Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

Tristan tried to shout orders out to Wigg and Traax, but each of them was already locked in individual combat. Pulling his sword from its scabbard, Tristan raised it just in time to ward off a blow from a demonslaver that appeared from nowhere. Then he slipped to the right and slashed his dreggan low, tearing the flesh of the monster's left thigh with the point of his double-edged blade. As the slaver bent over in agony, Tristan raised his blade again and took the thing's head off with a single blow.

Using a few precious seconds, Tristan turned desperately to look for Shailiha. When his eyes finally fell on her, he saw that she had drawn her sword and was fighting off a slaver. But the monster was gaining ground on her, pushing her backward across the already bloody deck. Reaching behind his shoulder, Tristan grasped the first of his throwing knives and sent it spinning end over end. The dirk buried itself into the slaver's neck and the monster fell over.

Across the deck, Wigg was throwing azure bolt after azure bolt against the demonslavers, killing as many of them as possible the moment they materialized. Then there seemed to be a short lull in the fighting, and for a wonderful, fleeting moment Tristan almost believed they might somehow survive the carnage. But he had forgotten the screechlings.

The thousands of large, three-winged, brightly colored flying fish descended on the Minion fleet all at once. Deftly avoiding the demonslavers, they soared over the decks, and tore into sails, spars, and Minions alike with their razor-sharp teeth. Many of the warriors took to the air and tried to hack the deadly things from the sky. But it soon became clear that they were outnumbered.

Spars and rigging came crashing down, and whatever sails had not already been furled were systematically shredded. Minion warriors by the dozens were being viciously torn apart by the screechlings and then hoisted ruthlessly over the side, to be consumed by the wailing, ravenous Eaters of the Dead. Despite all of the screaming, clanging sword blades, and mayhem, the sickening tearing of Minion flesh could be heard rising from waters that were quickly turning red with the crimson stains of death.

Traax and K'jarr reached Tristan's side, and the three of them slashed violently with their dreggans. Tristan was about to shout to Traax, when he saw the warrior's face suddenly fall-a rare sight indeed, even in combat. Whirling around, Tristan looked to see what had so stunned his second-in-command. As he did, his mouth fell open.

All around them, the warships of Wulfgar's fleet were materializing. There must have been hundreds of them, Tristan realized, and they had clearly been the launching points of the demonslaver attacks. As endless swarms of demonslavers continued to use swinging lines and gangplanks to land on his decks, Tristan saw that his troops were not only hopelessly outnumbered, but completely surrounded, as well.

The prince's heart fell at the thought of how easily they had been led into the trap. Wulfgar must also be here, he thought as he struggled with a screaming slaver, pausing only to raise his dreggan to slash a screechling out of the air. But if Wulfgar was there, then why hadn't Wigg detected his blood?

There was only one thing to do now. It had only a small chance of success, and if it was ever to happen it would have to be soon, for the odds against their survival were climbing by the second. The prince shouted out his orders to Traax and K'jarr.

"Traax, I want you to find Wigg, Abbey, and Shailiha and get them safely into one of the litters! Leave the other litter empty! Tell them it is time, and they will understand! I will join you soon!"

With a nod, Traax was gone. Reaching down into the top of his right knee boot, Tristan withdrew a small oilskin pouch and carefully handed it to K'jarr.

"Do you remember your orders?" he shouted to the Minion.

"Yes, Jin'Sai," K'jarr shouted back. "It shall be done!"

Despite the madness and turmoil going on all around them, Tristan took a few precious seconds to look deeply into K'jarr's dark eyes. "All of our lives and the life of your nation depend on what it is you now do," he said. "You must not fail us in this!"

K'jarr unflinchingly returned Tristan's gaze. "I live to serve!" he shouted.

With a final nod from his lord, the warrior hid the small package beneath his leather body armor, took to the air, and slipped over the side of the ship. Tristan ran toward the bow, desperately fighting his way through demonslavers and screechlings as he went.

By now the situation had become so critical and the number of demonslavers so great that a thick horde of Minions had to surround him simply to ensure he would reach his goal. Many of them died. Blessedly, by the time he made it there the others were waiting for him inside one of the litters.

With Tristan finally aboard, the Minion bearers lifted the litters into the sky and soared upward, just as they were overrun. Some of the screechlings tried to follow, but were cut down by Minion escorts. Then the remainder of the warriors soared from their stricken vessels and followed suit, climbing into the sky after them. As they did, the demonslavers left on the bloody decks cheered and waved their swords in celebration of their great victory.

Wondering whether his plan would work, Tristan looked silently over at his sister. She was dirty and disheveled and her left arm was bleeding, but Wigg had apparently been able to close the wound for now. Tristan gave her a small smile, and she smiled back.

Looking down at the fleet he had just ordered abandoned, Tristan desperately wondered whether he had done the right thing. It was out of his control now, he knew. As he waited and watched, he closed his hands tightly around the hilt of his dreggan.

K' jarr soared low over the waves, desperately staving off the screechlings that tried to force him down into the dark, waiting maws of the Eaters of the Dead. Four times they nearly took him, and four times he fought them off. But the battle on the decks had tired him, and he wasn't sure how long he could continue searching for the right opportunity.

Finally, after several long moments of circling the waterline of the Savage Scar, he found a place clear of screechlings and Necrophagians.

Hovering near the bowsprit he took a supreme chance and turned his back to the sea. Reaching into his body armor he withdrew the oilskin pouch, then carefully stuffed its contents into the gap between the bowsprit rail and the hull, taking extra care to make sure it would not come loose.

Turning away from the hull he soared up and away, in search of the Jin'Sai's departing litters.

W hen Wigg thought they were finally high enough, he nodded to Tristan. Then the prince gave his litter bearers a prearranged signal and they stopped climbing, instead hovering in place. They were high in the sky, directly above the two opposing fleets. The bloody Minion decks were now empty of warriors, and the demonslavers were still swarming over their decks, raucously rejoicing in their victory.

Tristan anxiously waited for Traax to lead the remainder of his forces up. As they came, he was dismayed at how few of them had survived. Then K'jarr finally caught up with them.

"Is it done?" Tristan shouted out nervously.

"Yes, my lord!" the Minion answered proudly. "All is as you requested!"

A look of relief crossed the prince's face. Wasting no time, he gave orders for the two litters to separate and to put a good distance between one another. Then he looked back over at Wigg and Abbey. It was time.

"You can do this," he told them.

"If I can both hold the litter in place long enough and also sustain a warp, and if the process will actually work in reverse," Wigg replied. "But as Faegan and I told you before, there are so many variables-"