She would remain that way until dawn.
CHAPTER IX
AS TYRANNY OF THE HOUSE OF WELBORNE STOOD AT THE bow of theTammerland, the sun’s rays started warming her back. Her fleet of four Black Ships was heading west and fighting a fierce headwind. Every hand had been awake all night.
With the Eutracian coast nearing, Tyranny could smell land. As usual, she planned to moor the Conclave fleet in the Cavalon Delta bay, where the ships could reprovision and take shelter against the unpredictable Sea of Whispers. It would be good to be home.
Despite how she loved being at sea, she would find an indulgent bath and one of Shawna’s wonderfully prepared meals very welcome. Although Tyranny preferred living aboard her flagship, Tristan had granted her personal quarters in the palace. When not at sea she often availed herself of the royal luxury. Even so, not one Conclave member would dare to call her a landlubber.
The fleet of Black Ships had been at sea for the past week. Of the six original vessels, two had been sunk while trying to attack Serena’s island stronghold. The late Vagaries Queen had somehow conjured a massive tidal wave that surged west, smashing theFlorian and theMalvina into matchsticks.
TheTammerland, theEphyra, theCavalon, and theIllendium had survived, but each suffered damage. Only theTammerland had remained seaworthy enough to sail home straightaway; the other three needed to stay in Parthalon for repairs. Tyranny and Adrian had sailed theTammerland home ahead of the others. After the Minion shipwrights declared the work on the other three vessels finished, the remaining acolytes had piloted the ships home. While she awaited the arrival of her fleet, Tyranny had prowled the palace like a caged tigress. When they finally arrived, she took immediate action.
Although the Minion shipwrights were immensely skilled, they knew that their workmanship must pass Tyranny’s muster. After giving the vessels a sharp visual inspection, she had insisted on a full week of sea trials. Traax and four Minion phalanxes had accompanied her.
Adrian empowered theTammerland, while the acolytes Astrid, Phoebe, and Marissa piloted the other Black Ships. Tyranny pushed the women hard and ordered the Minions to perform rigorous combat drills in the sky and on deck. During the trials the Minions’ seafaring fighting skills had sharpened and the sisters’ abilities to fly the great vessels improved markedly. With the trials all but over, Tyranny felt confident that she could give herJin’Sai a report that soundly testified to the fleet’s readiness. The report would also recommend that the same four Minion phalanxes be assigned to the fleet on a continual basis, and that Adrian, Phoebe, Marissa, and Claire become the Black Ships’ permanent pilots.
Tyranny looked northward. Their dark shapes glinting in the rising sun, the three sister ships were also flying high over the waves. Sailing through the sky was an exhilarating feeling and one that the Conclave privateer wasn’t entirely accustomed to. She had spent most of her life bounding atop the waves, not flying over them. She smiled. Her life had been nothing if not eventful.
After a hard run of nonstop flight yesterday, she had ordered the four acolytes to empower the ships all through the night as well. That had set a precedent. She hadn’t issued the harsh order because she felt hurried to return home; rather, she needed to know whether the sisters could endure the effort. Like the other Conclave members, Tyranny hoped that the threats to the Vigors east of the Tolenkas had finally been quashed. Even so, Tristan had taken her aside and told her that he wanted the acolytes and the Minions pushed to the limit during these trials. Like Tristan, she suspected that the fleet would be instrumental in somehow crossing the Tolenkas and finding Shashida.
Tyranny reached into her leather jacket and retrieved her new cigarillo case. It was solid gold and inscribed with the lettersTW. She removed a cigarillo and a match, then returned the case to its resting place. She was proud to be a member of the prince’s Conclave, and her adventures had made her the richest woman in all Eutracia. But she had come to realize that her seat on the Conclave meant far more to her than her wealth ever could.
For the first time in her life she felt like a valued part of something greater than herself, and so she had marked the occasion by buying the gold case. The privateer had been careful to avoid letting her newfound wealth turn her head; the case was one of the few purchases she had allowed herself. To this day her vast hoard of kisa-the gold coin of the realm-lay behind locked doors in the depths of the Redoubt.
As she turned her gaze westward she stabbed the cigarillo between her lips. Any time now, the Eutracian coastline would materialize and she would order the acolytes to put the ships down onto the sea. Reaching down, Tyranny prepared to strike the match against one of her knee boots.
“I can help you with that,” a familiar voice called out. Turning, Tyranny saw Sister Adrian approaching. The acolyte was carrying two cups of hot tea.
As she neared, Adrian called on the craft. At once the tip of Tyranny’s cigarillo glowed bright red. After inhaling a deep lungful of smoke, the privateer smiled.
“That’s a neat trick,” she said, raising her face to blow the smoke skyward. “If I had endowed blood, I would ask you to teach it to me. It would save much time, not to mention the wear and tear on my boots!”
Adrian laughed and handed Tyranny a teacup. “But I wouldn’t do it!” Adrian answered. “It would only make poisoning yourself with those things all the easier!”
Tyranny snorted out a short laugh. After taking a welcome sip of tea she tossed the unused match overboard.
During the past week, Tyranny and Adrian had become fast friends. Their relationship had matured far beyond the fact that each woman served on the Conclave. Despite being opposite personalities, they shared a common goal, and during the sea trials each had impressed the other with her unique abilities.
Adrian was as modest and thoughtful as Tyranny was brash and outspoken. Tyranny’s defenses were her wits and her weapons, while all Adrian needed to defend herself was the craft. Moreover, the two women bore not the slightest physical resemblance to one another. They were an odd couple, but one that commanded respect from friend and foe alike.
Clearly the prettier of the two, Tyranny was tall with an attractive figure. Her short, dark, urchinlike hair moved with every turn of her head. Her wide, dark blue eyes rested above high cheekbones. She wore tight striped pants, a short leather jacket with a high collar, and worn knee boots. A gold hoop earring dangled from each earlobe. A sword hung at her left hip, and a sheathed dagger lay tied to her right thigh. A brass spyglass hung across her chest from a leather strap around her neck. Even her pungent cigarillos seemed to suit her rakish nature.
In contrast, the First Sister was short and plump. Her dark red acolyte’s robe, tied around the middle with the traditional black knotted cord, did little to change that impression. She had a pleasant but unremarkable face, soft brown eyes, and loads of curly sandy hair. What she lacked in stature she more than compensated for with dignity, bravery, and an ever-growing command of the craft. As the First Sister of the acolytes and a respected member of the Conclave, she was quickly becoming a force to reckon with.
Tyranny took another sip of tea. “You and the other acolytes have done well,” she said. “I didn’t know whether you could empower the ships all night, but you did. I also see that you four have acquired the ability to fly the ships while walking about and doing other things as well. Before now I had seen only Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay do that.”
“Thank you,” Adrian answered. “The craft is much like anything else. The more one practices, the better one becomes.” Reaching into her robe, she produced three small parchments and offered them to the privateer. “You should know that I just heard from the other sisters by way of Minion messengers. They are exhausted, but they should be able to empower the ships the rest of the way to the coast.”
Tyranny decided that there was no need for her to read the messages. Instead, she nodded her understanding and took another pull on her cigarillo. She turned to look aft, down theTamme
rland ’s seemingly endless topside. Although Tyranny had been commanding these great vessels for more than a year, they still held her in awe.
Each ship was an inky black color and built largely of magically enhanced hardwoods held together with cast iron fittings. They had been constructed by the late Directorate of Wizards more than three centuries ago, during the height of the Sorceresses’ War. The vessels were largely impervious to battle damage and could survive tremendous storms. With ten full masts each and spars as thick around as several tree trunks combined, every ship was easily quadruple the size of a standard man-of-war.
Each vessel held eight full lower decks, allowing for the simultaneous transport of thousands of Minion warriors and enough food, water, supplies, and weapons to fight a protracted sea campaign. A massive hinged door took up the stern of each ship. The doors could be opened and lowered to a safe distance above the waves much the same way a drawbridge could be lowered from within the walls of a castle. Even the sails were black, and each was adorned in its center with a bright red image of the Paragon. Hundreds of male and female warriors swarmed over her topside, masts, and spars, and among her eight lower decks.
Despite their massive size, the ships’ greatest advantage was their amazing speed. They could sail atop the waves like normal vessels, and when they did their progress was astounding. But when taken aloft and empowered by a trained mystic, the sea drag on their hulls was eliminated and their airspeed was even greater, easily rivaling that of the swiftest Minion fliers. At one time crossing the Sea of Whispers had taken at least thirty days. Now the voyage could be done in less than six. The ships could soar with equal efficiency over land.
On Tristan’s orders, four massive wooden cradles were being built on the palace grounds so that the ships could rest in them and be easily maintained, supplied, and taken aloft at a moment’s notice. When Tyranny had word that the cradles were finished, she would order the vessels overland to their new resting places. She smiled wryly as she imagined the incongruous sight. Like fish out of water, she thought, and sighed. With the ships stationed full time in their cradles, she would probably give in for good and stay in her luxurious palace quarters permanently.
Just then the two women heard the warning bell ring out three times from theTammerland ’s forwardmost crow’s nest. Because of the vessels’ great size, when a warrior shouted out from so high above, his or her voice was often lost to the elements. Recognizing the problem, Tyranny had worked out a series of bell signals. Three loud clangs meant that land had been sighted off the bow.
The Minion scouts I ordered aloft two hours ago have finally sighted land, she realized, and they have returned to inform the warriors manning the crows’ nests. Grasping her spyglass, she pulled open its brass cylinders and looked to the west.
As was often the case at dawn, the Cavalon Delta bay was heavily shrouded in fog. Tyranny lowered the spyglass, thinking. She had two choices. She could order the ships to fly in circles as she waited for the rising sun to burn away the fog. They could then approach the coast with confidence and moor the fleet. But she also knew that the acolytes needed rest, and she was eager to get the ships down as soon as possible.
The second choice was to set the ships atop the waves straightaway, then take soundings as they cautiously approached the coast through the fog. When the depth was right they would lower the anchors and let the ships swivel into the wind, digging their anchor blades firmly into the seabed.
As Tyranny considered her options, Traax walked up. He was accompanied by Scars, Tyranny’s giant first mate, who had been with her long before she became a member of the Conclave. The two had heard the warning bells.
Tyranny lowered her glass and looked at Scars. “Your opinion?” she asked.
Scars rubbed his chin, thinking. To those who did not know him well, his fearsome appearance overshadowed his sharp, seafaring mind. At nearly seven feet tall he seemed more like some freak of nature than a human being. His head was shaven and he wore only ripped trousers with no belt. His feet were continually bare. When asked why, his only response was that bare soles gave him a better feeling for the movements of the great ship. A ragged scar-the result of wrestling sharks during his youth-ran down his forehead, near one eye and down the length of his left cheek. Yet more such scars graced his arms and chest.
“I say we descend and take soundings,” he answered, in his unexpectedly erudite way. “The sisters are near exhaustion. Should they lose control, the result might be unpleasant. Besides, my sailor’s bones tell me that the fog bank does not extend all the way to the waves.”
“I agree,” Tyranny said. She turned to look at Traax.
The Minion second in command was an even more fearsome presence than Scars. Tall and muscular, he was also clean shaven-something of a rarity among male warriors. Long dark hair fell down behind his back and was secured with a bit of worn leather string. With his dark wings folded behind his back, his leather body armor in place, and his dreggan and returning wheel hung at opposite hips, everything about him suggested sudden death. To know Traax was to also know of his legendary devotion to hisJin’Sai.
Everyone was eager to return to Tammerland, but Traax’s wish to make his way home ran especially high. Just three months ago he had become a husband. His new wife, the warrior-healer Duvessa, eagerly awaited him at the palace. These sea trials had been the first time he had left her side since the wedding, and he missed her keenly.
The couple had been wed by theJin’Sai personally. During the ceremony, Shailiha’s daughter, Morganna, had been the bearer of the two jeweled pins that symbolized the betrothed warriors’ love for each other. Traax was a member of the Conclave, and Duvessa commanded all the female warrior-healers, an elite cadre of fighting women who were expert healers as well. As Tyranny looked into Traax’s eyes she understood how badly he wanted to get home. But there was still work to do.
“Traax, when we reach the sea, have your warriors take soundings,” she ordered. “I want the depth called out in one-fathom intervals. Have all the sails furled and tied off.”
Traax nodded. Tyranny knew the waters of the Cavalon Delta like the back of her hand. By the changing depths alone, she would be able to gauge the fleet’s nearness to the coast and keep the ships from running aground.
“Send three warriors aloft and have them deliver a message to the other acolyte pilots,” she continued. “Tell them that we are going to descend through the fog and land on the waves. When they see us start down, they are to follow. They must stay close enough to continually see us.” She shot a sly smile at Adrian, then looked back at Traax.
“This maneuver will need some tricky flying to prevent the ships from colliding,” she added, “but I think that the acolytes can handle it. Tell them to consider it their final test. When we drop anchor, they are to do the same.”
“As you wish, Captain,” Traax answered. He turned on his boot heels and hurried off.
Tyranny turned back to Adrian. “You may start your descent,” she ordered. “Take us down slow and level.”
“Aye,” the First Sister replied. “Slow and level as she goes.”
Adrian altered her hold over the craft and theTammerland started a slow vertical descent. The First Sister kept the ship perfectly level, so that the entire length of her keel would touch the water at once and keep the ship from heeling over.
Tyranny looked at the sky. The sun had finally risen in earnest, and it would soon start burning away the fog. Until now theTammerland had been flying in the clear, but she would soon enter the fog bank below.
Like Scars, Tyranny guessed that the fog did not reach all the way to the sea and that they would soon break clear. Even if they were wrong, at this slow rate of descent theTammerland ’s landing might be blind, but it would be gentle. The privateer glanced again to starboard to confirm that the other three ships were following theTammerland ’s lead.
Soon the great ship entered the dense fog. As the fog crept higher it engulfed the hu
ll, then the topside, and finally the masts, furled sails, and spars. The fog soon grew so thick that Tyranny lost sight of the other three ships, causing her concern. Perhaps I place too much confidence in the acolytes’ abilities, she worried. Then she heard Minion voices hauntingly calling out in the gloom. For the benefit of the four acolytes, they were announcing the distances between the vessels. That must have been Traax’s idea, she thought, and it was a good one.
As theTammerland descended, Tyranny, Adrian, and Scars grabbed hold of some nearby rigging to steady themselves. More tense seconds ticked by. Without warning, the great vessel hit the waves. She listed hard to port for a moment before settling down. Soon they heard the other three Black Ships splash down, and it was over.
As theTammerland started to drift, Tyranny turned to Scars. “Drop anchor!” she shouted. Scars immediately ran to carry out her order.
Soon the two women heard the anchor chain rattling across the foredeck, and the anchor splashed into the sea. TheTammerland swiveled hard to port before settling down again. Then she tugged hard on her chain, digging the anchor blade deep into the sea floor.
Exhausted, Adrian closed her eyes and let go a deep breath. She had no doubt that her sister acolytes were equally spent.
“Well done,” Tyranny said. “You have earned a well-deserved rest.”
Just then Traax and Scars reappeared. “The other three ships are successfully moored,” he said, “and they are far enough apart so that they will not strike each other as they turn in the wind. Shall we take our first sounding, raise theTammerland ’s anchor, and head for shore?”
Before answering, Tyranny turned and gazed westward. She smiled.
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