Wigg rubbed his chin. "Interesting," he said. "Very well, we shall go by horseback. But we should have a phalanx of warriors accompany us with a litter full of supplies. If we need to come home quickly, they can fly us back."
Tristan nodded, then turned to Traax.
"In my absence, I leave Faegan in charge of the Minions. You are to follow his orders as if they were my own. Should Faegan fall in battle, then Shailiha will take charge. Do you understand?"
Traax bowed his head. "It shall all be as you command."
Tristan could see that everyone was tired-especially Tyranny and Shailiha, who had returned home only hours earlier. Further plans could wait while everyone took a break. But first he wanted to make an announcement. He reached for Celeste's hand. She smiled at him.
"This meeting is adjourned for four hours," he said. "But before you all go, there is something I have to tell you." Taking a deep breath, Tristan smiled.
"Three days ago, in Parthalon, Celeste and I were married. We waited to tell you because we wanted you all to hear our good news at the same time."
After a few seconds of shocked silence, the group erupted with joy. Everyone immediately came to hug, kiss, and congratulate the newlyweds. Only Tyranny hung back, momentarily frozen in her chair. But then even she, face white, eyes suspiciously shiny, rose and went to give Tristan a quick kiss on one cheek.
As the hoopla died down, Jessamay unexpectedly raised her voice.
"I'm sorry to have to do this just now," she said, "but with the prince's indulgence, may I please ask that everyone sit back down for a few minutes? I would not ask if it wasn't very important. When you hear what I have to say, you'll understand."
After passing curious looks among themselves, the members of the Conclave returned to their seats.
"What is it?" the First Wizard asked.
Jessamay took a deep breath. "I have something to tell you all," she began. "It is something that only I could know-something that could make a great difference in the impending struggle. I learned of it only after my arrival here at the palace."
The sorceress paused for a few moments. As she did, Shailiha went to take up Morganna and bring the toddler back to the table to sit on her lap. A foreboding silence crept over the room.
When she knew that she had everyone's attention, Jessamay began her tale.
CHAPTER LXII
Pushing with her heels, Satine casually rocked her chair back upon its two rear legs and took another sip of ale. It had gone flat some time ago, but she didn't care. Placing the pewter mug back on the table before her, she carefully looked around.
The tavern was a forlorn, ramshackle place. She sat by a window that looked out on to the street. A small fire burned in the fireplace to her left, occasionally sending the comforting smells of smoke and soot her way.
Other patrons-mostly men-sat at tables nearby, slowly drinking their way into the evening. Although she had received several curious glances when she first walked in, none had approached her, and for that she was thankful. She didn't need any unnecessary attention just now.
Since she had killed Lionel, this was the first time she had departed the quiet, out-of the-way inn where she'd been staying on the other side of Tammerland. Now she kept an eye on the archery shop across the street, waiting until she felt it was safe to venture out to see what word Bratach had for her.
So far she had seen nothing unusual. She had recognized none of the passersby in the street, and she had seen no one loitering about the shop. Several archery customers had come and gone, but that was to be expected.
She lowered the front legs of her chair to the floor. Pulling several low-denomination kisa from her pocket, she let them jangle to the tabletop. Then she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and walked out of the tavern.
Evening was falling and the air had become cooler. Leaning casually up against the outside wall, she looked up and down the street. She saw nothing to concern her. But there were still two customers inside the shop and she wanted them gone before she walked over.
To pass the time she watched a ragged lamplighter approach. Carrying a ladder, he trudged slowly along from one lamp pole to the next. Hunched over and ancient-looking, he was blanketed with soot.
He leaned the ladder up against the pole before the inn and climbed up to remove the globe. He lit the wick, and the lamp came alive, casting his shadow long across the ground. He replaced the globe, then climbed down, picked up his ladder, and slowly made his way toward the next pole.
What a fruitless existence, Satine thought as she watched him. How much better it is to be a huntress. If I die, at least I will die quickly rather than slowly, from sheer boredom.
She suddenly found herself thinking of Aeolus, and the Serpent and the Sword. She had not been back to see her onetime master since she had swung through the skylight and choked one of his students unconscious. She missed the old man, and hoped that he was well. She also missed the hard, ascetic life that the school had once forced her to tolerate, before she had come to love it. Often she wished that she could go back there for good and live in peace. Perhaps one day, she thought. But only after all of this is over.
At the sound of the archery shop door opening and closing, she turned to see the two last customers leaving.
Glad for the darkening night, Satine shifted her weight away from the wall and walked quickly across the street. She opened the door and stepped in, the little bell at the top of the door cheerfully announcing her presence. She lowered the hood of her cloak and looked around.
Ivan was alone, standing behind the counter. When he saw her, his expression darkened. He nervously pointed to the front of the shop.
"Lock the door, turn the sign around, and pull the shades!" he said anxiously. As Satine turned back to do as he asked, he growled, "We expected to see you here before this! Where have you been?"
Satine walked to the counter and gave Ivan a hard look.
"That's my business," she shot back. "Is he here?"
Ivan nodded and waved her around to the other side of the counter. He walked to the rear of the shop and parted the curtains. Cautious as ever, Satine place her hands loosely atop her dagger hilts and followed Ivan down the stairs.
Bratach sat alone at the shabby table. As Ivan and Satine descended into the basement, the consul looked up. He smiled.
"Take a seat," he said to them.
Ivan sat down. Satine turned a chair around to straddle it. Bratach lifted a half-full bottle of wine and held it out to her. Satine shook her head. He refilled his glass.
"Suit yourself," he said. "By the way, Lionel the Little, as he was called, is quite dead. He committed suicide in his own quarters three nights ago-and in the royal palace, of all places. It was a hanging followed by a disembowelment. What a mess! Just imagine the uproar it caused!"
It was clear that despite his sarcasm the consul was impressed-a rare occurrence. Holding the wine glass high, he tipped it in her direction. After talking a sip, he placed the glass back on the table.
"How on earth did you manage it?" he asked. "I half expected never to see you again. But here you are."
Leaning her forearms on the back of the chair, Satine smirked at him.
"No assassination is impossible," she answered. "I thought you might understand that by now. I told you I could do it, and I did." She flashed Bratach a look that was all business.
"I didn't come here to listen to something I already know," she said.
"The sign in the shop window tells me that you have news. It had better be more than the fact that the gnome has met his maker."