Looking west to the coast, Tyranny hung her head.
CHAPTER LXXII
As Tristan sat before the campfire, he absentmindedly poked at its blazing logs with a dry stick. His dreggan and throwing knives lay in the grass beside him. The fire was comforting, and the nighttime sky was full of stars. It would be a pleasant night for sleeping, he thought.
Two tents sat in the center of the clearing by the road. One belonged to Tristan and Celeste, the other to Wigg. The tents surrounding them were Minion quarters. The horses were picketed nearby.
Wigg, Celeste, and Ox sat there with Tristan, their faces highlighted by the fire. They had been traveling for three days now. That morning Wigg had told them that the pull from the River of Thought was growing ever stronger. He guessed that they would reach the Well of Forestallments in one more day, two at the most.
More than once the anxious wizard had tried to gallop ahead to test Adrian's warning that if he went too fast, he would outrun the effects of the spell. Sure enough, each time he tried, he quickly lost the sensation-only to have it return when he slowed down again. The necessarily slow pace of the journey did nothing to improve Wigg's mood. Like Tristan, he sensed Celeste's life quickly ebbing away, and his frustration and anger grew by the moment.
The remains of their roast venison dinner lay nearby. The Minions were good cooks, and Tristan shared their love of rare meat. Over the course of the trip the prince had begun to develop a taste for akulee, even though it was much harder on his head than the ale or wine he was used to.
After a good bit of cajoling, he had even managed to get the wizard to try some. Against his better judgment, Wigg had cautiously taken a sip. Then his face screwed up and he spat it out. Over the last three hundred years he had become accustomed to the best wine the palace cellars had to offer. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, the First Wizard had proclaimed akulee to be the vilest concoction ever created. Tristan and Celeste had laughed at him, and the rare, comic interlude had done them all good.
Tristan looked over at Wigg. The wizard's hands were shoved into the opposite sleeves of his robe. The Paragon hung about his neck, firelight dancing in its bloodred facets. Lost in his thoughts, he stared into the fire.
"Can we beat him?" Tristan asked.
Everyone understood all too well that he referred to his half brother, Wulfgar. Celeste laid her head upon her husband's shoulder.
Wigg sighed. "Who knows?" he answered. "Maybe-but only if we can find the Well, if it exists at all. And then we must convince this Scroll Master to help us. But I would be lying to you if I said that the odds against us weren't long. And I fear that our time grows short."
He looked over at Celeste, his face rueful. "I'm sorry, my child," he said. "How are you feeling?"
As Celeste gathered her shawl about her, Tristan pulled her closer. He felt her shiver.
"I'm all right, Father," she answered. "Really I am." Looking up into Tristan's face, she smiled. "The two of you worry about me too much."
She's lying, Wigg thought. Just the same, he loved her for it, and his heart was breaking.
During the last two days Celeste's movements had become noticeably stiffer and her limp more pronounced. Her hair was grayer and she had lost even more weight. Using the craft, Wigg did all he could to ease her pain, but even he had been only partially successful. Yesterday's examination of her blood signature revealed that even more of it had vanished.
It killed him to see his only child wasting away before his eyes. Before long, she would look as old as he did. And he knew that Tristan was hurting for her just as much as he was, perhaps even more.
Wigg turned his craggy face back to the fire. We simply have to reach the Scroll Master in time, he thought. So much depends upon it.
He stood and brushed the loose grass from his robe. "I will be retiring," he announced. "I hope you sleep well."
The others bid him good night.
Celeste looked up at Tristan again. "I'm also tired, my love" she said. She stood with difficulty. "Are you coming?"
"In a little while," he answered. "It's a beautiful night. I'd like to sit by the fire with Ox for a while longer."
Celeste smiled. "I had almost forgotten how much you love being outdoors," she said. She looked over at Ox. "Goodnight," she said.
The warrior gave her a short smile. "Ox say goodnight, too," he answered.
Tristan watched her enter their tent, then turned back to the fire. Silence reigned between him and the warrior for a time.
"The wizard be very worried," Ox said. "Ox worried, too. We reach Well tomorrow, Ox hope. I no want see Wigg's daughter die."
Ever since the episode at the Gates of Dawn, Ox had considered Tristan his personal charge. During their first conflict with Wulfgar, he had come to feel the same way about Celeste and Shailiha. When he had learned that Tristan and Celeste had married, in his happiness he had consumed an entire jug of akulee by himself. Despite his great size, his head had hurt for the next two days.
"I know, my friend," Tristan answered. "I know."
Ox handed the akulee jug to the prince. As the tree frogs sang and the fire snapped, Tristan took another slow, welcome drink. nestled securely in the branch of a tree, a figure dressed in black leather watched the campsite. Satine had been forced to slither toward the tree very slowly. More than once, Minion patrols had nearly spotted her.
She took up the small spyglass that hung from a leather cord at her hip. Before she had begun the night's surveillance, she had carefully rubbed the instrument with dirt so that it would not shine in the moonlight. She had done the same to her face and hands. She lifted the glass to one eye, extended it, and twisted it.
The magnifying lenses brought everything into sharp relief. This was the second time tonight that she had viewed the campsite through the glass. The first time, she had watched her targets eating. Now she watched as the prince, the wizard, and his daughter finally retired, leaving a giant Minion guard alone by the dwindling fire.
Shifting her position in the tree, Satine stretched her back and lowered the glass. It would be a long night, but if she could just catch one of them away from the campsite, she would be that much closer to completing her sanctions. If the warriors continued to fly over the road tomorrow, she could sleep briefly in her saddle.
She looked up at the three moons. It occurred to her that they beamed down upon not only her and her targets, but also upon Aeolus, Shamus, and Evelyn. The three moons bind us together in a way, she thought.
She was also reminded of Wigg comforting his daughter, and of Tristan perhaps holding her close as he lay by her side. She thought of Shamus and Evelyn in their bed together, and of what the consul had told her, as well as what Aeolus had said just before she left Tammerland. Their contradictory messages ate at her, feeding the growing seeds of doubt.
She pushed her thoughts away and turned her dark eyes back toward the campsite. Tristan started from a fitful sleep. it took him a few moments to recognize his surroundings, then he relaxed.
Rising on one elbow, he looked over at Celeste. She slept peacefully. Given his restlessness, he knew that it would do little good to try to go back to sleep. What he needed was a walk. He kissed his wife on the cheek, then slipped from beneath the blanket, quietly took up his weapons, and stepped from the tent.
The night was crisp, the moons bright. Ox lay asleep by the fire, his snoring as loud as ever. Tristan smiled. One could have far worse friends, he thought.
He stretched his sleepy muscles, then strapped both the dreggan and his throwing knives into place across his back. He walked to the other tents and talked with some of the warriors just back from patrol. They were glad to see him and happily shared their akulee.