has in mind.”
For the next quarter hour Rafe outlined Tristan’s proposal. He looked over at the prince several times to ensure that he was delivering Tristan’s offer correctly. The prince nodded his agreement but did not speak. Rafe was forceful and concise, just as Yasmin had counseled Tristan to be when his turn came. Rafe was doing a good job, making the prince wonder whether he would need to speak at all. When he had finished, Rafe sat down. Gunther looked commandingly at Tristan.
“Tell us, dango, ” he said. “In return for commanding our horsemen, will you really give us all the things you promise? Are you in fact the crowned prince of all Eutracia? Or are you merely some poseur commanding a pack of flying beasts?” Even from across the wide circle, Tristan felt Gunther’s eyes boring their way into his.
“If you are lying to us,” Gunther added menacingly, “we will kill you here and now, regardless of how many Zorians you and your warriors slaughtered. We do not tolerate deceivers in our midst.”
Tristan looked over at Rafe. The chieftain nodded. Tristan stood and looked at each elder in turn.
“I am indeed who I claim to be,” he said respectfully. “And if your clan follows me to Tammerland and allows me to command your horsemen for a time, I will grant you all that I have promised. You have my word on it.”
Not knowing what more to say, Tristan reclaimed his seat. He could only hope that his words had somehow been enough. He was asking much from these people, he knew. But if they would only believe him, they would gain much, as well.
Gunther huddled again with his council members. He looked back at the prince.
“Before making such a huge decision, we will need proof,” he said simply.
Tristan’s mind raced. He looked over at Rafe for guidance, but the chieftain seemed equally stymied. Tristan looked back at Gunther.
“Proof of what?” he asked.
“That you are indeed the prince,” Gunther answered, “and that you are telling the truth about your many promises. Once we have it, we will vote on the matter.”
Tristan thought for a moment. Other than his word and the items hanging around his neck, he had little to offer. Standing again, he grasped the Paragon and gold medallion with one hand and lifted them from his chest for everyone to see. They twinkled brightly in the bonfire’s orange-red light.
“I bear a medallion carrying the heraldry of the House of Galland,” Tristan answered. “There are only two such discs in the entire world. My twin sister, the princess, wears the other. The red jewel around my neck is the Paragon, which allows all magic to flow into those of endowed blood. Surely you have heard of it! Moreover, I alone command the Minions of Day and Night-the flying warriors who helped bring you victory this night. Are these things not enough to prove my identity?”
Shaking his head, Gunther folded his gnarled hands in his lap. “Tell me,” he said. “If I suddenly appeared to you wearing two unremarkable baubles and commanding but twenty fighters, would those things be enough for your citizens to suddenly give up the lives they had known for centuries, and follow me into the unknown? I think not! As I said, we need proof. There is one among us who can either verify or dispel your claims. If we summon her, do you agree to honor her pronouncements about you, whatever they might be?”
Tristan looked quizzically at Rafe. Standing, the highlander chief placed his mouth near the prince’s ear.
“If you have been lying, you must tell me this instant!” Rafe whispered urgently. “If this goes no further, I might be able to convince the elders to spare your life. But if you have been truthful then I suggest you agree with their demands. The one they will call forth will unquestioningly uncover the truth. She is never wrong.”
“Who is she?” Tristan asked.
“Agree, and you will see,” Rafe answered. “Until she is summoned, by highlander law that is all I am allowed to tell an outsider about her.”
Tristan remained adamant. He looked over at the seated elders. “Then bring her, whoever she is,” he said aloud. “I welcome the opportunity to prove myself.”
Gunther nodded. “So be it,” he answered. He looked at Balthazar. “Go and fetch Arwydd,” he ordered. Balthazar obediently disappeared into the crowd.
Tense moments passed. As the bonfire crackled and burned, the pot hanging over its flames continued to spew its mysterious fog. Then Balthazar returned to stand at the crowd’s inner edge. The crowd gradually parted, allowing a narrow pathway to form.
At first Tristan could see no one. Then he heard a strange mixture of sounds. As the crowd parted wider, a woman shuffled into the meeting area. Tristan hadn’t known what to expect. Even so, her appearance surprised him.
The woman named Arwydd was old and haggard. Her feet and hands were bound by rusty chains. Gray hair fell to her shoulders. Unlike the other highlanders’ colorful dress, she wore only a tattered robe. Simple leather sandals adorned her dirty feet. Despite her weathered condition, her brown eyes were bright and missed nothing as they darted around the camp. Her hooked nose rested over a wide mouth. Because she was chained, Tristan guessed that she might be dangerous. Then Tristan discovered another striking feature about the mysterious woman, and his heart went out to her.
A heavy oxen yoke lay slung across her shoulders. Deep and long, the smooth wooden yoke forced her upper body down. Her arms raised to cradle the yoke at either end, the woman shuffled into the circle’s center. More chains led from iron rings in the yoke’s ends to wrap around her body. The chains collected before her abdomen and were secured one to another by a rusty padlock.
As she trod toward the circle’s center, Tristan heard the sounds of tinkling glass. Looking closer, he was again surprised. Many small bottles sat atop the yoke, secured into holes that had been carved into the yoke’s upper surface. Suspended from eyehooks, strange-looking iron tools dangled from the yoke’s ends. They too knocked lightly together as she walked. Tristan noticed that the tools and bottles were positioned in such a way that they were unreachable to her unless she was freed from her chains. The combination of the clinking chains, tinkling bottles, and dangling tools conspired to form an odd chorus that would surely announce her presence wherever she went.
Tristan was enraged. Thinking that he might have misjudged Rafe, he glared harshly at the highlander chieftain.
“This is barbaric!” he hissed. “How can you allow such a thing?”
Like the other highlanders, Rafe seemed unperturbed by the woman’s plight. “Do not be so judgmental before knowing the facts,” he answered. “Her situation is not yours to decide.”
“Who is she?” Tristan demanded.
“She is a Zorian soothsayer,” Rafe answered. “She was captured during one of our raids, when my father led the clan. Because he recognized her talents, he let her live among us. At first we believed that she had accepted us. But then my mother and father suddenly died one night, poisoned. When she was questioned, the old crone gleefully admitted her crime. She laughed about it, dancing in happy celebration before our eyes. It was all I could do to keep the angry crowd from tearing her apart.” Rafe’s expression hardened as he looked into Tristan’s face.
“I became the clan leader the next day,” he added softly. “Perhaps more than anyone, I also wanted her dead. But like my father, I recognized her usefulness. Even so, I couldn’t allow her to go unpunished. Forever carrying the tools of her trade across her back like a beast of burden was my idea. It somehow seemed right. As you might have already gathered, she cannot reach her possessions unless she is freed.”
As he was reminded of his own parents’ murders, Tristan’s attitude toward Rafe softened a bit. He found himself unable to condemn the chieftain, for he had done far worse in seeking justice for the vicious way the Coven had murdered his mother, and forced him to kill his father.
A sudden worry struck Tristan. “If Arwydd hates you all so much, how can you rely on her to tell the truth?” he asked anxiously. “My life seems to depend on what this crone has to say!”
Rafe gave Tristan a flinty look. “Because she knows that if what she says is learned to be false, she will be killed,” he said simply. “We have never known Arwydd to be wrong.”
Looking back at the bent-over soothsayer, Tristan groaned. He could only hope that Rafe was right. He would tell the truth, for his life hung in the balance. But his mind was filled with worry.
“Arwydd!” Gunther called out. “Come here!”
The old woman shuffled over to the head elder. Rising up a bit from beneath the crushing yoke, she looked him in the eyes. Gunther pointed to Tristan.
