Her face grim, Tyranny looked over at Shailiha. The princess immediately understood. Both women drew their swords.
Tyranny turned to K'jarr. "Prepare to board the enemy vessels!" she shouted. "Gangplanks and grappling hooks at the ready!"
She looked out across the sea. Even without her glass, she could see the other half of her fleet taking a line on the port sides of Wulfgar's vessels. There was no going back now. She turned to Scars.
"Steer due south-hard to starboard!" she shouted.
With a massive groan, the Reprise came over hard, the vessels following her quickly doing the same. Tyranny saw her southern line of ships come to port and head north. She knew that in mere moments her vise would tighten its grip, and both lines of her fleet would be near enough to try to board the Black Ships.
As Tyranny's fleet closed, she watched with dread as Wulfgar, in the bow of the lead vessel, raised his hands.
The Black Ships rose higher into the air and their speed increased dramatically. The western ends of Tyranny's two rows of ships finally closed ranks, but to no avaiclass="underline" hulls gleaming in the moonlight, the seven incredible vessels literally flew over the mast tops of Tyranny's fleet.
As they soared overhead they blotted out the moonlight. Tyranny and Shailiha could do nothing but stand there and watch the spectacle in awestruck wonder.
Then, standing by the enemy gunwales, Wulfgar and his captains cast azure bolt after azure bolt down upon the westernmost vessels of Tyranny's fleet. The bolts tore though the ships' riggings, masts, decks, and hulls. Decks exploded, crewmen and warriors were launched into the air, and thick, choking smoke started to blanket everything.
The stricken ships immediately burst into flames. Crewmen and Minions jumped overboard to quench the flames that burned them. At least a third of Tyranny's fleet was ablaze. The privateer watched, aghast, as ship after ship disappeared beneath the waves. Determined Minions continued to hurl themselves against the Black Ships. But between the demonslavers and the azure bolts, the warriors died quickly.
Tyranny looked frantically down the deck of her flagship. The Reprise had been hit at least twice-once in the stern and once amidships. Both areas blazed, and much of the ship's rigging was gone. Pandemonium reigned as the warriors and crewmen desperately tried to save the beleaguered ship. Then came a terrible cracking sound.
With a tortured groan, the entire mainmast and all of her accompanying sails crashed to the deck. The mast bounced once and then split in two, crushing crewmen and warriors to death beneath its weight. The crow's nest and the top half of the mast exploded against the gunwale, to lie awkwardly over the side and droop toward the sea. Sister Adrian was nowhere to be seen.
Tyranny raised her spyglass to the sky. In the darkness she could just make out the hulls of the fleeing Black Ships. They were on course in the exact direction Faegan had predicted they would go. They would anchor just offshore in the great bay that lay directly east of the pass through the Tolenkas. From there Wulfgar and his forces would march west.
Tired and beaten, the privateer and the princess looked out over what remained of their smashed fleet. Fire and smoke ruled the waves as still more of their vessels went down. The remaining ships hurried to help those in need. The water was crowded with Minion dead and dying, but there were very few demonslaver corpses to be seen. Tyranny ordered Scars to search for Sister Adrian.
The privateer sheathed her sword. The crew worked to bring the fires aboard her flagship under control, but it would be many days before the Reprise could be made seaworthy again. Tyranny looked back up to the spot in the sky where the Black Ships had disappeared. Some of the surviving warriors were chasing after them, but she knew that they would never be able to catch up.
A third of my fleet is either lost or disabled, she thought, and slammed a fist against the gunwale. Not to mention the crewmen and warriors I've lost. And for what, she wondered. In the end, what had been the point?
Looking west to the coast, Tyranny hung her head.
CHAPTER LXXII
As Tristan sat before the campfire, he absentmindedly poked at its blazing logs with a dry stick. His dreggan and throwing knives lay in the grass beside him. The fire was comforting, and the nighttime sky was full of stars. It would be a pleasant night for sleeping, he thought.
Two tents sat in the center of the clearing by the road. One belonged to Tristan and Celeste, the other to Wigg. The tents surrounding them were Minion quarters. The horses were picketed nearby.
Wigg, Celeste, and Ox sat there with Tristan, their faces highlighted by the fire. They had been traveling for three days now. That morning Wigg had told them that the pull from the River of Thought was growing ever stronger. He guessed that they would reach the Well of Forestallments in one more day, two at the most.
More than once the anxious wizard had tried to gallop ahead to test Adrian's warning that if he went too fast, he would outrun the effects of the spell. Sure enough, each time he tried, he quickly lost the sensation-only to have it return when he slowed down again. The necessarily slow pace of the journey did nothing to improve Wigg's mood. Like Tristan, he sensed Celeste's life quickly ebbing away, and his frustration and anger grew by the moment.
The remains of their roast venison dinner lay nearby. The Minions were good cooks, and Tristan shared their love of rare meat. Over the course of the trip the prince had begun to develop a taste for akulee, even though it was much harder on his head than the ale or wine he was used to.
After a good bit of cajoling, he had even managed to get the wizard to try some. Against his better judgment, Wigg had cautiously taken a sip. Then his face screwed up and he spat it out. Over the last three hundred years he had become accustomed to the best wine the palace cellars had to offer. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, the First Wizard had proclaimed akulee to be the vilest concoction ever created. Tristan and Celeste had laughed at him, and the rare, comic interlude had done them all good.
Tristan looked over at Wigg. The wizard's hands were shoved into the opposite sleeves of his robe. The Paragon hung about his neck, firelight dancing in its bloodred facets. Lost in his thoughts, he stared into the fire.
"Can we beat him?" Tristan asked.
Everyone understood all too well that he referred to his half brother, Wulfgar. Celeste laid her head upon her husband's shoulder.
Wigg sighed. "Who knows?" he answered. "Maybe-but only if we can find the Well, if it exists at all. And then we must convince this Scroll Master to help us. But I would be lying to you if I said that the odds against us weren't long. And I fear that our time grows short."
He looked over at Celeste, his face rueful. "I'm sorry, my child," he said. "How are you feeling?"
As Celeste gathered her shawl about her, Tristan pulled her closer. He felt her shiver.
"I'm all right, Father," she answered. "Really I am." Looking up into Tristan's face, she smiled. "The two of you worry about me too much."
She's lying, Wigg thought. Just the same, he loved her for it, and his heart was breaking.
During the last two days Celeste's movements had become noticeably stiffer and her limp more pronounced. Her hair was grayer and she had lost even more weight. Using the craft, Wigg did all he could to ease her pain, but even he had been only partially successful. Yesterday's examination of her blood signature revealed that even more of it had vanished.
It killed him to see his only child wasting away before his eyes. Before long, she would look as old as he did. And he knew that Tristan was hurting for her just as much as he was, perhaps even more.
Wigg turned his craggy face back to the fire. We simply have to reach the Scroll Master in time, he thought. So much depends upon it.