As she breathed out a long stream of smoke, she pulled out her desk chair and sat down. Then she reached for the open bottle of red wine atop her desk and took a long swallow straight from the lip. Leaning back in her chair, she gave herself to the seductive rocking of the Reprise as it plowed through the waves.
The comforting sound of ship's bells rang out on the night air. She was so used to their sound that they automatically registered in her mind, without the need to be counted.
"Ding…ding…" came the clear, bright tones. Two hours to dawn, she thought, as the last of them faded away.
She walked back over to the windowsill and sat down again. She took a pull on her cigarillo, and then flicked the ash from its glowing end into the sea before having another sip of wine.
She had begun as a pirate, and ended up…legal. And it was all due to Prince Tristan of the House of Galland.
Tristan had seen to it that she received her letters of marque and the one hundred thousand kisa that had been part of their bargain for taking him safely home. She was now most probably the wealthiest woman in all of Eutracia. It had also been Tristan who had given her the twelve stout, ex-pirate vessels she now commanded, not to mention her new seat on the Conclave of the Vigors. She owed him much. And she missed his company, though she would never admit it, except here, in the safe confines of her own cabin before dawn.
Taking another swallow of wine, she closed her eyes. Tristan's heart belonged to Celeste, a woman whom Tyranny had come to count as a friend. And that was that.
An urgent pounding at her door sent her thoughts flying. She knew Scars' insistent knock when something was wrong.
"Come!" she shouted.
The door swung open to reveal her first mate. At seven feet tall, he seemed to take up the entire entry. His head and face were clean shaven, and his only clothing was a pair of ripped, worn trousers. His body and face were covered with scars, the most marked of which was a prominent line that ran diagonally down over his left eye and across his cheek.
"What is it?" Tyranny asked.
Scars smiled. "The Minion K'jarr tells me that his scouting warriors have sighted a lone ship. She tacks her way west-northwest toward Eutracia, about one hour's sail from our current position."
"And…" Tyranny prompted.
"She is manned by demonslavers." Scars grinned widely. "She sails alone. They are either amazingly brave or equally stupid. Unless they sighted our Minion patrol-which I seriously doubt-there is no way for them to know that we are in the same waters."
Tyranny beamed. At last, she thought. She took a final pull on her cigarillo, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, then dropped the butt to the floor and crushed it out beneath her boot.
"I will speak to K'jarr immediately," she said. "In the meantime, turn us west-northwest and douse our running lamps. And make sure every ship in the fleet does the same."
Scars turned to go, and she followed him, running, up the gangway to the main deck of the Reprise.
As ox soared high over the sea of whispers with his coterie of warriors, his eyes scoured the moonlit waters for Tyranny's fleet. He and his troops had searched almost the entire night, and they were close to exhaustion.
Making matters worse, he was frantic over what might have happened to the prince and the First Wizard. He knew he was not among the most intellectually gifted of the Minions. Still, what he lacked in quickness of mind he felt he more than made up for with devotion and loyalty-especially where the Jin'Sai was concerned.
The wheels of thought ground slowly in his head. His immediate focus had to be on finding Tyranny.
He had a general idea of where to look-information supplied by one of the prince's newly constructed seaside outposts-but that still left a huge area to search.
Pulling his dark, leathery wings through the sky, Ox became more and more concerned. They needed to find Tyranny's fleet soon, for they had already flown too far from shore-long past the point of no return. It would be dawn in about two hours; he could only hope that the light would help.
Banking slightly to the left, he led his warriors in a curving turn designed to compensate for the reported movement of Tyranny's fleet. This maneuver should work, provided the privateer had not changed her course since the last heading supplied to the outpost. It was all the information Ox had, and it worried him that it might no longer be valid.
If it wasn't, they would soon all suffer a cold, watery death. As tyranny and scars ran to the foredeck of the Reprise, a stiff, westerly wind greeted them. The moons provided excellent visibility over the ever-restless sea. But as she scanned the ocean through her spyglass, the eager privateer saw nothing.
Before she knew it, K'jarr, the Minion officer Tristan had assigned to her, was standing by her side. He looked tired and worn, and she understood that he had led the patrol that had sighted the demonslaver vessel.
"Your report," she said briskly. Despite his exhaustion, with a click of his heels K'jarr came to attention.
"She is a demonslaver ship, of that there is no doubt," he answered. "I saw the white-skinned bastards with my own eyes." Then he smiled. Exhausted as they were, he and his warriors were as eager to engage the Jin'Sai's enemies as anyone aboard.
"They're about one hour's sail from our current location-provided the winds hold and they haven't changed their heading since then," he continued. "I doubt they have, since they seemed to have been tacking for the Cavalon Delta. By my estimates, we should be able to see their running lights within the next quarter to half hour."
Tyranny looked back out over the gunwale. Despite how much she wanted to engage the enemy, that a single demonslaver ship would brave these waters alone gave her pause. Most, if not all, of Wulfgar's fleet had been destroyed. Tristan's bastard brother had been killed that same night, on the roof of the royal palace. So why would a leaderless slaver frigate ply these waters now, trying to return to a nation that would most certainly prove deadly to her? Was this the scout vessel for a new host of warships that they knew nothing about-the vanguard of another invasion force, perhaps? Suddenly, she understood.
This was no invasion. The demonslaver ship traveled alone because she had a singular mission.
Tyranny turned to Scars. "Put on all the extra sail we can muster!" she ordered. "I don't care if we crack every spar in the fleet doing it! We must not let her slip away! We will board this one, but not sink her immediately. My gut tells me that she carries secrets with her." As she looked back out to sea, another thought came to her.
"I want every ship in our fleet rigged for stealth," she added. "There must be no warning bells from the crow's nest. Send word to the fleet by whatever Minion warriors are still able to fly, rather than by signal lantern. I want quiet and darkness."
With a quick nod, her first mate went to carry out his captain's orders.
Then she heard the unmistakable flurry of Minion wings. She looked up just in time to see a number of dark, winged silhouettes crossing the luminous discs of Eutracia's three moons. She was surprised, because after K'jarr's group had landed she had sent out no new patrols. Suddenly, a mass of unfamiliar Minion warriors came half crashing, half landing onto the decks of the Reprise.
She finally recognized Ox. He looked completely played out, as did all of the Minions with him. Some of them were so spent that all they could do was sit or lie upon the shifting decks and try to reclaim their breath.
Tyranny and K'jarr ran to Ox. It was all the faithful warrior could do to look up at them. His expression was grave.
K'jarr helped Ox to his feet. The huge warrior could barely stand. He persevered as he wavered back and forth before her, his wings drooping behind him.