The Scrolls of the Ancients

CHAPTER

Fifty-one

K 'jarr soared high and fast through the fading indigo of the early-morning sky. He wore his dreggan strapped across his back and his returning wheel securely fastened to one side of his belt; a battle bugle was tied to the other side, waiting to be used. Behind him, the sun rose, bringing a welcoming warmth to his ceaselessly beating wings.

His dark eyes scoured the Sea of Whispers below, and he smiled, blessing his highly tuned senses. He would need them all today, he knew.

He banked to the left slightly, changing course, and the one hundred specially selected Minion warriors accompanying him followed suit. Officers all, they had been handpicked not only for their overall intelligence and superior flying speed, but also for their expert fighting ability. They were the Minion forces' best of the best, and their mission was clear: Find the mysterious fog bank and investigate it. Board and carefully examine the ships they found there. They were to leave no stone unturned in their search for the prince.

They could not have been far from the fog bank when K'jarr saw a line of ships heading west, running before the wind. They were still some distance away, and moving fast. Surprised by their great numbers, he counted them to find that there were just a bit more than one hundred in all. Then his eyes caught sight of a lone frigate desperately plowing her way north, while the line of ships closed in on her from the west. She was clearly trying to make a run for the gap in the northernmost points of the ships' lines. But the prevailing winds were easterly, and tacking back and forth as she was, she would never make it in time.

As he watched from afar, the battle lines were closing together, surrounding the single ship in a deadly, seaborne ring of wood and sailcloth. Sensing a looming tragedy, he flew faster, his wings straining. And there, at last, was the mysterious patch of fog he had been searching for, lying peacefully and unmoving in the blue water, blocking the single frigate's escape to the south.

K'jarr's jaw hardened with hate. Why would anyone commit so many vessels to the capture of a single ship? he wondered. It just didn't make any sense. And then it hit him.

The Chosen One might be aboard.

He watched in horror as the ring closed more tightly around the trapped vessel.

Turning, he called orders to the three officers who were to return to the Minion fleet with the exact location of the fog bank. Immediately they peeled away from the main body and soared through the air, flying hard in the direction from which they had just come.

He returned his attention to the action in the distance, hoping against hope that his sworn lord was not trapped on that lone, desperate ship. It would be many long moments before he and his warriors could reach them-moments that the ones aboard the frigate clearly could not afford. Turning to the officer nearest him, K'jarr began barking out orders.

Just then the lead vessel in the oncoming fleet rammed the lone frigate directly amidships. As he watched, K'jarr's razor-sharp eyes caught something that quickened his heart: At the top of the ship's mainmast flew the blue-and-gold battle flag of the House of Galland.

K'jarr drew his dreggan. Despite the rushing of the wind, he could hear the reassuring ring of his warriors' blades cutting through the air all around him.

He smiled grimly. This was what they had been bred for, had spent their entire lives training for. There was no greater honor for a true Minion warrior than to perish in the service of his lord. Many of them would no doubt meet their final reward here today, somewhere over the Sea of Whispers.

Suddenly snapping his wings closed behind his back, K'jarr held his sword before him and jacknifed into a dive, pointing straight down in a perfect, vertical free fall. The warriors behind him followed suit. Faster and faster they fell, plummeting toward the stricken ship as attackers swarmed over her decks.

The odds were overwhelming, K'jarr knew. But if his lord was indeed here, then there was no other duty, no other choice than the one lying before them.

Narrowing his dark eyes against the wind, he led his forces down.

I n a violent cacophony of splintering wood, the lead pirate ship had rammed The People's Revenge directly amidships. Then she had swung alongside, her raiders screaming and jumping from their vessel to swarm like ants over the decks of Tyranny's flagship.

One man leapt from the rigging with a knife between his teeth, and swung his saber broadly in an attempt to take the prince's head off.

But Tristan saw him coming. Quickly slipping to one side, he held his dreggan out with both arms and pressed the button on the hilt. The extra length of blade launched forward, catching the pirate across the belly. The pirate's face registered a moment of shock; then the light went out of his eyes. Ignoring the gushing blood, Tristan roughly pushed the corpse off his sword with the heel of one boot. But as he turned to look around, his heart fell.

Tyranny and Scars were lost among all the fighting. All around him, men were dying. Worse yet, the other raider vessels were approaching rapidly. The deck of The People's Revenge was a mass of screaming, struggling pandemonium, blades clanging noisily amid the sounds of shouting and groans of pain.

It would be over very shortly, he knew, and they would all be dead. The scrap of parchment hidden in his boot would never reach Eutracia, and Krassus would win. But before that happened, Tristan swore he would take as many of them down with him as he could.

Seeing a pirate raise his sword against one of the slaves, he instinctively reached over his right shoulder and drew one of his knives. Almost before he knew it, the dirk was twirling end over end toward its victim.

As it buried itself into the side of the man's neck, blood rushed out in furious, uncontrolled spurts. Wet, slippery waves of crimson cascaded down the man's left shoulder as he clutched frantically at the handle of the knife. But it was already too late. As blood spewed from his lungs, his eyes became strangely fixed in the distance. His sword dropped noisily to the deck, and he fell stiffly, face forward.

Tristan turned to look up into the rigging from which his first attacker had come. As he did, his heart skipped a beat. All of Tyranny's crewmembers who had remained behind on the Isle of Sanctuary had been captured and hung from the pirate ship's masts and rigging.

Tristan had known some of these people. He had laughed with them, worked with them, and learned the ways of the sea from them. And now they were dead. As he stood gaping up at the bodies that had once been so full of life, a sudden wave of guilt swept over him.

Bending over, he tried to keep from vomiting.

Later he would recall that it was truly a miracle he hadn't been killed then. Finally returning to his senses, he spun around to rejoin the battle.

Almost immediately another of them was upon him. Awash with rising anger, Tristan used all his talents to make sure the pirate died.

A s they neared the stricken ship in their headlong plunge, K'jarr's warriors fanned out. They had been ordered to find whether the prince was aboard before joining the battle, and to do so at all cost. K'jarr unfolded his wings and buffeted the air to hover at a point near the mainmast, about ten meters off the deck. He wanted very badly to join the fray, but he had to monitor the progress of his warriors first. If his lord was struggling somewhere on this ship they would soon find him, or die trying.

Finally, in the midst of the battle, they saw him.

A s the first of them went soaring by, Tristan thought he must be seeing things. Then one swooped down to land beside him, dreggan drawn, eyes flashing. Then came another and another, until a multitude of them had formed a protective ring around him, slashing viciously at their attackers as they came. Many of the stunned pirates died right there and then.

Tristan's heart leapt in his chest. He didn't know how many of the Minions there were here, or where they had suddenly come from, but now, finally, he thought there might be a chance to prevail after all.

K'jarr landed beside Tristan. After quickly telling him the number of warriors under his command and the location of the Minion fleet, he waited calmly for Tristan's orders. The prince looked out across the waves to see that the rest of the pirate vessels would soon be upon them. Then an idea struck him.

Using precious seconds, he gauged the speed and distance between them and the nearest of the oncoming ships. He leaned toward K'jarr again.

"Take half of your force and fly toward those ships!" he shouted urgently above the din. "Leave the other half of your warriors here to help us secure this vessel! When you reach the enemy vessels, this is what I want you to do!"

Leaning in further, he shouted some final directives to K'jarr. Understanding, the officer smiled. He then took to the air again, half of his warriors following him as ordered, and flew directly toward the oncoming pirate ships. Tristan and the remaining warriors began grimly hacking their way through the raiders on board The People's Revenge.

The battle continued to rage, but the prince thought there were now more of Tyranny's crewmen standing than there were pirates. Still, the scene before him was something out of a nightmare. Dead men lay tangled in the rigging of both ships. Body parts were everywhere. The wounded of both sides were screaming pitifully for help, and the decks were slippery with blood.

He desperately needed to find Tyranny and Scars and tell them what was happening. Fighting his way down the length of the decks with his warriors by his side, he finally saw them. Amazingly, they were both still alive.

As K' jarr and his Minions approached the encroaching pirate vessels, they obeyed their lord's orders and climbed higher. Then their leader gathered them into a hovering, eager group and started barking out commands. Only two warriors to a ship, he told them quickly. When they were done with their work, they were to advance to another vessel and then another, always doing the same thing until the task was complete. By then their fleet should have arrived, and the killing could begin in earnest.

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 fighting. 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 to 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.

Tristan turned back to Traax. "Very well," he answered. He looked back at Tyranny. "Is there anything you wish to take?" he asked.

"Only my charts and navigational tools," she answered. Looking over at Scars, she gave the faithful giant some silent commands with her eyes. In a moment, he was gone.

As Tristan cast his gaze back down the length of the stricken ship, another thought came to him. Pulling Tyranny nearer, he whispered something into one of her ears.

A relieved look came over her. "Of course," she said gratefully. "Especially if you think it will help. How could I have been so forgetful?"

Tristan gave her a smile. "You've had rather a lot on your mind lately, I'd say."

He beckoned K'jarr back to him, and the warrior was by his master's side in an instant. After hearing his new orders, the warrior selected two other officers to help him, and they walked dutifully away.

"Forgive me, my lord, but there remains one final issue to be dealt with," Traax said. Knowing full well that his lord understood what that was, he said nothing more.

Tristan's face darkened. He had to make his decision about the fate of the pirates. Walking over to the gunwale, he looked out to sea again.

The pirate vessels were clearly helpless, but the seething, violent men aboard them were not. They were killers and thieves of the highest order, and they had to be stopped. If he chose to, he could order his Minions to attack them, and they would no doubt prevail. But some of the Minions would lose their lives-as would all of the pirates, unless they surrendered. Deep in his heart, he knew he simply couldn't authorize a slaughter like that. Besides, he reasoned, he would likely need every single Minion he could muster in what might very soon become a struggle with Krassus and the demonslavers. Looking back, he beckoned to Tyranny and Traax to join him at the gunwale.

"I want you to take the pirates alive, if at all possible," he ordered Traax. "There is a sizable island just to the south of us, hidden in that fog bank. Take the pirates there and maroon them. I also want you to station enough Minion warships around the island's perimeter to ensure that none of them can escape. The remainder of the fleet is to make for Eutracia at the best possible speed. And tow the pirate vessels back with you-they're too valuable to waste. Anchor just off the Cavalon Delta, and then come to the palace with your report. Together with my wizards, we will arrive at some conclusion regarding the pirates." He looked back out at the opposing fleets for a time as he carefully considered his next words.

"If the pirates reject your terms, and it becomes a case of you or them, then you have my permission to kill them in a fair fight," he said quietly.

"It shall all be as you say," Traax replied.

Tyranny watched as Traax walked away. "They are amazing," she said. "I wish they had been at my side when I was hunting down demonslavers."

Upon hearing this, one corner of Tristan's mouth came up. He knew it may yet come to that.

"Where in the name of the Afterlife did they come from?" she asked quizzically. "And how is it that they obey you so unerringly? I have never seen anything like them."

Shaking his head, Tristan gave a short laugh. "That's a long story," he answered her. "One that I shall be happy to share with you on the way home."

"You should have plenty of time to tell it to me," she reflected. "It's still a two-day sail to the coast."

Tristan gave her an odd, knowing look. "Actually, we shall be in the palace by sunset, at the latest."

She watched, confused as Tristan turned around and faced the decks of her ship again. Two Minion vessels had come up along the opposite side, and the evacuation was already in progress. Minion warriors were taking the weak and the wounded into their arms and flying them across the sea to the waiting ships.

Then she saw Tristan grin and point to the litter that sat waiting on the deck, not too far from them. Realizing what he intended, she felt the blood rush from her face. She raised her palms up in a desperate gesture of defiance.

"Oooh, no!" she shouted.

"Oooh, yes!" he ordered her. "You, me, Scars, and Geldon." Then he smiled again. "I admit it takes a bit of getting used to, but your prince commands it."

Without giving her another chance to argue, he took her by one arm and pulled her over to where the litter stood. They were clearly running out of time, and they needed to go.

By now, Scars had reappeared with the maps and tools. He looked tired, and was soaked from the waist down by the seawater that was already flooding hip-deep through the lower decks. With a word from his captain, he tentatively got into the litter, finding that he had to stay bent over slightly to keep his head from hitting the roof. At a word from Tristan, Geldon entered next. When it finally came Tyranny's turn, she turned and gave him a look.

"You'll pay for this, you know," she said coyly.

Smiling, Tristan raised an eyebrow. "And as you already know, my good captain, that has always been my intent," he replied. "But first we have to get home." Looking for Traax in the melee, he finally found him, and walked over.

"Tyranny, Scars, and Geldon are coming with me," he said. "I grant you three days to carry out my orders. After that, I expect you and the fleet to return to Eutracia with all due haste."

Traax was holding Tristan's weapons. Smiling, he handed them back to him. "Three days, then," he answered. He held out his arm. Reaching out, Tristan heartily slapped the inside of his forearm against Traax's and grasped it. Neither of them spoke more, for there was no need.

Tristan turned away and walked back to the waiting litter to find K'jarr standing there with two large packages, both wrapped in sailcloth. "Well done," Tristan told him. He ordered the Minion to lash them to the top of the litter. As the last to get in, Tristan found barely enough room for himself and his weapons, but he managed. He looked back out at K'jarr.

"I want you and fifty of your finest warriors to escort us home," Tristan ordered. "What I carry is of the greatest importance, and it must reach there safely. Make your course directly for the palace. And we shall need a few additional bearers, because of the extra weight."

Honored to have been given the privilege of seeing the Chosen One and his entourage to Tammerland, K'jarr clicked his heels together, and went to select his warriors.

At last the litter rose from the deck of the sinking ship. Leaning back, Tristan closed his eyes. He was drained and exhausted, but his heart sang with the knowledge that he was finally going home. Home-to see Wigg, Faegan, Abbey, and Shailiha and her baby.

And Celeste.