The prince had been expecting something like this. Hoping for some tacit advice, he looked over at Wigg. A sour look on his face, the First Wizard shook his head. Faegan did the same. But as Tristan sat there looking at the two women, he felt his heart softening. Finally he made up his mind.
"I'll compromise with you," he said. "Shailiha, you go with Tyranny and Traax. Celeste will join her father and me on our trip to Parthalon."
The two women nodded their agreement. Wigg shook his head angrily, and the telltale vein in his right temple began to throb. Faegan did his best to stifle a smile.
Standing, Tristan adjourned the meeting. He walked to the serving table and poured himself a welcome glass of wine. As the group broke up, he saw Shailiha and Celeste saying goodbye to each other in a far corner of the room.
Suddenly Tyranny was at his side, quiet and serious. Reaching out, she touched his arm.
"Please be careful," she said. As if not quite knowing what to say next, she let go a frustrated sigh. Then she ran one hand through her hair, and her smile reappeared. "If you die over there in Parthalon, I'll kill you."
Tristan snorted, and then took a sip of wine.
"It's true that I don't relish going back into the bowels of the Recluse," he said, "but this Scroll Master doesn't sound like much of a threat. He's probably just some old hermit with spectacles. The truth is I'd much rather be going with you. I have a feeling that is where the real action will be."
Looking into Tyranny's eyes, he thought he saw a hint of moisture there. But she quickly blinked it away. She gave him a rather lingering kiss on the cheek.
"Farewell, Jin'Sai," she said softly.
Before he could respond she headed for the door. Shailiha followed her, stopping to give her brother a long farewell hug. The prince hugged her back.
And you, Tristan thought, as he watched them walk away.
Taking another sip of wine, he turned his thoughts back toward the Recluse.
CHAPTER XXIII
As she walked down the halls of the redoubt, the young acolyte still found herself stunned by its beauty. Even as First Sister Adrian's assistant, she might take years to learn to navigate these multicolored hallways. In fact, she was having difficulty finding her way back to her own quarters. The hour was late, and her usual walk before retiring had turned into something more than she had imagined.
Early in her walk she had come upon Sister Adrian, and the First Sister had revealed some of what had transpired in the meeting of the Conclave. The two had chatted a while and then, after agreeing to make their morning rounds among the wounded together, they had said good night and gone their separate ways.
Now she guessed at which direction to take at yet another intersection guarded by Minion warriors. She chose rightward-and realized that she had guessed correctly. She recognized where she was. Her quarters were two doors down and on the left.
When she reached her door, she called upon the craft. Almost immediately she heard the lock turn over once, then twice more. She grasped the gold handle, gave it a turn, and let herself in.
Her sumptuous quarters still awed her. During her travels as an acolyte, she had never stayed anywhere as elegant as this. The flames in the fireplace still danced merrily, highlighting the ceiling and walls. A scented candle burned on the table by her bed.
She removed her red robe and dropped it onto an overstuffed chair. Dressed only in her silk undergarments, she slipped between the satin sheets of her bed. Life would be good here, she thought.
Lying back in the sheets, she decided to view again the amazing anomaly she had acquired just before the Jin'Sai and his wizards had defeated Wulfgar that night atop the roof of the palace.
Raising her right wrist, she called upon the craft. In response a small incision appeared in her skin. As it did, a single drop of her blood left the wound and came to hover in the air. The incision closed again. As expected, her blood signature formed from the freshly liberated droplet.
Her blood signature appeared proper in every respect. It was clearly right-leaning, illustrating her tendency to practice only the Vigors. It was also free of Forestallments-yet another condition the wizards had insisted upon before granting her membership in the Acolytes of the Redoubt.
Then she narrowed her eyes, and her blood signature began to twist and turn upon itself. As it did, it came to reveal something quite different from what the wizards had seen when they examined it. It now clearly leaned to the left, and dozens of Forestallments branched away from the main body of the signature. With a smile of satisfaction, she caused it to vanish.
Leaning over to one side of the bed, she blew out the candle. In the dying firelight, she committed to memory what she had just learned from Sister Adrian.
Bratach would be pleased.
PART 2 DECEIT
CHAPTER XXIV
Tristan found himself lying on his back in the cool, damp grass. As he sat up, he felt his head spin, but he knew from past experience that the feeling would soon pass. It was still night in Parthalon, but the orange-red furnace of dawn was already starting to creep up over the eastern horizon. As his head cleared he looked around, trying to find Wigg and Celeste.
The First Wizard lay to Tristan's left. He came up onto his elbows, then stood stiffly, shook the dew from his robe, and looked around. The twelve Minion warriors who had been selected to accompany them also began to stir.
Tristan stood, checked his weapons, then went and knelt beside Celeste in the wet grass. She wore a tan leather jerkin, black breeches, and soft brown knee boots. A sword lay at her left hip, its scabbard wet with dew. A sheathed dagger was tied down to her right thigh. He smiled as she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her hair was tousled and she looked sleepy, but she smiled back at him.
"Faegan's portal is quite an experience, isn't it?" she commented groggily.
She pushed her hair from her eyes, then swept a handful over one shoulder. When she tried to stand, she half-fell, half-stumbled against Tristan, and he steadied her.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to traveling in this way," she said.
He smiled again. "I know," he answered. "Still, it's preferable to a thirty-day voyage across the Sea of Whispers."
"Begging your pardon, my lord, but we are assembled and ready to move," a gravelly Minion voice said.
Tristan turned and saw Alrik, the officer Traax had chosen to lead the accompanying warriors. Tristan had liked him the moment they had met. At fifty-two Seasons of New Life, Alrik was a good bit older than the lord he served. His long hair was streaked with gray, but he was as sturdy as a granite boulder. A decades-old battle scar ran from his right cheekbone down to the cleft in his jaw. The eleven other warriors stood at attention just behind him.
Trying to get his bearings, Tristan looked around. He had asked Faegan to deliver them as close to the Recluse as possible, but given the great distance involved and the complex calculations required to operate the portal, such requests might mean little. Now Tristan and Wigg concluded that they did not know where they were.
Tristan addressed Alrik. "Send one of the warriors into the sky to determine our location," he ordered. "I want to be at the Recluse as soon as possible." With a click of his heels, Alrik did as he was asked.
After a short time the warrior returned. "The Recluse is due north," he said. "It is about one hour's walk from our current position. Do you wish litters constructed, Jin'Sai?" he asked.
Tristan shook his head. "By the time you finished them, we'd already be there." He gave a sly look over at the First Wizard. "The walk will do us all good."
With Alrik leading them, they set out for the Recluse. Tristan and Celeste talked to each other as they went. Lost in thought, Wigg walked behind them. The rest of the Minion warriors brought up the rear. After nearly an hour they came up over a short rise, and Tristan recognized where they were.