The Scrolls of the Ancients tcobas-3

by Robert Newcomb

  Smiling to himself, K'jarr watched them go, as two by two they bravely dove down on the pirate armada. As they did, the pirates began to notice, looking up and staring at the winged ones with wide, unbelieving eyes.

  K'jarr smiled. Trying to board these two hundred vessels and kill all of the pirates would have been blatant suicide. Still, had Tristan ordered them to do so, they would have obeyed him without question. But the Chosen One had not commanded his winged warriors to attack the pirates.

  He had ordered them to attack their ships.

  O ut of one corner of her eye, Tyranny saw Tristan coming. Then, for the first time in her life, she saw the Minions. So stunned was she that she literally stopped what she was doing and simply stared at them, her sword hanging limply from one bloody hand. Only at the last moment did one of the warriors step in, expertly slicing away the head of a sash-wearing pirate who had tried to take advantage of her lapse in judgment.

  Running up to her side, Tristan shouted out to her, telling her that the winged ones were his, and that she shouldn't be afraid of them. With the fighting on The People's Revenge finally starting to abate, he did his best to explain what he had just ordered the Minions to do, and how their fleet was on the way. There were still two hundred pirate vessels bearing down on them, but at least now they had a slim chance. As he told her, he saw a glimmer of hope appear in her eyes. Then he looked over to see Scars.

  The ever-weaponless giant was holding a frantically squirming, screaming pirate in his arms. Tristan knew from prior experience that there would be no escape for the man. Seemingly oblivious to everything going on around him, Scars calmly walked the terrified raider over to the gunwale, the pirate's red, telltale sash dragging on the pitching deck as they went.

  Without fanfare, Scars lifted the man into the air, then brought his head down sharply against the smooth, polished edge. With a sickening snapping sound, it cracked open like an eggshell. Gray brain matter slipped from within its shattered depths to fall sloppily onto the deck. Saying nothing, Scars tossed the body overboard into the sea. Then he looked up at Tristan and smiled broadly.

  A s K'jarr's warriors finally reached the oncoming pirates' ships, they drew their swords. Swooping and darting among the vessels, staying aloft rather than taking to the decks, they hacked savagely at the sails and rigging of the ships, bringing them tumbling to the decks in tattered, useless heaps of tangled rope and sailcloth. All the angry pirates could do was to watch helplessly, shaking their fists and cursing the days the winged ones were born.

  A few of the more aggressive pirates started climbing the remains of their tattered rigging, to reach the Minions and fight them. But that proved to be a huge mistake. From their superior positions aloft, the Minions easily cut them to pieces, the raiders' mutilated bodies crashing back down to the decks or splashing into the Sea of Whispers.

  On and on it went, one ship after the next, as the Minions mercilessly hacked down the sails and rigging. Others of them destroyed the hulls of the ships' longboats and skiffs, making escape impossible. Finally, exhausted but satisfied, the Minion warriors resheathed their dreggans and soared higher, to regroup with their leader.

  Looking down, K'jarr smiled broadly. Just as the Chosen One had hoped, the warriors had been able to stop the pirate vessels dead in the water, and now they drifted aimlessly, at the whim of the currents. Their decks covered with white sailcloth, the ships looked rather like oddly shaped clouds that had somehow fallen from the sky to land in the openness of the blue sea. There was no way the pirate forces would be able to reach their comrades in the battle for The People's Revenge.

  As the pirates screamed invectives at the winged ones who had crippled them, K'jarr knew that he and his warriors had just secured for their lord the one thing he had needed most: time. Time for their fleet to arrive, under the dual command of Geldon and Traax. That would not be long now, he knew. Then the real killing could begin. In true Minion fashion, his blood sang with the promise of slaughtering the enemies of his sworn lord.

  K'jarr turned his sharp eyes toward the eastern horizon. To his great delight, he could finally see the sails of their fleet approaching. Then another dark, fleeting shadow passed over the ocean below, and he smiled.

  The sky above him was suddenly swarming with Minion troops. Traax was leading them, and six of them were carrying a litter that presumably transported Geldon.

  Traax waved K'jarr's forces up, and the two groups combined. After a quick word of explanation from K'jarr, the warriors left the pirate ships in their misery and began flying as fast toward Tyranny's stricken ship as their wings would allow.

  Despite their initial success, Traax's face darkened. Their lord wasn't safe yet, and every passing second mattered.

  T yranny, Scars, and Tristan stood together back to back, fighting against the remaining pirates who still dared to take them on. Tyranny had already been wounded in one shoulder, and Scars in his right thigh. Neither of their injuries was mortal, but they needed attention, or they would both soon become weak from blood loss.

  Tristan was still unscathed. He continued to fight like a demon, even though his arms were becoming so heavy he didn't know how much longer he would be able to raise his dreggan. Fortunately, their attackers were becoming fewer, and at last all three of them were able to stop fighting.

  Their chests heaving, Tristan and Tyranny took a moment to rest on the hilts of their swords. Using a shirt taken from a dead pirate and ripped into strips, Scars temporarily bound Tyranny's wound and then his own.

  Then a voice rang out across the deck, causing Tristan's blood to run cold.

  "I said that you were a clever bastard!" Rolf shouted. "And what you just did to my ships proves it, doesn't it? These winged monkeys of yours can certainly use a sword, I'll give them that! But what ugly things they are! Sure'n it's just you and me now. What say you, laddie-are you up for a little fun?"

  At some point in the battle, one of the pirates must have cut Rolf free from the mast. Looking out across the ship, Tristan could see him standing arrogantly on the far side of an empty patch of bloody deck. He beckoned Tristan forward, the red sash around his waist fluttering in the wind. In one hand he held a bloody pirate saber, and in the other a dagger. Smiling, he wiped the sword blade clean on one leg of his trousers. Then he raised it, expertly twirled it around in his hand, and pointed its tip directly at the prince's face. For a split second Tristan wondered how many of Tyranny's men the pirate had just killed.

  "Are you going to hide behind that traitorous bitch's skirts forever, or come to me like a man?" Rolf shouted. Then he smiled and bowed sarcastically to Tyranny. "Sorry, lass, but I forgot-you never wear skirts, do you? Still, that never kept me from finding my way in, did it now?"

  Enraged, Tristan stalked toward the pirate leader. He knew that they had already won, that this didn't need to happen. And in his heart he knew that Rolf understood that as well as he did.

  But Tristan's supremely endowed, azure blood was overcoming these sentiments. Both he and Rolf had their reasons for what was about to happen, and neither of them would be denied. He paused by Tyranny, his eyes still fixed squarely on Rolf.

  "If he kills me, you must see to it that the vellum hidden in my boot gets back to the wizards in Tammerland," he said quietly. "My fleet will be here soon. When it arrives, give the paper to the warrior named Traax. He will most probably be in command, and he can be trusted. Do you understand?"

  Tyranny nodded. Reaching out, she squeezed his arm. "Be careful," she whispered. "He is very, very good."

  "I know," Tristan answered softly, without looking at her. Reaching behind his back, he removed one of his throwing knives. Then, temporarily holding the dirk in the same hand that held his dreggan, he used his free hand to unbuckle the knife quiver, which fell to the deck. His baldric, scabbard and all, followed. He returned the knife to his left hand.

  Although almost without equal with a sword, Tristan was no expert at this kind of dual-bladed fighti
ng. He had trained in the art briefly, and knew he possessed the basic skills. But watching Rolf's sword and dagger whirl around in the bright morning sun, he realized that this was the pirate's chosen specialty. Tristan would have to be good-very good-if he was to have any hope of staying alive. But the die was cast, and there was no going back now.

  As he moved forward again, he and Rolf warily began taking stock of each other in the center of the slippery, bloody deck. A strange kind of quiet came over the ship. Crewmen, slaves, pirate captives, and Minion warriors alike watched intently as the deadly scene unfolded.

  Rolf acted first. Lunging sharply at the prince, he slashed diagonally with his saber. Stunned, Tristan realized that he had never before encountered such raw speed-not even that day when he had killed Kluge, the previous commander of the Minions. Only at the last moment did Tristan understand that Rolf's first blow had been a feint, designed to distract attention from the dagger as it came stabbing straight out from underneath.

  It was a miracle that he saw the dagger come out at all. But as it emerged from the shadow created by Rolf's body, it flashed for a split second in the sun. Only at the last moment did Tristan violently swivel his torso to avoid the strike. Rolf's dagger sliced through the side of his leather vest, narrowly missing his skin.

  With Rolf now off balance, Tristan rushed back in and stabbed his dirk directly at one of Rolf's eyes. But the pirate was too fast, sidestepping immediately, almost as if he had been expecting that very countermove. At the same time, he parried Tristan's strike with his sword, and its greater weight nearly knocked the dirk from the prince's tired hand.

  Holding their weapons high, they circled each other again, each looking for an opportunity to strike. This time, however, Tristan decided not to wait. If he wanted to stay alive, he would have to go on the offensive and stay there, no matter how exhausted he was from his previous battles.

  Using both weapons at once, Tristan windmilled them with everything he had. Rolf was able to keep parrying them as they came, but just barely. The sound of the clanging blades became an almost continual ringing out of steel against steel. Tristan's arms moved with lightning speed. He was finally gaining ground, forcing Rolf over near the port gunwale, just across from the mainmast. But Rolf seemed to be answering Tristan's blows more confidently, as he was beginning to get a feel for the prince's fighting style and for his equally amazing speed. Tristan could only hope that Rolf was tiring, as well.

  But then the pirate surprised Tristan. Backing away as he parried and struck with his saber, the pirate placed his dagger between his teeth. He then grabbed the nearby rigging and ascended one-handed with practiced ease, continuing to fight Tristan with his sword.

  Three rungs up, Rolf halted his climb and moved to the far side of the ropes, where he smiled tauntingly down. Then he wrapped one arm through the rigging, leaned back almost casually, and spread his arms in an arrogant gesture of welcome. It was clear the waiting spider had just dared the fly to come and enter his web.

  Seeing this, Tyranny almost cried out. But not wanting to divert Tristan's attention from anything Rolf might do, she held back. She closed her eyes for a moment. She had watched her former lover single-handedly kill over a dozen demonslavers with this very ruse, back before he had succumbed to the temptations of Sanctuary and had become a pirate. Rolf was a very different man now, but his fighting skills were as sharp as ever. She had never seen any of his unsuspecting opponents survive what he was about to do.

  She looked over at Scars, who shook his head. Understanding how inexperienced Tristan still was at shipboard fighting, they both knew in their hearts that he had just committed suicide.

  No sooner had Tristan climbed up to meet Rolf than the pirate dropped his sword, grasped the far side of the rigging with both hands, and kicked his feet away from the ropes, launching his body out into space. Using the tension in the ropes to add power and momentum to the maneuver, he swung around behind the opposite, flat side of the rigging, straightened out his legs, and sent his boots plunging through the gaps between the squares of rope and smashing directly into Tristan's chest with tremendous force.

  Tristan lost his grip. He went crashing back down to the bloody deck, hitting his head hard.

  In a flash, Rolf followed him down.

  Looking up through a cloudy, concussive haze, Tristan saw Rolf raise his dagger as if in slow motion, his green eyes flashing with hate.

  Then, Tristan glimpsed a flash of silver, and Rolf's expression changed from one of conquest to one of surprise. Tristan watched as a bright red line appeared around the back of Rolf's neck.

  Then the pirate's head literally fell off his shoulders, tumbling to one side and crashing to the deck. His body followed suit, landing hard next to the prince.

  Just behind where Rolf had been standing stood Tyranny, her sword covered with fresh blood.

  Tristan felt hands under his arms, pulling him to his feet. He stood, wobbly and dazed, for several moments, trying to understand what had just happened. The silence was complete except for the gentle creaking of the ship's hull. Finally, Tyranny looked Tristan in the eyes.

  "I'm glad I killed him," she said softly, her voice little more than a whisper.

  "You're glad…" Tristan answered, rubbing the back of his head.

  A strong, familiar laugh rang out behind him. Turning, the prince found himself looking into the clear, predatory eyes of Traax.

  "If she hadn't gotten that bastard in time, I would have done it for her," he said. Sheathing his dreggan, the Minion warrior smiled broadly. "But it seemed she really wanted to kill him herself. And who am I to contradict such a beautiful woman-especially one who seems to care so much for our lord!"

  Dazed, Tristan looked around. The decks of The People's Revenge were overflowing with Minion warriors. Still more circled in the skies above, their numbers occasionally blotting out the sun. A Minion litter sat on the deck nearby.

  He cast his eyes out over the sea. Not only had the pirate fleet been immobilized, but the Minion vessels had by now completely surrounded them, as well.

  Thankful to be alive, he took a deep breath. It seemed they had done it, after all. But there were still difficult decisions to be made, and he knew it. Then he saw Geldon.

  The hunchbacked dwarf was waiting patiently near the gunwale, his dark, intelligent eyes taking in everything. Tristan went to him on still-shaky legs, and they gratefully embraced one another. Smiling, Geldon looked up into the prince's eyes.

  "We were very worried," he said simply. "We have been tearing our hair out trying to find you. The Sea of Whispers is a very big place." He smiled again, at the same time giving Tristan a knowing wink. "In case you didn't already know, the Minions can become very irritable when they are concerned for the safety of their lord."

  A look of worry crossed Tristan's face. "And what of everyone at the palace?" he asked, his mind finally starting to clear. "Are they well?"

  "As far as I know, yes, they are," Geldon answered. "But I have been at sea for nearly thirty days, bringing the fleet across. In any event, you will soon see them for yourself."

  Looking back to the very confused Tyranny and Scars, Tristan beckoned them forward. But as he was introducing them to Geldon and Traax, he saw Tyranny's face turn dark.

  "What's wrong?" he asked. "We've won. You should be happy."

  Then he understood. She had just noticed her dead crewmembers hanging from the rigging of the pirate vessel that had rammed them.

  Without speaking, she walked over to the nearby gunwale and looked up. No one followed her; no one spoke. After a time, Tristan walked up and put one arm around her, and she laid her head tiredly on his shoulder.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "But at the same time I must tell you that if I were forced to make that same decision again, I would."

  For a moment she did not speak. "I know," she finally answered. "And I am not angry with you. But no amount of kisa in the world can remedy this."

  Tristan turned t
o Traax. "Have them cut down immediately," he ordered. "And have the bodies covered with sailcloth. Their remains are to be respected, and buried at sea." With a sharp click of his heels, Traax turned and began barking out orders.

  Raising her head from Tristan's shoulder, Tyranny looked up into his dark eyes. "Thank you," she said softly. "For everything." Knowing there was little more to be said, Tristan only nodded.

  Then another Minion officer approached, and Tristan recognized him as the one he had ordered to destroy the pirate sails and rigging. The warrior went to one knee, his head bowed.

  "Permission to speak, my lord?" he asked politely.

  "Granted," Tristan said.

  The Minion stood. "My name is K'jarr, and I wanted you to know that it was my great honor to serve by your side in the skies over Farplain, just before the destruction of the Gates of Dawn. It was also my privilege to fight alongside you again here today."

  Tristan smiled at K'jarr. Sometimes it seemed that the horrific battle over the fields of Farplain had been many years ago, rather than mere months.

  "Thank you, K'jarr," he said with feeling. "I will not forget you in the days to come."

  Traax reappeared then at Tristan's side, his face showing uncharacteristic concern.

  "Forgive me, my lord, but my news is urgent. The People's Revenge is taking on water-a direct result of having been rammed. The leak is slow, but our shipwrights tell me that it is irreparable. It is imperative that we transfer all of the survivors to our other vessels, and that we do so quickly."

  Looking forward, Tristan could see that Traax was right. In the heat of all the fighting, he hadn't noticed. But the ship was going nose-down, her bowsprit already nearing the waves.

  "How long do we have?" Tristan asked.

  "No more than one hour," Traax answered.

  Tristan turned to look at Tyranny. He could use the Minions to force an evacuation, but he wouldn't. This was her ship, and it would be her decision.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Tyranny finally nodded.