But once Ox had put Tristan down, the two giants had begun menacingly sizing each other up. Not knowing what else to do, Tristan had impetuously stepped directly between them and made the necessary introductions. When both backed off, Tristan was greatly relieved. He could scarcely imagine the outcome had these two giants actually gone after each other.
And then Tyranny had stepped from the litter. Seeing her rather provocative striped pants and short, low-cut leather jacket; her dark, urchinlike hair flying every which way in the breeze; her gold hoops dangling from her ears; and her sword slung low down over one hip, Shailiha and Celeste raised skeptical eyebrows. Shailiha’s mouth puckered slightly, and she gave her brother a quizzical, not altogether approving glance. Celeste simply crossed her arms over her breasts and began tapping the ground with one foot.
As Tyranny descended the litter, she coyly held out one hand for the prince to take, and he had no other choice but to do so. Immediately sensing Tristan’s discomfort, she couldn’t help but take advantage of it—presumably as payback for having made her ride in the litter, Tristan assumed.
Surmising that one of these two women—probably the redhead, she thought—must be the famous Celeste, Tyranny leaned over, gave Tristan a short kiss on the cheek, then linked her arm through his and smiled cattily at the two other women.
Later on, a grinning Wigg would tell Tristan that when all of this happened, the prince’s face had become as red as the lead wizard had ever seen it. For his part, Faegan had simply covered his mouth with one hand and let go a quite unnecessary cough. After the rather stiff introductions had been made, they had all adjourned to the palace.
Now, his dreggan and throwing knives hooked over the back of his chair, Tristan told them everything. In between bites of food and cups of wine, he described in great detail his capture, his time rowing, and his meeting with Krassus and the herbmistress Grizelda. He went on to tell them of his rescue by Tyranny, the attack by the screechlings, their time on Sanctuary, and their fight with the pirate fleet only hours earlier. He also explained how he had marooned the raiders on Sanctuary rather than killing them, and that he had ordered a small contingent of Minion warships to stay behind to guard them.
He did not, however, demand answers from them regarding the mystery surrounding the existence of Sanctuary, for he realized that the two secretive wizards would not wish to discuss it in the presence of two relative strangers.
Wigg and Faegan listened to his story intently. They asked questions from time to time, but for the most part they remained still. When Tristan finally finished, the room went completely quiet, the only sound the purring of Nicodemus, Faegan’s blue cat. It was Wigg who finally broke the silence.
“It seems we have much to thank you for, miss,” he said, turning to Tyranny. “But tell us, why did you decide to go demonslaver hunting in the first place? It seems like a particularly dangerous occupation to take up, even for a person as capable as you appear to be.”
Tyranny’s face darkened. “They took my brother,” she answered, “and killed my parents in the process. I escaped, and I have been searching for my brother ever since. My family name is Welborne, and we lived in Farpoint. My father ran a fleet of fishing vessels there. Scars and I know the Sea of Whispers as well as anyone alive.” Then she looked over at Tristan, and a smile crossed her lips. “Besides,” she added, “I am not so easily captured.”
A look of recognition flashed over the lead wizard’s face. “The Welbornes of Farpoint?” he said. “A very long time ago, I knew such a family. There was once a privateer, Isaac Welborne, who sailed in the service of the Directorate. But that was more than three hundred years ago, during the Sorceresses’ War.”
“Isaac Welborne was one of my ancestors,” Tyranny said proudly. “My father used to love to tell the story of how, just after the end of the war, Isaac loaned his battered ship to the newly formed Directorate, so that they might use it to banish the sorceresses from Eutracia. The ship was a galleon named the Resolve. But that was a long time ago.”
It might have simply been the retelling of the story, or it might have been due to the lead wizard’s recent, heart-rending experiences in the Chamber of Penitence, but for whatever reason, Wigg’s eyes grew shiny. He wiped them with the sleeve of his robe.
“Tyranny has brought you a pair of gifts,” Tristan added softly. “She agreed with me that they probably belong here in the palace, where they could be protected.”
He gave Geldon a nod, and the two of them left the room for a moment. When they returned, they were helping each other carry two rather unwieldy packages. Each was wrapped in bloody sailcloth and tied securely with ship’s rope. They placed them on the table before Wigg, then sat down again.
The lead wizard raised an eyebrow. “What are they?”
“The only way you’re going to know is by opening them,” Tristan answered, a smile on his face. “As far as I know, even you and Faegan can’t see through things.”
From the other side of the table, Faegan gave one of his wry cackles. “Don’t be so sure.”
Wigg looked down at the crudely wrapped packages. He couldn’t imagine what they might be. Nor could he remember the last time anyone had given him something, for that matter. Narrowing his eyes, he called on the craft. Almost immediately, the sailor’s knots began to untie themselves. As they did, Tristan looked over at Tyranny and Scars to see that their eyes had become as big as saucers.
As the sailcloth was unwrapped, it revealed a worn ship’s wheel—the one Tristan had ordered taken from The People’s Revenge just before she went down. The other package contained the wooden-and-brass plaque that listed not only all the names of those who had commanded the Resolve, but also the various other vessels the wheel had been passed down to over the centuries by the Welborne family.
Rather high up on the list, it said, wigg, lead wizard of the directorate of wizards. commander of the resolve. The last entry read, tyranny of the house of welborne. captain of the people’s revenge.
The wizard’s eyes welled up with tears as he ran his ancient fingers over the engravings. He then looked up at Tyranny with genuine affection.
“My greatest thanks, child,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t possibly know how to repay you.”
Pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, Tristan looked over at Tyranny. “Actually,” he began, “there is a way . . .”
“And that would be?” Faegan asked suspiciously.
Tristan indicated to Tyranny that she should hand over the promissory note. When she gave it to him, he unfolded it and passed it over to the lead wizard.
As Wigg read the note, his eyes went wide. He remembered all that Tristan had just told them about his recent adventures, though, and his expression softened a bit. Still, he wasn’t convinced that such a huge amount should be paid.
He finally passed the note over to Faegan, who scanned the page. With a cackle, he handed it to Shailiha. Everyone around the table eventually read it. After they had, quiet settled in as they all waited for the lead wizard to speak. Wigg looked down at the ship’s wheel and plaque again, then back up at the sea captain.
“Forgive me, Tyranny, but I simply must ask,” Wigg said quietly. “Did you give me these gifts just to soften my mood?”
“No,” Tristan interjected firmly. “It was all my idea.” Then he smiled. “Still, I didn’t think it would hurt.”
Wigg shook his head adamantly. “Tristan, surely you must realize what a huge sum this is!” he countered. “I fully understand that it is the identical amount that was once offered for your capture, and as such it may therefore possess some small degree of justification. But such a sum is without precedent in the entire history of Eutracia! Such a reward would make Tyranny the wealthiest woman—nay, perhaps even the wealthiest person—in the entire nation!”
But Tristan wasn’t about to back down. She had saved his life twice. And he had given her his word. A deal was a deal. Leaning over the ta
bletop, he looked Wigg directly in the eyes.
“Then it’s a good thing we’re all sitting in the Chamber of Supplication, isn’t it?” he asked Wigg seriously. “What better place to grant such a request?” He leaned back in his chair and looked around the table again. “Besides,” he said shortly, “there are other things I wish her to have, as well. Things that are now in our own best interests to provide.”
“And just what might those be?” Faegan asked.
“I want the two of you to grant her letters of marque, just as you once did for Isaac,” Tristan said. “These times we live in are no less dangerous than then—perhaps even more so. I want you to draw the papers up immediately. They are to validate her rights as a privateer to prowl the waters off the coast of Eutracia, and to attack and commandeer any demonslaver vessels she might run across, and any pirate ships that might have slipped away during our recent battle. Despite the efficiency of the Minion fleet, given the great scope and confusion of yesterday’s confrontation I would be very surprised if at least several of the raiders’ vessels hadn’t eluded us. In return, Tyranny is to give over three-fourths of whatever booty she collects to the monarchy. The remainder she is free to do with as she wishes.”
Wigg looked over at Tristan. “Is this all you want?” he asked sarcastically.
“As a matter of fact, there is one more thing,” the prince answered boldly. “But it is no less important.” He glanced over at Tyranny to see a look of surprise on her face. “She and I haven’t discussed this last issue, but I hardly think she’ll mind.” He faced Wigg again.
“Of the pirate vessels that were captured and are now being escorted home by the Minion fleet, I shall give her one dozen,” he went on. “I shall also order my Minions to make whatever repairs the vessels might require, while Tyranny goes about hiring the additional crewmembers she will need.” He looked back to Tyranny again, and now it was her turn to smile. Tristan gave her a wink.
Stunned, Wigg sat back in his chair. As usual, Faegan produced a broad smile at Wigg’s discomfiture.
“I hope you have a very good reason for all of this,” the lead wizard finally replied, his voice little more than a whisper.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Tristan replied. Reaching down into his boot, he withdrew the ancient scrap of vellum and unceremoniously placed it in the center of the table.
“A simple piece of vellum?” Wigg asked quizzically. “I don’t understand.”
“I believe this came from the Scroll of the Vagaries,” Tristan said. “I found it hidden in my boot. It was secretly placed there by someone while I was unconscious. It matches identically the color and texture of the Scroll of the Vagaries I saw atop Krassus’ desk on board his ship. It was clear that pieces had been cut away from it, and I believe this to be one of them. I think the pieces are being used by Grizelda, Krassus’ herbmistress, in an attempt to find the Scroll of the Vigors. If that’s true, it puts them far ahead of us in this race, I’m afraid. Indeed, for all we know they may have already found it. Someone is trying to help us—that much seems certain. But I don’t know who that might be. In any event, had Tyranny not saved me, this would not be in our possession. We may eventually have more to thank her for than we can ever know.”
Faegan leaned forward over the table, his eyes flashing with curiosity. “Do you mean to say that you have actually seen one of the scrolls?”
“Yes.”
“Please describe it for us.”
“It was approximately one meter long, about half as wide,” Tristan answered. “It seemed very tightly wound, and a golden rod ran down through its center. Golden knobs adorned each end of the rod. What I could see of the parchment was covered with Old Eutracian. A solid gold band, also engraved in Old Eutracian, secured the document around its middle. And as I said before, it appeared that blank pieces had been cut away from its exposed corners, presumably to aid Krassus’ herbmistress in her search for the other scroll.”
Faegan asked Shailiha to hand him the parchment. She did so. After feeling it, smelling it, and examining it in the light of the chandelier, he placed it carefully down on the table and sat back in his chair. As was so often his habit, he stared out at nothing, mindlessly stroking his cat.
“Well?” Wigg asked impatiently.
“This is made of the same material as the Tome of the Paragon,” Faegan said. “Therefore, this ages-old sample may well have been produced by either the Ones Who Came Before, or by the Guild of the Heretics. But no matter which faction produced it, this ancient scrap adds weight to Tristan’s argument that it was taken from the actual Scroll of the Vagaries.”
He sat back in his chair. “Amazing . . . ,” he added softly, his words trailing off.
Wigg asked to have the scrap passed to him. After examining it, he handed it to Abbey. “What do you think?” he asked her gently. “Can you use this to find the other scroll?”
“Perhaps,” she mused as she looked it over. “But needless to say, the process must go as planned. I have no desire to repeat the calamity that occurred in the courtyard.”
“What calamity?” Tristan asked.
“That is a topic best left for later,” Wigg answered, making it obvious that he did not want to speak of it before Tyranny and Scars. “Right now, however, I would like to make my decision regarding your captain friend.”
Several quiet moments passed as the lead wizard weighed his options. Then he turned his brilliant, aquamarine eyes toward Tyranny, and she felt their power go straight through her. Tristan held his breath.
“I will grant all that Tristan asks in your behalf,” Wigg said to her solemnly. “As he says, it is probably now in our own best interests to do so. But before I do, you must agree to two provisos.”
“And those are?” Tyranny asked.
“First, that you conduct all of your nautical activities under our aegis alone,” Wigg answered sternly. “This shall also be spelled out in your letters of marque. The news that piracy has resurfaced in Eutracia is disturbing, to say the least. So far, your unsolicited services to the monarchy have been exemplary. Therefore, I will grant all that the prince has asked for on your behalf. But should we receive any word that you are using your funds or your newly acquired fleet to violate Eutracian law, or to enhance your own wealth outside of what shall be allowed by the letters of marque, we shall take swift and decisive action against you. In addition, you are to visit the royal palace no less than once every three months, at which time you shall relinquish our percentage of whatever bounty you have taken, and give us your written reports.”
Sitting back in his chair, Wigg placed his hands flat on the tabletop. “My second condition is that all of your expenses—including the purchase of further vessels, their maintenance and repair, and the payment of your crews—must come either out of your share of the booty, or the funds that have come your way as a result of this bargain,” he added. “As part of this agreement, we may rescind our letters of marque at any time of our choosing, and for any reason we deem necessary. That is how it has always been, even going as far back as Isaac. But until you see fit to retire, or we see fit to retire you, it seems you now work for us, young lady. As does your rather huge, very quiet first mate.”
Tyranny had barely dared dream that the things the prince had told her might be true, much less that she would be granted such gifts and privileges. She looked over at Scars, and he nodded his approval. She turned back to the table.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “Thank you all.”
“Oh, don’t thank me quite yet,” Wigg answered with a sigh. “I haven’t written out a proper letter of marque in over three centuries. I’m not even sure I can remember how one goes. For all I know, I may end up giving you the recipe for pheasant under glass.”
Everyone at the table laughed. Then Tristan decided that it was time for him to reveal what might be Tyranny’s most valuable secret of all.
“There is something else that our new friend has ag
reed to provide us with,” he said as the table finally quieted down. “She believes she has actually seen the island fortress where Krassus is keeping the slaves. She has marked it on her charts, and is willing to make duplicates of them for us.”
“Is this true, child?” Faegan asked breathlessly.
This time Scars decided to speak. “It is indeed,” he answered for his captain, in his booming voice. “When we first came upon the fortress, I marked out our position and entered the location on the charts myself.”
Everyone except Geldon, Tyranny, and Tristan turned toward the war-torn, bare-chested colossus.
“Uh, thank you, Scars,” Wigg said awkwardly, as this was the first time he’d heard the eloquent first mate speak. “I should like to receive those copies of your charts at your earliest convenience.”
The newly minted privateers nodded back.
Dawn would soon be creeping through the windows, and everyone around the table was clearly exhausted. Still, there remained things that Wigg desperately wanted to tell Tristan—things that couldn’t wait, and that could only be said in private. He looked up at the group.
“Geldon, I would be very thankful if you would escort our two new guests to their rooms, where they might finally get some rest,” he half asked, half ordered. “Faegan and I must speak to the prince in private now.”
Geldon, Tyranny, and Scars all stood.
Wigg looked up at them and smiled. “Sleep well,” he told them. “Tomorrow there will be much more to discuss.”
An ear-to-ear grin on her face, Tyranny walked over to Wigg and bent down to kiss his cheek. The lead wizard turned red. Then she turned and followed Geldon and Scars to the door. But before going through, she stopped and walked back to where Tristan was sitting.
Raising her right hand to her face, she spat into her palm. Understanding, the prince stood and did the same. He then slapped his palm into hers. “Done,” he said.
The Scrolls of the Ancients Page 48
