Looking down, K'jarr smiled broadly. Just as the Chosen One had hoped, the warriors had been able to stop the pirate vessels dead in the water, and now they drifted aimlessly, at the whim of the currents. Their decks covered with white sailcloth, the ships looked rather like oddly shaped clouds that had somehow fallen from the sky to land in the openness of the blue sea. There was no way the pirate forces would be able to reach their comrades in the battle for The People's Revenge.

As the pirates screamed invectives at the winged ones who had crippled them, K'jarr knew that he and his warriors had just secured for their lord the one thing he had needed most: time. Time for their fleet to arrive, under the dual command of Geldon and Traax. That would not be long now, he knew. Then the real killing could begin. In true Minion fashion, his blood sang with the promise of slaughtering the enemies of his sworn lord.

K'jarr turned his sharp eyes toward the eastern horizon. To his great delight, he could finally see the sails of their fleet approaching. Then another dark, fleeting shadow passed over the ocean below, and he smiled.

The sky above him was suddenly swarming with Minion troops. Traax was leading them, and six of them were carrying a litter that presumably transported Geldon.

Traax waved K'jarr's forces up, and the two groups combined. After a quick word of explanation from K'jarr, the warriors left the pirate ships in their misery and began flying as fast toward Tyranny's stricken ship as their wings would allow.

Despite their initial success, Traax's face darkened. Their lord wasn't safe yet, and every passing second mattered.

T yranny, Scars, and Tristan stood together back to back, fighting against the remaining pirates who still dared to take them on. Tyranny had already been wounded in one shoulder, and Scars in his right thigh. Neither of their injuries was mortal, but they needed attention, or they would both soon become weak from blood loss.

Tristan was still unscathed. He continued to fight like a demon, even though his arms were becoming so heavy he didn't know how much longer he would be able to raise his dreggan. Fortunately, their attackers were becoming fewer, and at last all three of them were able to stop fighting.

Their chests heaving, Tristan and Tyranny took a moment to rest on the hilts of their swords. Using a shirt taken from a dead pirate and ripped into strips, Scars temporarily bound Tyranny's wound and then his own.

Then a voice rang out across the deck, causing Tristan's blood to run cold.

"I said that you were a clever bastard!" Rolf shouted. "And what you just did to my ships proves it, doesn't it? These winged monkeys of yours can certainly use a sword, I'll give them that! But what ugly things they are! Sure'n it's just you and me now. What say you, laddie-are you up for a little fun?"

At some point in the battle, one of the pirates must have cut Rolf free from the mast. Looking out across the ship, Tristan could see him standing arrogantly on the far side of an empty patch of bloody deck. He beckoned Tristan forward, the red sash around his waist fluttering in the wind. In one hand he held a bloody pirate saber, and in the other a dagger. Smiling, he wiped the sword blade clean on one leg of his trousers. Then he raised it, expertly twirled it around in his hand, and pointed its tip directly at the prince's face. For a split second Tristan wondered how many of Tyranny's men the pirate had just killed.

"Are you going to hide behind that traitorous bitch's skirts forever, or come to me like a man?" Rolf shouted. Then he smiled and bowed sarcastically to Tyranny. "Sorry, lass, but I forgot-you never wear skirts, do you? Still, that never kept me from finding my way in, did it now?"

Enraged, Tristan stalked toward the pirate leader. He knew that they had already won, that this didn't need to happen. And in his heart he knew that Rolf understood that as well as he did.

But Tristan's supremely endowed, azure blood was overcoming these sentiments. Both he and Rolf had their reasons for what was about to happen, and neither of them would be denied. He paused by Tyranny, his eyes still fixed squarely on Rolf.

"If he kills me, you must see to it that the vellum hidden in my boot gets back to the wizards in Tammerland," he said quietly. "My fleet will be here soon. When it arrives, give the paper to the warrior named Traax. He will most probably be in command, and he can be trusted. Do you understand?"

Tyranny nodded. Reaching out, she squeezed his arm. "Be careful," she whispered. "He is very, very good."

"I know," Tristan answered softly, without looking at her. Reaching behind his back, he removed one of his throwing knives. Then, temporarily holding the dirk in the same hand that held his dreggan, he used his free hand to unbuckle the knife quiver, which fell to the deck. His baldric, scabbard and all, followed. He returned the knife to his left hand.

Although almost without equal with a sword, Tristan was no expert at this kind of dual-bladed fighting. He had trained in the art briefly, and knew he possessed the basic skills. But watching Rolf's sword and dagger whirl around in the bright morning sun, he realized that this was the pirate's chosen specialty. Tristan would have to be good-very good-if he was to have any hope of staying alive. But the die was cast, and there was no going back now.

As he moved forward again, he and Rolf warily began taking stock of each other in the center of the slippery, bloody deck. A strange kind of quiet came over the ship. Crewmen, slaves, pirate captives, and Minion warriors alike watched intently as the deadly scene unfolded.

Rolf acted first. Lunging sharply at the prince, he slashed diagonally with his saber. Stunned, Tristan realized that he had never before encountered such raw speed-not even that day when he had killed Kluge, the previous commander of the Minions. Only at the last moment did Tristan understand that Rolf's first blow had been a feint, designed to distract attention from the dagger as it came stabbing straight out from underneath.

It was a miracle that he saw the dagger come out at all. But as it emerged from the shadow created by Rolf's body, it flashed for a split second in the sun. Only at the last moment did Tristan violently swivel his torso to avoid the strike. Rolf's dagger sliced through the side of his leather vest, narrowly missing his skin.

With Rolf now off balance, Tristan rushed back in and stabbed his dirk directly at one of Rolf's eyes. But the pirate was too fast, sidestepping immediately, almost as if he had been expecting that very countermove. At the same time, he parried Tristan's strike with his sword, and its greater weight nearly knocked the dirk from the prince's tired hand.

Holding their weapons high, they circled each other again, each looking for an opportunity to strike. This time, however, Tristan decided not to wait. If he wanted to stay alive, he would have to go on the offensive and stay there, no matter how exhausted he was from his previous battles.

Using both weapons at once, Tristan windmilled them with everything he had. Rolf was able to keep parrying them as they came, but just barely. The sound of the clanging blades became an almost continual ringing out of steel against steel. Tristan's arms moved with lightning speed. He was finally gaining ground, forcing Rolf over near the port gunwale, just across from the mainmast. But Rolf seemed to be answering Tristan's blows more confidently, as he was beginning to get a feel for the prince's fighting style and for his equally amazing speed. Tristan could only hope that Rolf was tiring, as well.

But then the pirate surprised Tristan. Backing away as he parried and struck with his saber, the pirate placed his dagger between his teeth. He then grabbed the nearby rigging and ascended one-handed with practiced ease, continuing to fight Tristan with his sword.