But as Tyranny looked back out to sea, her face lit up with joy. As far as she could tell, every surviving demonslaver ship was finally without its masts. Minions and slavers still fought aboard her ships, their weapons flashing as the moons rose. But without the ability to maneuver, the slavers would no longer be able to aim their fireballs with any kind of accuracy.
The fighting aboard the Reprise waned. Scars supervised as the crew lined up the surviving slavers. Blessedly, Tyranny saw no other fires on board, and her crewmen had nearly extinguished the burning mizzen sail.
The battle won, Tyranny’s fleet regrouped around her flagship, leaving the slaver ships to wallow helplessly in the sea.
Exhausted, Tyranny placed the tip of her sword against the deck and leaned upon its hilt. She had won, but only by a whisker. Things could just as easily have gone the other way, she knew.
She heard the flurry of Minion wings and she looked up to see K’jarr coming to a landing beside her.
The warrior’s wings drooped to the deck and his sword arm was covered with blood. Coming to attention as best he could, he clicked his heels.
Tyranny smiled at him. “Your report,” she said.
“Thirteen slaver vessels have been sunk,” he said, as he tried to reclaim his breath. “The remaining are without their masts and cannot maneuver.” His face covered with soot and sweat, the warrior smiled. “The acolytes did very well,” he added. “But desperate fighting still rages aboard many of the enemy vessels.”
Tyranny looked out to sea where the enemy vessels bobbed aimlessly like so many children’s toys afloat in a bathtub. She turned back to K’jarr.
“Order the warriors to break off and return to their ships,” she ordered. “There is no sense in losing more of them. I have a feeling we’ll need them in Tammerland. Go now.”
K’jarr gave her a short bow. “I live to serve,” he replied. He quickly returned to the air.
“It is a great victory,” a female voice said. “You have my congratulations.”
Tyranny turned to see Adrian standing there. The young acolyte’s fingertips were scorched, and she looked past the point of exhaustion. Her face and dark red robe were speckled with soot.
Smiling, Tyranny embraced her. “And no small thanks to you and your sisters,” she answered. “We could never have done it without you.” She gave Adrian a conspiratorial wink. “I might just ask the Jin’Sai to assign some of you to my fleet on a permanent basis.”
They suddenly heard a scream and turned to look. Scars and several of the Minion warriors were beheading the slavers who had survived the struggle aboard the Reprise. Lined up in rows on their hands and knees, they awaited their fates in terror. As they were killed, Scars and the Minions threw their heads and bodies overboard.
Adrian turned back to Tyranny. “Does it have to be this way? It seems so brutal.”
Tyranny whipped her head around. “Brutal?” she repeated venomously. “You think this is brutal? Are you mad? Do you have any idea what would have become of us had we been captured? For all we know the Citadel is still crawling with these monsters. You are still new to the horrors of war, sister. Out here it is kill or be killed. Besides, it is my sworn duty to dispose of them. Wherever and whenever we encounter them, they are to die. It is a standing order from the Jin’Sai.”
“Very well,” Adrian answered. “If that is how it must be.”
Tyranny gave Adrian another harsh look. “Steel your sensibilities further, sister,” she warned. “I want to question one of them first, and no matter what you see me do, you are not to interfere. They are a very tough lot, and the harshest of incentives need to be applied. Do you understand?”
Adrian nodded. Tyranny sheathed her sword, and the two women walked over to Scars. He had his sword held high over his head and he was about to bring it down again.
“Hold!” Tyranny shouted.
Scars turned to her, startled. “Captain?” he asked.
“I want to question this one,” Tyranny said. She looked over at one of her bloodied crewmen. “Go below and bring me a bottle of wine.”
The crewman went below. He soon returned with an amber-colored bottle.
Tyranny took the bottle from him and allowed herself one long, luxurious draft. She casually lit a cigarillo and blew the smoke out her nose.
Then she poured the rest of the wine onto the deck. She walked over to the gunwale and smashed the empty bottle on it. Reaching down, she picked up two sharp pieces of glass. She walked back over to the demonslaver who kneeled before Scars. She looked at her first mate.
“Open his mouth,” she ordered.
Scars took the slaver by the throat and lifted him to his feet. The slaver tried to wriggle free but to no avail. At Tyranny’s signal, two warriors walked over and used a sharp dagger to force the slaver’s jaws apart.
Tyranny turned to the next slaver in line. He gave her a defiant stare.
“On your feet,” she said.
With a snarl, the slaver did as he was told.
Tyranny didn’t particularly approve of what she was about to do. As much as she hated the demonslavers, this would be difficult, even for her. But she was embroiled in an all-out war—one that consumed her on both a personal and a national level—and she meant to help win it, no matter the cost.
Thinking of Tristan, and of her parents’ hideous deaths at the hands of these abominations, she steeled her heart and came closer. She looked the slaver in the eyes. He glared back at her hatefully. No one on deck spoke; no one moved. Her eyes still locked on the slaver’s, Tyranny pointed to the one whose jaws were being held apart.
“Watch and learn,” she said.
Reaching up, she placed the two razor-sharp shards of glass into the other slaver’s waiting mouth. With a nod from their captain, the two warriors forced the monster’s mouth closed.
“Put him back on his knees,” she ordered.
Blood ran from between the slaver’s lips and down his chin as Scars shoved him back down to the deck. Tyranny took another step closer.
Without warning she lifted one foot, and kicked the kneeling slaver in the chin.
The blow knocked him over onto his back. He writhed and choked for a time, then died as his own blood slowly filled his lungs.
As the final death rattle escaped him, Tyranny walked over and picked up two more shards of glass. She walked back to the other slaver and held the shards before his face.
“Answer my questions truthfully and you won’t suffer the same fate,” she said. “Now then, how many more slaver ships guard the Citadel?”
His hateful arrogance withered; the slaver bowed his head. “None,” he answered. “Sure of his victory, our messiah sent them all.”
“And the number of slavers?” she asked.
“They all came with the fleet.”
“Then the traitorous consuls constitute the only remaining defense of the Citadel?” she asked.
“No,” the thing said. “There are now others there, too. They are human, like you, but they are not consuls. They arrived just before our lord departed for Eutracia. They asked for his sanctuary and he granted it. He seemed glad to have them there.”
Concerned by this unexpected news, Tyranny took another step closer. Her eyes narrowed. “Who are they?” she demanded.
The slaver shook his head. “None of us know,” he answered. “They remain largely out of sight.”
“Can you tell me anything else about them?” she asked.
The slaver shook his head again. “That is as much as any of us knows.”
Rubbing her chin, Tyranny backed away. She took a final draft on her cigarillo, dropped it to the deck, and crushed it beneath her bloody boot. She looked over at K’jarr.
“Have our troops returned from the enemy vessels?” she asked.
“Yes,” the warrior answered
.
“Good,” Tyranny said. “Have all of the surviving slavers taken back to their ships. That is where they shall meet their fates.”
She turned back to K’jarr. “As this is being done, order all of our remaining vessels to form a line in the sea, with the Reprise at the center.”
K’jarr clicked his heels. “As you wish,” he said.
The demonslaver that Tyranny had questioned glared at her harshly. Struggling to break free of Scars’ grip, he spat at her.
“What about me, you bitch!” he screamed. “You said that if I talked, you would spare me!”
Tyranny barely glanced at him “No, I didn’t,” she said.
She nodded at her first mate, then looked at Adrian. “Walk with me,” she said.
As the two women strode to the gunwale, Scars wrapped his hands around the protesting slaver’s throat, and the screaming died away. The privateer looked out to sea.
“The slaver’s information is disturbing,” Tyranny said. “What do you make of it?”
Adrian shook her head. “I have no idea,” she answered. “But the Jin’Sai and Jin’Saiou must be informed immediately.”
At the mention of Tristan, Tyranny felt the familiar pain go through her heart. “Indeed,” she said. “Provided they are still alive.”
Silence reigned as the two women watched the Minions fly the slavers back to their vessels. As ordered, the remainder of Tyranny’s fleet began lining up on either side of the Reprise.
By the time the ships had deployed as ordered, the sun had set and stars twinkled above.
“What will you do now?” Adrian finally asked.
Tyranny turned to her. “I’m giving you command of the fleet,” she said.
Adrian’s jaw dropped. “Wha-what?”
“You heard me,” Tyranny said. “My job here is done. Both the warriors and I can be of far greater use in Tammerland. I shudder to think of what we might find when we arrive. We will leave straightaway.”
“What are your orders?” Adrian asked tentatively.
“Have the acolytes blow holes in the hulls of the slaver ships until each of them is sunk,” Tyranny answered. “And make doubly sure that each and every demonslaver has drowned. Then and only then are you to order the fleet back to the coast. Many of our vessels are in a bad way, but the voyage is short. I will leave Scars here to help you. Anchor off the Cavalon Delta, then report to the palace.”
Tyranny gave the acolyte a wry look. “You have acquitted yourself well out here, Sister Adrian,” she added. “This shall be your first command, but I have the feeling that it won’t be your last.”
“I will do my best,” Adrian said.
Tyranny looked over at her giant first mate. “Scars!” she shouted.
“Have my litter made ready! And tell K’jarr that all of the warriors are to accompany me back to Tammerland!”
Scars nodded back. Tyranny turned to Adrian again.
“Good luck,” she said. “And don’t lose any of my ships!”
“And good luck to you,” Adrian answered.
Tyranny walked to her litter and climbed in. Adrian watched her give some final orders to Scars; the first mate nodded. In a matter of moments the litter and the entire host of warriors had taken to the nighttime sky.
As her litter climbed higher, Tyranny heard the muffled echoes of explosions. She turned to watch the Acolytes’ azure bolts shooting across the dark sea to smash into the hulls of the slaver frigates. One by one the ships went down. She let out a long, tired sigh. Perhaps the time of the demonslavers is finally over, she thought.
Tired and bloody, Tyranny closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. The nighttime air felt fresh and clean against her face.
As her litter turned toward Tammerland, the privateer dreaded what she might find there. But she was sure of one thing: The Jin’Sai would need her sword, and she would give it.
CHAPTER LXXXVIII
_____
AS TRISTAN AND WIGG’S LITTER WAS CARRIED OVER TAMMERLAND, they could hardly believe their eyes.
The western half of Tammerland was destroyed. The superheated mass in the Sippora still moved slowly along with the river, setting fire to everything nearby. The streets were filled with a writhing, crushing flow of humanity. Demonslavers and K’tons systematically slaughtered the refugees as they fled. Blood slicked the streets. The fires roared high into the night, sending choking smoke up to greet them, and even from their altitude, Tristan, Wigg, and Traax could easily hear the cries of the dying.
Behind the demonslavers lumbered giant beasts the likes of which Tristan had never before seen. With sweeps of their incredible tails, they were destroying building after building, sending walls and roofs high into the air. Behind and above them sailed the six remaining Black Ships, their skeletal captains raining azure bolts down upon anything that still moved.
Horrified, Tristan turned to look at Wigg. The First Wizard’s face had gone ashen. Tristan quickly guessed that this was not Wigg’s first encounter with these monsters.
“You know what those things are, don’t you?” he asked.
Wigg nodded. “Earthshakers,” he said. “They are abominations originally conjured by the Sorceresses of the Coven. Unless they are stopped, they will smash through Tammerland until nothing is left. If they reach the palace they will surely destroy it. And with the upper levels gone, the fires might easily find their way down into the Redoubt. If they do, three hundred years of records and research in the craft could be destroyed forever.”
Tristan shuddered at the prospect of the craft’s written history gone in a single night. He took the wizard by the shoulders.
“Can your plan defeat them?” he asked anxiously.
Wigg shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Perhaps. But only if Faegan and Jessamay have been successful in their research. Right now, our priority is to reach the palace without being seen. Only then can the three of us do what we must, while you go on to follow the dictates of the Scroll Master.”
“Agreed,” Tristan said.
Ox was flying nearby. Tristan shouted out a series of orders to him. Because they had flown in from the northwest, they had not yet been spotted by the enemy. But if they didn’t change course, they soon would be. It nearly drove the prince mad that they would have to take such a circuitous route, but there was no other choice.
Their litter banked hard to the left, and the two of them held on tight.
Tristan breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw that the palace was still intact. Its lights shone brightly, providing a beacon visible through the rising smoke. Faegan and the others milled about on the roof. They looked up eagerly when the shadows of the arriving warriors fell over them.
As the litter descended, Tristan could see that the grounds were still littered with the wounded. At least the Orb of the Vigors would cause no more harm, he thought. He leapt from the litter, Wigg quickly following him.
Shailiha was the first to greet him. She took him into her arms, a question in her tear-filled eyes.
“Celeste?” she asked.
Tristan shook his head.
Shailiha hugged him tighter. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“I know,” he answered.
She looked back into his face and studied him. “What has happened to you?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
Tristan caressed his sister’s cheek. “Yes,” he answered. “My blood is finally healed.”
He was about to speak again when they all heard a massive explosion. As a group, they ran to the edge of the rooftop and looked over.
To their horror, part of one of the walls surrounding the palace had been smashed to bits by an Earthshaker. Raising its head in triumph, the monster gave an earsplitting scream. Demonslavers followed, eagerly waving their swords.
His hands balled
up into fists, Tristan burned with rage. His worst fears had been realized.
With a swipe of its tail, the Earthshaker destroyed another section of the wall. The drawbridge tumbled down to crash headlong into the moat. Demonslavers quickly lifted it to span the water, and in a moment they were pouring through the entrance, while hungry K’tons descended into the palace grounds.
Soon the entire place was alive with the sounds of battle. The wounded victims of the orb tried to run for their lives, but there was no place for them to hide. The K’tons pounced on them, tearing them limb from limb and devouring them greedily.
Tristan look over at Faegan. The wizard nodded; they were ready. Tristan then hurried to Traax.
“This is the most desperate battle of our lives, but I cannot lead you,” he said. “My place is here this time. You know that.”
Traax bowed his head slightly. “I understand, my lord,” he answered. “No matter what happens, it has been an honor to serve by your side.”
Another explosion rocked the palace. Tristan looked over at Duvessa, Dax, and Ox and waved them to him. They were by his side in an instant, dreggans drawn. He looked at each of them for what he feared would be the last time. With the same thought in his heart, Traax gently wrapped his wings around Duvessa.
“Follow Traax’s orders to the letter!” Tristan said. “There are too many of the enemy to defeat by yourselves. Most, if not all, of you may die this night. But you have to buy us time, time for the wizards to work the craft. Above all, you must somehow keep the enemy from taking this roof. Go now!”
The four of them came to attention and raised their dreggans high. Their blades flashed briefly in the firelight.
“We live to serve!” they shouted, then ran to the edge of the roof and launched themselves.
Another explosion shook the building. Fire began to lick at the inner ward of the palace. Tristan looked over the edge.
Most of the surrounding walls were gone. The Black Ships were fast approaching, their dark hulls looming in the nighttime sky. Unaware that their leader was dead, the captains rained azure bolts down upon the beleaguered city with abandon, killing anything in their path. Soon the Black Ships would sail over what was left of the walls and the battle would be over.
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