Savage Messiah

CHAPTER VII

Perched on the windowsill in the captain's quarters of her flagship, Teresa of the House of Welborne-known to friend and foe alike as Tyranny-calmly regarded the Sea of Whispers. It was nearly dawn. The winds were steady, and the three Eutracian moons were high, bathing the ever-shifting ocean in their magenta glow.

Tyranny stretched her back against the window frame and ran one hand through her short, dark hair. She had never bothered preparing for bed: She still wore the high-waisted brown-and-tan striped pants and worn leather jacket that she'd put on the previous morning. Her short sword hung from her left hip and her pearl-handled dagger sat in its sheath, tied down to her right thigh. Lost in thought, as she had been most of the night, she fiddled with the single gold hoop that dangled from her earlobe.

Too often, of late, she was eschewing sleep for a night of thinking. She still could not believe her good fortune-a full fleet under her command; and official letters of marque, a pirate's dream; and the fact that she had been made a permanent member of the newly formed Conclave of the Vigors. The latter was an honor she'd never dreamed of, and she wondered how she could both fulfill her duties to the Conclave and continue to ply the waters in search of any possible surviving demonslaver ships of the late Wulfgar's fleet.

Her jaw hardened at the thought of the demonslavers. She had reasons aplenty to hate those monsters, the greatest of those reasons personal: The demonslavers had murdered her parents and captured her beloved brother, Jason. Although she had rescued him and returned him home, he would never be the same. Jason had been an expert swordsmith. After the torture by the demonslavers, his hands were ruined: He would never practice his chosen art again.

Most of her allies who had participated in the destruction of the demonslaver fleet assumed them all to be dead. Tyranny had her doubts. And as long as there was a single demonslaver still alive in these waters, she would search out and kill him.

Shrugging off her thoughts, she rose from the windowsill and crossed the cabin to her ornate desk. She took up a carved wooden box, opened the lid, and removed one of her small, dark cigarillos. Placing it between her lips, she reached for a common match, which she struck against the sole of one of her scuffed knee boots. Cupping her hands around the flame, she lit the rolled tube of dried leaves and inhaled deeply.

As she breathed out a long stream of smoke, she pulled out her desk chair and sat down. Then she reached for the open bottle of red wine atop her desk and took a long swallow straight from the lip. Leaning back in her chair, she gave herself to the seductive rocking of the Reprise as it plowed through the waves.

The comforting sound of ship's bells rang out on the night air. She was so used to their sound that they automatically registered in her mind, without the need to be counted.

"Ding…ding…" came the clear, bright tones. Two hours to dawn, she thought, as the last of them faded away.

She walked back over to the windowsill and sat down again. She took a pull on her cigarillo, and then flicked the ash from its glowing end into the sea before having another sip of wine.

She had begun as a pirate, and ended up…legal. And it was all due to Prince Tristan of the House of Galland.

Tristan had seen to it that she received her letters of marque and the one hundred thousand kisa that had been part of their bargain for taking him safely home. She was now most probably the wealthiest woman in all of Eutracia. It had also been Tristan who had given her the twelve stout, ex-pirate vessels she now commanded, not to mention her new seat on the Conclave of the Vigors. She owed him much. And she missed his company, though she would never admit it, except here, in the safe confines of her own cabin before dawn.

Taking another swallow of wine, she closed her eyes. Tristan's heart belonged to Celeste, a woman whom Tyranny had come to count as a friend. And that was that.

An urgent pounding at her door sent her thoughts flying. She knew Scars' insistent knock when something was wrong.

"Come!" she shouted.

The door swung open to reveal her first mate. At seven feet tall, he seemed to take up the entire entry. His head and face were clean shaven, and his only clothing was a pair of ripped, worn trousers. His body and face were covered with scars, the most marked of which was a prominent line that ran diagonally down over his left eye and across his cheek.

"What is it?" Tyranny asked.

Scars smiled. "The Minion K'jarr tells me that his scouting warriors have sighted a lone ship. She tacks her way west-northwest toward Eutracia, about one hour's sail from our current position."

"And…" Tyranny prompted.

"She is manned by demonslavers." Scars grinned widely. "She sails alone. They are either amazingly brave or equally stupid. Unless they sighted our Minion patrol-which I seriously doubt-there is no way for them to know that we are in the same waters."

Tyranny beamed. At last, she thought. She took a final pull on her cigarillo, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, then dropped the butt to the floor and crushed it out beneath her boot.

"I will speak to K'jarr immediately," she said. "In the meantime, turn us west-northwest and douse our running lamps. And make sure every ship in the fleet does the same."

Scars turned to go, and she followed him, running, up the gangway to the main deck of the Reprise.

As ox soared high over the sea of whispers with his coterie of warriors, his eyes scoured the moonlit waters for Tyranny's fleet. He and his troops had searched almost the entire night, and they were close to exhaustion.

Making matters worse, he was frantic over what might have happened to the prince and the First Wizard. He knew he was not among the most intellectually gifted of the Minions. Still, what he lacked in quickness of mind he felt he more than made up for with devotion and loyalty-especially where the Jin'Sai was concerned.

The wheels of thought ground slowly in his head. His immediate focus had to be on finding Tyranny.

He had a general idea of where to look-information supplied by one of the prince's newly constructed seaside outposts-but that still left a huge area to search.

Pulling his dark, leathery wings through the sky, Ox became more and more concerned. They needed to find Tyranny's fleet soon, for they had already flown too far from shore-long past the point of no return. It would be dawn in about two hours; he could only hope that the light would help.

Banking slightly to the left, he led his warriors in a curving turn designed to compensate for the reported movement of Tyranny's fleet. This maneuver should work, provided the privateer had not changed her course since the last heading supplied to the outpost. It was all the information Ox had, and it worried him that it might no longer be valid.

If it wasn't, they would soon all suffer a cold, watery death. As tyranny and scars ran to the foredeck of the Reprise, a stiff, westerly wind greeted them. The moons provided excellent visibility over the ever-restless sea. But as she scanned the ocean through her spyglass, the eager privateer saw nothing.

Before she knew it, K'jarr, the Minion officer Tristan had assigned to her, was standing by her side. He looked tired and worn, and she understood that he had led the patrol that had sighted the demonslaver vessel.

"Your report," she said briskly. Despite his exhaustion, with a click of his heels K'jarr came to attention.

"She is a demonslaver ship, of that there is no doubt," he answered. "I saw the white-skinned bastards with my own eyes." Then he smiled. Exhausted as they were, he and his warriors were as eager to engage the Jin'Sai's enemies as anyone aboard.

"They're about one hour's sail from our current location-provided the winds hold and they haven't changed their heading since then," he continued. "I doubt they have, since they seemed to have been tacking for the Cavalon Delta. By my estimates, we should be able to see their running lights within the next quarter to half hour."

Tyranny looked back out over the gunwale. Despite how much she wanted to engage the enemy, that a single demonslaver ship would brave these waters alone gave her pause. Most, if not all, of Wulfgar's fleet had been destroyed. Tristan's bastard brother had been killed that same night, on the roof of the royal palace. So why would a leaderless slaver frigate ply these waters now, trying to return to a nation that would most certainly prove deadly to her? Was this the scout vessel for a new host of warships that they knew nothing about-the vanguard of another invasion force, perhaps? Suddenly, she understood.

This was no invasion. The demonslaver ship traveled alone because she had a singular mission.

Tyranny turned to Scars. "Put on all the extra sail we can muster!" she ordered. "I don't care if we crack every spar in the fleet doing it! We must not let her slip away! We will board this one, but not sink her immediately. My gut tells me that she carries secrets with her." As she looked back out to sea, another thought came to her.

"I want every ship in our fleet rigged for stealth," she added. "There must be no warning bells from the crow's nest. Send word to the fleet by whatever Minion warriors are still able to fly, rather than by signal lantern. I want quiet and darkness."

With a quick nod, her first mate went to carry out his captain's orders.

Then she heard the unmistakable flurry of Minion wings. She looked up just in time to see a number of dark, winged silhouettes crossing the luminous discs of Eutracia's three moons. She was surprised, because after K'jarr's group had landed she had sent out no new patrols. Suddenly, a mass of unfamiliar Minion warriors came half crashing, half landing onto the decks of the Reprise.

She finally recognized Ox. He looked completely played out, as did all of the Minions with him. Some of them were so spent that all they could do was sit or lie upon the shifting decks and try to reclaim their breath.

Tyranny and K'jarr ran to Ox. It was all the faithful warrior could do to look up at them. His expression was grave.

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.

"Amazing," she said. "And very well done. But why did you risk running us so close? Wouldn't it have been safer to have outflanked them, rather than slip through their line that way?"

When Bratach finally spoke, his voice seemed to come from nothing.

"I wanted to see who was captaining the fleet, and I was not disappointed," he answered. "Tell me, did you recognize her?"

Satine realized that she did. The woman commanding the enemy fleet was one of those pictured in the parchments Wulfgar had given her that morning at the Citadel.

"I understand," she said. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Tyranny, and she is now the prince's personal privateer," Bratach answered. "My spies tell me that she is very capable. It is also rumored that she is unusually fond of the prince, a bit of information you might find useful, I should think."

Smiling to herself, Satine looked down at the waves passing beneath her feet. Being in the employ of a wizard might have its advantages after all.

She could feel the warmth of the rising sun on the small of her back. Then she felt their ship tack again, resuming their course for the delta.

As a precaution, Bratach kept their ship invisible all of the remaining way to the coast.