Shailiha took a moment to look overboard. Bodies and body parts from the Minion forces and Serena’s monsters littered the waves, as did lakes of blood, pooling on the ocean’s surface. As she watched, more carnage from the battle above fell to splash into the dark sea.
Just then she heard the sound of boots landing solidly on the deck. She turned to see that the same three warriors who had spirited Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay away had brought them back. Wigg and Jessamay quickly stood while the warrior carrying Faegan looked around for the crippled wizard’s chair. To no one’s surprise, it had apparently been washed overboard. Faegan ordered the warrior to carry him to where the others were standing.
“Is everyone all right?” Wigg asked urgently.
Tyranny nodded. “And you three?” she asked.
“Yes,” Wigg answered. “But we lost two ships, and the acolytes who so bravely captained them.”
“We know,” Tyranny answered sadly. “The acolytes died heroes.”
Like they were reading each other’s minds, everyone turned their eyes to the sky. The moonlight showed fewer warring specks than before. They soon joined up for a few moments, then started plummeting earthward toward the ships. Wigg gave Faegan, Jessamay, and Adrian a wary look. All their senses on alert, the four mystics immediately raised their arms in defense of what might be coming.
As the thousands of figures neared, Shailiha let go a deep sigh of relief. Blessedly, they were Minion warriors. Not knowing what else to do, those who had been stationed aboard the lostMalvina andIllendium seemed to be heading for theTammerland. Exhausted beyond all endurance, they crashed haphazardly to the deck. Shailiha gasped as she saw how many were seriously wounded.
Soon theTammerland was awash in warriors. Many were bleeding profusely, and others had lost limbs. Taking up every inch of deck space, they tried their best to be stoic. But even those who were not wounded were so spent that they could barely move. TheTammerland ’s top deck became slippery with their blood, and soon the air filled with calls for help.
Aghast, Tyranny looked at Shailiha. The privateer was captain of the fleet, but in Tristan’s absence, Shailiha was the Minions’ mistress.
“What are your orders?” Tyranny asked urgently.
Shailiha thought for a moment. “We will use theTammerland as a hospital ship,” she announced. “Have all the wounded who landed on other ships brought here. Use each ship’s skiffs if you must. Only then will we truly know how many wounded we are dealing with.”
Hearing Shailiha’s orders, some warriors who could still fly started heading toward the three other ships as best they could. After looking around the crowded deck again, Shailiha suddenly remembered Duvessa.
“Does anyone know what has become of Duvessa’s group?” she shouted.
No sooner had the princess asked the question than more warriors started crashing to the deck. Shailiha immediately recognized the red and white crossed feathers on their chests, telling her that they were Duvessa’s warrior-healers.
Then Duvessa fell to the deck. Although exhausted, she looked unharmed. But it was obvious that her group had suffered its share of casualties. She did her best to come to all fours.
Wigg and Tyranny ran to her and helped her to her feet. After surveying the deck, Duvessa’s face became grim.
“Can you give us a report?” Wigg asked.
As Duvessa tried to speak she started to faint away. Laying her on the deck, Wigg put one hand to her forehead then called the craft. As he did, it saddened him to see Traax’s pin feather still attached to her armor. He gave Shailiha a quick shake of his head. Soon Duvessa’s eyes fluttered open.
“What can you tell us?” Wigg answered.
“The battle was…indescribable,” she answered. “But we managed to beat them back. Some of the beasts survived and retreated east. From what I saw, our losses were heavy. TheMalvina and theFlorian went down.”
“We know,” Shailiha said.
A look of worry suddenly overtook Duvessa’s face. She tried to rise up on her elbows, but Wigg forced her back down.
“Where is Traax?” she demanded. “Is he safe?”
Wigg couldn’t help but give her a concerned look. Duvessa started to bolt upright but Wigg stopped her again. Panic gripped her.
“Where is he?” she shouted. “Is he dead? I have a right to know!”
“Traax and his patrol are missing,” Shailiha answered. “They should have returned some time ago. But that doesn’t mean that they are dead.”
“How late are they?” Duvessa demanded.
“About two hours,” Wigg answered.
“We must send out search parties!” Duvessa insisted. “They have to leave at once!”
Wigg shook his head. “We are as worried about him as you are,” he said. “But what you ask is impossible. We sent every warrior into the air to fight off Serena’s creatures. Each one returned as exhausted as you-not to mention the many who are wounded and dying as we speak. Although I’m sure that there would be no shortage of volunteers, if we sent a search party out now they would all crash into the sea before they flew ten leagues. We need to concentrate all our efforts on the wounded and dying, and since you are the Minions’ premier warrior-healer, we need your help to do that.”
Pausing for a moment, Wigg looked commandingly into her eyes. “I promise you that we will send out a search party as soon as we are able. But for now, you must follow orders. It’s what Traax would want.”
Duvessa finally calmed. “All right,” she said. “But when the search starts, I want to be the one to lead it! As his betrothed, I have earned that right!”
Wigg gave her an encouraging smile. “Very well,” he answered.
Wigg and Shailiha lifted her to her feet. Without further argument, Duvessa doggedly started organizing the care of the wounded. It would be a massive undertaking.
Just then Shailiha saw two warriors wending their way across the crowded deck. They were carrying a wooden chair on wheels. It looked like it had been quickly hammered together from scrap pieces of rough-hewn wood. The warrior carrying Faegan gently lowered the wizard into it. It wobbled and squeaked a bit as it moved, but it would do.
Wasting no time, Faegan quickly wheeled himself over to where the others were standing. He urgently gathered the other Conclave members closer.
“There are far too many wounded for us to handle on our own,” he said, “to say nothing of how many will be coming from the other ships. I have seen several die already during the short time we have been talking. We need help!”
“What do you suggest?” Adrian asked.
“I brought the craft tools needed to conjure the azure portal,” he answered. “I am reasonably sure that I can place the portal’s exit on or near the palace grounds. We should send the worst of the wounded through and let them be dealt with on the other side. Those who can’t walk can be carried through on litters. A sizable Minion force was left behind. Their healers and the Redoubt acolytes will do a far better job caring for them than we. Working together, we will save more of them. Besides, the severely wounded will not be battleworthy for a long time, if ever.”
“I agree,” Wigg said. “What say you, Princess?”
“He’s right,” she answered. She turned to Faegan. “Get started as fast as you can. In the meantime, I want Duvessa to start singling out those whom she thinks should go.”
Wasting no time, Faegan started wheeling his way toward Duvessa. After conferring with her for a moment he headed for the stern stairway. Shailiha guessed that he would be locked away in his quarters for hours while calculating the needed spell.
Looking around, Tyranny found Scars on the deck’s port side, helping to bandage a wounded warrior. She quickly called him over.
“I want a damage report on each of the four surviving vessels,” she said, “and I want it fast. Take one of the skiffs. I need to know where we stand.” Scars hurried away.
Tyranny turned to look forward. If the other ships had suffere
d no more damage than theTammerland, the situation was salvageable, but it would take time. Two of her flagship’s masts were cracked but still standing, and from where she stood she could see at least four broken spars and much torn rigging. The sails had been furled, so they should have been unharmed. Tousling her hair, she bristled at the notion of again being delayed to effect repairs. She produced one of her dark cigarillos, lit it, then luxuriously exhaled some bluish smoke into the air.
From the throng of wounded warriors, an exhausted Minion officer approached Shailiha. His dark wings drooped so badly that they dragged along the bloody deck. Standing before her, he did his best to come to attention.
“Yes?” Shailiha asked.
“Begging your pardon, mistress,” he said. “Some of us officers request permission to burn our dead.”
Shailiha thought for a moment. She knew full well that Minion funeral rites involved cremation. She also knew that she could never allow funeral pyres to be built and used aboard the ship-especially in the sizes and numbers that would be needed. She gave the officer a questioning look.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“We will place our fallen onto the sea with their brothers,” he said. “We ask that the adepts set the bodies alight. In that way the fires will be contained, and be of no danger to the ships.”
Shailiha looked at Wigg. “Can you set fire to the dead without endangering the fleet?”
Taking a step closer, Wigg clasped his hands before him. “Yes,” he answered. “But with all due respect I believe that we should be tending to the living.”
The princess looked over the ship’s side. Bloated and mangled bodies-ally and foe alike-littered the waves. As she turned back to look into the officer’s eyes, she found herself disagreeing with the First Wizard. To the Minions, the culture of death was easily as important as that dealing with life, and she would honor it.
“Permission granted,” she said. “The mystics will see to your needs.”
Immensely grateful, the officer went to one knee and bowed his head. “Thank you, mistress,” he said, “from both our living and our dead.”
Shailiha walked to the starboard gunwale and tiredly leaned up against it. After a time she heard bodies splashing into the sea. To her great discouragement, the sounds went on for far longer than she might have guessed.
After a time she saw a broad azure beam extend from theTammerland and streak into the night. Its gentle embrace washed over the sea to collect the bodies together then slowly push them east, a safe distance from the ship.
Almost at once the dead burst into flames. Shailiha turned to see that every warrior who could stand had silently come to attention. Those who were conscious but too severely wounded to stand were being held upright by their fellow warriors. At that moment Shailiha realized she had done the right thing.
Tyranny came to join her at the rail. For a time they watched the corpses burn in silence. As the privateer saw the sun slowly start creeping up over the horizon, she tossed her spent cigarillo into the sea.
“We have survived, but our losses have been great,” she said softly. “You are faced with a difficult choice.”
“I know,” Shailiha answered. “To continue on to the Citadel, or to lick our wounds and go home.”
Shailiha cast her gaze farther out to sea. The burning bodies were fewer now, and their roaring flames were starting to ebb.
“But first we must search for Traax,” she said.
Turning away from the railing, the two women tiredly went to help with the wounded.
CHAPTER LI
CLOSING HIS EYES, TRISTAN RUBBED HIS TEMPLES WITHhis fingertips. He was exhausted. Worse, he was deeply concerned over the news he had recently gotten. After taking another sip of wine he looked worriedly into his friends’ faces.
He was in Faegan’s chambers in the depths of the Redoubt. It was the day following his visit to the highlander camp, and the hour was late. Abbey, Aeolus, and a Minion warrior of new acquaintance sat at the table with him. As the prince considered his options, the remains of an ashen log crumbled to its death in the fireplace grate, its sound the only break in the gloomy silence.
While viewing Tristan’s medallion yesterday, the prince and Abbey had seen some of the mayhem overtaking the Conclave fleet. Mad with worry, they had wanted to watch longer, but Tristan reluctantly followed the Crysenium Envoys’ advice and ended the spell. After that he had paced the palace like a caged animal, fearing for his friends and warriors who were so far out to sea.
Three hours later, Faegan’s azure portal had unexpectedly appeared on the palace grounds. As its whirling vortex coalesced, a terrible sight formed. Wounded warriors emerged in droves to collapse on the grass. Some died where they fell.
Tristan had been quickly summoned from his bed. Surmising that the Conclave had sent the wounded home because of their overwhelming numbers, he had immediately summoned Aeolus, Abbey, and every acolyte and Minion healer. Even Mallory, Martha, Ariana, and the palace gnomes were working feverishly, doing what they could to help tend the wounded.
A few hours later the entire palace and its surrounding areas were overflowing with Minion wounded and dying. As Tristan frantically directed the emergency efforts, an unknown warrior approached him, bearing a letter. After telling Tristan he had just arrived through the portal, he went to one knee and humbly handed the correspondence to hisJin’Sai.
The letter was addressed to Abbey. But the warrior had been given orders that if theJin’Sai had returned, it should be given to him instead. Tristan recognized the red wax seal immediately. Its imprint bore the lion, the broadsword, and the letters “SG.”
He tore the envelope open and read its contents quickly, then looked at the warrior who had brought it. “What is your name?” he demanded.
“Kratos,” the warrior answered.
“You were part of the recent fighting that took place over the Sea of Whispers?” Tristan asked.
“Yes, my lord. I killed six of the beasts. I had never seen anything like them.”
Tristan’s response was immediate. “Are you familiar with the herbmistress named Abbey?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Go to her,” he said. “She is in the Chamber of Supplication, tending to the wounded. I want her and the man named Aeolus to immediately join me in Faegan’s quarters, in the Redoubt. I want you there too.”
Kratos clicked his heels together. “I live to serve,” he said. Tristan watched him hurry off.
That had been one hour ago. As he again looked down at Shailiha’s letter, he sensed the burden of command that would be weighing so heavily across his sister’s shoulders. Before allowing Kratos into the room, he had shown the letter to Abbey and Aeolus. Picking it up, he silently read it again:
Dearest Abbey,
As I write this, we are doing all we can to tend to the thousands of warriors wounded in a recent air battle with Serena’s forces. It is plain that there will be far too many for us to treat. We have therefore activated Faegan’s portal, so that they can be sent home. We pray that you, the acolytes, and the Minion healers will save as many as you can. Know too that for the next several days, Faegan’s portal will reappear at midday, and stay open each time for as long as he can sustain it.
Serena’s creatures were beaten back, but at a terrible price. Early estimates show that at least a full third of our warriors are dead or wounded. TheMalvina, the Florian, and the acolytes who captained them were lost to a giant wave that we believe was conjured by Serena. The other four Black Ships were damaged, but Tyranny says that they can be repaired. Sadly, a scout patrol led by Traax has gone missing. The longer they are gone, the more we fear them dead.
As the hours pass, I struggle with the decision about whether to carry on to the Citadel. I will confer with the other Conclave members and decide shortly. If in your judgment more warriors can be spared from the palace, please send them to us. Should there be any news about Tristan please tell us. Besid
es our many troubles, we all worry for him desperately.
Love,
Shailiha
Letting go a deep breath, Tristan folded the letter, then replaced it into its envelope. After sliding it beneath his worn leather vest, he looked at Kratos.
“What else can you tell us?” he asked.
“Little, my lord,” Kratos answered. “TheJin’Saiou has explained matters well. The wizards cremated our dead. Everyone worries for the fate of Traax’s lost patrol.”
On hearing about Traax again, Tristan sadly shook his head. He was glad that Ox was still at the highlander camp, and unable to hear the news.
“Thank you,” Tristan said to Kratos. “Your service has been admirable. Please wait in the hall.”
Kratos bowed.“Jin’Sai,” he said simply. He walked across the room and let himself out.
Leaning his forearms on the table, Tristan closed his eyes. “It’s my fault,” he said. “Had I come home sooner, I would never have allowed the fleet to sail.”
“I don’t understand,” Aeolus said. “You gave them the order to attack, did you not? Surely you suspected that Serena would have traps lying in wait.”
“Yes,” Tristan answered. “But that was before I knew.”
“Knew what?” Aeolus asked.
Abbey touched Tristan on the arm. “I assume that you asked Aeolus here because you wanted the wisdom of an experienced Vigors wizard,” she said. “But even he can’t help unless he is fully informed. I suggest you tell him everything that you told me.”
Leaning back in his chair, Tristan gave Aeolus a hard look. “Twice now, you have been invited to join the Conclave,” he said. “But I still have no answer. If I am to tell you all I know, it will only be after you accept membership. Will you join us or not?”
As Aeolus looked at the tabletop, a sea of emotions both old and new flooded through him. He looked back at the prince. “Aside from the fleet’s predicament, how serious is the overall threat?” he asked.
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