Stopping to hover, Traax held up one arm. The other warriors came to gather nearby. Saying nothing, Traax pointed east.
The wave was rushing toward them at an amazing speed. Traax knew that the swiftest Minion fliers could reach twenty-five leagues an hour and sometimes more. To his dismay, it seemed that the monstrous wave was moving at least that fast. Warning the Conclave meant that messengers would have to return immediately if they were to take advantage of their closer proximity to the ships. But if they couldn’t at least match the wave’s speed, it would roar beneath them and reach the unsuspecting fleet first. Traax understood that the craft was at work here. Serena had sent this thing at them, and somehow the Black Ships had to survive it.
His mind racing, Traax looked at his warriors. He would send only two, he decided. Should the awful wave change speed or course, he would need reserve warriors to inform the fleet.
“Axel and Valgard!” he shouted. “Return to the ships as fast as you can! Tell the Conclave about this new threat! Warn Tyranny that there is no use changing course to the north or the south to avoid it, because it stretches as far as the eye can see!” Knowing his next order would be difficult for them to obey, he gave them a commanding look.
“Should either of you collapse from fatigue and fall to the sea, the other is forbidden to save him!” Traax shouted. “I know that Minion custom dictates that no warrior be left behind! But as your commander I am countermanding that tradition! Go! The fleet’s survival depends on you!”
“We live to serve!” the two handpicked warriors shouted. Then they were gone, winging their way west.
Looking back, Traax and his remaining warriors saw strange beings exploding from the wave’s top to take to the air. The warriors were too far away to see what the things looked like. Traax decided that because the creatures were born of the terrible wave, they too must be products of the craft, and therefore a deadly threat.
As the beings collected in the air they circled busily into a dark swarm. Then they started soaring directly toward the hovering warriors.
Traax watched for a few moments, then drew his dreggan; the other warriors followed suit.
CHAPTER XLVI
PAUSING FOR A MOMENT, TRISTAN WIPED THE SWEATfrom his brow. The midday sun was hot, and Aeolus had refused to let him drink. Nor had he eaten since breakfast. His chest heaving, he tried to reclaim his breath. This was only the first day of his training, yet he already found Aeolus’ brand of discipline agonizing.
They had been at it all morning. Although Aeolus had been duplicating Tristan’s every move, the old man had hardly broken a sweat. Nor was his breathing labored. Seeing Tristan stop without permission, he scowled.
“Again,” he ordered.
Lowering his wooden staff, Tristan shook his head. “We have been at this for four hours without a break or anything to drink! Are you trying to kill me?” Leaning over, he put his hands on his knees to take a rest.
Aeolus walked closer and took the prince by the shoulders. He raised him up and looked him in the eyes.
“No, but others have tried, and it seems a safe bet that more will,” Aeolus answered. “Just what will you tell your enemy on a hot day, eh? That His Highness needs to stop for a cool drink?” Sighing, Aeolus calmly clasped his hands before him.
“It might interest you to know that there are students twice your age at the Serpent and the Sword who can do this sort of thing all day,” he added. “Before clay becomes brick, it must withstand the kiln.”
Tristan took another deep breath. “You’re starting to sound like Wigg,” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Aeolus answered emotionlessly. “Now then-back to work.”
“All we’ve done is trace patterns in the grass like foolish school-children!” Tristan protested. “I thought I was going to learn to fight!”
“Learning to move properly is the key to all that will follow,” Aeolus said. “First you must hone such skills as the one you practice now. Only then will we work with live blades. Have you forgotten your failure to strike me down yesterday? Or thatyou came tome, asking to be trained?”
“No,” Tristan answered grudgingly.
“Very well,” Aeolus answered. “Start again.” After backing away he clapped his hands, signaling that the exercises should resume.
Save for the Paragon and his gold medallion, Tristan stood naked from the waist up in the blazing sun. Sweat poured from him as he marshaled what energy he had left. Taking a deep breath, he collected his thoughts and recommenced the exercise.
Earlier this morning Aeolus had shown him how to become lighter on his feet as he moved. He had also demonstrated how to travel, swivel, and turn smoothly without bobbing his head and shoulders. The raising or lowering of an enemy’s upper torso was a telltale sign of attack, he had said. Learn to recognize its advent and you will gain your first defensive advantage. Learn to move your body without it, and you will have gained your first offensive one.
But Tristan quickly realized that seeing Aeolus do it, and doing it himself, were two very different things. Because he was forced to stay slightly bent at the knees, the exercise was excruciating to his thighs and calves.
Raising his staff for what seemed the thousandth time, Tristan again started a zigzagging path across the grass. The goal was to complete the circuit and end up in the exact spot from which he had started without once looking down. Aeolus had pulled some grass from the ground to mark the exercise’s starting and stopping point.
On coming to the circuit’s end, Tristan checked his location. He had done better this time, his boots landing less than a foot from the starting place.
Smoothly lowering his staff the way Aeolus had taught him, Tristan looked into his teacher’s eyes. Surely the old wizard would have something complimentary to say this time.
“When you can return to the exact starting point while blindfolded and performing perfect sword cuts along the way, you will have finally accomplished something,” was Aeolus’ only comment. “Even so, it will be but a baby step. Now do it again.”
Sighing, Tristan wiped his face and began the exercise anew.
Aeolus had surprisingly arrived at the palace gates before dawn. Tristan had ordered Ox to greet him, but neither of them had guessed that the old man would arrive so early. Ox had shown Aeolus to his quarters, and the master had insisted on waking the prince himself.
Not knowing what else to do, Ox allowed Aeolus entry to Tristan’s private rooms. As Aeolus noisily rousted Tristan from his bed, all Ox could do was to offer Tristan an apologetic look. From this day until the Conclave’s return, Aeolus had said, he expected the prince to be in the courtyard just before daybreak, ready and eager to train.
As Tristan finished the circuit he saw Abbey and Ox approaching. Hoping that he had just been saved, he let go a deep breath.
“We need to speak with you,” Abbey told Tristan. She turned to Aeolus and smiled. “Welcome back to the palace, by the way,” she said.
“Thank you,” Aeolus answered. “But my stay is temporary.”
“What is it?” Tristan asked Abbey. “Has the fleet returned?”
“No,” she said. Her expression soured. “It’s about Clan Kilbourne. They are nearing the city. Hector wisely flew on ahead of them, so as to inform us. He wishes to know whether you have any orders for him or for the highlanders.”
It wasn’t often that one saw surprise overtake Aeolus’ face. He gave the prince a questioning glance.
“Highlanders?”he asked.
Tristan nodded. “We have an arrangement. In return for a homeland of their own, their horsemen are going to temporarily join the Minion forces as cavalry.”
Pursing his lips, Aeolus shook his head. “Highlander cavalry…” he mused. He gave Abbey a wry look.
“If that’s the case, you’d best hide all the horses and tack, not to mention the palace silverware,” Aeolus
