Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

"Take us out," she ordered simply. The tone of her voice told Tristan that her normally commanding demeanor had returned. "Be quick about it. And be sure to give us a wide berth around the others," she added sternly. "I have no desire to be taken by the undertow as those two frigates go down." Glad to be finally leaving Sanctuary, Scars began barking out orders to make way.

Looking across the fog-covered ocean, she and Tristan watched as the other two vessels began to swallow seawater, their bows slowly nosing down into the waves. Soon the briny, encroaching ocean was crossing them amidships, and the frigates were standing at a sharp angle on their bows. Finally the waves closed in over their aft decks and they plunged toward oblivion. The swirling, dark blue water closed over them, leaving no trace.

Tristan turned to Tyranny. "I'm sorry," he said.

"I know," she replied quietly. They said nothing for a time as they watched the spinning whirlpools slow and finally vanish altogether.

Then he heard the flagship's sails snap open, and The People's Revenge started to move. Soon they would be out of the fog and on their way home. So anxious was he to see Eutracia again that he almost thought he could smell the rich, dark soil and the green, waving grasses of the Cavalon Delta. Looking up, he saw his blue-and-gold battle standard snapping back and forth in the wind, and it gladdened his heart.

It was then that he and Tyranny heard the arrogant, hateful voice come snarling across the deck.

"So tell me, lass," the pirate shouted out. "Is it that he's better'n me where it counts, or is it just the money you're after? Know'n ya as I do, it's probably both, isn't it, my little she-cat?"

Turning, Tristan and Tyranny looked over to where Rolf stood lashed to the mainmast, weaponless, hands bound securely behind him. His blond hair was matted, and an angry red welt swelled his chin where Tristan had hit him with the brain hook. His narrowed eyes gazed at Tyranny with an odd combination of hate and lust that Tristan found unsettling.

"You'll never make it home, you know," Rolf added nastily. "Sure'n it was a fine notion to make your ship whole again by robbing from the other two. And even I have to admit that she used to be uncommonly fast. But if I know my boys, they have already surrounded the island. Your new man here may have fooled them back at the tavern, but you'll never beat them out on the open sea, y'have my word on it. Ya should've stayed in the fog, lass, but y'couldn't keep that up forever, now could ya? Worse yet, you're now too heavy to slip by their two hundred ships, and y'know it." Then he cast his eyes lasciviously up and down her body.

"It seems you and I will get to enjoy our little reunion after all," he added wickedly.

He turned to look at Tristan. "And as for you, you clever bastard, I look forward to giving you a taste of my sword," he snarled. "We have unsettled business, you and I. I'm eager to know whether y'really are any good with that ridiculous-looking blade you carry. But time will soon tell, laddie, yes, it will. And time is the one thing ya don't have." Then he smiled. "That and another two hundred ships, of course."

Tristan wanted to untie him and take him on right then and there, but he reluctantly pulled himself back. Taking a deep breath, he looked Rolf in the eyes. "I welcome it," he said quietly.

Just then The People's Revenge broke out of the fog. As the stiff, easterly wind filled her sails, Tyranny ordered that the heavily loaded frigate turn west, toward the delta. But before her orders could be carried out, the crewman in the crow's nest started ringing the alarm bell for all he was worth. Looking up, she saw him pointing frantically out over the bow.

Tristan looked quickly to Tyranny, to find that she already had her spyglass to one eye. As she trained it across the western horizon, the blood drained from her face. Saying nothing, she looked over at him and handed him the glass. Tristan put it to his eye and took a quick breath.

What looked to be a line of at least one hundred pirate vessels were tacking back and forth in the wind, quickly converging on their position.

Fearing the worst, Tristan quickly turned astern and raised the glass again. A seemingly equal number of vessels were running before the wind, plowing their way toward them in a battle line from the east.

The pirates' strategy was immediately apparent. The two battle lines planned to meet, trapping The People's Revenge in a manmade vise of wood and sailcloth from which there would be no escape.

Tristan knew that all they had now was the superior speed of Tyranny's ship, for the two groups of raiders clearly had the angle on them. But how much speed could she muster, loaded down like this? The best The People's Revenge could do was to try to slip through the gap at the northern ends of their lines before it closed. If they could, the open sea lay beyond.

But as Tristan gauged the distances involved and checked the direction of the wind, his heart fell. He was sure Tyranny would give it her best, but he knew they would never make it.

Tyranny gave the expected order, and the frigate immediately heeled over to the north, to begin tacking into the wind. Tristan finally lowered the glass to see that Tyranny's face wore the same sense of defeat that his must.

There would be no way to avoid being captured. And once they were, there would be no clever trick to save them this time, and no wizards to help them avoid their doom.

They were all alone, and they were about to die.

Fifty

W alking gingerly down the hall with his daughter at his side, Wigg cursed both his weakness and the fact that he had been unable to sleep the previous night. Horrific dreams had disturbed him over and over again, causing him to cry out and awaken to find his body covered with sweat, his mind overcome with guilt and terror.

Celeste had stayed by his side the entire night, to calm and reassure him whenever he awakened. He was still weak this morning, but he had insisted on getting out of bed and going to visit his friends. He very much wanted to see Abbey, Faegan, and Shailiha with his own eyes, for only then would he be able to breathe easier about what had happened to them in the courtyard yesterday.

After the unexpected blast had shaken the palace, the Minions had come to his quarters to inform him and Celeste of what had just happened. It had been a massive explosion, but the warriors had finally been able to extinguish the numerous grass fires that had sprung up. Luckily, the palace remained unharmed.

Abbey, Faegan, and Shailiha had survived, but they had been badly shaken. After being carefully examined by the gnome wives, they had been ordered straight to bed. As expected, Faegan had argued, but Shawna the Short had finally prevailed by scowling and shaking one of her pudgy fingers at him. In the end, he had simply been too tired to fight her.

Once he had felt well enough to rise, Wigg had asked that the three others also be awakened, so that he might immediately speak to them. He had not wished to disturb their rest, but he was concerned that what had just transpired could seriously impact their search for both the prince and the Scrolls of the Ancients. Time was precious, and the sooner they met, the better.

After hearing about what had happened in the courtyard, he now suspected that what he had just gone through in the Chambers of Penitence may have been some form of immensely elaborate ruse-one designed to supply him and Faegan with exactly the wrong kinds of herbs-those meant to kill them the moment they were employed. Was the watchwoman of the floating gardens somehow in league with Krassus? he asked himself as he shuffled along the polished marble hallways. And if she was, how could they have possibly known that he and Faegan would visit her? There were surely easier, far more certain ways to kill them than that.