he thought Tristan had just gone mad. Tristan gave Rafe his best look of reassurance. He turned back to Gunther.
“We will also need a piece of blank parchment,” he said.
Gunther ordered that a parchment be provided. A highlander quickly brought one. Knowing that it would only strengthen his case if he did not touch it, Tristan asked that it be placed into Gunther’s hands. He looked over at Balthazar.
“Bring her,” he said.
Grabbing Arwydd by the shoulders, the giant started manhandling her over to where the others stood. She kicked and scratched at Balthazar, and spat in his face. Finally hoisting her over one shoulder, he took no notice as she pounded her fists against his back. Balthazar dropped the soothsayer before the others like she was a sack of grain.
“Hold her by the wrists,” Tristan said. He gave Arwydd a harsh look. “If I’m right about you, you know full well what is about to be done. I suggest you hold still, lest they mistakenly cut you more than need be.”
Arwydd glared hatefully at the prince. “When this is over, I will kill you,” she breathed.
Tristan gave her a sly look. “When this is over, your days of killing will be forever done,” he answered.
As Balthazar tightened his grip on her, Tristan looked at Rafe. “Cut as small an incision into her arm as possible,” he said. “There is no need to be abusive. Then collect a little bit of her blood on my knife blade.”
After nodding at Tristan, Rafe did as he had been asked. A rivulet of Arwydd’s blood ran onto the knife.
“Now,” Tristan said, “allow but one blood drop to fall onto the parchment that Gunther holds. If I am right, you will see something you never dreamed possible.”
Positioning the bloody knife over the parchment, Rafe carefully tilted the blade. One drop fell onto the paper. As the elders gathered around to watch, Tristan smiled.
As he had guessed, a partial blood signature started to form. Twisting and turning with a life of its own, it soon showed a series of sharply angled, intersecting lines. Then the blood died, and stopped moving about the page.
Rafe looked at Tristan like he had just seen a ghost. He and the other highlanders had heard strange stories about the blood of those who commanded the craft. But to see a clan member’s blood do the same thing was shocking. Amazed into speechlessness, the elders simply stood and stared. Tristan looked over at Arwydd.
“You’re a partial adept,” he said. “Your father was a man of fully endowed blood, and trained in the craft. You practice the Vagaries, don’t you, Arwydd?”
Arwydd kicked and cursed, but she could not break Balthazar’s iron grip.
“Bastard!” she breathed. “I cast a pox on your royal house, and all those who practice the Vigors!” Undaunted by her threat, Tristan laughed.
“I don’t understand,” Gunther breathed. “If this means she is your enemy, why would she validate your tales?”
“That’s simple,” Tristan answered. “She had no choice. Like Rafe said, if what she told you didn’t come true, she would be killed. Had the tools of her trade been available to her when she was unsupervised, my guess is that she would have killed many of you before making her escape. That’s what you dream of, isn’t it, Arwydd?”
Taking a step closer, Tristan looked into her eyes. “You made your first mistake when you killed Rafe’s parents,” he said. “Had you not done so, the clan would have come to trust you, and you might not have been bound. In time you could have gathered all the herbs and oils you needed to practice your arts freely. But your craving for vengeance got the better of you, and you killed the previous chieftain and his wife. Then I arrived to unmask you and seal your fate.”
Gunther stepped forward. He again stared down at the newly formed blood signature. “This strange-looking pattern,” he said. “That means that she practices the craft?”
Tristan nodded.
“How is it that no other Kilbourne clan member’s blood exhibits these strange ways?” Gunther asked.
“One must be trained in the ways of the craft first,” Tristan answered. “None of you claim that advantage. You yourself told me that Arwydd was born a Zorian. Clearly, there are parts of her history about which you still do not know.”
“Even so, how do you know that she practices the dark side?” Gunther asked.
“Because no Vigors practitioner commits unneeded murder,” Tristan said. “But my wizards have other ways of telling, should you want further proof. If you bring her to the palace, we will show you how it is done.”
“How did you guess who she was?” Rafe asked Tristan.
“Her use of herbs and oils reminded me of another partial adept I know,” Tristan answered. “She serves on the Conclave. Even so, that wasn’t proof enough. When Arwydd asked me her two questions, I felt dizzy, and I suspected the craft was at work. I believe she used a technique allowing her to enter my mind. My wizards also perform it, although to a much better degree. But until tonight I didn’t know that partials could also perform the spell. This parlor show was just window dressing, designed to fool you all-it always has been. She got her real answers when she entered my mind-not by reading goat bones! As long as she could trick you into believing that she was merely some sort of soothsayer who worked without the aid of the craft, she could continue to show that she was worth keeping alive.”
Straining as best she could against Balthazar’s iron grip, Arwydd leaned closer and spat directly into Tristan’s face. He calmly wiped it away.
“Very clever, Chosen One,” she said.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “That’s another mistake,” he said. “You just called me ‘Chosen One,’” he said. “Usually only those acquainted with the craft know that phrase. So you admit who you are?” he asked.
“Yes, I admit it!” she shouted, knowing that her ruse had finally run its course. “I only hope I live to see the day when you and your wizards are crushed by the Vagaries!”
From their places in the crowd, Yasmin and Sonya gave each other astonished looks. “So the princeis as clever as he is handsome!” Sonya whispered.
Scowling, Yasmin poked her sister in the ribs, then returned her gaze to Tristan. “Hush!” she whispered back.
Gunther stepped closer. As he stared at Tristan, there was a determined look in his eyes. “I told you that we tolerate no deceivers in our midst,” he said. “I meant what I said.” Gunther looked at Balthazar. “Take this traitorous bitch into the woods and kill her,” he ordered.
Grabbing Arwydd by one wrist, Balthazar started dragging the screaming woman from the clearing. By now, Tristan knew better than to intervene in highlander business. Even so, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her be killed. He was about to risk a protest when Arwydd sealed her own fate.
Twisting violently, she went for the dagger at Balthazar’s hip. Pulling it from its scabbard, she plunged its blade into the giant’s left shoulder. Like the wound meant nothing, Balthazar acted swiftly.
Letting go of her wrist, he took her head into his hands and give it a savage twist. Tristan took a quick breath as he watched the partial adept’s head turn all the way around, her neck bones cracking loudly as it went. Letting go of her, Balthazar stepped back. Arwydd stood there stupidly for a moment; then the light went out of her eyes. She collapsed to the ground like a rag doll, dead where she lay.
Rafe stepped closer to Tristan. There was a deep look of appreciation on his face.
“When you asked to see Arwydd’s blood, I thought you mad,” he said. “Now all I can do is to offer you my thanks. My parents have finally been avenged.”
“I understand all too well,” Tristan answered.
Then he saw Yasmin and Sonya approach. After giving Tristan a knowing look, Yasmin went to Balthazar. She grasped the dagger by the handle.
“Gather your strength,” she said.
Knowing what was coming, Balthazar nodded. Yasmin quickly pulled the knife from his shoulder. Smiling, she looked at Tristan again.
“It seems that I must sew up more than one man’s wounds tonight,” she said. As she started leading Balthazar away, she turned and gave the prince a final look. “You know where you can find me if you wish,” she said quietly.
Grinning widely, Rafe slapped Tristan on the back. “Your work for the night might not be over!” he said laughingly.
Tristan gave Rafe a smirk. “What about the vote?” he asked.
They turned to see the elders huddling in animated conversation. It went on for some time. Finally Gunther walked back to where Tristan and Rafe were standing.
“Will you vote now?” Rafe asked.
“We already have done so,” Gunther answered. “There is no need for you to add your vote, for it won’t change the outcome.”
“And that is?” Rafe asked.
“Seven to three in favor,” Gunther answered. “We have accepted the prince’s offer.” Gunther held out his hand to Tristan. They shook hands, sealing the deal.
“As of this moment, you have nearly one thousand highlander horsemen on your hands, Your Highness,” Gunther said. “The rest of the clan will follow them to Tammerland. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Tristan smiled. “So do I,” he answered. “But no matter what else happens, know that I will keep my part of the bargain.”
“You’d best do so,” Gunther warned him. “Clan Kilbourne would make for a determined enemy.”
Tristan smiled again as he thought about what Wigg and Faegan would say when the Minion scouts told them that a highlander clan was coming, with Tristan leading them. Both the wizards disliked highlanders, Tristan knew. Making the two mystics comfortable with this new arrangement would take some doing.
Gunther looked at the night sky. “It will be dawn in a few hours,” he said. “I suggest that we get some sleep. At sunrise we will bury our dead, then break camp and head for Tammerland. I bid you good night.”
Rounding up the other council members, Gunther escorted them from the meeting place. When the crowd saw the elders leaving, they too started walking away. As they left, some looked at Tristan with curiosity, others with worry, and still more with outright scorn. Soon Tristan and Rafe were left alone with only the bonfire, the stars, and their concerns about tomorrow. Looking at the ground, Rafe worried a pebble with the toe of one boot.
“It will take much more than what happened here tonight for you to gain the entire clan’s respect, you know,” he said. “You have won the right to command our horsemen how and when you wish, but nothing else. The elders and I still govern the clan. You need to remember that.”
Tristan nodded at his new friend. Something told him that before too long, he and Rafe would be riding into danger together.
“I know that my powers are limited,” he answered. “You have my word that I will not overstep them.”
“Good,” Rafe said. “Will you walk with me?”
Tristan shook his head. “You go on ahead. I have some thinking to do.”
“Very well,” Rafe said. “Until dawn, Jin’Sai. ”
Tristan smiled slightly. “Until dawn,” he answered.
Tristan stood alone by the bonfire as he watched Rafe’s lean figure disappear among the shadows. Only then did he pick his weapons up from the grass and start his way back into the camp’s heart.
As he walked among the wagons and surviving clanfolk, stark remnants of the recent battle again came into view. Dead Zorian bodies still lay where they had fallen, but the Kilbourne dead had been taken away. Blood lay on the ground in random patterns, its darkness shiny against the surrounding grass. Some highlanders were still awake beside their campfires, talking excitedly about what their new lives might bring.
Looking at the sky, Tristan smiled as he saw a silhouetted Minion patrol cross darkly before the three magenta moons. Good for you, Hector, he thought. That’s one mistake we’ll never make again.
For better or worse, he realized that he was slowly wending his way back toward Yasmin’s wagon. He knew that she would be waiting there, lying in the dark and wondering whether he would come to her. Finally nearing her wagon, he sat down on a stool. A campfire still burned, and an abandonedtachinga jug lay near his feet. It seemed that no one else was awake. That’s just as well, he thought.
After taking a deep drink from the jug, Tristan placed it back down on the ground, then put his head in his hands. Bone-tired, he sat that way for some time, thinking. So much had happened in the last few days that he scarcely knew how to interpret it all. Looking around the campsite, he shook his head.
I beg the Afterlife, he thought, what have I done? I am about to lead an entire group of people on a life-changing exodus. How will I ever live up to their expectations?
Then he remembered Celeste.
Tears overtook his eyes; he brushed them away. What would she want for him? he wondered. He remembered her last letter to him, the one she had saved until her death. The letter still lay on the fireplace mantel in his palace quarters, the golden vase holding her ashes standing beside it. That’s all that remained of her. Mere ashes, and nothing more. That’s all that will eventually remain of any of us, he realized. In the end, all that matters is how we lived, and who we loved.
Turning, he looked back at the wagon. The canvas flap was lowered; no light shone from inside. Finally deciding, he stood and climbed the wagon’s steps. Pushing aide the flap, he went inside.
Lying naked atop the wagon bedding, Yasmin’s body glistened in the moonlight. Her long, dark hair was splayed out over her pillow, and her perfume returned to arouse his senses. Lying down beside her, Tristan started to speak. But before he could, she placed her fingertips across his lips.
“There is only one thing to consider,” she whispered. Lowering her hand, she looked into his eyes. “Do you want this, Jin’Sai?”
“Yes,” he whispered back.
Leaning down, he placed his mouth onto hers.