Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

"How do you know all of this?" Tristan asked.

"Some of the original privateers of the Sorceresses' War were my forebears," she answered, then inhaled more of the smoke. Leaning back, she arched her back like a cat and adjusted her slim frame slightly in the chair. "When the war ended, their continuing love for the ocean turned them into fishermen. Not as exciting, but infinitely safer. You also might enjoy knowing that the Resolve, the vessel the lead wizard supposedly used to banish the Coven to the Sea of Whispers, was owned by the last of my privateering grandfathers and was loaned to the newly formed Directorate for just that purpose. Her ship's wheel was taken from her and handed down through the generations. It means a great deal to me, and is now the same one that guides this ship."

Tristan smiled and shook his head. "And you run my battle flag," he mused. "The lion and the broadsword. Where did you get it?"

"That was simple," she replied. "Unfortunately, since the destruction caused by the Coven, your flag can often be found needful of a place to fly. Besides, what other banner should we run in our fight against the demonslavers? I love my country."

Leaning forward, Tristan placed his glass on the desk. He wasn't sure he could trust her, but he had no other choice. He looked meaningfully into Tyranny's wide, blue eyes.

"How would you like to make more kisa than you've ever seen in your entire life?" he asked quietly.

"Just now you're in no position to pay such a sum," she answered. "And you're in no position to ask for any favors, either." Another puff of bluish smoke poured out her nose.

"But my wizards are," he answered. "And all you would have to do is take me to the Cavalon Delta and release me. From there, you and I could easily make our way to Tammerland, where you would be paid. No harm would befall you, and my wizards would be most appreciative, I assure you. With a word from me, they could conjure enough kisa to sink this ship; certainly more than enough to allow you to continue to look for your brother, and to do so for as long as you need to. We might even be able to help you find him."

Tyranny removed her long legs from the desk and sat upright in her chair. She ran a quick hand through her short hair, tousling it even further. "The wizards are all dead; everybody knows that," she answered skeptically, shaking her head. "This is just a trick to secure your release."

"The reported deaths of the wizards were not entirely true," Tristan countered. "Wigg, the lead wizard, still lives. As does another named Faegan. In fact, I believe they would be happy to hear about what you have been doing. I might even be able to convince them to give you your letters of marque and recognize you officially, if it means that much to you."

Then he sat back, desperately hoping his offer was enough. He simply had to get back to Tammerland and give the wizards the scrap of parchment hidden in his boot.

He could see that Tyranny was sorely tempted.

"If I were to do this thing, my price would be the one hundred thousand kisa that were supposedly offered by the warrant," she said craftily. "And I would also require some form of collateral against the possibility that you're lying. In that regard, I think the medallion hanging around your neck would do nicely. The quality of its gold appears to be particularly high. Melted down, it would go a long way toward convincing me."

Tristan looked down at the medallion. He saw that he had little other choice. He looked back up at Tyranny with determined eyes.

"I agree," he said quietly. "But I have conditions."

"Conditions?" Tyranny asked. "I could just have Scars come in and take the medallion from you, you know, then set sail for any place I choose."

"Yes," he answered. "But I don't think you will. Something about honor among thieves."

Silence reigned for a moment, their eyes locked together in a battle of wills.

"What are your conditions?" she asked finally, leaning her arms on the desk.

"No detours-we sail directly to the Cavalon Delta," he answered. "If other slave ships are sighted on the way, you do not engage them. You are also to return my weapons to me, and keep my real identity a secret on this ship. In addition, when we reach the palace you will draw a chart for my wizards, showing them the exact location of the Citadel. And there is one other thing," he added.

Tyranny's blue eyes narrowed. It was clear she wasn't used to demands. "And that is?"

"You allow me to wear my medallion until our business is concluded, either one way or another."

Tyranny leaned back in her chair. "You demand a great deal," she said.

"One hundred thousand kisa is a great deal of money," he answered. He purposely let his words hang in the air for a moment. "From our current position, how long before we could reach the delta?"

She looked down at one of her charts. "If the winds hold, six days."

Silence engulfed the room. Tristan held his breath, wondering what her answer would be.

Finally she stood. Raising her right hand, she spat into her palm and held it out. "Done," she said. Standing up as well, Tristan looked at her quizzically.

"It's the way a privateer's bargain was sealed in the old days," Tyranny said with a wry smile. "And it remains the best." She held her hand out a bit farther.

Smiling, Tristan spat into his right hand, and took hers into it. "And done," he answered back. For the first time since entering the room, he thought he might be able to trust her. But only time would tell.

Tyranny pulled a small piece of parchment toward her, took up a quill, and began to write out their agreement. She handed it over to Tristan, and he read it. Like its author, it came straight to the point. Picking up the quill, Tristan signed it with a false name, then handed it back to her.

Studying the fresh signature, Tyranny raised an eyebrow. "This is not who you said you were."

"I also told you that I did not want your crew to know who I am," Tristan replied calmly. "You've already shown me the warrant and threatened to turn me in for the reward. What kind of fool would I be if I added my real signature to your documents, as well? Don't worry-there's no place for me to run to. When you come before my wizards, you will have your kisa, I assure you. And if I'm lying, you and that monster first mate of yours can easily kill me. You still have a fortune to win and nothing to lose. Take it or leave it."

After thinking for a moment, Tyranny finally countersigned the agreement, folded the parchment, and slipped it between her breasts. She then called for Scars. The double doors blew open, and the giant was by her side in a flash.

"Return this man's weapons to him," she ordered. "He is one of us now. And change course for the Cavalon Delta at full sail. We have new business there." Then she looked at Tristan.

"Here's the first rule of The People's Revenge," she said. "If you are going to eat our food, you must work for it-regardless of what other circumstances might prevail between us. Scars, take him topside and feed him. Then give him something to do. Perhaps we can make a privateer out of him yet."

"Agreed," Tristan answered.

Without further fanfare, Scars escorted the prince from the room.

Standing, Tyranny went to the windows and looked out on the restless sea. Sensing The People's Revenge heel over to her new course, she smiled.

Twenty-five

T wenty-Nine watched as his fellow slave pounded the hammer down on the glowing strip of red-hot metal. Then he heard the hiss and saw the steam rise as the man plunged the strip back into the brackish water, tempering it again. The emerging blade would soon become the business end of a short sword and be added to the heap of homely but effective weapons already lying in the far corner of the room.