“Does the clan have enough food and supplies?” he asked.
Gunther nodded. “We have enough for now. Our horsemen are wondering about your plans for them.”
“That’s another reason why I have come,” Tristan answered. “I want them to travel to the palace. They can live among the Minions, in tents set up on the surrounding palace grounds. But I believe it best that they leave their families here. We do not know when the Conclave fleet will come home. During the intervening days I want the warriors and horsemen to learn each other’s tactics. I want them working as a cohesive unit, and the sooner the better.”
Balthazar stepped forward. “That brings us to another question,” he said to Tristan. “If you are killed, who do we take our orders from, eh?” He pointed at Ox and gave the warrior a disparaging look. “If you believe that we will take our direction from those like him, you think wrong,” he added nastily.
Glowering, Ox grabbed the dreggan handle at his side. Freeing the sword a few inches from its scabbard, he took a quick step forward. Tristan quickly shook his head at him. Several tense moments followed as Tristan sized up the situation. This was Balthazar’s first test of Tristan’s leadership, and the prince knew it.
“The Minions have no more right to order you about than you do them,” he answered sternly. “I command you both. In the event of my absence or death, all forces will take their orders from my sister Shailiha. Should she fall, you come under the command of my wizards. In any event, your orders will likely come to you through Rafe, just as my orders to the Minions go through one called Traax. Our foes will be of the craft, and unlike any you have ever fought. If you want to keep your head I suggest that you follow orders, and fully honor your elders’ commitment to me.”
Commanding stares passed between Tristan and Balthazar. After glancing at Gunther and Rafe, Balthazar finally relented. Snorting out a short grunt of approval, Ox shoved his dreggan blade home.
“Very well, dango, ” Balthazar said. “We already know that you are a good fighter. Soon we will see what kind of leader you are.” Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
Rafe leaned closer to Tristan and gave him a sly smile. “Well done,” he whispered. “Balthazar can be difficult to manage. He isn’t known for giving his respect and friendship easily. But once he does he will gladly die for you. I believe you know the type.”
As he watched Balthazar stomp away, Tristan thought of Ox and Scars. “I do indeed,” he answered softly.
Tristan looked at Gunther. “I would like the horsemen assembled,” he said. “For the time being they should say their good-byes to their families. They will be allowed periodic visits back to the camp.”
“There is no need to assemble them,” Gunther answered. “They are practicing their maneuvers as we speak.”
Realizing that this would be a perfect opportunity to show Ox and Abbey what the horsemen could do, Tristan smiled.
“We will go and watch,” he said. “Then Abbey and I will return home. Ox and Rafe will wait here until the horsemen are ready to leave. Then they will escort them to the palace.”
Rafe grinned; Abbey sighed. Ox gave Tristan an obedient but disappointed look.
“Ox do asJin’Sai say,” he answered.
Seizing on the opportunity to badger the warrior yet again, Rafe walked over and put one arm around Ox. He winked at Tristan, then good-naturedly jostled the massive Ox as best he could.
“We’ll do fine, won’t we, Ox?” he chided.
Ox looked at the ground and growled something unintelligible. Sighing, Tristan looked at Gunther.
“Please lead on,” he said.
After nodding back, Gunther started wending a path through the crowd. As Tristan made his way among the highlanders, he saw fewer disparaging looks this time. He took that as a hopeful sign. The highlanders didn’t have to like him, but he needed their respect. That was especially true of the horsemen.
Finally Gunther and his group found their way to the crowd’s farthest edge. A long green field stretched before them. The highlander horsemen were going through their paces.
Gunther called for chairs, and soon some were brought. Tristan recognized them as the same red upholstered ones the elders had used the night he had exposed Arwydd. When the chairs were arranged in a line before the crowd, Tristan and his group took seats. Abbey sat on his left; the one to his right lay empty.
The late Royal Guard cavalry members had been wonderful riders, but even their talents paled before those of the highlanders. While the Royal Guardsmen had learned their disciplined horsemanship on parade grounds, the highlander riders had developed their skills on rough-and-tumble fields and plains, relying on them not only for their defense, but also to produce much of their food. That’s what makes them better in some ways, he realized. They do it because they must, to stay alive on a day-to-day basis.
Some highlander horsemen held swords; others carried bows. Recognizing the prince, they stopped their maneuvers and gathered their horses together. After talking for a moment, the colorful riders started lining up across the field.
Rafe sat on Abbey’s left. Leaning toward her, he smiled.
“It seems that we are in for a show,” he said. Still unconvinced, Abbey said nothing.
A series of targets had been set up midfield. They included straw men and various types of fruit impaled onto poles set into the ground. One by one, the riders carrying bows started galloping toward the straw men.
Yelping wildly, the first one expertly swung out of his saddle, sliding down alongside his horse’s right flank. Gripping his reins between his teeth he hung sideways, nearly touching the ground as his horse thundered forward. Tristan was horseman enough to know that this trick was difficult without simultaneously trying to shoot an arrow. He had seen the highlander riders perform before, but he couldn’t believe that one could hit his target from that position.
Charging hard, the highlander guided his horse toward one of the straw men. With only his left leg over his saddle to hold him in place, he notched an arrow onto the bowstring. Then he pulled the string back and held it there for a moment before releasing it.
Tristan held his breath as he watched the colorful arrow arc through the air. The rider quickly reclaimed his saddle like he had been born in it, then charged his horse to one side. As Tristan watched, the arrow buried itself squarely in the red heart that had been painted onto the straw man.
The crowd cheered and applauded loudly. Tristan found himself on his feet, raising his fists and shouting in admiration. As the cheering died down he reclaimed his chair and cast Abbey a knowing look.
“Well done for a ragtag group of thieves, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.
Scowling, Abbey crossed her arms. “It will take more than that to convince me,” she answered.
Tristan smiled. “Then prepare to be convinced,” he said.
One after another the highlander bowmen each performed the same feat. Not one missed the mark. Then it came the swordsmen’s turns. Shouting vigorously, they started charging toward the impaled fruit pieces.
Like the first riders, they took their reins in their teeth. Tristan watched in rapt fascination as most of them produced not just one sword, but two. Waving their swords in circles, one by one they charged toward the targets.
Rather than approaching one of the targets on either end, the first rider drove for the line’s center. Raising each sword high, he cleanly severed two fruit pieces at once, one on each side. As the others followed suit, the same amazing feat was accomplished over and over again.
Their practice done for the day, the riders turned their horses toward the spectators. In a show of respect, they formed battle lines before Tristan’s chair. As their lathered mounts whinnied and pawed the ground, the horsemen stared calmly at him, waiting for some type of acknowledgment.
Tristan knew that a respectful gesture was called for. Turning to his left, he beckoned everyone to stand. When he bowed, they did as well. The crowd ch
eered again.
As the riders walked their horses away, Tristan and his group reclaimed their seats. Gunther clapped his hands. Soon some serving girls brought wine, and trays laden with sweetmeats. Not standing on ceremony this time, Tristan helped himself. When Abbey and Ox did not, he gave them stern looks. Finally they relented and joined in.
“Now do you see why I want them with us?” Tristan whispered to Abbey.
Abbey scowled. “All right!” she whispered back. “I’ll admit that they’re excellent riders. But are they more than just a carnival act? Can they fight?”
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “They are among the fiercest I have ever seen.”
Despite viewing the recent demonstration, Abbey shook her head again. “But they’rehighlanders, Tristan!” she protested. Turning to her left, she saw that Gunther was trying to have some semblance of a conversation with Ox. She was sure that the warrior’s conversational skills were not taxing Gunther’s acumen. She turned back to look at the prince.
“If we don’t watch them like hawks, they’ll steal us blind!” she added. “When Wigg and Faegan hear about this, they’ll be positively livid!”
Tristan took another sip of wine. “I know,” he answered. “That’s why you’re going to help me convince them.”
“Why should I?” she asked. “Wigg will believe I’ve gone crazy.”
“Because this arrangement is good for everyone,” Tristan answered. “We get these fighters to help us. In return, the highlanders get a homeland and they promise to give up their thieving ways. I’m not naive enough to believe that all will be converted. But if some are, so much the better.”
Abbey snorted, laughing. “All right, all right,” she finally agreed. “I’ll talk to Wigg for you. But don’t you dare blame me if it doesn’t work!”
Smiling, Tristan lightly clanged his silver wine goblet against hers. “You’ve got a deal,” he said.
Just then Tristan sensed a presence on his other side. He turned to see that Yasmin had slipped into the empty chair on his right. She was dressed beautifully, and her exotic perfume reminded him of recent events that he would rather Abbey didn’t know about. He smiled at her.
“Good afternoon, Jin’Sai, ” she said. She turned her eyes to his bandaged forearm. “How is your wound?”
“It’s healing nicely,” he answered, “thanks to you.”
Leaning forward, Yasmin looked at Abbey. “And who is this lovely lady?” she asked.
For the first time since arriving in the camp, Abbey smiled knowingly. Tristan let go a little sigh of defeat. With a single glance from Yasmin, Abbey understands, he realized. How is it that women always know? Sometimes their unendowed powers of perception rival Wigg’s and Faegan’s magic.
Tristan gestured toward the herbmistress. “Abbey of the House of Lindstrom, I’d like to present Yasmin,” he said simply. “Yasmin is the highlander healer I mentioned.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Abbey said.
“And you,” Yasmin answered.
The three of them chatted for a time; then Abbey placed her lips near Tristan’s ear.
“So that’s the highlander healer who helped you, eh?” she asked. She gave him a coy smile. “From the looks of her, I’d say that their men might gladly be wounded! I’m sure Balthazar was right about her healing touch…”
Saying nothing, Tristan sighed and pushed his tongue hard against the inside of one cheek. He decided that it was time to go-for more than one reason. Standing, he gathered everyone’s attention.
“Rafe and Ox, you stay here and collect the horsemen,” he ordered. “Escort them to the palace as soon as you can. Have them take tents among the Minions and see to any other needs they might have.”
Rafe smiled and slapped Ox on the back. “We’ll join him soon, won’t we, Ox?” he said. Shaking his head, Ox scowled darkly.
After saying his good-byes to Gunther, Tristan looked at Abbey. “It’s time to go,” he said. Turning to look at Yasmin, he smiled at her, then kissed the back of her hand.
“Until next time,” he said. As he let go her hand, her perfume lingered.
“Until next time,” she answered back. “I look forward to seeing the palace.”
“Uh, er-yes,” he answered. Abbey grinned widely again.
After wending their way back through the camp, Tristan and Abbey boarded the litter. Soon six stout Minion bearers had taken them skyward. As Tristan watched the camp grow smaller, his mind turned to the Conclave fleet.
They would be nearing the Citadel by now, he realized. Then he thought about what the Crysenium Envoys had told him. Knowing that he had been unable to warn the fleet, a grim silence overtook him. Seeing the change in him, Abbey leaned closer.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I have something to show you,” he answered. “It is time to see what it can tell us.”
Reaching down, Tristan lifted the gold medallion from his chest; then he closed his eyes. Unsure of what was happening, Abbey looked at him curiously.
In his mind’s eye Tristan envisioned the twin medallions. Just as the Envoys had described, the gold discs started glowing in his mind, then merged to form one.
When Tristan looked again, he saw that Abbey’s face had come alive with surprise. He had expected as much. But then Abbey saw the scene depicted on the medallion, and a look of terror seized her.
Quickly turning the medallion up, Tristan looked at it. As he did, his heart skipped a beat.
CHAPTER L
AMID THE HOWLING WIND AND STINGING SEA SPRAY, Shailiha and Tyranny held on to theTammerland ’s rigging for dear life as Jessamay strained to keep the great ship rising.
Her hands firmly grasping the ship’s wheel, the sorceress screamed as she struggled to augment her power. The angle on the ship’s bow was so severe that from their places in the stern, all the women could see before them was the looming, nearly vertical deck. As the ship’s timbers and masts groaned torturously, Shailiha doubted that theTammerland could hold together for much longer, even if they could avoid the pursuing wave. In the darkness and chaos she had lost sight of the other surviving vessels.
The princess turned to look at the terrible wave chasing after them. Tyranny had done the right thing by changing course and keeping the fleet from hitting the wave head-on. But two of the Black Ships had already been consumed by the wave’s awful power, never to be seen again. TheTammerland had to be at least one hundred meters in the air and climbing quickly, but the wave was looming larger with every passing second. In moments it would engulf the ship’s stern and she would be done for.
Racked with fatigue, Jessamay summoned every scrap of power she could. The stricken ship lurched noticeably higher. Scars helped Tyranny claw her way up the slippery deck to stand beside the sorceress. Once there, the only thing keeping the privateer from sliding aft and tumbling into the sea was her first mate’s massive arms-one holding fast to a wheelhouse cleat, the other wrapped around her waist.
Desperate to give Jessamay an order, Tyranny inched closer. By now the thunderous noise and salty spray accompanying the wave had struck theTammerland full blast, drenching everyone and making it nearly impossible to communicate.
“If you can escape the wave, immediately reverse course and let the ship fall!” Tyranny screamed. “It’s the only way she’ll survive the stresses! But even then I can’t be sure she won’t break apart!”
Although she heard Tyranny, Jessamay didn’t acknowledge it. Screaming, she somehow granted the stricken ship a final burst of energy.
Just as the wave was about to engulf the stern deck, theTammerland lurched violently higher. Even so, the deadly wave’s crest slammed into the ship’s stern keel, levering it upward and suddenly returning her level flight. The wave crest surged onward, thunderously smashing its way forward along the length of the keel.
Jessamay immediately did as Tyranny had ordered. As she turned the great ship one hundred and eighty degrees to starboard, theTammerland lit
erally pivoted atop the foaming wave crest. Then Jessamay recalled her spell, allowing the ship to plummet unaided down the wave’s backside.
Pushing Jessamay to one side, Tyranny and Scars quickly took command of the ship’s wheel. As theTammerland lurched and skidded down the opposite side of the wave, suddenly everything was reversed. Her bow facing down at a sickening angle, the great flagship nearly heeled over and floundered. Then she righted again to continue tearing down the wave’s rearward slope at incredible speed.
Almost as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. With a mighty splash theTammerland plowed into the bottom of the wave’s following trough, throwing Shailiha to the deck. For several frightening moments the ship rocked violently as she tried to find her equilibrium. Finally she settled. In the calm after the storm the wind was still, the sea smooth as glass. The clouds had vanished, leaving behind a moonlit sky.
Shailiha stood shakily to see Jessamay collapse to the deck. They all ran to her. Sitting down, Scars lifted the sorceress’s head into his lap. Still trembling, Jessamay slowly opened her eyes.
“You’ve done it!” Tyranny said. “We escaped the wave. You saved us.”
Jessamay raised her head a bit. “What about Wigg and Faegan?” she asked weakly.
Running to the port gunwale, Shailiha looked westward. About one-third of a league away, the terrible wave was continuing onward. Just like theTammerland, one after another theEphyra, theCavalon, and theFlorian had struggled to the pinnacle of the wave’s crest.
Following theTammerland ’s example, they too reversed course and plummeted down the wave’s backside. Each ship threatened to flounder but later righted. Soon they hit sea level, plowing mightily into the wave’s trough. After rocking back and forth they too settled down.
Shailiha worriedly looked to the sky again. The battling swarms were smaller now, but still killing each other with abandon. The combatants’ forms were merely dark specks, and it was impossible to say which side might be winning. The valiant Minions had apparently kept Serena’s creatures from breaking through their lines. But how many warriors had that cost? she wondered. Was it enough to tempt those monsters to dive on the ships?
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