Taking up every inch of deck space, they tried their best to be stoic. But even those who were not wounded were so spent that they could barely move. TheTammerland ’s top deck became slippery with their blood, and soon the air filled with calls for help.
Aghast, Tyranny looked at Shailiha. The privateer was captain of the fleet, but in Tristan’s absence, Shailiha was the Minions’ mistress.
“What are your orders?” Tyranny asked urgently.
Shailiha thought for a moment. “We will use theTammerland as a hospital ship,” she announced. “Have all the wounded who landed on other ships brought here. Use each ship’s skiffs if you must. Only then will we truly know how many wounded we are dealing with.”
Hearing Shailiha’s orders, some warriors who could still fly started heading toward the three other ships as best they could. After looking around the crowded deck again, Shailiha suddenly remembered Duvessa.
“Does anyone know what has become of Duvessa’s group?” she shouted.
No sooner had the princess asked the question than more warriors started crashing to the deck. Shailiha immediately recognized the red and white crossed feathers on their chests, telling her that they were Duvessa’s warrior-healers.
Then Duvessa fell to the deck. Although exhausted, she looked unharmed. But it was obvious that her group had suffered its share of casualties. She did her best to come to all fours.
Wigg and Tyranny ran to her and helped her to her feet. After surveying the deck, Duvessa’s face became grim.
“Can you give us a report?” Wigg asked.
As Duvessa tried to speak she started to faint away. Laying her on the deck, Wigg put one hand to her forehead then called the craft. As he did, it saddened him to see Traax’s pin feather still attached to her armor. He gave Shailiha a quick shake of his head. Soon Duvessa’s eyes fluttered open.
“What can you tell us?” Wigg answered.
“The battle was…indescribable,” she answered. “But we managed to beat them back. Some of the beasts survived and retreated east. From what I saw, our losses were heavy. TheMalvina and theFlorian went down.”
“We know,” Shailiha said.
A look of worry suddenly overtook Duvessa’s face. She tried to rise up on her elbows, but Wigg forced her back down.
“Where is Traax?” she demanded. “Is he safe?”
Wigg couldn’t help but give her a concerned look. Duvessa started to bolt upright but Wigg stopped her again. Panic gripped her.
“Where is he?” she shouted. “Is he dead? I have a right to know!”
“Traax and his patrol are missing,” Shailiha answered. “They should have returned some time ago. But that doesn’t mean that they are dead.”
“How late are they?” Duvessa demanded.
“About two hours,” Wigg answered.
“We must send out search parties!” Duvessa insisted. “They have to leave at once!”
Wigg shook his head. “We are as worried about him as you are,” he said. “But what you ask is impossible. We sent every warrior into the air to fight off Serena’s creatures. Each one returned as exhausted as you-not to mention the many who are wounded and dying as we speak. Although I’m sure that there would be no shortage of volunteers, if we sent a search party out now they would all crash into the sea before they flew ten leagues. We need to concentrate all our efforts on the wounded and dying, and since you are the Minions’ premier warrior- healer, we need your help to do that.”
Pausing for a moment, Wigg looked commandingly into her eyes. “I promise you that we will send out a search party as soon as we are able. But for now, you must follow orders. It’s what Traax would want.”
Duvessa finally calmed. “All right,” she said. “But when the search starts, I want to be the one to lead it! As his betrothed, I have earned that right!”
Wigg gave her an encouraging smile. “Very well,” he answered.
Wigg and Shailiha lifted her to her feet. Without further argument, Duvessa doggedly started organizing the care of the wounded. It would be a massive undertaking.
Just then Shailiha saw two warriors wending their way across the crowded deck. They were carrying a wooden chair on wheels. It looked like it had been quickly hammered together from scrap pieces of rough-hewn wood. The warrior carrying Faegan gently lowered the wizard into it. It wobbled and squeaked a bit as it moved, but it would do.
Wasting no time, Faegan quickly wheeled himself over to where the others were standing. He urgently gathered the other Conclave members closer.
“There are far too many wounded for us to handle on our own,” he said, “to say nothing of how many will be coming from the other ships. I have seen several die already during the short time we have been talking. We need help!”
“What do you suggest?” Adrian asked.
“I brought the craft tools needed to conjure the azure portal,” he answered. “I am reasonably sure that I can place the portal’s exit on or near the palace grounds. We should send the worst of the wounded through and let them be dealt with on the other side. Those who can’t walk can be carried through on litters. A sizable Minion force was left behind. Their healers and the Redoubt acolytes will do a far better job caring for them than we. Working together, we will save more of them. Besides, the severely wounded will not be battleworthy for a long time, if ever.”
“I agree,” Wigg said. “What say you, Princess?”
“He’s right,” she answered. She turned to Faegan. “Get started as fast as you can. In the meantime, I want Duvessa to start singling out those whom she thinks should go.”
Wasting no time, Faegan started wheeling his way toward Duvessa. After conferring with her for a moment he headed for the stern stairway. Shailiha guessed that he would be locked away in his quarters for hours while calculating the needed spell.
Looking around, Tyranny found Scars on the deck’s port side, helping to bandage a wounded warrior. She quickly called him over.
“I want a damage report on each of the four surviving vessels,” she said, “and I want it fast. Take one of the skiffs. I need to know where we stand.” Scars hurried away.
Tyranny turned to look forward. If the other ships had suffered no more damage than theTammerland, the situation was salvageable, but it would take time. Two of her flagship’s masts were cracked but still standing, and from where she stood she could see at least four broken spars and much torn rigging. The sails had been furled, so they should have been unharmed. Tousling her hair, she bristled at the notion of again being delayed to effect repairs. She produced one of her dark cigarillos, lit it, then luxuriously exhaled some bluish smoke into the air.
From the throng of wounded warriors, an exhausted Minion officer approached Shailiha. His dark wings drooped so badly that they dragged along the bloody deck. Standing before her, he did his best to come to attention.
“Yes?” Shailiha asked.
“Begging your pardon, mistress,” he said. “Some of us officers request permission to burn our dead.”
Shailiha thought for a moment. She knew full well that Minion funeral rites involved cremation. She also knew that she could never allow funeral pyres to be built and used aboard the ship-especially in the sizes and numbers that would be needed. She gave the officer a questioning look.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“We will place our fallen onto the sea with their brothers,” he said. “We ask that the adepts set the bodies alight. In that way the fires will be contained, and be of no danger to the ships.”
Shailiha looked at Wigg. “Can you set fire to the dead without endangering the fleet?”
Taking a step closer, Wigg clasped his hands before him. “Yes,” he answered. “But with all due respect I believe that we should be tending to the living.”
The princess looked over the ship’s side. Bloated and mangled bodies-ally and foe alike-littered the waves. As
