Looking down at the table, Wigg laced his long fingers together. A grim silence fell over the room.
Tristan looked to Faegan. "What can you tell us about the orb that might help us heal the rupture?" he asked. Despite his exhaustion, his mind was alive with questions.
But Faegan was not ready to answer. "With your permission, I think we should adjourn," he said. "Everyone is exhausted, and Wigg is injured. Besides, he and I need to research this further, if we are to give you a proper answer."
Reluctantly, Tristan nodded. "Very well," he said. "But I want everyone with the exception of Geldon to stay in the palace for now." He looked at Traax. "And I want those search parties sent out immediately. For all we know, the orb could be bearing down on Tammerland this very moment."
Traax nodded. "I live to serve," came his traditional reply.
Tristan gave Tyranny a short smile. "I trust you will not mind accepting our hospitality for a while longer," he said. Not knowing quite what to say, Tyranny smiled back.
"I have one other request," Tristan announced. He looked first at Shailiha, then at Abbey and Adrian.
"The three of you have been treating the wounded in the courtyard and the palace," he said. "Have you gotten any sense of the general feeling among them?"
"We have," Adrian answered. "Most of them remain distrustful of both us and the Minions. Frankly, I can't say I blame them."
"Precisely," Tristan said. "But I think we might be able to turn this awful situation to some useful purpose."
"What are you talking about?" Wigg asked.
"Tomorrow morning I want Shailiha, Abbey, and Adrian to try to convince as many of the refugees as possible to meet with us in the Chamber of Supplication," Tristan said. "They need to be told that the heir to the throne still lives, and that I care about them. This tragedy belongs to all of us, and I want to use it to bring us all back together again, if I can. If we can convince even a few, the word will spread. I realize it will only be a small beginning, but we must try. I want everyone in this room to be there with me."
Wigg and Faegan exchanged smiles.
"Then we are adjourned," Tristan said.
As Tristan led the way from the meeting room, Faegan silently indicated to Wigg that he wanted the First Wizard to stay behind. Wigg nodded back, and then whispered to Abbey that he would meet her later in her private quarters. Abbey was reluctant to leave him, for she was anxious to examine his wounds more closely, but she knew better than to try to change his mind.
When the two wizards were alone, Faegan came straight to the point.
"There is only one way to save the orb, you know," he said.
Wigg nodded. "The Tome states that only the Jin'Sai may heal such damage," he said. "To do that, he must first be trained. And in order for him to be trained, his blood must first be returned to its original state. Why didn't you tell him?"
Faegan sighed. "It wouldn't have been fair," he answered. "I think we owe it to him to inform him in private. I know one thing for sure, old friend. There is far more to all of this than first meets the eye."
"Wulfgar?" Wigg asked. "Do you think he is still alive?"
Faegan sat back in his chair. Wigg could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
"I wish I knew, First Wizard," Faegan answered softly. "I wish I knew."
One of the hearth logs slipped down in the grate. Slowly it collapsed into charred ash while the two ancient mystics sat in silence.
Tristan entered his personal quarters, celeste right behind him. She watched fondly as he unbuckled his sword belt and baldric, and tossed his weapons onto a chair. Then the knee boots came off. In stocking feet, he walked to the windows and closed the draperies.
Celeste smiled. He was filthy from head to toe, and a dark growth of stubble covered his face, yet even so disheveled, he was still the handsomest man she had ever seen.
Returning to her side, he took her in his arms and he kissed her. Closing her eyes, she let herself luxuriate in his presence for a moment. How good it felt to have him back.
"Your time with the orb-was it as awful as Father said?" she asked. Then she saw his face fall, and she immediately regretted her question. His dark eyes looked down into hers with a terrifying sadness.
"Yes," he answered. "It was more horrible than you could possibly imagine. Even after seeing it with my own eyes, I still find it hard to believe. Right now, however, more discussion about the orb is not what I desire."
Celeste smiled mischievously. "Just what might you desire, my lord?" she asked. "Something that I, your humble servant, might be able to provide?" Then she remembered that the wizards had forbidden them to be together in that way.
"Sleep," Tristan answered, his eyes half closed. "I want to sleep for one hundred years."
He walked over to the huge four-poster bed and collapsed upon it, dirty clothes and all. Holding one arm out, he beckoned to her, and she went to lie beside him, her head on his chest. In the silence of the room, she could hear the comforting beat of his heart. Then she realized that there might be no better time to tell him what she must.
"Tristan," she whispered. "There is something that you need to know." Raising her head, she looked into his face. His eyes were already closed.
"Tristan?" she asked softly.
No answer came. Her prince was asleep.
CHAPTER IX
As satine guided her black gelding through the by-ways of Tammerland, she took in the sights and sounds of the human suffering that seemed to fill the streets. She was not surprised by what she saw, because Bratach had explained both the condition of the orb, and its expected effect. Following a discreet distance behind the carriage-of-four that the consul had hired, she quickly realized that even his detailed description had not done the situation justice.
It was afternoon in Tammerland. The gray sky threatened heavy rain at any moment. Pre-storm winds rose occasionally, picking up litter from the streets, where grim groups of citizens served in makeshift burial details, pushing wheelbarrows or pulling handcarts piled high with corpses. Arms, legs, and heads hung over the carts' lips; the lifeless eyes stared out into space, giving the unnerving impression that they could still see.
Pulling her horse to a stop for a moment, Satine reached into her cloak and removed a black silk scarf. Hoping to keep the stench of death from her nostrils, she tied it around the lower part of her face. She clucked to her horse and they began moving again.
She hadn't wanted to come into Tammerland this soon. Too many people knew her here. She had hoped that this visit could wait until later, after she had drawn out her primary targets. Then she could finish her sanctions quickly and retire. But Bratach wanted to be sure that she was familiar with the address he had given her, the place he referred to as his sanctuary on this side of the Sea of Whispers. She would soon have need of it, he told her.
Narrowing her eyes slightly, she realized that she still didn't know what he had meant by that.
She remained in awe of the technique the consul had employed to slip them safely past the prince's fleet. Bratach had finally ordered the frigate anchored just off the Cavalon Delta. After augmenting his spell to keep the ship invisible in his absence, Bratach had ushered Satine and a group of armed demonslavers into a skiff, in which they had made their way up the Sippora River to the very outskirts of Tammerland proper. Only then had Bratach caused himself and Satine to become visible again. The skiff and her demonslavers had departed, heading back to the frigate waiting offshore.
Bratach's carriage stopped. Satine knew Tammerland well, for she had been raised there. But the city held bad memories, and the sooner she was gone, the better. She had two errands to perform, and then her mission could begin.