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
