Page 46 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
“Attempted murder is a normal reaction?” asked Dinadan.
Sacramore gave her a winning smile. It did not work on Dinadan: one of her Wardens had almost died. Sacramore’s smile turned to a grimace. He turned to the other leaders. “We would ask for Tristane’s return to our ranks, so that our Order can deal with her—and the damage incurred to our Order’s reputation—as we see fit.”
Xanthe, Dinadan, Birtwhistle the Ingenaut, and Shearwater the Leyfarer variously scoffed and shook their heads.
The ancient woman representing the Agannor, Omerra, moved for the first time. She raised a wrinkled hand from within the confines of her violet cloak.
“I don’t think any of us, no matter our Path, can be convinced that Tristane would go to the Haelan fortress without a greater purpose.” She spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper. “And because it was Tristane, the purpose must necessarily have been lethal.”
Sacramore gave her a look of wounded betrayal. The Agannor were fellow walkers of the Dusken Path and usually sided with the Fyren.
“However,” continued Omerra, “as her visit did not result in the death of a member of an Order, I move that we consider an alternate punishment.”
“What do you propose?” asked Dinadan.
“A tacn excision.”
All present shuddered, including Osric. An excision was an excruciatingly painful process involving the removal of the tacn—and usually the loss of one or two fingers, if not the whole hand. It would strip Tristane of her seith and leave her as good as dead.
“An excision could form a part of the remedies contemplated by the Fyren Order, should Tristane be released to us,” said Sacramore.
The Heads gathered together in a muttering knot to discuss the proposal. Sacramore stood off to one side; the Hedgewitch, who had not yet spoken, stood on the other.
Dinadan broke away to deliver the verdict. “We have weighed the excision option. However, given the aggression, the injury, the intent, and the sheer unapologetic gall of assailing another Order’s headquarters, the consensus is clear. Execution.”
Sacramore wilted visibly. Lirain hissed. Leofric shouted, “Bollocks.”
Dinadan turned to Sacramore. “In the interest of maintaining stability between our Orders, the Heads have generously decided to take your word that Tristane was the sole Fyren involved. Neither the Haelan nor the Wardens will seek additional reparations against your Order.”
“May I ask by what means this execution will take place?” asked Sacramore.
“I offered to do the honours,” said Xanthe, “but given that it was a Warden’s blood that was spilled, Dinadan has asked to deliver the finishing blow.”
“And when will it take place?” asked Sacramore.
The Hedgewitch, who had heretofore not said a word, raised a hand. Their amber eyes were almost luminous in the dark.
“You have a proposal, Vel?” asked Dinadan.
“Do it at Lammas,” said the Hedgewitch in a voice that was neither a woman’s nor a man’s but a mellifluous combination of both.
“The harvest festival?”
“Yes. Tristane can reap what she sowed,” said the Hedgewitch. In the shadows of their hood, they were smiling.
“No objections from me,” said Xanthe.
“We will reconvene here for Tristane’s execution,” said Dinadan. “In the meantime, she will remain at Tintagel. All present are encouraged to review the Peace Accords and standards of behaviour among our Orders. I am sure we all agree that it would be best to avoid gathering under these circumstances again.”
Sacramore joined the Fyren group, looking grim.
“Tristane is done for,” whispered Lirain.
“She shouldn’t have gone to Swanstone,” said Sacramore.
“We’ve got a bit of time,” said Leofric. “We might work something out.”
“Work something out? She’s in Tintagel Castle,” said Osric.
