Savage Messiah

She pointed down at the parchments. "If I can manage it, who do you want disposed of next?"

As he took another sip of wine, Bratach considered her words. What she proposed was risky. But the idea of killing one of them right under the wizard's noses was tempting. If Satine could accomplish it, Wulfgar would be very pleased. And then Bratach, as Wulfgar's loyal consul, could take the credit. With the return of the Enseterat, there would soon be a new order in the land, and Bratach had every intention of standing with those at the very pi

"Very well, then," he finally answered. "You may try. I can help your cause by providing you with detailed plans of the palace and the Redoubt. This must be pla

"I never fail," she answered. "But you have yet to tell me which one of them to kill."

With the point of his knife, Bratach pulled the parchments closer. Pursing his lips in thought, he looked down at the likenesses. Then made his choice and stabbed the knife through the drawing and into the tabletop.

"This one," he said. He looked over at Ivan. "A fitting choice, don't you think?"

Ivan smiled. "By all means," he answered.

Bratach looked back over at Satine. "As long as you are here, we might as well fill you in," he said. "Ivan, fetch me some parchment."

After some rummaging around, Ivan returned with several sheets and placed them on the table. Bratach looked down and narrowed his eyes. Fascinated, Satine watched as the consul began to burn an image of the first floor of the palace into the sheet.

In the end, it would prove to be a very long day.

CHAPTER XLII

Evening came to Parthalon, the indigo night a cool, comforting blanket. Having left Wigg and Jessamay to themselves, Tristan and Celeste walked side by side through the winding halls of the Recluse. This was one of the few times they had been alone in recent days, and they were thankful for the opportunity. They stopped in the grand foyer.

Torches flickered, throwing shadows across the walls and checkerboard floor. Yet another team of Minion men and women were busy building furniture, weaving rugs, and creating art for the still-unfurnished rooms of the Recluse. As he walked through the great chamber, Tristan couldn't help but wonder how he would employ such a massive building, now that it was so close to being completed.

Alrik presented himself to the prince. Placing his fists upon his hips, the warrior smiled broadly.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" he asked. "I estimate completion within two fortnights. Does the Jin'Sai have any other specific orders for the Recluse afterward?"

Shaking his head, Tristan sighed. "I was just thinking about that," he said.

"There is something else it would be my honor to show you," Alrik said. "In addition to the Recluse, we have completely rebuilt the horse barns. I think my lord and his lady would find them interesting."

At the mention of the Recluse stables, Tristan's face lit up. Horsemanship had always been one of his and Shailiha's greatest joys. The chance to see what the clever Minion carpenters had done with the barns seemed just the tonic he needed. He glanced at Celeste.

"I'd love to," she said. Smiling, she laced one arm through his.

The two of them followed Alrik out of the Recluse and back over the drawbridge.

As they went, Tristan was reminded of the day Geldon had stolen a team and wagon from the Coven stables, so that they could race back to the Ghetto of the Shu

At the end of the drawbridge, Alrik led them around one side of the Recluse. At the sight of the refurbished stables, Tristan's heart began to lift.

At least a dozen large paddocks surrounded the stable buildings, lit by flickering torches. The split-rail fences had been painted bright white, and beautiful horses milled about within their confines.

A large brick building sat in the center of the manicured grounds. Looking closer, Tristan saw that his family crest had been painted on its double doors. Several smaller buildings were attached to the central one. Even the royal stables in Tammerland, before their destruction, could not have surpassed these.

"It's magnificent," he told Alrik. "I hadn't expected this."

Alrik's chest swelled with pride. He gestured to the doors. "If my lord will allow me?"

Tristan nodded. "By all means."

Alrik pushed the doors apart, and familiar equine smells and sounds greeted them.

Stalls of highly polished wood lined both sides of the barn. Horses neighed and snorted as the three of them walked into the barn's cool darkness.

Turning to his right, Tristan walked over to one of the stall doors. A bay mare stepped forward and stuck her head out over the top. Neighing softly, she shook her head, sending her mane flying about. Smiling, Tristan grasped her bridle and rubbed her forehead.

"Are they all this magnificent?" he asked.

Alrik smiled. "Indeed they are. They have to be, to qualify for this place."

Then the Minion did something strange. After turning to Celeste, and giving her a quick, conspiratorial wink behind Tristan's back, he nodded toward the rear of the barn. Celeste turned to see that a large group of warrior stable hands had quietly gathered, all on bended knee, their heads bowed.

Celeste gave Alrik a quizzical look. But before she could speak, the warrior placed a forefinger against his lips. Still confused, she nodded back. Alrik turned back to the prince.

"If my lord would allow me, there is something else that I would be pleased to show you," he said.

"Of course," Tristan answered, his full attention still upon the mare.

"What is it?"

"It is my understanding that the Jin'Sai recently lost his favorite mount," Alrik said gently. "Is that true?"

His back still to them, Tristan lowered his head. "Yes. Pilgrim was killed during our battle to secure the Scroll of the Vigors. There will never be another like him."

"With all due respect, my lord, you may be in error."

Turning around, Tristan scowled at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Alrik turned and gestured to the kneeling warriors at the other end of the barn. As he did, they rose, and their ranks slowly parted. One of them walked forward leading a horse.

The magnificent black stallion was easily as tall as Pilgrim had been, but he looked younger. His mane and tail were exceptionally long. Large, spirited eyes sat on either side of his wide, beautifully shaped head. As he walked, taut muscles swelled beneath his shining coat. He wore a highly polished black bridle and saddle. The pure silver hardware of the horse's tack was adorned with the lion and the broadsword.

Tristan had always believed that he would never again see a mount as magnificent as Pilgrim. But standing here in the light of the torches, he knew he had been wrong.

"We understand that we ca

Tristan didn't know what to say. He looked at Alrik and Celeste, and then back at the stallion again. Fighting a lump in his throat, he walked over to the horse and accepted the reins from the groom. As he stroked the stallion's neck, the horse rubbed his head against his new master's shoulder. The bond was immediate. Tristan looked at the warriors again, and then to Alrik.

"I accept," he said softly. "And thank you."

Alrik and Celeste joined him. Celeste put out a hand to stroke the horse's silky nose.