suspected the craft was at work. I believe she used a technique allowing her to enter my mind. My wizards also perform it, although to a much better degree. But until tonight I didn’t know that partials could also perform the spell. This parlor show was just window dressing, designed to fool you all-it always has been. She got her real answers when she entered my mind-not by reading goat bones! As long as she could trick you into believing that she was merely some sort of soothsayer who worked without the aid of the craft, she could continue to show that she was worth keeping alive.”
Straining as best she could against Balthazar’s iron grip, Arwydd leaned closer and spat directly into Tristan’s face. He calmly wiped it away.
“Very clever, Chosen One,” she said.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “That’s another mistake,” he said. “You just called me ‘Chosen One,’” he said. “Usually only those acquainted with the craft know that phrase. So you admit who you are?” he asked.
“Yes, I admit it!” she shouted, knowing that her ruse had finally run its course. “I only hope I live to see the day when you and your wizards are crushed by the Vagaries!”
From their places in the crowd, Yasmin and Sonya gave each other astonished looks. “So the princeis as clever as he is handsome!” Sonya whispered.
Scowling, Yasmin poked her sister in the ribs, then returned her gaze to Tristan. “Hush!” she whispered back.
Gunther stepped closer. As he stared at Tristan, there was a determined look in his eyes. “I told you that we tolerate no deceivers in our midst,” he said. “I meant what I said.” Gunther looked at Balthazar. “Take this traitorous bitch into the woods and kill her,” he ordered.
Grabbing Arwydd by one wrist, Balthazar started dragging the screaming woman from the clearing. By now, Tristan knew better than to intervene in highlander business. Even so, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her be killed. He was about to risk a protest when Arwydd sealed her own fate.
Twisting violently, she went for the dagger at Balthazar’s hip. Pulling it from its scabbard, she plunged its blade into the giant’s left shoulder. Like the wound meant nothing, Balthazar acted swiftly.
Letting go of her wrist, he took her head into his hands and give it a savage twist. Tristan took a quick breath as he watched the partial adept’s head turn all the way around, her neck bones cracking loudly as it went. Letting go of her, Balthazar stepped back. Arwydd stood there stupidly for a moment; then the light went out of her eyes. She collapsed to the ground like a rag doll, dead where she lay.
Rafe stepped closer to Tristan. There was a deep look of appreciation on his face.
“When you asked to see Arwydd’s blood, I thought you mad,” he said. “Now all I can do is to offer you my thanks. My parents have finally been avenged.”
“I understand all too well,” Tristan answered.
Then he saw Yasmin and Sonya approach. After giving Tristan a knowing look, Yasmin went to Balthazar. She grasped the dagger by the handle.
“Gather your strength,” she said.
Knowing what was coming, Balthazar nodded. Yasmin quickly pulled the knife from his shoulder. Smiling, she looked at Tristan again.
“It seems that I must sew up more than one man’s wounds tonight,” she said. As she started leading Balthazar away, she turned and gave the prince a final look. “You know where you can find me if you wish,” she said quietly.
Grinning widely, Rafe slapped Tristan on the back. “Your work for the night might not be over!” he said laughingly.
Tristan gave Rafe a smirk. “What about the vote?” he asked.
They turned to see the elders huddling in animated conversation. It went on for some time. Finally Gunther walked back to where Tristan and Rafe were standing.
“Will you vote now?” Rafe asked.
“We already have done so,” Gunther answered. “There is no need for you to add your vote, for it won’t change the outcome.”
“And that is?” Rafe asked.
“Seven to three in favor,” Gunther answered. “We have accepted the prince’s offer.” Gunther held out his hand to Tristan. They shook hands, sealing the deal.
“As of this moment, you have nearly one thousand highlander horsemen on your hands, Your Highness,” Gunther said. “The rest of the clan will follow them to Tammerland. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Tristan smiled. “So do I,” he answered. “But no matter what else happens, know that I will keep my part of the bargain.”
“You’d best do so,” Gunther warned him. “Clan Kilbourne would make for a determined enemy.”
Tristan smiled again as he thought about what Wigg and Faegan would say when the Minion scouts told them that a highlander clan was coming, with Tristan leading them. Both the wizards disliked highlanders, Tristan knew. Making the two mystics comfortable with this new arrangement would take some doing.
Gunther looked at the night sky. “It will be dawn in a few hours,” he said. “I suggest that we get some sleep. At sunrise we will bury our dead, then break camp and head for Tammerland. I bid you good night.”
Rounding up the other council members, Gunther escorted them from the meeting place. When the crowd saw the elders leaving, they too started walking away. As they left, some looked at Tristan with curiosity, others with worry, and still more with outright scorn. Soon Tristan and Rafe were left alone with only the bonfire, the stars, and their concerns about tomorrow. Looking at the ground, Rafe worried a pebble with the toe of one boot.
“It will take much more than what happened here tonight for you to gain the entire clan’s respect, you know,” he said. “You have won the right to command our horsemen how and when you wish, but nothing else. The elders and I still govern the clan. You need to remember that.”
Tristan nodded at his new friend. Something told him that before too long, he and Rafe would be riding into danger together.
“I know that my powers are limited,” he answered. “You have my word that I will not overstep them.”
“Good,” Rafe said. “Will you walk with me?”
Tristan shook his head. “You go on ahead. I have some thinking to do.”
“Very well,” Rafe said. “Until dawn, Jin’Sai. ”
Tristan smiled slightly. “Until dawn,” he answered.
Tristan stood alone by the bonfire as he watched Rafe’s lean figure disappear among the shadows. Only then did he pick his weapons up from the grass and start his way back into the camp’s heart.
As he walked among the wagons and surviving clanfolk, stark remnants of the recent battle again came into view. Dead Zorian bodies still lay where they had fallen, but the Kilbourne dead had been taken away. Blood lay on the ground in random patterns, its darkness shiny against the surrounding grass. Some highlanders were still awake beside their campfires, talking excitedly about what their new lives might bring.
Looking at the sky, Tristan smiled as he saw a silhouetted Minion patrol cross darkly before the three magenta moons. Good for you, Hector, he thought. That’s one mistake we’ll never make again.
For better or worse, he realized that he was slowly wending his way back toward Yasmin’s wagon. He knew that she would be waiting there, lying in the dark and wondering whether he would come to her. Finally nearing her wagon, he sat down on a stool. A campfire still burned, and an abandonedtachinga jug lay near his feet. It seemed that no one else was awake. That’s just as well, he thought.
After taking a deep drink from the jug, Tristan placed it back down on the ground, then put his head in his hands. Bone-tired, he sat that way for some time, thinking. So much had happened in the last few days that he scarcely knew how to interpret it all. Looking around the campsite, he shook his head.
I beg the Afterlife, he thought, what have I done? I am about to lead an entire group of people on a life- changing exodus. How will I ever live up to their expectations?
Then he remembered Celeste.
Tears overtook his eyes; he brushed them away. What would she want for him? he wondered. He remembered her last letter to him, the one she had saved until her death. The letter still lay on the fireplace mantel in his palace quarters, the golden vase holding her ashes standing beside it. That’s all that remained of her. Mere ashes, and nothing more. That’s all that will eventually remain of any of us, he realized. In the end, all that matters is how we lived, and who we loved.
