On the way back to his tent, Tristan suddenly remembered what it was that had been scratching at the back of his mind. He had been worried about Shadow. Late in the day, as they had neared the place where they were to make camp, the horse had suddenly developed a limp. Tristan could tell that it was nothing serious, but he had made a mental note to check the horse later, after the Minions had bedded him down. Now was as good a time as any.
He thought for a moment about asking a patrol to accompany him, but then decided against it. He would feel foolish about taking them on so short and simple an errand-and besides, he wanted some time to himself. Leaving the relative safety of the camp behind, he starting walking to where the horses were tied. watching through the spyglass, Satine couldn't believe her luck. At last, she thought. She easily recognized the figure leaving the campsite. She even thought she knew where he was headed.
After securing her glass in her cloak, she looked around carefully. She could see no Minion patrols nearby. She descended from the tree. The grass beneath her feet was wet with dew, the better to muffle her footsteps.
As she moved toward her quarry, she reached behind her back and took up the tools of her trade. The horses had been tied to a line that stretched between two large trees in the center of an open meadow. At the edge of the meadow, Tristan called softly to the lone Minion guard to alert him to his approach.
As he neared, the horses came to their feet, whinnying. Shadow's black coat shimmered in the moonlight as he turned his large, dark eyes toward his master. The prince gave him an affectionate rub on the neck.
Tristan had long thought that his former mount, Pilgrim, would never have an equal. But over the course of the last three days he had learned that in terms of sheer speed and endurance, Shadow had no match. A bond was growing between them that might soon eclipse even the one he had shared with Pilgrim. As he rubbed the horse's ears, Shadow snorted and shook his mane.
Tristan looked at the guard. "All is well here?"
The guard nodded. "Yes, Jin'Sai."
Tristan smiled. "Now then," he said to Shadow. "Let's take a look at that foot, shall we, boy?"
Bending over, he coaxed the stallion's right front hoof from the ground and placed it on his bended knee. It was difficult to perform an examination in the moonlight, but he eventually found the problem. There was a long bramble-bush thorn lodged between the horse's shoe and the frog of his foot.
Tristan took out one of his throwing knives. It wasn't a proper tool, but it would have to do. He bent down again.
There was an unexpected breeze, and he heard a dull thud. He coiled up and snapped his head around to see an arrow, its shaft still quivering, buried in the Minion guard's forehead. The warrior's face registered surprise, and then he collapsed to the ground, dead. In shock, Tristan realized that had he not bent over when he had, the arrow would have gone straight through his neck.
He ducked under Shadow's legs and rolled to the other side of the horse, where he stood again, using his horse and the bay mare next to him as cover. The sudden action startled the other two horses, and they danced about nervously, shaking their heads.
Tristan peered over the bay's back. He saw nothing unusual. The horses settled down, and everything was quiet once more. The meadow stretched innocently before him, its dewy grass shimmering in the moonlight. The only cover he could see was the woods that bordered the opposite side of the clearing. It would have been a very long shot with a bow from there, and only an expert archer could have accomplished it.
Hunching down behind the middle horse once more, he caught his breath and tried to decide what to do. His decision was made for him as another arrow sliced through the air and went through the horse's eye.
The mare screamed wildly and died in an instant, tumbling to the ground and leaving Tristan exposed. He caught a glimmer of reflected moonlight streaking toward him. He twisted to avoid the impact, but he was too late. The arrow buried itself in his left shoulder. Had he been a fraction slower, it would have taken him in his heart.
Holding his bleeding shoulder, he leapt toward the nearest tree of the picket line. Landing hard on his knees, he turned and sat up against the tree trunk.
His chest heaving, Tristan looked down at his wound. The arrow was lodged just below the collarbone; he was bleeding profusely, his glowing azure blood bright in the darkness. He needed Wigg, but there was no way he could cross the open meadow and get back to camp without being killed. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to control the pain as best he could.
He broke the arrow shaft in two close to his body. The pain nearly made him faint. Gathering his strength, he pulled out one of his throwing knives and peered around the trunk of the tree.
There was still nothing to see. He retreated behind the tree again, and did his best to stand.
If he tried to run he would be killed, he knew, his azure blood making him an easy target for his assailant. And if he stayed where he was he would soon bleed to death. He cursed his foolishness for having come here alone.
"They told me that you were good," a female voice shouted out unexpectedly. "But I have yet to see any evidence of that."
Satine, he suddenly realized. It had to be.
Peering around the trunk of the tree, Tristan saw a woman standing about ten paces away in the moonlight. She held a bow in one hand, an arrow notched upon its string. She was dressed in black leather. Daggers were strapped to either thigh, and the hilt of a sword was visible just above her right shoulder.
"Come to me," she said. "Your only other choice is to bleed to death. I promise that your death will be quick."
Knowing that he had no choice but to face her, Tristan emerged unsteadily from behind the tree.
He threw the dirk at her with everything he had. But given his blood loss, he couldn't put enough strength behind it. As he watched it go, he collapsed to his knees.
Satine saw the silvery blade flashing toward her in the moonlight and pivoted, her dark cloak swirling about her. The dirk twirled by, missing her cleanly. She dropped her bow, drew her sword, and approached the prince.
"If you still desire an easy death, do not try that again," she said.
As he sat on his heels, his azure blood running down his arm and chest, she walked around him the same way that a cat might toy with a wounded mouse. She took in his strange-looking blood, and the ingenious method by which he carried his throwing knives. She came full circle, to face him once more.
Fighting through the pain, Tristan reached back with his good arm and drew his sword. He had never known it to feel so heavy. Satine simply watched him without protest. As the dreggan cleared its scabbard he could barely point it at her. He swayed woozily. Finally the point of his sword fell to the grass.
He would be unconscious soon, he realized. Then Satine would either leave him here to bleed to death or finish him with her sword. Either way, he would never see Celeste again. Worse yet, the Orb of the Vigors would never be healed, and Wulfgar would win. He stared at her with hatred.
"I thought you preferred blow darts to swords," he said thickly.
Satine smiled. "My identity is no longer a secret," she said. "So, you see, apparent suicide is no longer required. Given your present circumstances, my sword will do the job as well as anything else."
"Why did you kill the gnome and the dwarf?" Tristan asked. Another surge of pain coursed through him and he shuddered. "I know why Wulfgar wants me dead, but why murder Geldon and Lionel? Surely they meant nothing to him."
Satine took another step closer. "To see you all suffer," she answered. "That is how your dear brother wants things done, you see. And I always follow my orders to the letter." She smiled again. "After you are sent to the Afterlife, you will be joined by your sister and the two wizards of the Redoubt. It may take a bit longer, now that they know who I am. But I'm a patient woman."