Tristan Staghorn was more than just the man who worked for the Emperor of Carthak, the man who sought for pleasures with Yolane, the man who became a tree under the Word of Power. He was much, much more than just a side figure.

A three-part story of Tristan Staghorn's life.

Tristan Staghorn

by ElspethElf

Part 1: Childhood

'I pick…. Tristan!'

A collective groan rendered through the group of children followed by loud bursts of protests. They stood in the clearing of a forest, huddled together in a vain attempt to pick the fairest team.

'That's not fair Kris, you always get to have Tristan. Its our turn now!'

This was followed by a chorus of 'yeah! That's right!' and further stampings of feet to stress that it is, indeed, their turn to claim the much wanted boy.

The culprit of this argument was a game called Deadman's Trench. It required two teams of even numbers, all of which possessing the Gift. Both teams would stand in lines facing each other, and would take turns to try and knock out opponents by using their magic. By 'knock out' the general definition meant making a player fall, or step out of the line. The children were not cruel, or indeed, skilful enough for serious injury, and the game was merely a diversion from the long summer afternoon.

A boy by the name of Ral stepped forwards determinedly.

'Look, Kris. It's only fair that we get Tristan in this round. You had him last time and he completely killed us!'

Kris grinned down his freckled nose. 'Scared, Ral?'

'Not so much scared as doomed. You know whichever team he goes on will win. Might as well not play at all.'

Kris wrinkled his nose at the undeniable truth. He turned towards Tristan, who stood silently, regarding the whole situation with an amused smile.

'You decide. Whose team do you want to be in? Wait! I know…!' his brown eyes gleamed, 'How about you and me against the rest? Two against four – that's fair! What do you say, Trissy?'

'Trissy says, how about he go against all of you.'

Kris blinked, looking, for a split second, hurt at the suggestion. He and Tristan were, after all, close friends and partners in many of their previous games, and he did not like to be discarded so easily.

What he liked even less was to face Tristan in a game.

The others, however, were all for the idea. Excited at this new suggestion, they clambered into their positions eagerly, all wanting a chance to best the boy.

Tristan regarded his 'opponents' silently, thinking of the quickest way to end the game. Like all boys his age, he liked nothing better than the impressive delight in doing something spectacular, and it just so happened that he was particularly good at achieving it too.

The girl on the very right, Nina, was a highly squeamish person, he remembered, and using the first trick he learnt, he lifted a layer of loose soil from the ground and sprayed it neatly, even artistically, across the girl's tunic.

Nina, reacting just as predicted, screamed and jumped away to avoid her clothes dirtying. In the process of hastily wiping her blouse, she knocked into the boy standing next to her, and both children fell out of the line. She glared when her brother, Ral, groaned aloud.

'Its new! Mother will skin me if I get this dirty!'

Ral rolled his eyes, muttering, 'Dratted girls and their… cleanness!' He looked at Tristan, saw his silent, smirking face and growled.

Upon seeing the branch that extended above Tristan's head, he willed the bough to shake. As it did so, acorns, twigs and various insects dropped from the tree in one showering stream.

Tristan grimaced, but stood his ground. He felt something wriggle suspiciously in his hair and quickly brushed it off. The acorns that hit him were hard and painful, but he gritted his teeth and waited for Ral to tire out.

It didn't take long. Ral, exhausted, released his will from the tree and puffed heavily. 'I'll…' he said doggedly, 'I'll get you in the next round.'

Ten minutes later, he was out of the game.

Now only Tristan and Kris remained standing. The others, forlorn and beaten, watched on with a mixture of envy and anticipation.

Tristan grinned at his friend.

'Ready to loose?'

Kris grinned back, but it was rather a forced one. Just once, he thought, just once in his life he wished to beat Tristan. Just once.

He took note of the leaves beneath Tristan's foot, and thinking to take him unprepared, Kris made the leaves ignite. Tristan, however, already caught the direction of his friend's gaze and a stream of his gift doused the fire almost instantly.

'My turn!'

Without waiting for Kris to collect his disappointment, Tristan made a grand gesture with his hand, and a small spark of fire appeared in front of him. A few more hand movements, and the fire leaped across the air towards Kris.

The boy, having never seen such a trick, cried out in surprise and thinking that the spark would hit his face, jumped back from the line impulsively.

There was a loud commotion from the watchers as children crowded around Tristan.

'Graveyard Hag, Trissy!' Nina yelled, slapping his shoulders playfully, 'where did you learn to do that?'

Tristan's grin turned to that of mischief.

'I got it from Master Rook's book. I had to steal it from the library because he said I wasn't ready for advanced magic. He just wanted to make sure his teaching post is still safe.'

Kris walked stiffly towards him. 'I – didn't know you could make fire jumped through space like that.'

Tristan shrugged. 'I learnt it last night. It's not that difficult. I'll teach you if you like.'

Kris, still a little stiff-faced, managed a smile. He couldn't help but feel a little resentful towards the boy, who was – to Kris' shame – two years younger than his eight years.

Then Nina screamed. The rest of the children turned their gazes towards the source of terror, and froze.

A wolf, growling and looking none too friendly, stood some feet away from the group of children. Deep, menacing noises rumbled through its throat as it took a step nearer.

Beside Tristan, he felt Kris tense. Nina gave a soft whimper of fright and clung on to her brother's shaking arm.

'What do we do? What do we do?' Ral murmured urgently. Not taking his eyes away from the wolf, he held Nina's hand and gently pushed her behind him.

'Use our Gift,' Tristan supplied.

'What? We don't know anything about fighting a wolf!' Kris' voice grew shrill and was met by another growl.

'Keep your voice down, and don't move so – '

A snarl. A flash of brown fur. In the next second, the children screamed as the beast leaped towards them. In a burst of panic, they ran, scattering amongst the forest like startled rabbits.

There was a rip and a thud as Nina fell across the forest floor. Terrified eyes glued on the approaching wolf, Nina sent a nearby stone hurtling towards the animal. It struck the beast's head, hard enough to make it roar in fury, but not enough to knock it out.

With a sound that was akin to a mad, dog's bark, the wolf bared its sharp teeth and charged at the girl.

Ral screamed for his sister to get up but she seemed paralysed.

'Nina! Nina move!'

The beast was almost on her.

With fierce concentration, Tristan forced his entire energy on the wolf. Face and eyes scrunched up with the effort, the boy raised his hand and struck.

Bright fire shot from his outstretched arms and crashed into the beast's side. It was knocked onto the floor with a howl of pain. After a moment, it was back on its feet and looking through enraged eyes at Tristan. Snarling, it made for the boy.

Shaking, from fear and exhaustion, Tristan summoned up what was left of his Gift. With a yell, he punched with his arms – and the air before him rippled.

He saw the wolf blow backwards before hearing its screeching, dying cry.

There was a moment of pure silence, broken only by Tristan's fast, gasps of air. Then, Ral hurried to his sister.

A hand, shaking and cold, patted Tristan's shoulder. He turned to look into Kris' pale, shocked face. He smiled weakly.

'You'd… better not do that to me in the next game.'

Tristan stared hard at the animal. All he could think was: the wolf is dead. The wolf is dead, and he caused its death. True, he had felt terrified when it was charging at him, and true, what he did was a complete instinct of survival, but wasn't he the only person out of six children who had strength – and daring – enough to strike?

Nina gazed at him with adoring eyes. Ral looked on with respect and admiration. Ever so steadily, the thrilling sense of pride and elation filled every part of his body. He regarded the dead beast with a fighter's triumph.

At the age of six, Tristan Staghorn had killed his first wolf.