With the Sippora doing part of the work, and the attack of the Black Ships and their creatures coming from the opposite direction, the pace of the destruction would now double. Together they would close in on the palace. When the Earthshakers arrived, even the thick castle walls would bow to their fury. Faegan balled his hands up into fists and banged them down on the arms of his chair.
"Like it or not, we must wait," he said softly, defiantly. "I know how badly you all want to take action, but we cannot. We need Traax's forces, and Wigg and Tristan. Until they arrive, sending our small force of warriors out against the invaders would be sheer suicide. I simply won't do it. We have to trust in the Jin'Sai, and hope he and the First Wizard arrive in time."
CHAPTER LXXXV
They were making good time. standing in the bow of her flagship, Tyranny scraped the common match against the side of her scuffed knee boot. She cupped her hands and lit the cigarillo dangling from her lips. Blowing the smoke out through her nose, she shook out the match and cast her gaze out over the Sea of Whispers.
It was midday and the weather was favorable. Bright blue sky stretched overhead, with just the occasional trace of a passing cloud. The easterlies were strong, forcing her fleet to tack back and forth as they made their way north, up the coast. They sailed behind her in an arrowhead formation. A red image of the Paragon adorned each of their mainsails, bright and brazen for the world to see. Looking up, she silently blessed the good weather, for it would help her Minion scouting parties perform their searches.
She looked eastward. Her gut told her that the remainder of the demonslaver fleet was out there somewhere. Scars was fond of saying that she could smell a demonslaver from fifty leagues away. She smiled to herself. Perhaps he's right, she thought. But right now all I smell is salt air.
Tyranny was far from confident about the hurried repairs that had been made to her ships. Even as she plowed through the waves, the sturdy Reprise groaned in ways her skipper had never heard. But Tyranny had to believe she would hold together, just as she had done so many times in the past.
Despite the ramshackle condition of her fleet, Tyranny was hopeful about their prospects. If they met the enemy, this time wouldn't be like the last. There would be no massive Black Ships to sail blithely over her lines. And if there were no one of the craft aboard the slaver vessels, there would be no azure bolts to contend with.
This time it would be Tyranny's turn to use the craft at sea, and she relished the opportunity. Each of her ships carried an Acolyte of the Redoubt, handpicked by Adrian for her superior abilities. Tyranny had counseled them carefully about how and when to strike. And K'jarr's Minion phalanx was rested and spoiling for a fight. She could see it in their dark eyes and mannerisms, in their eager talk with one another about the battle to come, and in the careful way they sharpened their dreggans.
She felt exactly the same way. All in all, even if they found themselves outnumbered, this time they would have a fighting chance. She would not shrink from this battle, but boldly claim it for her own.
As the Reprise's hull groaned and the waves split against her bow, Tyranny thought of Tristan and what he might be going through. She closed her eyes for a moment. She was worried for him-more than she ought to be.
He's not mine, she thought as she tossed the spent cigarillo overboard.
Scars approached, his massive frame casting a long shadow over her. Tyranny put away her thoughts of the prince and turned to look at her first mate.
"Your report?" she asked.
"Steady as she goes," Scars answered. "The other ships report no difficulties and the winds remain brisk. The fleet is ready for battle." He gave his captain a conspiratorial wink. "All we need now are some demonslavers to kill."
"Indeed," Tyranny answered. "It's almost too quiet out here. I'm starting to think that-"
Her sentence was suddenly interrupted by the sounds of boot heels striking the deck. She and Scars turned to see a scouting party landing. K'jarr hurried over to greet them.
The warriors talked animatedly among themselves. Then K'jarr turned to her, smiled broadly, and Tyranny knew. He and the leader of the group ran over to her and came to attention.
"They've been spotted!" K'jarr exclaimed.
"Where away?" Tyranny demanded.
"Due east," the other warrior answered. "I estimate them to be no more than six leagues from our current position."
"How many ships?" Scars asked.
"Thirty," the warrior answered, "and each of them loaded to the sinking point with slavers. We saw no humans among them. They sail in an arrowhead formation, just as we do."
"Do you think you were seen?" Tyranny demanded.
"I do not know," the scout said. "I sent one of us lower to determine whether there were any humans aboard. Given the clear weather, he might have been noticed. If he was, the slavers gave no indication of it."
Tyranny looked at K'jarr. "Prepare your warriors," she said. "We're going into battle."
K'jarr clicked his heels. "I live to serve," he answered. He turned briskly and hurried away.
Scars grinned at Tyranny. "Your orders, Captain?" he asked.
"Signal the other ships," she said. "I want them in a straight battle line. If the enemy has not broken their formation, then we shall know that we haven't been detected. Damn this good weather! I would have preferred to attack suddenly from a fog bank, but that can't be helped. This will be a straight-up fight." Pausing for a moment, she looked back out to sea.
"Once our line is formed, make our course due east," she said. "We must make the most of our first pass."
Scars smiled again. "Aye, Captain," he answered. "And may the Afterlife be with us."
Tyranny looked east once more. Soon they would be outnumbered by more than three to one. As she felt the Reprise rise and fall beneath her, she took a deep breath.
May the Afterlife help us indeed, she thought. I fear we are going to need it.
CHAPTER LXXXVI
From where he stood in the minion litter, Tristan gazed northward. The wind tore at his clothes and hair, but he paid it no heed. As he watched the distant horizon, he firmly clutched the gold medallion hanging around his neck.
Wigg could tell that Tristan was a changed man. But the Jin'Sai had yet to confide in him about what had transpired between him and the Scroll Master. Nor had they spoken again about Celeste's death. The silence between them was deafening and unnatural.
After exiting the azure pyramid, they had watched it sink back into the earth. The displaced sections of loose sod had smoothly closed over, leaving the ground looking as though it had never been disturbed.
Without first conferring with Wigg, Tristan had ordered the warriors into the air and given them a course to follow. For the last hour he had silently looked north-as though his destiny lay out there somewhere and he was searching for it.
Wigg looked sadly at the golden vase bearing his daughter's ashes, nestled at the prince's feet. He didn't blame Tristan for Celeste's death. He had no doubt that Tristan had done everything in his power to save her. But Wigg still did not know what Tristan had meant when he had said he had been "too late."
He saw Tristan stiffen and lean forward to wave to Ox. When the giant warrior flew closer, Tristan shouted out another course change. The entire group turned slightly to the east.
More relaxed now, the prince sat down beside the wizard and placed an affectionate hand upon his shoulder. There was a compassionate look in his eyes.