As the sun rose in earnest, a respectful silence fell over the Conclave members. Tyranny dropped her cigarillo to the deck and crushed it beneath her boot. Faegan looked wistfully out to sea.
Shailiha walked over to put one arm around Faegan’s shoulders. As she did, the old wizard turned to look at theTammerland ’s ravaged stern. He shook his head.
“What have I done?” he breathed.
Squatting down, Shailiha took his hands into hers and looked into his eyes. “You did what you do best,” she answered. “You cheated death and gave us the chance to fight the Vagaries another day.”
Faegan finally smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Wigg. “The Necrophagians mentioned a group of Vagaries mystics called thePon Q’tar, ” he mused. “Have you heard the phrase before?”
Wigg shook his head. “No,” he answered.
“Nor have I,” Jessamay added.
“How much longer can you keep us aloft?” Faegan asked Wigg.
“Two hours at best,” Wigg answered. “That’s all I have left in me.”
Faegan nodded. “When you can do no more, one of us will relieve you. In the meantime I suggest that we all get some rest. I fear that what we just experienced will pale compared with the greeting we will get at the Citadel.”
Just then they all heard saws and hammers working, and Minions urgently ordering one another about. Although the noises were chaotic, they also sounded hopeful.
But as the Black Ship fleet flew east into the rising sun, Faegan’s warning about the Citadel clawed at every Conclave member’s heart.
CHAPTER XLIII
“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
