Rafe untied the bag and looked inside. At once his face blanched and twisted into a terrible grimace. Closing his eyes, he dropped the bag to the ground, then turned his face away.
“What is it?” Tristan asked. Forgetting himself for a moment, he started to reach for the fallen bag. Before he could grasp it, Balthazar roughly shoved him aside. Saying nothing, Balthazar picked up the bag and looked in. A hateful look overcame his face as well. He too dropped the bag like it was cursed.
“Zorian traitors!” he growled. “You will pay for this!” Shaking his fists in the air, Balthazar raged against the night. “Do you hear me, you bastard sons of a thousand fathers? This insult will cost you your lives!”
As other highlanders crowded around, Tristan reached down to retrieve the bloody bag. He did not wish to offend anyone, but he had to know. He pulled the bag open and looked inside.
It contained a severed male head. It was bloody, and cut many times by what had probably been a razor-sharp dagger. The eyes had been sewn shut with bits of coarse leather, and its teeth pulled out by some crude instrument. Clearly, the man had been tortured before being killed. Closing the bag, Tristan respectfully placed it back onto the ground, then looked at Yasmin.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
“Our truce with the Zorian clan has ended,” she said sadly. “The head in the bag is that of Casimir, Rafe’s brother.”
“The Zorians are a rival clan?” Tristan asked.
Yasmin nodded. “They are butchers, rapists, and cutthroats-including their women.”
“Casimir was captured by them?” Tristan asked, trying to understand.
“No,” she answered. “During a truce it is often customary for each side to exchange hostages. The hostages are almost always persons of importance. As long as the hostages live, so does the truce. By killing Casimir and sending his head, the Zorian elders have ended the truce. A challenge has been made. Rafe has but one choice left to him now.”
Looking over, Tristan watched Rafe turn back around. The highlander chieftain’s face was resolute. Yasmin placed her lips near Tristan’s ear.
“Whatever happens, you must not interfere. This is highlander business. Rafe likes you, but he will tolerate nodango intrusions.”
Rafe nodded harshly at Balthazar. Understanding, the giant quickly walked away.
“We should sit,” Yasmin whispered into Tristan’s ear. “We have no part in this.”
The prince sat down on the dewy grass. Yasmin sat beside him. Despite the tense circumstances, he was struck by how comfortable her presence felt.
Balthazar soon returned with a bound prisoner in tow. The man was about Tristan’s age. His face was dark and cruel-looking, and his long hair fell about his shoulders. His hands were tied behind him.
Several more Kilbourne clansmen came forward. Two of them carried a thick, rough-hewn pole. They quickly pounded it into the ground before the bonfire. Pushing his prisoner toward the pole, Balthazar viciously shoved the man’s back up against it.
The two other highlanders quickly untied the prisoner’s hands, then bound them tightly again behind the pole. They then did the same to his feet. Placing a leather strap around the man’s forehead, Balthazar pulled the strap tight and tied it, pinning the man’s head to the pole.
Rafe picked up thetachinga amphora and took a long drink. He carelessly let the amphora drop to the ground. Unsheathing his silver dagger, Rafe walked toward the prisoner.
His dagger hanging loosely from his right hand, Rafe glared at the prisoner’s dark face. The bonfire highlighted the man’s sharp, unrepentant glare. Aside from the snapping flames, the tense campsite had gone totally silent.
Tristan turned to Yasmin. “Is the man tied to the pole your Zorian hostage?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Yasmin whispered back. “He is the Zorian chieftain’s second son.”
Reaching out, Rafe impassively drew his dagger across the prisoner’s offered throat. The man coughed blood for a moment, some of it running down his chest. Soon his head slumped forward. Sheathing his dagger, Rafe took out his sword. With a single stroke, he beheaded the corpse. The head tumbled to the grass.
“It is done,” Yasmin whispered.
Picking up the head by its hair, Balthazar held it high for everyone to see. He then walked back to where the canvas bag lay. Removing Casimir’s head, he reverently wrapped it in cloth, then handed it to one of the female elders. He put the other head into the bag and knotted the string. Balthazar casually tossed the bloody bag to the young highlander who had first brought it into the camp. As he wiped the blood from his sword, Rafe turned to look at him.
“Dump that trash at the edge of the Zorian camp where they will be sure to find it,” he ordered softly. Bowing, the young highlander picked up the bloody bag and hurried for his horse.
Yasmin leaned closer to Tristan. “Rafe will want to be alone,” she whispered. Despite all that had happened, her eyes still held the predatory yearning that had filled them before. As the firelight highlighted her sensual face, Tristan again felt himself drawn to her.
“He will retire to his wagon and so will I,” she said. “Things have changed. Much will happen tomorrow.” She placed a warm palm against Tristan’s cheek. As her lips neared his again, he sensed the heat building inside him. “What is your decision?” she asked. “Will you come with me?”
Reaching out, Tristan clenched some of her tresses in one hand. Closing his eyes, he luxuriated in its wonderful scent. Looking her squarely in the face again, he commandingly pulled her hair, ordering her closer. She smiled. A quick series of master-slave signals shot back and forth between their eyes. But which of us is the master, and which the slave? he wondered.
“I…,” Tristan said. Then he froze.
A screaming man had suddenly charged into the camp, his sword held high. Dressed all in black and with a black scarf tied across his lower face, he was heading straight for Rafe’s back.
“Rafe!” Tristan screamed.
Rafe turned just in time to see the killer coming and he too raised his sword. As the intruder lashed out with his blade, Rafe deftly sidestepped the bow then took the man’s head off at the shoulders.
Seconds later, the entire camp erupted into pandemonium. Women screamed, men hollered out urgent orders, and the sounds of clashing sword blades filled the night. Tristan stood and spun around to look.
Figures dressed all in black had invaded the camp. Some on foot and some on horseback, they were cutting down men, women, and children with abandon. No one needed to tell the prince who they were.
As fast as his feet could take him, Tristan ran for Rafe’s wagon. Reaching inside, he frantically searched for his dreggan and knife quiver. But just as he found them, he felt Rafe’s strong grip on his wrist. As he turned to look at the chieftain, Tristan’s face turned into a vicious snarl.
“Don’t be a fool!” he shouted. “You need my sword! And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll order that my warriors be freed and their weapons returned to them! I swear on my life that we will not take up arms against you!”
Cursing, Rafe shook his head back and forth for a moment, then finally relented. He shouted at Balthazar. The huge highlander came running. “Do as thedango says!” Rafe ordered him. Running across the clearing, Rafe drew his sword and joined the fray.
Tristan grabbed the giant by the shoulders. “Go to my warriors and free them!” he shouted. “Give them their weapons, then tell them to find me! Tell them it is an order from theirJin’Sai! I know that phrase means nothing to you, but when they hear it they will instantly obey, and not harm you! Go!” Balthazar gave Tristan a confused look, then ran off to do as he had been told.
Wheeling around, Tristan quickly situated the knife quiver over his right shoulder. He drew his dreggan and tossed its baldric aside. Then he heard Yasmin scream.
At first he couldn’t find her amid all the confusion, mayhem, and sudden death. By now many wagons were ablaze, fighters were
dying all around him, and insane wailing filled the night. Suddenly he heard her scream again, and he whirled around.
About ten meters away, a figure in black had pinned her to the ground. Holding a dagger to her throat, he was viciously trying to tear off what remained of her clothes. Yasmin was fighting back furiously, but Tristan knew that her attacker would soon take what he wanted. Tossing his dreggan from his right hand over into his left, Tristan immediately reached back over his shoulder.
Let my aim be true, he prayed. His right arm a blur, he sent the knife whirling end over end across the clearing.
CHAPTER XXXVII
STANDING AT ONE OF THE BLACK SHIPS’ STARBOARDgunwales, Shailiha, Adrian, and Tyranny felt the bracing ocean wind against their faces. Although all three women were tired, being at sea again was welcome.
It was just after midnight on the Sea of Whispers. The winds were steady, helping the Conclave make good time as their fleet plowed its way east, toward the Citadel. The sky was clear, allowing the stars to twinkle brightly. Their pitching forms dark as night, the remaining five Black Ships dutifully followed Tyranny’s flagship.
Because the vessels had been returned to the Conclave’s service, Jessamay had suggested that they be reanointed with their original names. The Conclave had wholeheartedly approved. The Black Ships were once again theEphyra, theIllendium, theMalvina, theFlorian, theCavalon, and theTammerland. Tyranny had chosen theTammerland as her personal flagship.
The fleet’s departure had come earlier than planned. After returning from their meeting with Aeolus, the three women and Wigg had discovered that the vessels were ready to depart, several hours ahead of schedule. Because time was essential, Shailiha decided to sail immediately.
As usual, Faegan intended to remain behind and concentrate on his research. But the more he thought about the mission, the more the Citadel’s untold mysteries beckoned. Moreover, his unique gifts might be needed, because not one Conclave member truly knew what dangers they might be facing. At the last moment he had agreed to come along. As a precaution he had hurriedly packed the specialized craft tools needed to conjure his azure portal, among other wizardly items.
Abbey remained behind. Should the prince return home, Wigg wanted someone in authority to inform Tristan about recent events, including the surprise visit to Aeolus. Although she was disappointed, Abbey had accepted her passive assignment graciously, and had promised Shailiha that she would take good care of Morganna.
Cupping her hands against the wind, Tyranny lit a cigarillo, then tossed the dead match over the side. As she cast an expert gaze over her huge flagship, she smiled.
The Black Ships were plowing through the waves, rather than flying over them. After weighing anchor, Adrian and her acolytes had powered the vessels through the air for several hours. They had made amazingly good time. But the women had eventually tired, forcing the fleet to sail for a time in the traditional way. It would be back and forth like this all the way to the Citadel, Tyranny knew. When the fleet was aloft, little work was needed from the Minion crewmen. But now that the ships were afloat, the warriors were busy.
As she watched them go about their duties, Tyranny had to admit that the Minions were superior to human crewmembers in every way. Male and female warriors swarmed expertly over the ships’ decks. Others worked the sails and rigging, adjusting them quickly to the shifting weather conditions. Winging their way aloft, they rose confidently to the great heights commanded by the vessels’ towering masts, then hovered as they worked. Unlike human crewmembers, warrior patrols could scout the sea for leagues in every direction, and did so constantly. And perhaps most important, Tyranny knew the warriors’ fighting abilities firsthand.
The Black Ships had been loaded nearly to the sinking point with warriors, food, and weapons. If the attack on the Citadel became protracted, these precious cargoes would have to sustain the siege until victory was won. Given how fast the ships were traveling while so heavily burdened, Tyranny could only guess at their speed after some provisions had been consumed, and the vessels became lighter. Compared to the ships and crews she was used to commanding, the Conclave privateer had never felt so powerful or so confident.
A wry look overtook her face as she took a final drag on the cigarillo, then tossed it overboard. She tousled her short hair. Believing in your own infallibility is a terrible mistake out here, she reminded herself. That will get you killed as fast as anything.
She turned to look at Shailiha. The princess was wearing a gray jerkin with dark trunk hose and black knee boots. A sword hung from her left hip, and a sheathed dagger lay tied down to her right thigh. Her long blond hair was pulled behind her head and collected by a gold barrette. Tyranny secretly enjoyed seeing the princess dressed this way, for it seemed to put the two of them on a more equal footing. The privateer looked at Adrian.
“Why don’t you go and get some rest, Sister?” she asked. “You look exhausted.”
Adrian gave the other women a tired smile. “I was thinking that exact thing,” she answered. “With your permission, Your Highness?”
Shailiha nodded. “Certainly,” she answered simply. “Sleep well. I have a feeling we will need your skills soon enough.” With a bow, Adrian walked away. Shailiha gave Tyranny a knowing look.
“So what is it that you do not wish Adrian to hear?” Shailiha asked. As she looked back out to sea, her hair swayed gracefully behind her in the wind. “Given that there are no problems with the fleet, I can only guess that the subject is personal. And if it is,” she added quietly, “then it probably has to do with Tristan.”
Tyranny nodded. “I’m worried for him,” she said.
Turning around, Shailiha leaned her back against the gunwale. Smiling slightly, she crossed one foot over the other. “Oh, I think it’s more than that,” she said. “You love him, don’t you?”
Knowing she had been found out, the privateer nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes,” the princess answered. “Especially after hearing what you said to him, just before he disappeared with Xanthus. Tristan’s heart still suffers from Celeste’s passing, but less so than before. In truth, he might be ready to start another relationship. But there is something else about my brother that you need to understand.” Turning back to the sea, Shailiha thoughtfully laced her fingers atop the polished deck rail.
“Until the return of the Coven, Tristan’s entire life-and mine as well-had seen nothing but wealth, ease, and privilege.” She smiled knowingly. “Many thought him arrogant and spoiled. And in some ways, I suppose that they were right. The strange thing is that he never wanted such pampering. He begged our parents night and day to let him pursue a rough-and-tumble career in the Royal Guard. But of course they could not allow it, for they knew that his path lay in a different direction. That always rankled him, and forced him to feel like his destiny was someone else’s to govern. To really know Tristan is to understand how much he hates being told what to do.” Shailiha paused for a few moments, thinking.
“Then, in the space of only a few hours, everything changed,” she went on. “The Coven resurfaced to capture me and the Paragon. Tristan had to grow up literally overnight, so that he could serve the craft, and what remained of his family and his nation. Now he is the ruler of Eutracia, and I am his successor. But it goes far deeper than that. You and the others probably believe that being royalty somehow makes fulfilling our destinies easier. If you do, you’re wrong. Given all the added burdens our offices demand, being the prince and the princess sometimes makes our lives more difficult. Many things weigh heavily on each of us.”
Tyranny gave Shailiha a wry look. “So what are you saying?” she asked. “That I should somehow pity you two? I’m sorry, Your Highness. If you expect that sentiment from me, you’ve chosen the wrong woman.”
Shaking her head, Shailiha laughed quickly down her nose. “No, of course not,” she answered. “What I’m saying is that if you intend to enter Tristan’s heart, go s
low. He has many burdens with which to cope. You see, in his earlier, carefree days, he never needed to approach women-they almost always approached him, and he grew tired of it. I have often thought that one of the reasons he was so drawn to Celeste was that she was at first so unavailable to him, and on so many levels. The fact that he was the prince meant nothing to her, and he found that intriguing. It’s true what they say, you know.”
“What’s that?” Tyranny asked.
Shailiha smiled. “That we always want most what we cannot have,” she answered.
Tyranny stared at the deck for a moment. “Thank you for that insight,” she said. “I never considered Tristan that way.”
“You’re welcome,” Shailiha answered. “But don’t come crying to me if he remains aloof! Many women have tried to get truly close, but only Celeste succeeded. Even so, my brother can get under a girl’s skin.”
“I know,” Tyranny said quietly. “I have become one of them.” Looking out to sea, the privateer sighed.
“I will be eager to see him again,” she said, “if and when he returns to us.” Almost immediately, Tyranny regretted her remark. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s just that-”
Giving her a little smile, Shailiha put one hand over hers. “It’s all right,” she said. “We all miss him. We must remain optimistic. When he finally comes home, we can take turns shouting at him for being away so long!” Both women laughed at that idea.
Just then they saw Traax running their way. Stopping abruptly, he clicked his heels.
“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “The wizards are calling an emergency Conclave meeting.”
Tyranny’s wariness resurfaced. “What is it?” she demanded. “Have our patrols sighted something?”
Traax shook his head. “No, Captain,” he answered. “Nor do I know why the wizards deem this impromptu gathering to be of such importance. All I know is that we must go quickly.”
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