“WHEN WE GET THERE, OX WANT GO INSIDE WITHJin’Sai,” the giant warrior said. His barrel chest puffed out with pride against his body armor. “This may be dangerous place. Me protect you.”
Tristan shook his head. “From what Abbey tells me, that’s not true. I’ll be fine. Even so, this isn’t the best of neighborhoods. Someone needs to guard the carriage, and I can think of no one better qualified than you.”
A disappointed look came over the warrior’s face. “Ox obey,” he said. “But Ox no like it.”
Tristan gave him a reassuring smile. “I know,” he said. “But that’s an order.”
The prince looked out the carriage window. It was midday, and the sky was sunny. Shannon the Small sat up top, driving the team and doing his best to follow the directions Abbey had given him.
Two days had passed since Tristan had arrived in Tammerland, and he was glad to be home. To save time, he and Rafe had come by Minion litter. The entire Clan Kilbourne was following with their wagons. Hector and the other warriors were traveling with them, providing protection and helping them make the journey. Shaking his head, Tristan found himself wondering for the hundredth time whether he was doing the right thing. Then his mind turned to Yasmin.
Their night together had been wonderful, but it hadn’t been love. Rather, it was the urgent, needful joining of two people who wished, however briefly, to explore and possess one another. She had again reached for him in the cozy embrace of her shopworn wagon, and he had obeyed. After awaking in each other’s arms, she changed the dressing on his wound and fixed him a hearty highlander breakfast. She had then kissed him and bid him good-bye.
She gave me more than just her companionship, he realized as he watched Tammerland’s busy streets go by. Without knowing it, she also set me free. I will always treasure my time with Celeste. But my heart is again my own.
Soon his mind turned to other matters. Abbey had been overjoyed to see him, as had Ox and the palace gnomes. But when Tristan had introduced Rafe to the herbmistress and explained his agreement with the Kilbourne clan elders, he had thought Abbey might have a heart attack. She had angrily pulled Tristan aside to demand if he had suddenly gone crazy.
Tristan had been polite but firm. In the end, all Abbey could do was roll her eyes and mutter, “Just wait until Wigg and Faegan get home!” Tristan had smiled at that, saying that her matronly admonishment reminded him of the kind of warning his mother had often given him. It had the same lack of effect then too, he had told her with a smile.
Tristan had refused to argue about the highlanders further, and asked Ox to assign Rafe quarters in the palace. But the prince was no fool. Although he wanted Rafe where he could easily confer with him, he had no plans to allow him access to the palace’s many treasures. In the end he had granted Rafe the run of the place, provided he was accompanied by a Minion warrior. Rafe had understood. In his customary style, he laughingly told Tristan that if the roles were reversed, he would do the same.
Over dinner that night, Tristan and Abbey had traded tales. Their talk had gone on for hours. As she listened, Abbey’s eyes had grown to the size of hen’s eggs. Even though the amazing story came directly from theJin’Sai, she’d found much of it simply too unbelievable for words. Tristan had understood her skepticism. Had these things not happened to him personally, he would have been equally incredulous.
He’d been immensely glad to learn that Faegan had recovered from Xanthus’ attack, and that the Conclave possessed the index to the two scrolls. But he was desperately worried for the fleet as it neared the Citadel, and he felt powerless because he could not warn them. He’d been astonished to learn that a Forestallment calculation existed forK’Shari, and that some Fledgling House survivors had returned. But what had intrigued him most was Aeolus. With little else to occupy him until Clan Kilbourne arrived or the fleet returned, Tristan had resolved that he would try to meet him.
To that end he had sent a warrior to the Serpent and the Sword with a handwritten parchment, asking for a personal audience the following day. Aeolus had sent word back that he accepted.
Tristan suddenly felt the carriage jerk to a stop. He and Ox climbed out to look up and down the street. The neighborhood had clearly seen better days, forcing Tristan to wonder why a man of Aeolus’ character would choose to live here.
After tying the reins around the carriage’s brake handle, Shannon left his ale jug behind for once and clambered his way down from the seat. As he came to stand by Ox, his head barely reached the warrior’s knee. They were an incongruous pair, to say the least. Even so, Tristan would have been hard-pressed to guess which was the most stubborn. He gave them a commanding look.
“Don’t go wandering off,” he warned. “I want this carriage here when I return.”
Ox obediently clicked his heels together. Shannon’s only answer was a sudden puff of smoke coiling up from his corncob pipe.
Tristan turned to look at the house’s weathered sign. As Abbey had said, it carried a serpent on one side and a sword on the other. Without further ado he climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
The door opened to show an attractive middle-aged woman. She was dressed in a white long-sleeved blouse that crisscrossed her chest. Her black split skirt spilled down over bare feet. Although her garb wasn’t bizarre, Tristan couldn’t recall seeing anything quite like it.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “I am Prince Tristan. I have an appointment with your master.”
As the woman looked him up and down her eyes lingered briefly on the dreggan hilt and dirk handles showing just above his right shoulder. A martial student’s curiosity, he assumed. She seemed unimpressed.
“We are aware of your appointment,” she answered emotionlessly. “Come in.”
As the door shut, Ox clenched his jaw and stared moodily at the forlorn building. Shannon snickered at him.
“What are you so worried about?” the gnome asked. “He was taking care of himself long before he met you! Best swordsman in the kingdom, he is!”
Ox grumpily folded his arms over his chest, then leaned back against the carriage, giving Shannon the impression that he would wait forever, if need be.
Tristan followed the woman down a long, paper-paned hallway. Everything was just as Abbey had described. But the house’s exterior had been deceiving, belying the spaciousness inside. When they reached the hallway’s end the woman opened another door and beckoned Tristan through.
Surprisingly, the door led outside again. A beautiful courtyard lay just beyond. The woman turned to Tristan.
“Wait here,” she said.
She went down another set of steps and into the courtyard proper. As she did, Tristan took in the interesting scene.
The rear courtyard was spacious and surrounded by a high stone wall. Most of the area was taken up by a perfectly manicured lawn. Pebble pathways snaked through it here and there. A large dogwood tree stood in one of the far corners, its leaves casting welcoming shade. Beneath the tree sat a table and four chairs. But what Tristan found most interesting were the people, and what they were doing.
About forty students of varying ages and both sexes were in training. Everyone was dressed the same way as the woman who had led him here. Standing in strict lines, each person held a wooden staff. A man dressed in similar garb stood before the students, his broad back toward the prince and his bald head shining in the sun. That would be Aeolus, Tristan reasoned. As Tristan watched Aeolus move with effortless grace, something told him that the old master already knew he was there.
Raising his staff high, Aeolus took a practiced step forward, then cut the staff through the air in a perfect circle. At once, every student followed suit. Tristan watched respectfully as the sword training went on for several more minutes. Then the woman walked up to Aeolus and whispered something in his ear. Without turning around, Aeolus nodded.
He laid his staff in the grass, then clapped his hands. With military precision, the students quickly sat on their knees, then bowed deeply at the waist. Aeolus clapped his hands again; then the students disbanded to enter the house through a separate doorway.
Without looking at Tristan, Aeolus took up his staff. He walked to the table beneath the shade tree and sat down. The woman returned to Tristan’s side.
“He will see you now,” she said.
“Thank you,” he answered. A sudden thought crossed his mind. “Shall I give you my weapons?” he asked.
For the first time since meeting him, the woman smiled. “That won’t be necessary,” she answered. “You couldn’t kill him on your best day.”
As Tristan raised an eyebrow she gave him another smile, then entered the house, leaving him and Aeolus alone in the courtyard.
Tristan crossed the grass to come and stand by the table. Aeolus came to his feet and bowed. Unsure of the school’s etiquette, Tristan decided to bow in return.
Aeolus smiled. “At long last theJin’Sai is among us,” he said. “I have met theJin’Saiou, but I’m sure you already know that. It is a pleasure to be in your company.”
“And yours,” Tristan answered.
Aeolus beckoned Tristan to sit while he did the same. The prince was glad of the shade.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Aeolus asked.
Tristan was already impressed with the centuries-old wizard and martial expert sitting across from him. Even so, he had questions. He decided to come straight to the point. He settled into the chair and crossed one leg over the other.
“It isn’t every day that Wigg offers someone a seat on the Conclave of the Vigors,” he said.
Aeolus nodded. “I’m sure,” he answered. “So you came to see me for yourself.”
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “And I wish to ask you some questions.”
“By all means,” Aeolus answered.
“Please understand that I welcome your membership, provided my concerns are answered,” the prince said. “Your wisdom would be of great help. Our current foes are the deadliest we have ever faced.”
“I have yet to decide,” Aeolus said, “but I thank you for the offer. What troubles you?”
“Satine,” Tristan answered simply. “I was the one who killed her.”
A touch of sadness crossed Aeolus’ face. “I know,” he answered. “I couldn’t persuade her from straying from my teachings.”
“So I have been told,” Tristan said. “I want you to know that I had no choice but to kill her. She was the best I ever saw. I was lucky to keep my life.”
Leaning forward, Tristan looked deep into Aeolus’ eyes. “I must know that no bitterness lingers in your heart about her death,” he said. “If it does, I must oppose your membership. It would be disruptive to the Conclave, and we need all the cohesiveness we can muster right now.”
As he sat back in his chair, Tristan remembered what the Envoys had told him about the Heretics’ mad plan. Even he could scarcely believe it. Serena had to be stopped at any cost. Should Aeolus choose to join them, he wanted to be absolutely sure about the old wizard’s feelings.
“I hold no bitterness toward you,” Aeolus answered. “You have told me that you did what you had to do, and I believe you.”
Relieved for the time being, Tristan took up his next question. “Tell me,” he asked, “are you really as good as they say?”
“Yes,” Aeolus answered. “I do not mean to brag. But to state otherwise would be a lie.”
“I mean no disrespect, but I find that hard to believe,” Tristan said. “Especially considering the amazing tales Abbey told me about your skills.”
After giving Tristan a smile, Aeolus stood. Finding himself a bit confused, Tristan stood with him.
“Come with me,” Aeolus said.
They walked across the grass for a time. On reaching the courtyard’s center, Aeolus stopped and turned to look at Tristan.
“Draw your sword and do your best to kill me,” he said simply.
Tristan shook his head. “I understand what you’re trying to do,” he answered. “It isn’t necessary. I ask for no proof other than your word.”
Aeolus smiled. “Wigg tells me that you and your sister are very stubborn,” he said. “That having been said, I want no doubt to linger about this. Do it, Jin’Sai. Unsheathe your sword.”
Perhaps it was Tristan’s intense curiosity about all things martial that persuaded him. Or it might have been the commanding nature of the old wizard’s gaze. But for whatever reason, Tristan found himself reaching behind his back.
The dreggan’s handle came surely into his right hand. As he pulled the sword free, its blade rang in the air and glinted brightly in the sunlight.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Aeolus said.
Taking a deep stance, Tristan raised the dreggan overhead with both hands, holding its blade parallel to the ground and its tip pointing directly at Aeolus. Surprisingly, Aeolus assumed no defensive posture. He simply stood in place, his dark eyes locked on Tristan’s. Swiveling both arms, Tristan brought the blade around with everything he had.
At first the prince was sure that Aeolus was about to die. Standing stock-still, the master waited patiently for the blade to reach him. Then he simply wasn’t there.
The heavy blade hummed through the air with such speed that it nearly took Tristan around with it. Looking leftward, he saw Aeolus calmly standing about two meters away. His hands were placidly crossed before him.
“Again,” Aeolus said.
Feinting high, Tristan quickly reversed his blade’s direction, then brought it around and down. Designed to deprive an enemy of his legs, it was a technique that had served him well in battle.
Again the blade went whistling around, striking nothing. Aeolus had moved to the right this time.
Catching his breath, Tristan glared at him. “Are you using the craft to summon that amazing speed?” he demanded.
Aeolus shook his head. “No,” he answered simply. “Now then, one more time, if you please.”
Tristan did not wish to hurt Aeolus, but he had become determined to succeed at this in some fashion-even if it only meant his blade touching the master’s clothing. Taking the sword into both hands again, he reclaimed his stance.
As quickly as he could he drove the sword’s point straight ahead, directly toward Aeolus’ abdomen. But like the other times, the sword struck nothing.
Suddenly Tristan felt a sharp pain in his sword hand. He felt himself being launched into the air; then he landed hard on his back. He was dazed, but conscious enough to realize that his sword was gone. The force that had taken him off his feet had been unexpected, irresistible.
As his vision cleared, he raised up onto his elbows. Aeolus was standing over him with his dreggan in his hands. The old master was calmly examining the blade in the sunlight. He looked down at Tristan and smiled again.
“My apologies,” he said. “It seems that you have never been taught how to fall properly.” Holding one hand out, he helped Tristan to his feet. “That is the first thing we teach here.”
Scowling, the prince rubbed the back of his neck. “How did you do that?”
Aeolus handed the sword to him. “It is merely a technique, much like many others,” Aeolus answered. “But like all neophytes, you’re missing the point of the lesson.”
“Which is?” Tristan asked as he sheathed his sword.
“If you cannot kill me while I am unarmed, then how could you ever hope to best me if I had sword in my hand?” Aeolus answered.
Shaking his head again, Tristan smiled. “I stand convinced,” he said. “Even so, I have another question.”
“By all means,” Aeolus answered.
“Do you really commandK’Shari?” he asked.
“Yes,” Aeolus answered. “For me, K’Shari was attained only by a lifetime of intense training. But Wigg told me that a Forestallment calculation exists for imbuing the talent directly into one’s endowed blood. What an amazing concept! A lifetime of work, condensed and gifted in only a few moments. But as I’m sure you know, little is impossible when the craft is involved.”
“With your indulgence, I wish to see proof that you command the gift,” Tristan said.
Aeolus nodded. “I understand. But tell me-will you truly recognize it when you see it?”
As Tristan thought back to the times that Xanthus had been forced into torturing and killing innocent Eutracians, his face darkened. “I am all too familiar with its effects,” he answered.
Aeolus nodded. “If that is true, then you are one of the world’s few,” he said. “Wigg told me about Xanthus, by the way.”
Aeolus turned to look toward the courtyard’s rear wall. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself.
“My ears hear no begging,” he said quietly. “My eyes see no pain. My heart feels no remorse.”
At once the courtyard quieted. The singing birds and buzzing insects hushed and the wind stopped, stilling the tree branches. A deathly, almost familiar silence overtook everything, like nature’s life forces had somehow ceased to exist.
Tristan took a few steps closer to the martial master and looked into his face. The old wizard’s visage showed no strain whatsoever. For Aeolus, it seemed that calling forthK’Shari was as natural as drawing his next breath. Even so, Tristan couldn’t imagine the degree of hardship, sacrifice, and training that must have been required to reach this level of enlightenment-especially without help from the craft.
“Again, I stand convinced,” he said quietly.
Aeolus opened his eyes. Almost at once everything returned to normal. His gaze toward the prince was calm, knowing.
“You burn with curiosity for all things martial, do you not?” he asked.
Tristan nodded. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I can see it in your eyes. Satine had much the same look. It never left her.”
Aeolus led them back to the table, and they both sat. As he leaned closer, a concerned look came over his face.
“When the Conclave returns, you have every intention of asking Wigg to imbue your blood with its calculations, don’t you?” he asked.
Tristan was taken aback. That was indeed his desire, and had been ever since learning of the Forestallment. He knew that if Serena could be stopped and he returned to Crysenium as the Envoys wanted, commandingK’Shari might be immensely useful.
“Yes,” he answered. “How did you know?”
Aeolus smiled. “It was by no wizardly use of the craft that I guessed your intentions,” he answered. “It was simple logic. Who among us interested in the martial ways would not want such a thing? And to gain it so quickly and easily! What a feat that would be!”
Tristan looked down at his hands for a moment. “Quickly, yes,” he answered. “But perhaps not easily. Sometimes imbuing Forestallments into endowed blood causes terrible pain. I know firsthand. Under Failee’s orders, the sorceress Succiu placed many Forestallments into my blood against my will, and all at once. They are gone now. But the pain is not something I wish to reexperience. Even so, I believe thatK’Shari would be worth it.”
A faraway look came into Aeolus’ eyes. “Succiu,” he said softly. “What a beautiful but evil woman. Her devotion to the Vagaries was unquestionable.”
“You knew her?” Tristan asked.
“I knew all the sorceresses of the Coven,” Aeolus answered, “and Failee best of all. Those were such dark days for Wigg. I am truly glad that he and Abbey have found a measure of happiness.”
“I have a request of you,” Tristan said.
“And that is?”
“Come take up residence in the palace and train me-if only for a little while,” Tristan asked. “Abbey told me what you said aboutK’Shari- about how someone so quickly imbued with its Forestallment might need specialized physical training as well, so as to hone the gift. I’m not asking you to give up your life here and join the Conclave-that is up to you to decide. Nor do I think it wise that I explain all of what we are up against, unless you join us. But I am asking you to do something to help the Vigors in its hour of need.”
Aeolus thought for a moment. “Do you have any idea when the Conclave might return?” he asked.
“Not really,” Tristan answered. “I ordered them to attack the Citadel, a Vagaries stronghold. None of us knows what awaits them there. I can only hope that they will be successful, and that they will all return safely.”
Aeolus sighed, then nodded. “In the interests of the Vigors I will do this thing for you,” he said. “But I have conditions.”
“Name them,” Tristan answered.
“During our training sessions you will abide by my orders,” Aeolus said. “We train where I say and when I say. Time might be short before the Conclave returns. You will be a mere beginning student and I the master. During our sessions neither your royal heritage nor the fact that you are theJin’Sai will have any meaning for me. You must be prepared to train like you have never trained before. Nor will you question my orders, no matter how bizarre they might seem. In these things I will brook no disagreement.”
“Done,” Tristan answered. “Is there anything else?”
“I reserve the right to leave whenever I wish, and again take up my teaching here,” Aeolus said, “whether I have done all for you that I can or not.”
Tristan thought about that for a moment. After having spent this time with him, Tristan would have preferred that Aeolus stay on and join the Conclave. Wigg was right, he realized. Aeolus would make an invaluable addition to the group. But Aeolus’ demands seemed firm.
“Very well,” Tristan said. “I accept your conditions. But if duty calls I will feel free to walk away from a training session without your permission.”
“Of course,” Aeolus answered.
“When can we expect you?” Tristan asked. “I will tell the palace gnomes to make your quarters ready.”
“Sometime tomorrow,” Aeolus answered. “I need to settle some things here and select a student to carry on in my stead while I am away.”
“A Minion warrior awaits me on the street to take me home,” Tristan said. “I would be happy to tell him to stay and escort you to the palace tomorrow.”
Smiling, Aeolus shook his head. “As you have seen, I have no need of your warrior’s protection. I might be old, but I’m not senile. I remember the way to the palace well enough.”
Tristan smiled. “Of course,” he answered. He stood from the table and reached out his right hand.
“Until tomorrow,” he said.
The two shook hands. Tristan found Aeolus’ grip firm and dry.
“Until tomorrow,” the master answered. “Sleep well, Prince. Shortly after my arrival we will start.”
Tristan nodded, then started the long walk back to the house. As Aeolus watched him go, his thoughts turned to the future.
He will be good, that one, he thought. But he will also be headstrong and impatient. He will want to run when I command him to walk. There is a natural quickness and an inherent ability in him that few possess. Satine was one of them.
Sighing, Aeolus shook his head. He would never have thought that he would become the willing teacher of the one who had killed Satine. It seemed that his life was about to come full circle.
As the insects buzzed and the birds sang, the old teacher sat there for some time before returning to the house to inform his students.