“He flew to Tammerland to inform the Conclave of your disappearance,” Hector answered.
“Has there been word from Tammerland?”
“No, my lord.”
“Follow me to the base camp,” Tristan said. “From the warriors waiting there I want you to select your ten swiftest fliers. I leave by litter for Tammerland immediately.” Another thought came to the prince. “Tell me,” he said, “have your warriors ever built a litter that can safely carry a horse?”
Hector smiled broadly. Understanding what hisJin’Sai had in mind, he affectionately rubbed Shadow’s face.
“To my knowledge that has never been done,” he answered. “But we Minions are excellent craftsmen. I’m sure something can be arranged.”
Tristan smiled back. “Good,” he said. He looked around at the others. “The rest of you are to remain here,” he ordered. “Should anyone or anything come through that pass, send a messenger to Tammerland immediately.”
Tristan jumped up into his saddle. Wheeling Shadow around, he started galloping down the charred mountainside. Taking to the air, Hector followed.
THAT HAD BEEN THREE HOURS AGO. AS TRISTAN RODE THROUGHthe air in his hastily constructed litter, the sun was approaching its zenith. Taking another sip of akulee, he watched the emerald fields of Farplain slide by below him. He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired, or so overwhelmed by his thoughts. For the first time since leaving Crysenium, he could take the time to contemplate his amazing journey.
Although he had lived it, he could hardly believe what had happened. The revelations told to him by the Crysenium Envoys had been wondrous and at the same time terrifying. He could still see the Border-lands swallowing up an entire army, and the terrible battle scene Hoskiko had shown him. Each had been but a part of the ongoing War of Attrition-a war that he was somehow destined to stop, or die in the attempt.
Despite having accepted this great burden, in a way he had also gained a new measure of peace. After a lifetime of asking questions, he had finally learned some answers. He had many more questions-questions he knew that even Wigg and Faegan couldn’t answer. Until he could return to Crysenium, those mysteries would have to wait.
His mind soon turned to the threat at hand. Serena’s plan was monstrous. If the Conclave couldn’t stop her, he would have neither the will nor the ability to return to Crysenium. Worse, the Conclave would be sailing into terrible danger, and until he reached Tammerland there was no way to warn them. Wigg and Jessamay were powerful mystics, and there was no better sea captain than Tyranny. Thousands of Minion warriors would be sailing with them. Even so, Serena’s snare would be nearly impossible to avoid.
Tristan looked at the warriors carrying his litter. They were flying as fast as they could, but a southerly headwind was making the going difficult. Close by but still frightened by his strange surroundings, Shadow danced nervously in his specially constructed litter. Ten more stout warriors bore it aloft. Seeing the stallion being carried through the air was a strange sight, but Tristan was glad he had thought to bring the horse along. If he couldn’t reach the coast in time to sail with the Conclave, something told him that he would need Shadow in the days ahead.
Then he suddenly remembered his medallion. Looking down, he saw its gold surface twinkle in the midday sun as it lay beneath the Paragon. He had been so intent on getting home that he had forgotten about his new power. Cursing himself for his forgetfulness, he closed his eyes.
Just as Hoskiko had instructed him, he imagined his and Shailiha’s medallions hanging side by side in space. Concentrating harder, he watched them combine into one. He lifted the medallion from his chest and turned it over. Just as Hoskiko had promised, its other side showed a scene. Closing his eyes for a moment, he shook his head. The Black Ships had already sailed.
He looked at the medallion again. It showed Wigg leaning against a Black Ship’s gunwale. He was talking to someone, but there no was telling to whom. In the distance Tristan could see the other five Black Ships, flying alongside Wigg’s over the Sea of Whispers. Closing his eyes again, he caused the scene to vanish and dropped the medallion to his chest.
Shailiha had followed his orders after all, and Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay must have successfully trained the acolytes to empower the fleet. He wondered how many Conclave members had accompanied Shailiha. Perhaps all, he realized. The Black Ships were not using the crippled wizard’s portal to help them across the sea-Tristan had long known that they were far too large and cumbersome for that. Even so, the ships flew so fast that no Minion warriors could likely catch them, even if they were sent right now and directly from their watch stations along the coast. May the Afterlife bring the fleet home safely, he thought.
Clearly, there was no longer a need to force the Minions to fly through the night, as he had first planned. Leaning out of the litter, he shouted new orders that they should land at twilight and make camp. After taking another draft from the akulee jug, he shoved the cork back into its spout. He stretched out on the litter floor. Despite his worry for the Conclave, he was asleep in moments.
“JIN’SAI,”HECTOR SAID. REACHING OUT, HE GAVE TRISTANa gentle shove. “Jin’Sai-wake up! We have landed.”
Stretching and blinking, Tristan sat up in the litter. He felt refreshed. Standing, he looked around.
Hector had chosen to land in a grassy depression. A low ridge surrounded it on three sides. Night was falling, and the twenty warriors were starting to make camp. Shadow had been released from his litter and was tethered to a night line. Not far away, the Sippora River burbled noisily.
“How far have we come?” Tristan asked.
“We are a little more than halfway, lord,” Hector answered, “just south of where the Sippora branches into two smaller rivers. If we get an early start, we will be home by midday tomorrow. The warriors will soon have the camp set up. Are you hungry?”
Tristan smiled. “Famished!” he answered. “What do we have to eat?”
“We brought an elk quarter from the base camp. It’s packed in glacier ice. We also have some fresh vegetables. We’ll get started on roasting the elk right away. In the meantime, I’ll get some scouts into the air.”
Tristan looked at the exhausted warriors who had carried the two litters for so far and so long. The litter holding Shadow would have been particularly heavy, and would be no less so tomorrow. As the warriors tiredly made camp, Tristan saw that their wings literally dragged along the ground.
Tristan shook his head. “They have all flown hard,” he said. “Let them rest and eat first, then send them aloft.” Rubbing his face, he realized that he hadn’t bathed or shaven for two days. He looked longingly at the Sippora.
“In the meantime, I’m going to clean up,” he said. “Can a warrior lend me some soap?”
Hector immediately barked out some orders. A warrior soon came running to hand Tristan a bar of the harsh, black soap that the Minions made themselves.
“Thank you,” he said.
Smiling, he started walking toward the river. It would be numbingly cold, but that was just what he wanted. Then he would laugh, drink, and eat elk with the warriors until he could do so no more. And tomorrow he would be home.
Sitting on his knees by the river, he dipped the soap and lathered his face. He reached behind his right shoulder and produced a throwing knife. Having no mirror, he shaved his face by feel. When he was satisfied he removed his weapons and clothing. Leaving the Paragon and medallion around his neck, he dove headlong into the rushing Sippora.
The river’s coldness took his breath away. After swimming underwater for several meters he surfaced. His eyes still closed, he stood in the waist-deep water and pushed his hair from his face. He could already smell the enticing aroma of roasting elk as it drifted toward the river.
Tristan opened his eyes. To his amazement he saw a figure before him on the riverbank. It wasn’t Minion. The intruder held a sword unlike any the prince had ever seen. As the stranger pointed his sword at him menacingly, Tristan couldn’t imagine how the fellow had gotten past his Minions.
“It seems I have you at a disadvantage,” the unfamiliar voice said. A smile came.
Tristan opened his eyes. To his amazement he saw a figure before him on the riverbank. It wasn’t Minion. The intruder held a sword unlike any the prince had ever seen-and it was pointed right between Tristan’s
