Savage Messiah

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.

On the way back to his tent, Tristan suddenly remembered what it was that had been scratching at the back of his mind. He had been worried about Shadow. Late in the day, as they had neared the place where they were to make camp, the horse had suddenly developed a limp. Tristan could tell that it was nothing serious, but he had made a mental note to check the horse later, after the Minions had bedded him down. Now was as good a time as any.

He thought for a moment about asking a patrol to accompany him, but then decided against it. He would feel foolish about taking them on so short and simple an errand-and besides, he wanted some time to himself. Leaving the relative safety of the camp behind, he starting walking to where the horses were tied. watching through the spyglass, Satine couldn't believe her luck. At last, she thought. She easily recognized the figure leaving the campsite. She even thought she knew where he was headed.

After securing her glass in her cloak, she looked around carefully. She could see no Minion patrols nearby. She descended from the tree. The grass beneath her feet was wet with dew, the better to muffle her footsteps.

As she moved toward her quarry, she reached behind her back and took up the tools of her trade. The horses had been tied to a line that stretched between two large trees in the center of an open meadow. At the edge of the meadow, Tristan called softly to the lone Minion guard to alert him to his approach.

As he neared, the horses came to their feet, whinnying. Shadow's black coat shimmered in the moonlight as he turned his large, dark eyes toward his master. The prince gave him an affectionate rub on the neck.

Tristan had long thought that his former mount, Pilgrim, would never have an equal. But over the course of the last three days he had learned that in terms of sheer speed and endurance, Shadow had no match. A bond was growing between them that might soon eclipse even the one he had shared with Pilgrim. As he rubbed the horse's ears, Shadow snorted and shook his mane.

Tristan looked at the guard. "All is well here?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, Jin'Sai."

Tristan smiled. "Now then," he said to Shadow. "Let's take a look at that foot, shall we, boy?"

Bending over, he coaxed the stallion's right front hoof from the ground and placed it on his bended knee. It was difficult to perform an examination in the moonlight, but he eventually found the problem. There was a long bramble-bush thorn lodged between the horse's shoe and the frog of his foot.

Tristan took out one of his throwing knives. It wasn't a proper tool, but it would have to do. He bent down again.

There was an unexpected breeze, and he heard a dull thud. He coiled up and snapped his head around to see an arrow, its shaft still quivering, buried in the Minion guard's forehead. The warrior's face registered surprise, and then he collapsed to the ground, dead. In shock, Tristan realized that had he not bent over when he had, the arrow would have gone straight through his neck.

He ducked under Shadow's legs and rolled to the other side of the horse, where he stood again, using his horse and the bay mare next to him as cover. The sudden action startled the other two horses, and they danced about nervously, shaking their heads.

Tristan peered over the bay's back. He saw nothing unusual. The horses settled down, and everything was quiet once more. The meadow stretched innocently before him, its dewy grass shimmering in the moonlight. The only cover he could see was the woods that bordered the opposite side of the clearing. It would have been a very long shot with a bow from there, and only an expert archer could have accomplished it.

Hunching down behind the middle horse once more, he caught his breath and tried to decide what to do. His decision was made for him as another arrow sliced through the air and went through the horse's eye.

The mare screamed wildly and died in an instant, tumbling to the ground and leaving Tristan exposed. He caught a glimmer of reflected moonlight streaking toward him. He twisted to avoid the impact, but he was too late. The arrow buried itself in his left shoulder. Had he been a fraction slower, it would have taken him in his heart.

Holding his bleeding shoulder, he leapt toward the nearest tree of the picket line. Landing hard on his knees, he turned and sat up against the tree trunk.

His chest heaving, Tristan looked down at his wound. The arrow was lodged just below the collarbone; he was bleeding profusely, his glowing azure blood bright in the darkness. He needed Wigg, but there was no way he could cross the open meadow and get back to camp without being killed. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to control the pain as best he could.

He broke the arrow shaft in two close to his body. The pain nearly made him faint. Gathering his strength, he pulled out one of his throwing knives and peered around the trunk of the tree.

There was still nothing to see. He retreated behind the tree again, and did his best to stand.

If he tried to run he would be killed, he knew, his azure blood making him an easy target for his assailant. And if he stayed where he was he would soon bleed to death. He cursed his foolishness for having come here alone.

"They told me that you were good," a female voice shouted out unexpectedly. "But I have yet to see any evidence of that."

Satine, he suddenly realized. It had to be.

Peering around the trunk of the tree, Tristan saw a woman standing about ten paces away in the moonlight. She held a bow in one hand, an arrow notched upon its string. She was dressed in black leather. Daggers were strapped to either thigh, and the hilt of a sword was visible just above her right shoulder.

"Come to me," she said. "Your only other choice is to bleed to death. I promise that your death will be quick."

Knowing that he had no choice but to face her, Tristan emerged unsteadily from behind the tree.

He threw the dirk at her with everything he had. But given his blood loss, he couldn't put enough strength behind it. As he watched it go, he collapsed to his knees.

Satine saw the silvery blade flashing toward her in the moonlight and pivoted, her dark cloak swirling about her. The dirk twirled by, missing her cleanly. She dropped her bow, drew her sword, and approached the prince.

"If you still desire an easy death, do not try that again," she said.

As he sat on his heels, his azure blood running down his arm and chest, she walked around him the same way that a cat might toy with a wounded mouse. She took in his strange-looking blood, and the ingenious method by which he carried his throwing knives. She came full circle, to face him once more.

Fighting through the pain, Tristan reached back with his good arm and drew his sword. He had never known it to feel so heavy. Satine simply watched him without protest. As the dreggan cleared its scabbard he could barely point it at her. He swayed woozily. Finally the point of his sword fell to the grass.

He would be unconscious soon, he realized. Then Satine would either leave him here to bleed to death or finish him with her sword. Either way, he would never see Celeste again. Worse yet, the Orb of the Vigors would never be healed, and Wulfgar would win. He stared at her with hatred.

"I thought you preferred blow darts to swords," he said thickly.

Satine smiled. "My identity is no longer a secret," she said. "So, you see, apparent suicide is no longer required. Given your present circumstances, my sword will do the job as well as anything else."

"Why did you kill the gnome and the dwarf?" Tristan asked. Another surge of pain coursed through him and he shuddered. "I know why Wulfgar wants me dead, but why murder Geldon and Lionel? Surely they meant nothing to him."

Satine took another step closer. "To see you all suffer," she answered. "That is how your dear brother wants things done, you see. And I always follow my orders to the letter." She smiled again. "After you are sent to the Afterlife, you will be joined by your sister and the two wizards of the Redoubt. It may take a bit longer, now that they know who I am. But I'm a patient woman."

"I understand Wulfgar's motives," Tristan gasped. "But why are you doing this? Why do you serve…such a monster?"

"For the money," she answered. "I need it, you see, to complete a lifelong mission of my own. We all have our own hopes, our own needs."

"Don't you care about anything other than yourself?" he asked. "You work for Wulfgar. You must have met him. Couldn't you sense the rage and hatred within him? Is that who you want to rule Eutracia?"

Trying his best to remain conscious, Tristan looked up into her eyes.

"Don't you care about your loved ones?" he pressed. "Do you really want to see them and your entire nation suffer forever beneath the yoke of his oppression? His will be a darkness that will know no equal. Your actions here this night will forever be a part of that."

Something in her face changed. For a moment Tristan thought she looked conflicted. Then her face darkened again and she stepped closer.

"Enough of this," she said. "It is time. Drop your sword."

Tristan shook his head. "At least let me die with my dreggan in my hand."

Satine thought for a moment. "I will grant that request because I understand it so well. If our positions were reversed, I would ask it of you. Besides, I doubt that you can even lift it anymore."

She placed one hand atop Tristan's head and pushed it down to expose his neck.

"No!" he growled. "If I must die, I want to see it coming!"

"Very well," she answered. She kept her hand in place to steady his head.

Satine lifted her sword. The edge of her blade glinted in the moonlight.

At the apex of her swing, her eyes caught his. All of the contradictory thoughts that had been collecting within her suddenly collided. For a split second, the Gray Fox hesitated.

Sensing his chance, Tristan reached up with his left arm and grabbed the wrist of the hand that supported his head. He pulled her down to him and raised the dreggan with his other arm. As she understood what was happening, Satine brought down her sword, but the die had already been cast.

Tristan rolled to one side and narrowly avoided the edge of her blade. Using the momentum of her swing against her, he pulled her down toward him and shoved the point of the dreggan into her chest. With his final bit of strength, he pushed the hidden button on the sword's hilt.

The dreggan's blade shot forward, impaling her and exiting through her back. A look of surprise crossed her face. She collapsed, her body sliding down the blade of Tristan's sword as she fell on him.

For the briefest of moments, Tristan thought he heard the flurry of Minion wings.

Then everything went black.