Robert Newcomb - Savage Messiah

"Come to me," Tristan said.

At Tristan's verbal command alone, the orb obeyed. As it neared, Wigg could feel its blazing heat, and their litter rocked violently again.

Tristan held out his arms. "How you have suffered because of us," he said quietly. "But now your suffering shall end." He pointed at the base of the orb.

A delicate, ethereal glow flowed from Tristan's hands to touch the gash in the orb. The orb's wound began to close. Wigg stood spellbound as Tristan healed the orb. When the great rent was finally closed, Tristan lowered his hands.

Almost at once the orb glowed more brightly, and its wailing stopped. Then Wigg saw something he would remember for as long as he lived.

The orb came a bit closer. Its majesty regained, it dipped and revolved one time, almost as if paying homage to the prince. Tristan lowered his head.

"You are free to go," he said.

The orb vanished, leaving nothing in its wake except the terrible destruction it had caused.

Wigg took a careful look around. Save for the sounds of the distant battle between the Minions and the K'tons, silence reigned once more. The ground below them was strewn with the dead, the green grass soaked red with blood.

He walked over to Tristan. They were both sweating and covered with soot. Wigg put one hand on Tristan's shoulder.

"It is finished," he said.

Tristan looked at the wizard, his expression grave.

"You're wrong," he said. "The rest of Wulfgar's forces are attacking Tammerland. There is still a war to fight."

Ox returned to the litter. Bloody and exhausted, he made his report.

"Battle finished, my lord," he said. "Rest of flying monsters dead."

With so many of the K'tons killed by the orb, Tristan had known that the results of the battle would be a foregone conclusion. But he hadn't expected it to come so quickly.

"So soon?" he asked Ox.

Ox beamed and pointed to the sky above them. "We get help," he said.

Tristan and Wigg looked up to see Traax's vast phalanxes hovering high above. He could just make out Traax victoriously waving his dreggan. They were indeed a welcome sight. Smiling, Tristan looked back at Ox.

"Tell Traax to have his forces follow us," he said. "We make for Tammerland with all possible speed. Our struggle isn't over."

Ox nodded. "I live to serve," he answered.

While the faithful warrior climbed into the sky, Tristan took a final look down at the carnage on the ground.

So many dead, he thought. And still so many yet to die.

As the sun set behind the Tolenkas, the litter and the Minion army headed south.

Whirling around on the bloody deck, Tyranny held her sword high as another demonslaver came at her, thrusting his trident toward her abdomen.

She spun and parried at the last second, but the blade of her sword became entangled in the tines of the monster's weapon. With a victorious sneer the slaver twisted his trident. Tyranny's sword was torn from her grip, and rattled to the bloody deck of the Reprise. Losing her footing in all the fresh blood, she fell hard to the deck. Suddenly defenseless, she watched the points of the trident descend upon her.

Then she saw two familiar hands wrap around the slaver's neck from behind. She scrambled to her feet as the fingers squeezed the slaver's throat. The monster desperately tried to reach behind him, but it was no good. His eyes soon bulged and his tongue protruded from between his black teeth.

With a loud cracking of bones, Scars broke the thing's neck. The slaver died instantly. Scars picked him up over his head and tossed the corpse overboard.

Tyranny retrieved her bloody sword. She gave Scars a nod of thanks and watched him hurry off in search of another slaver to kill.

The battle had been raging for nearly two hours. The sun was setting and darkness would soon fall. All around her, weapons clashed; Minions, crew members, and demonslavers screamed; and massive explosions rocked the heavens. Azure bolts streamed across the waves. Catapults launched fireballs from the demonslaver ships.

Tyranny's orders to her ships had been simple: sail close enough to the slaver vessels so the acolytes could hit them with their bolts, but not so close that they could be boarded. The result was a deadly, seaborne game of cat and mouse, with Tyranny's twelve ships deftly weaving between the more numerous slaver vessels. Even so, some slaver frigates had managed to come close enough to throw grappling hooks and board their warriors. Four of her vessels-the Reprise included-now swarmed with slavers.

Tyranny's Minions had boarded the enemy vessels and fought for their lives. The sea was littered with bodies and the debris of battle. The smoke rising from the strikes of the azure bolts and the demonslavers' fireballs was so thick that Tyranny could barely see.

She had told the acolytes to aim first for the enemy masts to render their vessels dead in the water. Only then were they to try to blow holes in their hulls. Five of the slaver vessels that she knew of had been sent to the bottom; without their masts, many of the others wallowed aimlessly at the mercy of the sea, the slavers aboard them helpless to join the fight.

Three of Tyranny's ships had already gone down. Some of her other vessels desperately tried to save what was left of their surviving crewmen before they drowned, but amid all the smoke and confusion it was a nearly impossible task.

Then she saw another orange fireball launch from a nearby slaver ship. Trailing dark smoke, it was following a high, deadly trajectory straight for the Reprise. Helpless, Tyranny held her breath as she watched it come.

The fireball fell short, but it trailed showers of sparks that landed on the mizzen sail. In mere moments the sail was ablaze. Aghast, Tyranny searched the deck for crewmen not engaged in the fighting. She finally found two and sent them aloft with buckets of water. If the Reprise caught fire, she was done for.

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."