The two lines of Tyranny’s fleet started to close. Hundreds of Minion warriors launched themselves into the air from the enemy decks.
“Their warriors will to try to board us,” Wulfgar said calmly. “Make sure the demonslavers are ready to welcome them.”
When the first Minions arrived, they were met by rows upon rows of battle-hungry demonslavers banging their weapons against their shields. The rising cacophony was deafening.
Wulfgar turned to Merriwhether and nodded. Then, slowly—almost lazily—the Enseterat and his dark servant raised their arms and began blasting Minion warriors from the nighttime sky.
WHEN TYRANNY SAW THE GLEAMING AZURE BOLTS STREAKING though the darkness, her heart skipped a beat. The nightmare they had feared was quickly coming to pass: Wulfgar wasn’t their only enemy to command the craft. His skeletal captains did as well—and that could spell disaster.
Faegan had warned them of this possibility, and yet he had refused to come along, insisting that he stay deep in the Redoubt with Jessamay to continue their research. As Tyranny looked through her glass at the carnage, her blood began to boil.
Damn your eyes, Faegan! she thought. We need you now!
As the Black Ships approached, Minion warriors were blasted from the sky in staggering numbers. For each one who fought his or her way down to the enemy decks, four or five more burst apart in midair. Others were burned so badly that they crashed helplessly into the sea. As Tyranny looked down at the water, she felt her stomach turn. The sea had turned from black to red in the moonlight.
Looking up at the crow’s nest, Tyranny was about to shout an order to Sister Adrian but the acolyte acted first. Twin beams shot from Adrian’s hands toward the first of the Black Ships. The acolytes aboard Tyranny’s other ships followed suit. The night sky turned bright as day.
The privateer and the princess held their breath as literally hundreds of the sisters’ bolts screamed across the waves. Surely nothing can stand up to that, Tyranny thought.
But to her horror, as the azure bolts struck the Black Ships they flattened out and fell away, sizzling harmlessly into the sea—almost as if the enemy vessels wore some kind of endowed armor. Over and over again the acolytes tried, but each time it was the same. The Black Ships were so close now that Tyranny and Shailiha could see their skeletal captains without the use of the spyglass.
Tyranny’s ring of ships continued to tighten around Wulfgar’s small fleet, but even with their huge advantage in numbers, the Minions failed to take control of the enemy decks. The acolytes’ use of the craft seemed little more than pinpricks against the onrushing Black Ships.
Her face grim, Tyranny looked over at Shailiha. The princess immediately understood. Both women drew their swords.
Tyranny turned to K’jarr. “Prepare to board the enemy vessels!” she shouted. “Gangplanks and grappling hooks at the ready!”
She looked out across the sea. Even without her glass, she could see the other half of her fleet taking a line on the port sides of Wulfgar’s vessels. There was no going back now. She turned to Scars.
“Steer due south—hard to starboard!” she shouted.
With a massive groan, the Reprise came over hard, the vessels following her quickly doing the same. Tyranny saw her southern line of ships come to port and head north. She knew that in mere moments her vise would tighten its grip, and both lines of her fleet would be near enough to try to board the Black Ships.
As Tyranny’s fleet closed, she watched with dread as Wulfgar, in the bow of the lead vessel, raised his hands.
The Black Ships rose higher into the air and their speed increased dramatically. The western ends of Tyranny’s two rows of ships finally closed ranks, but to no avail: hulls gleaming in the moonlight, the seven incredible vessels literally flew over the mast tops of Tyranny’s fleet.
As they soared overhead they blotted out the moonlight. Tyranny and Shailiha could do nothing but stand there and watch the spectacle in awestruck wonder.
Then, standing by the enemy gunwales, Wulfgar and his captains cast azure bolt after azure bolt down upon the westernmost vessels of Tyranny’s fleet. The bolts tore though the ships’ riggings, masts, decks, and hulls. Decks exploded, crewmen and warriors were launched into the air, and thick, choking smoke started to blanket everything.
The stricken ships immediately burst into flames. Crewmen and Minions jumped overboard to quench the flames that burned them. At least a third of Tyranny’s fleet was ablaze. The privateer watched, aghast, as ship after ship disappeared beneath the waves. Determined Minions continued to hurl themselves against the Black Ships. But between the demonslavers and the azure bolts, the warriors died quickly.
Tyranny looked frantically down the deck of her flagship. The Reprise had been hit at least twice—once in the stern and once amidships. Both areas blazed, and much of the ship’s rigging was gone. Pandemonium reigned as the warriors and crewmen desperately tried to save the beleaguered ship. Then came a terrible cracking sound.
With a tortured groan, the entire mainmast and all of her accompanying sails crashed to the deck. The mast bounced once and then split in two, crushing crewmen and warriors to death beneath its weight. The crow’s nest and the top half of the mast exploded against the gunwale, to lie awkwardly over the side and droop toward the sea. Sister Adrian was nowhere to be seen.
Tyranny raised her spyglass to the sky. In the darkness she could just make out the hulls of the fleeing Black Ships. They were on course in the exact direction Faegan had predicted they would go. They would anchor just offshore in the great bay that lay directly east of the pass through the Tolenkas. From there Wulfgar and his forces would march west.
Tired and beaten, the privateer and the princess looked out over what remained of their smashed fleet. Fire and smoke ruled the waves as still more of their vessels went down. The remaining ships hurried to help those in need. The water was crowded with Minion dead and dying, but there were very few demonslaver corpses to be seen. Tyranny ordered Scars to search for Sister Adrian.
The privateer sheathed her sword. The crew worked to bring the fires aboard her flagship under control, but it would be many days before the Reprise could be made seaworthy again. Tyranny looked back up to the spot in the sky where the Black Ships had disappeared. Some of the surviving warriors were chasing after them, but she knew that they would never be able to catch up.
A third of my fleet is either lost or disabled, she thought, and slammed a fist against the gunwale. Not to mention the crewmen and warriors I’ve lost. And for what, she wondered. In the end, what had been the point?
Looking west to the coast, Tyranny hung her head.
CHAPTER LXXII
_____
AS TRISTAN SAT BEFORE THE CAMPFIRE, HE ABSENTMINDEDLY poked at its blazing logs with a dry stick. His dreggan and throwing knives lay in the grass beside him. The fire was comforting, and the nighttime sky was full of stars. It would be a pleasant night for sleeping, he thought.
Two tents sat in the center of the clearing by the road. One belonged to Tristan and Celeste, the other to Wigg. The tents surrounding them were Minion quarters. The horses were picketed nearby.
Wigg, Celeste, and Ox sat there with Tristan, their faces highlighted by the fire. They had been traveling for three days now. That morning Wigg had told them that the pull from the River of Thought was growing ever stronger. He guessed that they would reach the Well of Forestallments in one more day, two at the most.
More than once the anxious wizard had tried to gallop ahead to test Adrian’s warning that if he went too fast, he would outrun the effects of the spell. Sure enough, each time he tried, he quickly lost the sensation—only to have it return when he slowed down again. The necessarily slow pace of the journey did nothing to improve Wigg’s mood. Like Tristan, he sensed Celeste’s life quickly ebbing away, and his frustration and anger grew by the moment.
The remains of their roast venison dinner lay nearby. The Minions were good cooks, and Tristan shared their love of rare meat. Over the course of the trip the prince had begun to develop a taste for akulee, even though it was much harder on his head than the ale or wine he was used to.
After a good bit of cajoling, he had even managed to get the wizard to try some. Against his better judgment, Wigg had cautiously taken a sip. Then his face screwed up and he spat it out. Over the last three hundred years he had become accustomed to the best wine the palace cellars had to offer. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, the First Wizard had proclaimed akulee to be the vilest concoction ever created. Tristan and Celeste had laughed at him, and the rare, comic interlude had done them all good.
Tristan looked over at Wigg. The wizard’s hands were shoved into the opposite sleeves of his robe. The Paragon hung about his neck, firelight dancing in its bloodred facets. Lost in his thoughts, he stared into the fire.
“Can we beat him?” Tristan asked.
Everyone understood all too well that he referred to his half brother, Wulfgar. Celeste laid her head upon her husband’s shoulder.
Wigg sighed. “Who knows?” he answered. “Maybe—but only if we can find the Well, if it exists at all. And then we must convince this Scroll Master to help us. But I would be lying to you if I said that the odds against us weren’t long. And I fear that our time grows short.”
He looked over at Celeste, his face rueful. “I’m sorry, my child,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
As Celeste gathered her shawl about her, Tristan pulled her closer. He felt her shiver.
“I’m all right, Father,” she answered. “Really I am.” Looking up into Tristan’s face, she smiled. “The two of you worry about me too much.”
She’s lying, Wigg thought. Just the same, he loved her for it, and his heart was breaking.
During the last two days Celeste’s movements had become noticeably stiffer and her limp more pronounced. Her hair was grayer and she had lost even more weight. Using the craft, Wigg did all he could to ease her pain, but even he had been only partially successful. Yesterday’s examination of her blood signature revealed that even more of it had vanished.
It killed him to see his only child wasting away before his eyes. Before long, she would look as old as he did. And he knew that Tristan was hurting for her just as much as he was, perhaps even more.
Wigg turned his craggy face back to the fire. We simply have to reach the Scroll Master in time, he thought. So much depends upon it.
He stood and brushed the loose grass from his robe. “I will be retiring,” he announced. “I hope you sleep well.”
The others bid him good night.
Celeste looked up at Tristan again. “I’m also tired, my love” she said. She stood with difficulty. “Are you coming?”
“In a little while,” he answered. “It’s a beautiful night. I’d like to sit by the fire with Ox for a while longer.”
Celeste smiled. “I had almost forgotten how much you love being outdoors,” she said. She looked over at Ox. “Goodnight,” she said.
The warrior gave her a short smile. “Ox say goodnight, too,” he answered.
Tristan watched her enter their tent, then turned back to the fire. Silence reigned between him and the warrior for a time.
“The wizard be very worried,” Ox said. “Ox worried, too. We reach Well tomorrow, Ox hope. I no want see Wigg’s daughter die.”
Ever since the episode at the Gates of Dawn, Ox had considered Tristan his personal charge. During their first conflict with Wulfgar, he had come to feel the same way about Celeste and Shailiha. When he had learned that Tristan and Celeste had married, in his happiness he had consumed an entire jug of akulee by himself. Despite his great size, his head had hurt for the next two days.
“I know, my friend,” Tristan answered. “I know.”
Ox handed the akulee jug to the prince. As the tree frogs sang and the fire snapped, Tristan took another slow, welcome drink.
NESTLED SECURELY IN THE BRANCH OF A TREE, A FIGURE dressed in black leather watched the campsite. Satine had been forced to slither toward the tree very slowly. More than once, Minion patrols had nearly spotted her.
She took up the small spyglass that hung from a leather cord at her hip. Before she had begun the night’s surveillance, she had carefully rubbed the instrument with dirt so that it would not shine in the moonlight. She had done the same to her face and hands. She lifted the glass to one eye, extended it, and twisted it.
The magnifying lenses brought everything into sharp relief. This was the second time tonight that she had viewed the campsite through the glass. The first time, she had watched her targets eating. Now she watched as the prince, the wizard, and his daughter finally retired, leaving a giant Minion guard alone by the dwindling fire.
Shifting her position in the tree, Satine stretched her back and lowered the glass. It would be a long night, but if she could just catch one of them away from the campsite, she would be that much closer to completing her sanctions. If the warriors continued to fly over the road tomorrow, she could sleep briefly in her saddle.
She looked up at the three moons. It occurred to her that they beamed down upon not only her and her targets, but also upon Aeolus, Shamus, and Evelyn. The three moons bind us together in a way, she thought.
She was also reminded of Wigg comforting his daughter, and of Tristan perhaps holding her close as he lay by her side. She thought of Shamus and Evelyn in their bed together, and of what the consul had told her, as well as what Aeolus had said just before she left Tammerland. Their contradictory messages ate at her, feeding the growing seeds of doubt.
She pushed her thoughts away and turned her dark eyes back toward the campsite.
TRISTAN STARTED FROM A FITFUL SLEEP. IT TOOK HIM A FEW MOMENTS to recognize his surroundings, then he relaxed.
Rising on one elbow, he looked over at Celeste. She slept peacefully. Given his restlessness, he knew that it would do little good to try to go back to sleep. What he needed was a walk. He kissed his wife on the cheek, then slipped from beneath the blanket, quietly took up his weapons, and stepped from the tent.
The night was crisp, the moons bright. Ox lay asleep by the fire, his snoring as loud as ever. Tristan smiled. One could have far worse friends, he thought.
He stretched his sleepy muscles, then strapped both the dreggan and his throwing knives into place across his back. He walked to the other tents and talked with some of the warriors just back from patrol. They were glad to see him and happily shared their akulee.
On the way back to his tent, Tristan suddenly remembered what it was that had been scratching at the back of his mind. He had been worried about Shadow. Late in the day, as they had neared the place where they were to make camp, the horse had suddenly developed a limp. Tristan could tell that it was nothing serious, but he had made a mental note to check the horse later, after the Minions had bedded him down. Now was as good a time as any.
He thought for a moment about asking a patrol to accompany him, but then decided against it. He would feel foolish about taking them on so short and simple an errand—and besides, he wanted some time to himself. Leaving the relative safety of the camp behind, he starting walking to where the horses were tied.
WATCHING THROUGH THE SPYGLASS, SATINE COULDN’T BELIEVE her luck. At last, she thought. She easily recognized the figure leaving the campsite. She even thought she knew where he was headed.
After securing her glass in her cloak, she looked around carefully. She could see no Minion patrols nearby. She descended from the tree. The grass beneath her feet was wet with dew, the better to muffle her footsteps.
As she moved toward her quarry, she reached behind her back and took up the tools of her trade.
THE HORSES HAD BEEN TIED TO A LINE THAT STRETCHED BETWEEN two large trees in the
center of an open meadow. At the edge of the meadow, Tristan called softly to the lone Minion guard to alert him to his approach.
As he neared, the horses came to their feet, whinnying. Shadow’s black coat shimmered in the moonlight as he turned his large, dark eyes toward his master. The prince gave him an affectionate rub on the neck.
Tristan had long thought that his former mount, Pilgrim, would never have an equal. But over the course of the last three days he had learned that in terms of sheer speed and endurance, Shadow had no match. A bond was growing between them that might soon eclipse even the one he had shared with Pilgrim. As he rubbed the horse’s ears, Shadow snorted and shook his mane.
Tristan looked at the guard. “All is well here?”
The guard nodded. “Yes, Jin’Sai.”
Tristan smiled. “Now then,” he said to Shadow. “Let’s take a look at that foot, shall we, boy?”
Bending over, he coaxed the stallion’s right front hoof from the ground and placed it on his bended knee. It was difficult to perform an examination in the moonlight, but he eventually found the problem. There was a long bramble-bush thorn lodged between the horse’s shoe and the frog of his foot.
Tristan took out one of his throwing knives. It wasn’t a proper tool, but it would have to do. He bent down again.
There was an unexpected breeze, and he heard a dull thud. He coiled up and snapped his head around to see an arrow, its shaft still quivering, buried in the Minion guard’s forehead. The warrior’s face registered surprise, and then he collapsed to the ground, dead. In shock, Tristan realized that had he not bent over when he had, the arrow would have gone straight through his neck.
He ducked under Shadow’s legs and rolled to the other side of the horse, where he stood again, using his horse and the bay mare next to him as cover. The sudden action startled the other two horses, and they danced about nervously, shaking their heads.
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