Now that she had all of the goods she could possibly need, the only limits on her search for the scroll would be her personal endurance, and Krassus had insisted on her trying every two hours. This most recent viewing was her eighth such attempt in a row, and she was tired. Nonetheless, she did her best to persevere.

As the viewing window came into sharper focus, it changed shape, turning into a ragged circle. From within the circle could be seen not only one of the gold end knobs of the scroll, but also what lay past it. It was apparent that the scroll was at least partially hidden, and someone was taking it through a city. But which one?

And then, finally, Krassus saw a group of unmistakable statues. This was without doubt the Plaza of Fallen Heroes. The scroll was in Tammerland. He had done it!

His joy at locating the scroll was quickly replaced by a sense of dread. Better that the scroll were in any city other than the one still inhabited by the wizards of the Redoubt. He knew that Wigg, Faegan, and Abbey would also be desperately trying to find it, presumably through the same methods he was employing. True, he had set their labors back by destroying those herbs and oils that he had not stolen from Shadowood, but the wizards were exceedingly clever, which meant that there was no time to lose. He turned to Janus and Grizelda.

"The two of you are to leave for Tammerland on the first ship that can be readied," he ordered. "Take the supplies you'll need to continue attempting to view the scroll as often as necessary. I don't care how you do it-just get the scroll back to the Citadel! Anchor well off the Cavalon Delta, and take a small, quiet skiff up the Sippora. Your crew must stay belowdecks, out of sight, while you are gone. Demonslavers have never been seen in Tammerland, and I wish to do this quietly, not start a riot."

"You will not be accompanying us, my lord?" Janus asked.

"I cannot," Krassus answered briskly. "Wulfgar needs my full attention, as do other matters of importance here. The return of the scroll I leave up to you. Do not fail me in this."

He turned on the herbmistress. "Grizelda, do not think for one moment that you will be able to escape me simply because you are out of my sight for a time. I found you once, and I can do it again. If you make me hunt you down, it won't be to employ your talents. It will be to kill you. Slowly. Do you understand?"

Looking back to Janus, he had another thought. "When you discover whoever has the scroll, kill him," he added casually. "Leave no loose ends."

The herbmistress bowed her head in submission, while Janus nodded.

Once the gazing flame was extinguished and Janus and Grizelda were gone, Krassus walked slowly to the edge of the roof and looked out on the Sea of Whispers. The three rose-colored moons were full, painting the sea with their palette. There was virtually no wind, and the ocean looked like a sheet of magenta-colored glass.

Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his two-colored robe, he turned and descended the stairs.

Thirty-three

T ristan sat looking with worry at Tyranny as she lay on the sofa in her quarters. The ever-present Scars stood by her side with an equally concerned expression on his face. She had fought bravely and survived, but she had been wounded and had passed out from loss of blood. Tristan and Scars had tended to her as best they could before cleaning and bandaging Tristan's shoulders. Then they had waited.

It had taken some time for her to come around. Like any good captain, her first concern had been for how many of her crew she had lost. Then she inquired about the general condition of The People's Revenge and the other two ships sailing with them.

Their little fleet was in bad shape, Scars reported. Nearly a quarter of The People's Revenge crew had been lost. A large number had been wounded but were still alive. Many of the sails had been ripped beyond repair, along with much of the rigging. And more than half of the ship's spars were completely destroyed.

The other two vessels had fared no better. Each of them was also dead in the water, drifting at the mercy of the elements. Even Tristan was by now sailor enough to know that if they were struck by a sea storm or a fleet of demonslaver ships while in this condition, they would be finished.

Scars had ordered repairs to begin, but it would be a difficult, incomplete job at best. They needed help. But out here, this far into the Sea of Whispers, Tristan knew there could be none.

Tyranny sat up groggily and took a sip of the wine Tristan held out to her. Then she stabbed one of her rolled tubes of leaves between her lips and lit it from the flame offered up by Scars. Taking a deep draught of bluish smoke, she slowly blew it upward, toward the roof of the cabin.

"What in the name of the Afterlife were those things that attacked us?" Tristan asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. "I have never seen anything like them."

Tyranny took another sip of wine, then gingerly adjusted her position on the sofa. "We call the creatures screechlings," she told him. She took in another lungful of smoke and blew it out. "This was only the second time we have fought them. Scars named them for the horrible noise they make just before they attack. They began to prowl these waters only recently, about the same time the demonslavers started taking their captives from Farpoint. I think the screechlings must have originated at the Citadel, but no one knows for sure. Did you see how they glowed, just before they began attacking us? That tells me they come from magic. But who of the craft would be so cruel as to create such monsters and loose them on the sea?"

Krassus, Tristan thought. It had to be. He would have wanted something that would protect his slave ships and attack any enemies. No doubt the ability had been provided by yet another Forestallment placed in his blood by Nicholas. Tristan lowered his head and closed his eyes.

"Are you all right?" Tyranny asked softly.

He raised his head and looked into her eyes. "No," he answered. "But I will be." He took a deep breath and forced his thoughts back to the problem at hand.

"I saw many of the screechlings purposely destroying the sails, as well as the spars and the yardarms," he said. "Why would they do that, when they could have been attacking the crew?"

"It seems they are both highly intelligent and well organized," Scars answered for his captain as she took another sip of wine. "They know that if we are sufficiently crippled, they can return at their leisure and finish us off. And unless we can get these three vessels moving again, that is exactly what will happen."

Tyranny looked up at her first mate. "How much undamaged sail did we liberate from the slavers?" she asked hopefully.

"Not nearly enough to do a proper job," Scars answered. "Especially considering the fact that we have three vessels to repair. I have taken the liberty of ordering all three ships lashed together, so that we might share resources and not drift apart on the nighttime sea. Dawn will rise soon, and we can work faster then. But even when we are finished, the best we will be able to do is to limp along. If the screechlings find us again, we shall be easy prey." He remained silent for a moment as he considered his next words.

"Our best bet is to make for the Isle of Sanctuary and hope that we reach it before they return," he suggested. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but we are already wounded, Captain. Unless we reach the isle in time, the deathblow may not be far off."

Tyranny scowled. Then she looked up at her gigantic first mate. "Please leave us now," she said. "I have issues to discuss with our new friend here. In the meantime, make all the repairs you can with what we have available, and then set course for the Isle of Sanctuary. Even limping along, as you put it, is better than sitting dead in the water as live bait for the screechlings."