"You're late!" he heard Tyranny's voice call out from somewhere behind him. Then he heard her laugh. "I told you I'd still be in your hair for a while!"

Tristan spun around to see her standing there, the hilt of her sheathed sword still dripping blood. In one hand she held a bottle of red wine, and in the other was one of her small cigars. After swallowing a healthy swig of wine, she took a draught of smoke, inhaling it deeply. With a satisfied sigh she raised her lovely jaw and blew the smoke toward the sky. Then her expression softened a bit, and she smiled at him.

"You didn't think for one moment that I was about to let you have all the fun, did you?" she asked coyly.

Tristan immediately went over and embraced her. Her face was smudged and bloodied, and her short hair was even more tousled than usual. Looking over her shoulder, he saw that Scars was still alive, helping to direct the tossing of slaver corpses into the sea. Those that had survived the battle were on their knees, waiting to have their throats cut. There seemed to be no shortage of crewmen volunteering for the task.

By this time Wigg, Abbey, Traax, and Shailiha were all standing beside them, and the bulk of the Minion forces were landing on the decks of the other vessels, dreggans drawn. A few surviving slavers tried to fight them off, but were quickly dealt with.

"What happened?" Tristan asked anxiously.

"We were returning to the delta when these slaver ships suddenly appeared out of nowhere," Tyranny answered. "Thank the Afterlife there weren't more of them than this! They had completely surrounded us, and we had no alternative but to stand and fight. For some reason it seemed imperative to them that they not allow us any closer to the mouth of the Sippora, and they fought like they were insane. Had your warriors not arrived when they did, we probably wouldn't be standing here talking to each other." She took another drink from the bottle, then smiled again.

Something she had said to Tristan struck a nerve. But before the prince could answer her, Wigg's voice cut him off, separating him from his thoughts.

"Tristan!" the lead wizard called out. "Come here and look at this!"

The prince turned to see Wigg standing beside Scars at the starboard gunwale, staring down into the surrounding sea. Tristan and the rest of them walked over to join him and looked down as well.

Scars and a handful of Tyranny's crewmen were tossing demonslaver corpses and body parts into the sea. For the first time Tristan saw the horrific, serpentine sea slitherers as they hissed viciously at each other, competing for the next mouthful of warm flesh.

"What in the name of the Afterlife are those things?" Shailiha breathed, her voice little more than a whisper.

"They are certainly a product of the Vagaries," Wigg mused, "although in all my three-hundred-plus years I have never seen their kind before. I suspect they were meant to follow Wulfgar's fleet as an additional form of protection. Much like the screechlings. Very clever, when you think about it. One beast to serve him in the sea, and another to serve him in the sky."

Tristan looked at Traax. "Before we leave here, select a contingent of warriors to stay behind and deal with these abominations," he ordered.

Traax came to attention and snapped his boot heels together. "It shall be done," he replied quickly.

Tristan had an important question for Tyranny. But before he could ask her, Scars reappeared by her side. There was a strange look on the giant's face.

"Begging your pardon, Captain, but during their searches of the demonslaver ships, our crew made an unexpected discovery."

"What is it?" she asked.

Turning, Scars pointed one of his huge paws toward the bow deck. "More slaves," he said quietly.

Tyranny snapped her head around. Forty filthy, emaciated slaves, men and women alike, had appeared before them on the deck. Shackled together by hand and foot, many of them could no longer stand. Some were on their knees, while others simply lay on the bloody deck, slowly dying. A few stood, looking at their saviors as though they had just descended from some long-forgotten dream.

Tyranny took a slow step toward them, then another and another, her eyes on a male slave. His hands were crippled and his face and body were covered with soot, as if he had just come from some kind of forge. Dressed in only a tattered loincloth, he had a long, filthy beard and hair that nearly reached his shoulders.

Then the wine bottle dropped from Tyranny's hand, and she began to walk faster, then faster still. Finally she was running for all she was worth across the bloody deck.

"Jacob?" she breathed, not daring to believe. "Jacob… Jacob!"

As if locked within some kind of dream, Twenty-Nine simply stared at her as she came running toward him. With tears in his eyes, he fell to his knees sobbing. As she reached out her arms, Tyranny's face reflected exultant joy.

Dropping to her knees, she placed a hand on either side of Twenty-Nine's face and looked into his eyes. Tears cascaded freely down his cheeks, and he wrapped his shaking arms around her and held her close, as though he never wanted to let go. Pulling him to her, she closed her eyes and began gently rocking him back and forth as she ran one hand down over his long, dirty hair. After what seemed forever, he looked back into her face.

"Mother and Father?" he asked, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

Tyranny shook her head. "No," she whispered back.

Hearing boot heels, Tyranny looked up to see Tristan standing beside them. "Your brother?" he asked softly.

Tyranny nodded. "Jacob," she said, turning her eyes back to him. "I had almost given up hope."

Tristan was about to speak again when a quick, dark shadow passed over the deck. Looking up, he saw a Minion warrior half flying, half tumbling down out of the sky. His chest and arms were covered with blood, and one of his wings seemed to be injured.

He was flying from the direction of the palace.

Traax and two others immediately took off, reaching their wounded comrade just as he was about to give up and come crashing to the deck. Holding him in their arms, they landed gently and laid him down. Everyone crowded around.

The warrior's wounds were grave. Wigg immediately knelt down and placed one palm on the Minion's forehead. The wizard closed his eyes. Upon opening them again he stood up and, looking sadly over at Tristan, shook his head.

Kneeling down, Tristan looked into the warrior's face. His eyelids were heavy, and his breathing was labored. Blood ran from his wounds to mingle with that already on the deck. Tristan lifted the warrior's head up.

"Can you hear me?" the prince asked gently.

The warrior nodded weakly. "Yes, my lord."

"Did you come from the palace?"

Another nod.

"What happened?"

Reaching out to grasp Tristan's forearm, the Minion tried to bring his face closer. Tristan leaned farther down-so close that he could hear the death rattle starting to build in the warrior's lungs. The Minion's body was shaking; a trickle of blood ran from one corner of his mouth.

"Demonslavers," he whispered. "Too many of them… so many of us dead…" His face constricted with pain, he looked up into Tristan's eyes. "You must hurry, my lord… Celeste and the wizard Faegan… They're…" With a final, wheezing rattle, the last breath escaped from the warrior's lungs, and his eyes closed.

Gravely, Tristan laid the warrior's head down on the deck of the Reprisal. Standing, he stared for a moment into Traax's eyes.

Then he ran toward the litter. Shailiha, Abbey, and Wigg followed him. He helped the others safely inside, then was about to get in himself when Tyranny brushed by him and began to climb in.

Grabbing her by the arm, Tristan gave her a hard look. "What about Jacob?" he asked.