Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

K'jarr's jaw hardened with hate. Why would anyone commit so many vessels to the capture of a single ship? he wondered. It just didn't make any sense. And then it hit him.

The Chosen One might be aboard.

He watched in horror as the ring closed more tightly around the trapped vessel.

Turning, he called orders to the three officers who were to return to the Minion fleet with the exact location of the fog bank. Immediately they peeled away from the main body and soared through the air, flying hard in the direction from which they had just come.

He returned his attention to the action in the distance, hoping against hope that his sworn lord was not trapped on that lone, desperate ship. It would be many long moments before he and his warriors could reach them-moments that the ones aboard the frigate clearly could not afford. Turning to the officer nearest him, K'jarr began barking out orders.

Just then the lead vessel in the oncoming fleet rammed the lone frigate directly amidships. As he watched, K'jarr's razor-sharp eyes caught something that quickened his heart: At the top of the ship's mainmast flew the blue-and-gold battle flag of the House of Galland.

K'jarr drew his dreggan. Despite the rushing of the wind, he could hear the reassuring ring of his warriors' blades cutting through the air all around him.

He smiled grimly. This was what they had been bred for, had spent their entire lives training for. There was no greater honor for a true Minion warrior than to perish in the service of his lord. Many of them would no doubt meet their final reward here today, somewhere over the Sea of Whispers.

Suddenly snapping his wings closed behind his back, K'jarr held his sword before him and jacknifed into a dive, pointing straight down in a perfect, vertical free fall. The warriors behind him followed suit. Faster and faster they fell, plummeting toward the stricken ship as attackers swarmed over her decks.

The odds were overwhelming, K'jarr knew. But if his lord was indeed here, then there was no other duty, no other choice than the one lying before them.

Narrowing his dark eyes against the wind, he led his forces down.

I n a violent cacophony of splintering wood, the lead pirate ship had rammed The People's Revenge directly amidships. Then she had swung alongside, her raiders screaming and jumping from their vessel to swarm like ants over the decks of Tyranny's flagship.

One man leapt from the rigging with a knife between his teeth, and swung his saber broadly in an attempt to take the prince's head off.

But Tristan saw him coming. Quickly slipping to one side, he held his dreggan out with both arms and pressed the button on the hilt. The extra length of blade launched forward, catching the pirate across the belly. The pirate's face registered a moment of shock; then the light went out of his eyes. Ignoring the gushing blood, Tristan roughly pushed the corpse off his sword with the heel of one boot. But as he turned to look around, his heart fell.

Tyranny and Scars were lost among all the fighting. All around him, men were dying. Worse yet, the other raider vessels were approaching rapidly. The deck of The People's Revenge was a mass of screaming, struggling pandemonium, blades clanging noisily amid the sounds of shouting and groans of pain.

It would be over very shortly, he knew, and they would all be dead. The scrap of parchment hidden in his boot would never reach Eutracia, and Krassus would win. But before that happened, Tristan swore he would take as many of them down with him as he could.

Seeing a pirate raise his sword against one of the slaves, he instinctively reached over his right shoulder and drew one of his knives. Almost before he knew it, the dirk was twirling end over end toward its victim.

As it buried itself into the side of the man's neck, blood rushed out in furious, uncontrolled spurts. Wet, slippery waves of crimson cascaded down the man's left shoulder as he clutched frantically at the handle of the knife. But it was already too late. As blood spewed from his lungs, his eyes became strangely fixed in the distance. His sword dropped noisily to the deck, and he fell stiffly, face forward.

Tristan turned to look up into the rigging from which his first attacker had come. As he did, his heart skipped a beat. All of Tyranny's crewmembers who had remained behind on the Isle of Sanctuary had been captured and hung from the pirate ship's masts and rigging.

Tristan had known some of these people. He had laughed with them, worked with them, and learned the ways of the sea from them. And now they were dead. As he stood gaping up at the bodies that had once been so full of life, a sudden wave of guilt swept over him.

Bending over, he tried to keep from vomiting.

Later he would recall that it was truly a miracle he hadn't been killed then. Finally returning to his senses, he spun around to rejoin the battle.

Almost immediately another of them was upon him. Awash with rising anger, Tristan used all his talents to make sure the pirate died.

A s they neared the stricken ship in their headlong plunge, K'jarr's warriors fanned out. They had been ordered to find whether the prince was aboard before joining the battle, and to do so at all cost. K'jarr unfolded his wings and buffeted the air to hover at a point near the mainmast, about ten meters off the deck. He wanted very badly to join the fray, but he had to monitor the progress of his warriors first. If his lord was struggling somewhere on this ship they would soon find him, or die trying.

Finally, in the midst of the battle, they saw him.

A s the first of them went soaring by, Tristan thought he must be seeing things. Then one swooped down to land beside him, dreggan drawn, eyes flashing. Then came another and another, until a multitude of them had formed a protective ring around him, slashing viciously at their attackers as they came. Many of the stunned pirates died right there and then.

Tristan's heart leapt in his chest. He didn't know how many of the Minions there were here, or where they had suddenly come from, but now, finally, he thought there might be a chance to prevail after all.

K'jarr landed beside Tristan. After quickly telling him the number of warriors under his command and the location of the Minion fleet, he waited calmly for Tristan's orders. The prince looked out across the waves to see that the rest of the pirate vessels would soon be upon them. Then an idea struck him.

Using precious seconds, he gauged the speed and distance between them and the nearest of the oncoming ships. He leaned toward K'jarr again.

"Take half of your force and fly toward those ships!" he shouted urgently above the din. "Leave the other half of your warriors here to help us secure this vessel! When you reach the enemy vessels, this is what I want you to do!"

Leaning in further, he shouted some final directives to K'jarr. Understanding, the officer smiled. He then took to the air again, half of his warriors following him as ordered, and flew directly toward the oncoming pirate ships. Tristan and the remaining warriors began grimly hacking their way through the raiders on board The People's Revenge.

The battle continued to rage, but the prince thought there were now more of Tyranny's crewmen standing than there were pirates. Still, the scene before him was something out of a nightmare. Dead men lay tangled in the rigging of both ships. Body parts were everywhere. The wounded of both sides were screaming pitifully for help, and the decks were slippery with blood.

He desperately needed to find Tyranny and Scars and tell them what was happening. Fighting his way down the length of the decks with his warriors by his side, he finally saw them. Amazingly, they were both still alive.

As K' jarr and his Minions approached the encroaching pirate vessels, they obeyed their lord's orders and climbed higher. Then their leader gathered them into a hovering, eager group and started barking out commands. Only two warriors to a ship, he told them quickly. When they were done with their work, they were to advance to another vessel and then another, always doing the same thing until the task was complete. By then their fleet should have arrived, and the killing could begin in earnest.