K'jarr helped Ox to his feet. The huge warrior could barely stand. He persevered as he wavered back and forth before her, his wings drooping behind him.
"Tyranny must come back palace," Ox said as best his starving lungs would allow. "Bad thing happen since you gone… Wizard Faegan call emergency meeting of Conclave. Must go now!"
Tyranny felt a shudder go through her, but it hadn't been caused by what the warrior had just told her. It was what he hadn't said.
Reaching up, she took Ox by his massive shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "Of course I'll come," she answered. "But why would Faegan call such a meeting? Why didn't the Jin'Sai order it himself?"
Ox looked resigned. "Jin'Sai and First Wizard leave palace with Traax, to chase down bad thing that kill so many people. Palace full of dead and dying." He paused to catch his breath; the wait was maddening. "Tristan and Wigg not come back. No one know if they still alive."
Tyranny stared at the Minion. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
Ox explained the situation as best he could. Tyranny blanched. K'jarr looked equally stunned.
Turning away, Tyranny walked the short distance to the starboard gunwale and rested her forearms on it, contemplating the decision she had to make. All around her, lights were being extinguished, as per her orders. Should she stay and take the prize that she was convinced might reveal so much? Or should she leave immediately for the palace as Faegan had ordered?
Scars came running. His eyes were eager, predatory.
"The crow's nest has sighted her!" he said. "She's north-northwest of us, about a half hour away. You should just be able to see her running lamps through your glass." Smiling, he handed her the telescope.
Raising the spyglass to her eye, Tyranny scoured the sea. At first she could find nothing. Then she caught a pinprick of light. She carefully twisted the cylinders of the glass. What she saw did not disappoint her.
The light from the enemy vessel's running lamps burned brightly enough to tell the privateer that she was looking at a frigate, the same vessel type used by the demonslavers. She appeared to be at full sail. Even though the ship was still too far away to tell whether demonslavers were aboard, as far as Tyranny was concerned, K'jarr's word was enough. Her jaw set, she lowered the glass and looked back at Scars.
"I want the fleet to fan out in a straight line, with the Reprise in the center," she ordered. "Leave just enough space between vessels for some maneuvering room, should I decide to change my attack plans. When we approach, at my order we will surround her. No other action is to be taken until I give the word for her to be boarded. As the flagship, we shall have the honor of drawing first blood. But not until we have found and secured her captain, and squeezed some answers from him. I want to know why he sails toward Eutracia without escort."
She paused as she considered her next words. "Then we will kill them all," she added.
While Scars hurried off to relay her orders, Tyranny looked back over the sea. The running lamps of the other ship slowly became visible without the aid of the spyglass. The wind rustled through her wayward hair, and a grim, determined smile came to the privateer's lips. Her eyes still trained upon her quarry, Tyranny reached down and drew her short sword from its scabbard. Satine watched bratach gaze out over the sea. he had been doing this nonstop for the last two days, and she knew that the only reason he hadn't collapsed from exhaustion was his mastery of the craft. While he searched, the consul's hawklike face moved slowly from side to side within the hood of his dark blue robe. The westerlies were brisk, the crimson-colored sea restless as their ship made her way toward the Cavalon Delta.
So far, the voyage had been without incident. Yet as Satine approached the consul, she knew something was afoot. She had been awakened by one of the demonslavers and told that Bratach wished to see her topside right away. Pulling her gray cloak around her, she shook off her sleepiness and closed out the cold wind.
"What is it?" she asked.
At first Bratach remained silent. Then he turned toward her. He did not seem alarmed.
"We have company," he said. "I have been expecting as much for the last several days. There are a dozen frigates of the monarchy out there, coming toward us. They fly the lion and the broadsword, the battle flag of the House of Galland. They have formed an attack line, and they will soon be upon us. They sail with their running lamps extinguished." He turned his dark eyes back to the sea.
"You cannot see them yet, but I can," he added. "They mean to take us."
Satine stiffened. Twelve to one were not odds she was willing to bargain with.
"We have to run," she insisted. "We can never defeat so many, even with you aboard."
"I have no intention of trying to defeat them," Bratach responded.
"Nor will we run from them. I intend to lure them in, and then go straight through their line. Besides, this is too valuable an opportunity to let pass. Much could be learned from such an experience."
Satine's eyes went wide. "Are you mad?" she nearly shouted at him.
"Watch and learn," the consul said. "Do not be alarmed by what is about to happen. Whatever you do, do not cry out. If we are to succeed, silence will be paramount. All of my demonslavers have been given the same orders."
No sooner had the consul uttered the words than Satine began to feel a tingling throughout her body. It was not unpleasant, and it provided a welcome warmth.
Then, both she and everything around her disappeared.
She looked around in terror. Staring down, all she could see were the waves as they passed by, several dozen meters below. At first she expected to fall into the water, but she did not. She stood firmly upon nothing, and she could see nothing except the three moons and the ocean they highlighted. Still, she knew she was moving with the ship by the way the deck beneath her continued to sway. It was a liberating feeling, and she wondered if this was what flying was like.
Reaching down the sides of her body, she was grateful to find that she still had substance, even though she couldn't see herself. Then she looked aft, and noticed that even the ship's wake had disappeared.
She turned to where she hoped Bratach still stood.
"I understand," she whispered. "It's marvelous."
Satine held her breath as the line of enemy frigates approached across their port bow. Dark and spectral, the looming hulls rose up out of the sea like those of ghost ships. She felt her ship tack and head straight for the center of the enemy line. But would there be enough room to pass through?
Brave as she was, she couldn't help but cringe as they neared the line of enemy ships. Reaching out, she took hold of the invisible gunwale. Her breath caught in her lungs.
They were so close that she could see the crewmen aboard the oncoming vessels. They seemed to be in great disarray, and there was much shouting. A woman stood upon the bow of what Satine assumed to be the flagship. She seemed angry beyond words as she shouted out her orders. Gripping the gunwale railing even harder, Satine knew that the next few seconds would surely determine their fate.
The enemy vessels slid by on either side, and their lone frigate slipped between the two closest ships. Satine gasped. They were so near that she could actually make out the faces of the enemy crewmen. One of them in particular stood out: a great hulking bear of a man, face, arms, and bare chest covered with scars.
Then they were past the enemy fleet and leaving it behind. Despite her distrust of the craft, this was the most awe-inspiring thing Satine had ever witnessed. Looking aft again, she saw that the distance between them and the fleet was growing quickly. There was little chance of the enemy finding them again. While she stood collecting her thoughts, she sensed that Bratach had returned to her side.