Savage Messiah

Short of killing her, Aeolus knew that there would be nothing he could do to stop Satine, and killing her wasn't an option he was willing to consider. He understood all too well that her impending mission would soon force him to make a life-altering choice. A choice between two people he very much loved and respected.

The thunder came again, and he looked sadly down into his teacup.

CHAPTER XII

TRISTAN sat in a high-backed chair atop the carpeted dais and watched people stream into the Chamber of Supplication. A flood of terrible memories plagued him. The last time he had appeared before so many of his subjects had been on his coronation day, when the Sorceresses of the Coven had attacked. This time, although the room and the purpose of the gathering were very different, the mood was in many ways the same. As on that awful day not so long ago, these citizens gathered before him were angry, terrified, and unsure of the future. As before, they believed the craft lay at the heart of all their troubles.

The prince couldn't help but wonder whether any of these people had actually seen him kill his father, or witnessed the barbaric slaughter of the Directorate of Wizards. The terrible things he had done that day had been forced upon him, but many of these people would not know that. They no doubt had also lost loved ones to the ferocious Minions of Day and Night, long before he had become the winged warriors' new lord.

Worse yet, rumor and i

Tristan glanced around. The Chamber of Supplication was the second largest room in the palace; only the Great Hall was larger. He had ruled out the Great Hall as a meeting place. That was where the Coven and the Minions had first appeared and then done so much of their dirty work. Asking his already traumatized subjects to return there would have been too great a burden for many of them to bear, not to mention the effect the place would have on Wigg, the prince's twin sister, and perhaps even him.

Excepting Geldon, all the members of the Conclave of the Vigors were seated with him upon the dais. The hunchbacked dwarf and Ox had left the previous evening with a phalanx of Minion warriors to determine the whereabouts of the ruptured Orb of the Vigors. So far, no word had been received.

Abbey, Celeste, Adrian, Shailiha, and Tyra

Tristan looked around the room, remembering how important this chamber had once been to his father and to the Directorate of Wizards. The Chamber of Supplication was the hall in which the king and the late Directorate had heard requests from the populace at large. This usually occurred on the first of each month. Hundreds of people had attended, each seeming to bear a request more urgent than the last.

Tristan remembered sitting here by the king's side, as Nicholas quietly considered petitions. The prince had listened intently, in preparation for when he would become king. Those days seemed far away.

The morning breeze gently moved the patterned draperies by the open stained-glass windows. Dappled pillars of morning sunshine streamed in, making the highly polished marble of the chamber shine. It was almost as if Wigg and Faegan had enchanted the room, making it eager to be of use again.

Seeing that the hall was now filled to overflowing, Tristan looked over at Wigg. The First Wizard nodded. Shailiha gave her brother a brief smile of reassurance. After taking a deep breath, Tristan stood and held his arms wide in a gesture of welcome.

"Citizens, subjects, and friends!" he began loudly. "I am Prince Tristan, son of Nicholas and Morga

Pausing, Tristan looked out over the crowd. The faces staring back at him looked angry and skeptical, and not a few of them glowered with outright hatred. But all were silent. For the time being, at least, they seemed willing to hear what he had to say.

He went on to tell them of the attack by the Coven of Sorceresses, of how Shailiha had been kidnapped, and of what he and Wigg had suffered to bring her and the Paragon home again. He explained the return of his son Nicholas from the Afterlife, and the subsequent construction and destruction of the Gates of Dawn, followed by his son's death. Lastly he told them of the Scrolls of the Ancients, and of his lost half brother named Wulfgar, who had tried to employ the scrolls to pollute the Orb of the Vigors. He went on to say that this was the manifestation of the craft that had already wounded so many of them and caused the destruction of Brook Hollow.

He introduced each person on the dais, explaining the various contributions each of them had made in the name of their nation. By prior agreement with Faegan and Wigg, when he introduced Adrian he was careful to make no mention of the secret order of the Acolytes of the Redoubt. When he finally finished, he cast his gaze back and forth over the crowd, searching for reactions. They weren't long in coming.

The first to address him was a man dressed in modest peasant garb. He looked tired and worn, and his right hand had obviously been recently bandaged. Jumping to his feet, he raised his injured limb and pointed it at the prince.

"Liar!" he shouted loudly. "You say your newly formed Conclave wishes to protect us from the orb! But what you really want to do is to kill us all! Don't lie to us! I saw you do it, that day you destroyed Brook Hollow! You and your wizard came flying out of the east in the litter your winged monsters carried. Then I saw Wigg raise his arms and cause the orb to fly directly over the town and turn it to ash! What other cities have you ordered that abomination of the craft to destroy, while at the same time you try to blind us with your little speeches about goodwill, eh? Don't lie to me! I lost my wife and both my sons in Brook Hollow! I watched them die, helpless to do anything about it! If I thought I could get away with it, I'd kill you right now with my bare hands! You aren't half the man your father was, and everyone here knows that!"

As others in the crowd began to shout and wave their fists in agreement, the man who had just berated Tristan suddenly took a brazen step toward the dais. Traax immediately leaped to his feet and drew his dreggan.

Hearing the blade's familiar ring, Tristan snapped around. He shook his head, tacitly ordering the warrior to stand down. It was clear that the situation could rapidly deteriorate, and violence was the last thing he wanted. His face a mask, Traax finally slid the sword back into its scabbard and reluctantly took his seat.

Even though Tristan had not been prepared to hear it, sadly he had to admit that the bereaved man actually made a sort of perverse sense. Had their roles been reversed, Tristan could imagine himself coming to the same conclusion-especially considering all of the false, hateful tales circulating about him. But before he could formulate a reply, Wigg came to stand by his side.