He swung his dreggan in slashing arcs, trying as best he could to keep the things at bay. His hands covered with blood and his shoulders nearly ready to give out, he knew that if someone didn't come to his aid, the monsters would soon rip into him.

Suddenly a small group of warriors led by Ox descended behind the beasts. They raised their dreggans high and began to hack at the monsters. After what seemed like an eternity, the creatures' mangled bodies lay dead between them.

Traax nodded at Ox and his troops in thanks. His arms covered with blood, Ox grinned.

The fighting had by now all but ended. Exhausted warriors walked among the dying creatures, finishing them off with their quick, hard sword strokes. Smoke from Faegan's bolts lazily wafted into the air. The smell of fresh blood was everywhere. Looking up, Traax could see the wizard was safe in his litter.

Suddenly he thought of Duvessa. Sprinting through the square, he frantically called out her name.

He found her leaning against the side of a building. She was bloody and dazed, but she seemed unharmed. He ran to her and took her into his arms. In a rare public display of Minion affection, Traax unfolded his dark wings and he gently wrapped them around her, silently telling her that it would be all right.

Saying nothing, she laid her head upon his chest. As he brushed some of her hair from her face he whispered that she had earned her red feather several times over today, here in the bloody square that had taken so many of their comrades' lives.

Faegan's litter descended and he examined the scene. The indestructible stone bars were still firmly in place overhead. Everywhere he looked, dead warriors, beasts, and the body parts of both lay scattered across the killing field. So much blood had been spilled that it was hard to find a patch of ground that wasn't a muddy red. He lowered his head, overwhelmed by guilt.

When he looked up he saw Ox, Traax, and Duvessa slowly approaching. Taking a deep breath, he did his best to collect his thoughts.

"What were those things?" Traax asked. He lowered the tip of his dreggan to the bloody ground and leaned his weight upon its hilt.

"They were either some abomination that Reznik conjured to guard this place or the work of the Coven, left over from long ago," the wizard said. "We may never know which."

"What are your orders?" Duvessa asked.

Faegan thought for a moment.

"Duvessa, I want you to start organizing the treatment of the wounded," he ordered. "You have permission to follow Minion custom and grant a quick, merciful death to those you deem beyond help. Take a count of how many casualties we have sustained. Ox and Traax, loot the buildings of anything you can find, the heavier the better. Pile it all atop those earthen doorways. If more of those monsters wait below, I want to do everything I can to keep them from rising up. I will use the craft to help hold the doorways closed, but there are far too many of them for me to do the job without help. Go now. We have no time to lose."

Each of the Minions offered a tired salute and walked away to carry out the orders. Levitating his chair from the litter, Faegan settled it upon the blood-soaked ground.

He looked up at the stone bars. His powers had already proven useless against the latticework. Even if more warriors from the palace flew to their aid, he doubted it would help. If his gifts couldn't break the bars, no number of Minion warriors would be able to do so.

His mind turned to the members of the Conclave no longer in Eutracia. Trapped as he was so far away from Tammerland, the originating point of his portal would be very different. The formulas for its successful operation would need to be altered, but he had none of the necessary calculating tools with him. He could neither help the other Conclave members nor escape this place with his warriors. How foolish he had been to not anticipate such a crisis! He should have brought the tools with him. Angrily, he pounded the arms of his chair.

Tyranny and her group could, of course, sail home, but it would take far longer. He also knew about the Minion vessels anchored off the shore of Parthalon. That meant that Wigg, Tristan, and Celeste could do the same as Tyranny. But for them to sail home would take longer still, and the Sea of Whispers was a dangerous place.

Making matters worse, he had no clue about what other horrors Reznik might have arranged for them.

Seething at his own stupidity, he hardened his jaw.

When he had interrogated Uther, he had neglected to demand the safe route through the tunnel maze. His plan had been to simply fly into Valrenkium, and then out again. His trust in the abilities of the warriors, his own gifts in the craft, and his desire to see these wrongs ended quickly had led them here, to become trapped like rats. He would not underestimate Reznik again.

Looking into the distance, he could just make out the dark, square-cut exit in the bluffs. It was an all too tempting trap. Wherever Reznik had gone, he surely hoped that Faegan would be desperate enough to enter, followed by what was left of his ravaged Minions. Reznik's trap was perfect.

Turning away from the tunnels, the crippled wizard covered his face with his hands.

"And I say you're wrong!" Tyranny bellowed at the chagrined Minion warrior. Her chin stuck out like the prow of her flagship. "What you're telling me is impossible! No vessel ever built could do such a thing! When a ship goes down, she goes down for good, and that's the end of her!"

Tyranny stomped angrily across the floor of her stateroom and took a cigarillo from the box on her desk. She shoved it between her lips, struck a match, lit it, and then took a quick lungful of smoke. When she turned back to K'jarr, she gave him a look so cold that it could have frozen a bucket of seawater.

K'jarr pursed his lips. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend Tyranny, but the truth was the truth. He turned his palms up, pleading.

"I can only tell you what I saw," he said quietly. "The seven ships were each at least four times the size of the Reprise, perhaps larger. They went down bow first. After a time they surfaced again, some distance from where they had submerged. They looked none the worse for wear. Their speed beneath the waves was at least as great as it was afloat. They are as black as night. Had I been alone, I would have thought it all a bad dream. But each of the warriors accompanying me saw the same thing."

Letting go a defiant snort, Tyranny looked over at Shailiha and Scars. Not knowing what to say, they remained still. The privateer ran one hand through her tousled hair and began angrily pacing back and forth, puffing on her cigarello as she went.

"The men who supposedly captained these submersible vessels, they were black skeletons, you say? And they didn't drown when they submerged with their ships?"

As she strode back and forth the soles of her knee boots thumped on the hardwood floor. She glared at K'jarr as though he had just been released from some Minion home for the deranged.

"Yes, captain," K'jarr answered. "They each wore a tattered uniform that I found eerily familiar." Pausing for a moment, he gave Tyranny a thoughtful look. "Perhaps these skeletal captains didn't need to survive their sea trials after all," he mused.

Tyranny stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"

K'jarr took a deep breath. "Perhaps they were dead already. They certainly looked like it."

Sighing, Tyranny closed her eyes and rubbed her brow. It wasn't bad enough that her damaged frigate wallowed like a harpooned whale through demonslaver-infested waters. Now she had to contend with this outlandish tale. Worse yet, the warriors had come home emptyhanded. But she knew that the warrior had no reason to lie. She looked back at K'jarr.