But for now all I have is another dead traitor upstairs, and his secrets will go with him to his grave.
CHAPTER LXIX
_____
STANDING ALONE IN THE BOW OF HER FLAGSHIP, TYRANNY took a final draw from her cigarillo. She lazily blew out the smoke and tossed the cigarillo’s charred remains into the sea. The waiting was the worst part, she knew. Half of her wanted the impending conflict to start, and the other half hoped that it never would.
After what the traitorous consul in the archery shop had told them, the Conclave knew that Wulfgar’s Black Ships were on the way. But given so much coastline to guard—and with only her twelve ships and the remainder of the Minion fleet with which to do it—the task before her seemed impossible.
For the last three days the Reprise and the other vessels under her command had dutifully plowed up and down the Sea of Whispers. Their mission was to patrol the waters between the coastal city of Far Point and the huge bay that bordered Farplain. So far, everything had been quiet.
Faegan had strongly advised her that when Wulfgar arrived, he would probably try to anchor his ships as close to the pass through the Tolenkas as possible. Reaching the azure wall in the mountains would be his first priority. That meant that the most logical staging point for his invasion would be somewhere along the coast that lay just north of Shadowood.
Only fifty-one Minion warships had survived the prior battles with Wulfgar’s demonslaver fleet, and their captains were doing their best to help Tyranny patrol. As for the Reprise, her repairs had been hurried but adequate. Though all sixty-three vessels in the fleet were filled nearly to the sinking point with eager warriors, Tyranny shuddered when she thought of how much Eutracian coastline remained open to invasion. She hoped that Faegan’s assumptions about Wulfgar’s battle plan would prove to be correct.
She cast her gaze back out to sea. It was almost seven o’clock, and the sun had just disappeared below the western horizon. When she was aboard ship, this was always her favorite part of the day.
Tonight the sea was relatively calm, the winds were steady, and the fleet’s pace was more than adequate. Unless a fog formed, the visibility would be excellent. The other vessels followed the Reprise in a line, at intervals of approximately one-half league. Just now they were in the midst of yet another northern leg of their patrol, and the mysterious area of Shadowood would soon come up along their port side.
At least K’jarr’s scouts were keeping the vessels in some form of communication, however tenuous, she thought. Others continually patrolled as far to the east as they dared. This added great range to Tyranny’s search, and she was thankful for it. But a squad of four such scouts had already perished when they had overestimated their endurance. She was determined to keep loss of life to a minimum, no matter what it took.
Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, she turned to see Shailiha, Sister Adrian, and Duvessa walking toward her, the princess carrying an open bottle of red wine. Adrian held four glasses. Duvessa carried a stone jug of akulee. They were all smiling. Tyranny raised an eyebrow.
Shailiha and Duvessa held their bottles high. “Reinforcements!” the princess announced cheerfully. “At least that’s what Tristan likes to call it.”
Duvessa and Adrian laughed.
Shailiha poured out three glasses of wine, while Duvessa served herself a glassful of akulee. Tyranny accepted a glass from Shailiha, raised it in a silent toast, then drained it in one long, welcome draft.
“Bless you,” she said. She held the glass out for a refill.
As she took another sip, Tyranny looked at Duvessa’s body armor. Since that day in Valrenkium when Reznik’s beasts had come snarling up out of the earth, all of the healers who had participated in the fight with Duvessa had been granted the additional distinction of the red feather. Embroidered into the leather, it crossed over the white one at a sharp angle.
When Traax had seen how well the women fought, he had immediately requested permission from the Jin’Sai to grant them warrior status—without the need for the customary rites of ascension. Glad to see that his vision of adding females to the warrior ranks was taking hold, Tristan heartily approved.
Upon seeing the honor of the red feather emblazoned upon the healers’ armor more female Minions had requested warrior training. Even the stern Traax—who at first had harbored grave doubts about the prince’s idea—now touted the concept every chance he could find. Duvessa found that amusing, but she did not chide him about it.
Ironic, Tyranny thought as she stared at the red feather. The Minion women were such wonderful healers, and yet now such accomplished takers of life, as well. Tyranny had requested that a small group of these new warriors be assigned to each of her sixty-three ships, and she was particularly glad to have their dual skills at her service.
Shailiha walked to the gunwale and leaned her arms upon the rail. She smiled to herself as she remembered that she no longer needed Faegan’s spell to combat her seasickness. She was beginning to understand her brother’s love of the sea.
But when she turned back around to the others, her face was worried.
“If Wulfgar catches us out here with his Black Ships, do we have any hope of stopping him?” she asked Tyranny bluntly. “Worse yet, can we survive it?”
Tyranny didn’t answer. Striking a match against one of her scuffed knee boots, she lit another cigarillo. After taking a luxurious lungful of smoke, she shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “But if you put a dagger to my throat and force me to choose, I would have to say no. Faegan and Wigg seem to believe that the Enseterat will come with his Black Ships first, because they are so much faster. Then the demonslaver war frigates will follow. If the wizards are correct, in the beginning we will have superior numbers. But at the Citadel, you and I saw firsthand what the Black Ships can do. And don’t forget about how huge those vessels are. They were built to carry something. But what could that be—more demonslavers, perhaps? Or will it be something even worse? We barely got away with our teeth that night.”
“Remember that day not so long ago in my cabin?” she added. “After K’jarr had described what the Black Ships were capable of, I was practically ready to have him keelhauled! But in the end he was exactly right.”
She took another sip of wine as she gathered her thoughts.
“And we still don’t know what these seven captains of Wulfgar’s are capable of,” she added glumly. “Wigg and Faegan claim that they were once powerful wizards. But in their present form, can they still employ the craft? No one knows. But I needn’t tell any of you about the kind of destruction seven full-fledged wizards could wreak upon our ships. We might never know what hit us.”
Tyranny gave Sister Adrian a respectful nod. “That is why I petitioned Faegan so forcefully to allow us to have some of the acolytes of the Redoubt along. If the seven captains of the Black Ships still command their powers, perhaps our ladies can pay them something back in return. I would have loved to have Jessamay here with us as well, but Faegan swore he couldn’t spare her. Something about how she was the only one who could help him in his seemingly never-ending research, he said. Tell me. Does he ever stop studying the craft?”
Shailiha smiled. “I don’t think so,” she answered. “Sometimes it seems like—”
Two distinct sounds interrupted her. One of them was the peal of the warning bell in the crow’s nest. The other was the sound of K’jarr and Scars running toward them.
K’jarr had just returned from a patrol. His wings drooping toward the deck, it was all he could do to catch his breath. Scars had that predatory look on his face that Tyranny knew so well.
“A patrol has found them!” Scars announced. “All seven of the Black Ships are approximately six leagues due east and coming fast, flying above the sea.” The giant first mate’s face turned hard in the growing moonlight. “Wulfgar’s invasion has be
gun.”
Tyranny shot a look at K’jarr. “Did you see any demonslaver frigates?” she asked.
Still trying to catch his breath, the Minion shook his head.
She nodded. It seems that the crippled wizard Faegan was right after all, she thought. And unless we change course, the Black Ships will soon have the angle on us—in addition to their greater speed. She turned back to K’jarr.
“Do you think they saw you?”
K’jarr shook his head. “I kept the patrol very high. But I’m sure of what I saw. The size of the Black Ships makes them hard to mistake.”
Tyranny looked over at Adrian. “What are the odds that Wulfgar will sense us?” she asked.
“That is nearly impossible to say,” Adrian answered. “The spell Faegan invoked over the Sisters and Shailiha to cloak our blood continues to hold, but this is the Enseterat we’re dealing with, and in many ways his powers dwarf even those of Faegan’s. There is simply no telling whether he will be able to sense our blood before he actually sees our fleet. I recommend caution.”
Tyranny shook her head. “There will be a time for caution,” she said ominously. “But now is not it. Tonight he sails only with his Black Ships. He is as vulnerable as he will ever be. If he isn’t stopped before his demonslaver frigates arrive, or before he can breach the azure wall in the Tolenkas, he may never be defeated.”
She looked east. She saw nothing except a calm ocean, but she knew that was about to change. For several moments she calculated the various distances, speeds, and angles in her mind. Finally she turned back to K’jarr.
“Order a messenger to fly to each of our other ships and inform them of the situation,” she said. “I want the fleet divided. The northern half is to turn northeast; the southern half is to turn east for two leagues, then turn north. Each ship is to douse all of her lights and go on battle alert. Go now. And tell all of your messengers to hurry. Our lives depend upon it.”
K’jarr bowed slightly. “I live to serve,” he said. He was gone in an instant.
“What are you planning to do?” Shailiha asked the privateer.
After draining the rest of her wine, Tyranny rolled the glass back and forth between her hands. She looked up at Scars and the other three women.
“What I must do, if he is ever to be defeated,” she said. “First we will surround him. Then we will attack with all sixty-three ships, and every crewman and Minion we can muster. We have to stop him here.” Her jaw set, she looked to the east once more.
“And may the Afterlife save us if we fail.”
CHAPTER LXX
_____
CROUCHING ON THE DAMP FOREST FLOOR, SATINE LOOKED out over the glowing Minion campfires. The night was dark. She shivered with the cold. She hadn’t eaten any warm food for three days. From this distance, she couldn’t smell the cooking aromas that would be coming from the warrior camp in the small valley below, but she could imagine them.
The Gray Fox had patiently followed the prince, Wigg, Celeste, and the Minion phalanx for the last three days. Bratach and Ivan had told her that the Jin’Sai would be leaving the palace, but they hadn’t known why. She still didn’t know where the prince and his group were leading her, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was to complete her sanctions.
The royal party’s pace had been agonizingly slow, with the Minions continually circling overhead so as to not hurry on before them. At first she had been certain that the accompanying warriors would make her job all the more difficult, and she had cursed their presence. As time went on, however, she realized that by watching the warriors in the sky, she could follow from a far greater distance and still not lose track of her quarry. This advantage—coupled with her disguise—added greatly to her hopes for success.
Still, she hadn’t found an opportunity to act. With so many warriors guarding the royal party both in the air and on the ground, nighttime would provide the best opportunity. She would follow them for as long as necessary to find the perfect moment to strike.
Tonight would not provide the chance she sought. These Minions weren’t fools. Each night they made camp in an open spot where cover was scarce. Two tents always sat in the center of the camp, surrounded by the others. She was sure that those belonged to the Jin’Sai, Celeste, and the wizard. Tonight was no exception. Deciding that she would have to wait yet again, she retreated into the woods.
Her campsite was sparse, allowing her to move quickly should she need to. She had tied her gelding and her packhorse to a nearby tree. The saddlebags containing her food and weapons lay within easy reach on the forest floor. She had no fire, for she couldn’t risk being discovered. A blanket lay on the ground, and her saddle served as her pillow. When dawn came she would rise, eat something quickly, and then set out again to find the warriors circling the sky in the distance.
She reached into a pocket of her tattered dress and removed a piece of folded parchment. She had been carrying it ever since Ivan had first given it to her in the dank cellar of the archery shop. At the time, she had thought his self-important skulduggery silly. But now—two kills later—she had to admit that the traitorous consuls and their unknown confederate in the palace had been immensely helpful.
She unfolded the parchment and held it up to the moonlight, memorizing the address on it and its related code phrases.
She looked back up at the three magenta moons. It would be at least ten hours until dawn, so she should have plenty of time to visit the nearby village. Besides, she thought, maybe they’ll have some real food. She refolded the parchment and hid it in her boot.
After changing from her disguise into her usual clothing, she strapped her daggers onto her thighs and put on her cloak. She made certain that her packhorse was securely tied to the tree, then she mounted her gelding and set off. It would be slow going through the forest until she came to the road, but it would give her valuable time to think.
So far, the Jin’Sai and his group seemed to be sticking to the roads, heading northwest. They had avoided the few towns along their route. Only three hours earlier the royal party had gone around a small hamlet called Morningshire—no doubt in order to avoid the Minions frightening the inhabitants. Satine had chosen to continue following the royal party, rather than risk losing them by detouring through the village, which her parchment listed as the location of one of the rural consular sanctuaries. Once the prince and his companions had made camp for the night, she would be free to double back to the village and check to see if there was a message waiting for her there.
Once she emerged onto the road, she memorized the spot where she exited the forest, then turned her horse southeast and spurred him into a relaxed gallop.
Half an hour later, she could see the lights of Morningshire. She slowed her horse and entered the village cautiously. Few people were out and about; those on the streets took little heed of her. Morningshire struck her as the kind of place that wanted little to do with the rest of the world, and that suited her just fine. She passed a schoolhouse on her right, and then a small inn on her left. As she continued, a livery, a general store, and a bakery appeared out of the darkness and then retreated again, each of them closed.
She recalled the address: 555 Everwood Lane. It certainly sounded innocent enough—hardly the kind of place that might harbor dangerous, endowed rebels against the crown. She finally saw a sign marked Everwood Lane, and turned her horse at the corner.
The sanctuary proved to be a modest, thatch-roofed cottage. Warm light could be seen coming through the front windows; a swinging bench hung beneath the porch roof. Hickory-scented smoke curled out of the chimney, reminding her how cold she was. And a wreath of wildflowers hung from the door, indicating that a message awaited her inside.
She climbed down off her horse and looked around. Everything seemed peaceful. She tied the gelding to the rail. Without a sound she stepped onto the porch and walked to the door. After knockin
g twice, she reached beneath her cloak and settled her hands on the hilts of her daggers.
The door swung open. An old man stood there. He had to be ninety Seasons of New Life if he was a day. He very much reminded her of Aeolus. Despite his advanced age, he stood erect. He was bald, dressed in simple peasant’s garb, and his sharp eyes looked her up and down. In one hand he grasped a long-stemmed clay pipe.
“Can I help you?” he asked quietly. His graceful fingers guided the clay pipe into his mouth and he clamped down on it with his teeth. This old man didn’t seem like the other two consuls she had met. Satine wondered if she had come to the wrong place.
“Pardon me,” she said, “but I’m looking for the master of the house. Can you tell me if he’s here?”
“You’re looking at him, lass,” the man said. His voice was strong and deep.
Surprised, Satine continued to size him up. He didn’t look like a threat to anyone—much less like one of the vaunted Consuls of the Redoubt.
“I’ve been told that calmatrass berries are in season and that you sell them,” she said, using the code phrase she had read on the parchment.
“Right on both counts,” he answered. A whiff of smoke escaped his pipe bowl. “I sell them by the pound.”
Upon hearing the proper phrase come back in return, Satine raised an eyebrow. “In that case I’d like to buy some,” she answered back. “I want to make a pie.”
With a wry smile, the man pushed the door open wider. Her hands still lightly on her daggers, Satine walked inside.
The cottage was modest, but it was warm and clean. On the far side of the room a fire danced in a fieldstone hearth. A stout, elderly woman with a bun of gray hair bustled about in the adjoining kitchen. The smell of warm food made Satine’s stomach growl.
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