Reznik gathered up his instruments and his journal and began to make his way out of the glade. After taking only a couple of steps he had a sudden thought. He stopped short and turned around.
Returning to the table, he picked up the gingercrinkle blossom and placed it in one of the buttonholes of his jerkin. Pretty, he thought.
As he walked out of the glade, he began to whistle.
CHAPTER III
Faegan's words echoed in tristan's ears as he ran down the hallways of the Redoubt. He skidded to a stop before the first of the several secret passageways leading to the palace above. Scrabbling at the special section of marble wall, he pulled hard, rotating it on its pivot. It opened to reveal a rough-hewn stone staircase. His weapons still in his hands, he charged up two steps at a time.
His chest was heaving when he reached the top of the steps and strapped on the baldric holding his dreggan and the quiver holding his throwing knives. Then he drew the sword, its unmistakable ring echoing in the confines of the stairway.
He held the point of the dreggan high and placed the cool, flat side of its blade against his forehead. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his mind in anticipation of whatever might await him on the other side of the door.
When he was ready, Tristan pushed hard on the section of wall. It swiveled open easily, and he charged through the open doorway. The room on the other side was empty.
He had come up into the Chamber of Supplication, one of the many elaborate halls his late father and the Directorate of Wizards had employed in their dealings with the citizenry. The elaborate room yawned back at the prince, as if mocking him for his foolishness. Then he heard an unfamiliar noise.
At first he couldn't make it out as it wafted eerily through stained glass windows. Tristan ran to one of the windows, pushed it open wide, and climbed through to the courtyard beyond.