Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

Smiling to himself, K'jarr watched them go, as two by two they bravely dove down on the pirate armada. As they did, the pirates began to notice, looking up and staring at the winged ones with wide, unbelieving eyes.

K'jarr smiled. Trying to board these two hundred vessels and kill all of the pirates would have been blatant suicide. Still, had Tristan ordered them to do so, they would have obeyed him without question. But the Chosen One had not commanded his winged warriors to attack the pirates.

He had ordered them to attack their ships.

O ut of one corner of her eye, Tyranny saw Tristan coming. Then, for the first time in her life, she saw the Minions. So stunned was she that she literally stopped what she was doing and simply stared at them, her sword hanging limply from one bloody hand. Only at the last moment did one of the warriors step in, expertly slicing away the head of a sash-wearing pirate who had tried to take advantage of her lapse in judgment.

Running up to her side, Tristan shouted out to her, telling her that the winged ones were his, and that she shouldn't be afraid of them. With the fighting on The People's Revenge finally starting to abate, he did his best to explain what he had just ordered the Minions to do, and how their fleet was on the way. There were still two hundred pirate vessels bearing down on them, but at least now they had a slim chance. As he told her, he saw a glimmer of hope appear in her eyes. Then he looked over to see Scars.

The ever-weaponless giant was holding a frantically squirming, screaming pirate in his arms. Tristan knew from prior experience that there would be no escape for the man. Seemingly oblivious to everything going on around him, Scars calmly walked the terrified raider over to the gunwale, the pirate's red, telltale sash dragging on the pitching deck as they went.

Without fanfare, Scars lifted the man into the air, then brought his head down sharply against the smooth, polished edge. With a sickening snapping sound, it cracked open like an eggshell. Gray brain matter slipped from within its shattered depths to fall sloppily onto the deck. Saying nothing, Scars tossed the body overboard into the sea. Then he looked up at Tristan and smiled broadly.

A s K'jarr's warriors finally reached the oncoming pirates' ships, they drew their swords. Swooping and darting among the vessels, staying aloft rather than taking to the decks, they hacked savagely at the sails and rigging of the ships, bringing them tumbling to the decks in tattered, useless heaps of tangled rope and sailcloth. All the angry pirates could do was to watch helplessly, shaking their fists and cursing the days the winged ones were born.

A few of the more aggressive pirates started climbing the remains of their tattered rigging, to reach the Minions and fight them. But that proved to be a huge mistake. From their superior positions aloft, the Minions easily cut them to pieces, the raiders' mutilated bodies crashing back down to the decks or splashing into the Sea of Whispers.

On and on it went, one ship after the next, as the Minions mercilessly hacked down the sails and rigging. Others of them destroyed the hulls of the ships' longboats and skiffs, making escape impossible. Finally, exhausted but satisfied, the Minion warriors resheathed their dreggans and soared higher, to regroup with their leader.

Looking down, K'jarr smiled broadly. Just as the Chosen One had hoped, the warriors had been able to stop the pirate vessels dead in the water, and now they drifted aimlessly, at the whim of the currents. Their decks covered with white sailcloth, the ships looked rather like oddly shaped clouds that had somehow fallen from the sky to land in the openness of the blue sea. There was no way the pirate forces would be able to reach their comrades in the battle for The People's Revenge.

As the pirates screamed invectives at the winged ones who had crippled them, K'jarr knew that he and his warriors had just secured for their lord the one thing he had needed most: time. Time for their fleet to arrive, under the dual command of Geldon and Traax. That would not be long now, he knew. Then the real killing could begin. In true Minion fashion, his blood sang with the promise of slaughtering the enemies of his sworn lord.

K'jarr turned his sharp eyes toward the eastern horizon. To his great delight, he could finally see the sails of their fleet approaching. Then another dark, fleeting shadow passed over the ocean below, and he smiled.

The sky above him was suddenly swarming with Minion troops. Traax was leading them, and six of them were carrying a litter that presumably transported Geldon.

Traax waved K'jarr's forces up, and the two groups combined. After a quick word of explanation from K'jarr, the warriors left the pirate ships in their misery and began flying as fast toward Tyranny's stricken ship as their wings would allow.

Despite their initial success, Traax's face darkened. Their lord wasn't safe yet, and every passing second mattered.

T yranny, Scars, and Tristan stood together back to back, fighting against the remaining pirates who still dared to take them on. Tyranny had already been wounded in one shoulder, and Scars in his right thigh. Neither of their injuries was mortal, but they needed attention, or they would both soon become weak from blood loss.

Tristan was still unscathed. He continued to fight like a demon, even though his arms were becoming so heavy he didn't know how much longer he would be able to raise his dreggan. Fortunately, their attackers were becoming fewer, and at last all three of them were able to stop fighting.

Their chests heaving, Tristan and Tyranny took a moment to rest on the hilts of their swords. Using a shirt taken from a dead pirate and ripped into strips, Scars temporarily bound Tyranny's wound and then his own.

Then a voice rang out across the deck, causing Tristan's blood to run cold.

"I said that you were a clever bastard!" Rolf shouted. "And what you just did to my ships proves it, doesn't it? These winged monkeys of yours can certainly use a sword, I'll give them that! But what ugly things they are! Sure'n it's just you and me now. What say you, laddie-are you up for a little fun?"

At some point in the battle, one of the pirates must have cut Rolf free from the mast. Looking out across the ship, Tristan could see him standing arrogantly on the far side of an empty patch of bloody deck. He beckoned Tristan forward, the red sash around his waist fluttering in the wind. In one hand he held a bloody pirate saber, and in the other a dagger. Smiling, he wiped the sword blade clean on one leg of his trousers. Then he raised it, expertly twirled it around in his hand, and pointed its tip directly at the prince's face. For a split second Tristan wondered how many of Tyranny's men the pirate had just killed.

"Are you going to hide behind that traitorous bitch's skirts forever, or come to me like a man?" Rolf shouted. Then he smiled and bowed sarcastically to Tyranny. "Sorry, lass, but I forgot-you never wear skirts, do you? Still, that never kept me from finding my way in, did it now?"

Enraged, Tristan stalked toward the pirate leader. He knew that they had already won, that this didn't need to happen. And in his heart he knew that Rolf understood that as well as he did.

But Tristan's supremely endowed, azure blood was overcoming these sentiments. Both he and Rolf had their reasons for what was about to happen, and neither of them would be denied. He paused by Tyranny, his eyes still fixed squarely on Rolf.

"If he kills me, you must see to it that the vellum hidden in my boot gets back to the wizards in Tammerland," he said quietly. "My fleet will be here soon. When it arrives, give the paper to the warrior named Traax. He will most probably be in command, and he can be trusted. Do you understand?"