"Citizens, subjects, and friends!" he began loudly. "I am Prince Tristan, son of Nicholas and Morganna, the late king and queen of Eutracia! You have been invited to this hall in peace, and no harm will befall you. I know you have many questions and concerns, and we on the dais will attempt to answer them for you. Before that begins, I must tell you the story of how and why our nation has arrived at this crossroads. It is a tale that you may find incredible. But it is true, nonetheless."
Pausing, Tristan looked out over the crowd. The faces staring back at him looked angry and skeptical, and not a few of them glowered with outright hatred. But all were silent. For the time being, at least, they seemed willing to hear what he had to say.
He went on to tell them of the attack by the Coven of Sorceresses, of how Shailiha had been kidnapped, and of what he and Wigg had suffered to bring her and the Paragon home again. He explained the return of his son Nicholas from the Afterlife, and the subsequent construction and destruction of the Gates of Dawn, followed by his son's death. Lastly he told them of the Scrolls of the Ancients, and of his lost half brother named Wulfgar, who had tried to employ the scrolls to pollute the Orb of the Vigors. He went on to say that this was the manifestation of the craft that had already wounded so many of them and caused the destruction of Brook Hollow.
He introduced each person on the dais, explaining the various contributions each of them had made in the name of their nation. By prior agreement with Faegan and Wigg, when he introduced Adrian he was careful to make no mention of the secret order of the Acolytes of the Redoubt. When he finally finished, he cast his gaze back and forth over the crowd, searching for reactions. They weren't long in coming.
The first to address him was a man dressed in modest peasant garb. He looked tired and worn, and his right hand had obviously been recently bandaged. Jumping to his feet, he raised his injured limb and pointed it at the prince.
"Liar!" he shouted loudly. "You say your newly formed Conclave wishes to protect us from the orb! But what you really want to do is to kill us all! Don't lie to us! I saw you do it, that day you destroyed Brook Hollow! You and your wizard came flying out of the east in the litter your winged monsters carried. Then I saw Wigg raise his arms and cause the orb to fly directly over the town and turn it to ash! What other cities have you ordered that abomination of the craft to destroy, while at the same time you try to blind us with your little speeches about goodwill, eh? Don't lie to me! I lost my wife and both my sons in Brook Hollow! I watched them die, helpless to do anything about it! If I thought I could get away with it, I'd kill you right now with my bare hands! You aren't half the man your father was, and everyone here knows that!"
As others in the crowd began to shout and wave their fists in agreement, the man who had just berated Tristan suddenly took a brazen step toward the dais. Traax immediately leaped to his feet and drew his dreggan.
Hearing the blade's familiar ring, Tristan snapped around. He shook his head, tacitly ordering the warrior to stand down. It was clear that the situation could rapidly deteriorate, and violence was the last thing he wanted. His face a mask, Traax finally slid the sword back into its scabbard and reluctantly took his seat.
Even though Tristan had not been prepared to hear it, sadly he had to admit that the bereaved man actually made a sort of perverse sense. Had their roles been reversed, Tristan could imagine himself coming to the same conclusion-especially considering all of the false, hateful tales circulating about him. But before he could formulate a reply, Wigg came to stand by his side.
"The truth is that I was trying to turn the orb away from the village, not toward it," the First Wizard said to the crowd, "but I was unsuccessful. If you choose not to believe me, there is little I can do about it. But before you make up your minds, there is something I would like to show you all."
Raising one arm, Wigg pulled back the sleeve of his robe. Despite the spell of accelerated healing he had placed over it, the skin of his arm still looked raw and painful.
"This is my reward for trying to help you," the wizard said, as he held his arm up for all to see. Lowering it again, he placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. "We must all fight this disaster together if we are to have any hope of succeeding. The rupture of the orb is the greatest threat we have ever faced, including the return of the Coven of Sorceresses."
"But I saw you kill your own father!" a woman shouted at the prince, jumping to her feet. She had two small children by her side. "You can't deny that!" Her voice was nearly hysterical. "I was there! It is said that you carry that very sword to this day!"
Looking down at her, Tristan took a measured step forward. Silence crept over the room. Reaching behind his back, he slowly drew his dreggan. As it left its scabbard, the blade sent its familiar ring through the air.
"Do you mean this one?" he asked.
Then he calmly pushed the hidden button on the hilt that was common to all such Minion swords. He felt the dreggan jump in his hand as its blade immediately shot forward by another foot. Many in the crowd jumped back in their seats.
"Yes," Tristan said. To anyone who knew him well, it was clear that his frustration was beginning to seep through. "This is the sword that I used to kill my father! I admit it. Had I not, the warrior Kluge would have killed your king slowly, hewing him to pieces." Walking still closer to the edge of the dais, the prince looked down at the woman.
"So you tell me," he said. "Given only those two choices, had it been your father's head upon the block, what would you have done?"
Tristan thrust the tip of the blade into the carpeted dais. The sword stood upright before him, swaying gently back and forth. When it slowed, he took another step nearer, he opened his palms, and raised them for all to see.
"Look at my hands!" he shouted. "Do you see these scars? I put them there myself, when I took a blood oath to find my parents' killers and to bring the princess and the Paragon back to Eutracia! If we are to have any hope of surviving both the ruptured orb and those who would use it against us, you must trust the Conclave!"
"And what if we do believe all of your rubbish?" another man yelled. Around him, others had jumped to their feet and were talking with one another in urgent tones.
"We don't trust the craft, and we don't trust your dealings with it!" the man went on. "The craft has brought us nothing but suffering and death, while its practitioners constantly vie for control of it! As far as we know, you may be as bad as these supposed enemies you speak of-or perhaps even worse! And pray, tell us, my lord, with King Nicholas now dead by your own hand, do you profess to be our new sovereign?"
Tristan lowered his head. The title of king was once something he would have done anything to avoid. Now he found that he wanted it with all his heart. He had yet to formally take the oath that would grant him that privilege. Eutracian law stated that until he did so, he would remain prince. For some time he had kept silent about his reasons for waiting. But now he decided that he should reveal his feelings both to his subjects and to the newly formed Conclave.
Beckoning Wigg closer, Tristan walked to the very edge of the platform. When Wigg reached him, Tristan leaned over and whispered into the First Wizard's ear.
A skeptical look came over Wigg's face. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered back.
"Just do it," the prince said under his breath. He held out his right arm.
A small incision formed in Tristan's wrist. Under Wigg's guidance, a single drop of azure blood rose from the wound and hovered in the air.
From beneath his robes, the First Wizard produced a small pewter vial. He opened it and caused a single drop of the red water of the Caves of the Paragon to come floating through the air toward the single drop of Tristan's blood. There was a pause, and then the two raced toward each other and joined. As they did, a hush came over the crowd.