DUVESSA’S HEAVY WINGS WERE TELLING HER THAT SHEwas quickly nearing another point of no return. As her eyes searched the waves, she was thankful for the bright moonlight that shone down. She looked to her right to see Kefira give her a reassuring smile. The other Minion officer’s youth was serving her well, and Duvessa knew that Kefira would be able to continue on after she could not. But that was not an order she would give.
This far to the east, Black Ship wreckage was almost nonexistent. They had seen but one piece-a rather sizable part of a smashed skiff. After briefly resting on it and drinking some water, they had continued on. That had been three hours ago. As Duvessa’s wings grew heavier, so did her heart.
Just then she heard Kefira call out. She snapped her head around to see her companion point into the distance. Duvessa’s heart leapt in her chest as she strained her eyes to find what Kefira was trying to show her. But she became disheartened again as she identified it.
The Citadel, dark and foreboding, lay against the eastern horizon in the twinkling moonlight. From the two warriors’ vantage point, the three moons seemed to float in the night sky directly above it. Had it not been for Kefira’s sharp eyes, they might easily have missed it. Then Duvessa realized that there was something odd about the fortress. Slowing her pace, she held up one hand. Kefira hovered beside her.
“Why are we stopping?” Kefira asked.
“There is something peculiar about the Citadel,” Duvessa answered.
Kefira cast her gaze into the distance. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you see that I do not?”
“It’s what Idon’t see,” Duvessa answered.
Suddenly Kefira understood. From what she had been told, at night the Citadel was always brightly illuminated. But this night the great fortress’s walls, turrets, and catwalks were bathed only in moonlight. She quickly realized that it had been something of a miracle for her to discover it at all. She looked back at Duvessa.
“Why is it dark?” she asked.
“There can be only two possibilities,” Duvessa answered. “Either Serena has ordered the Citadel to be abandoned, or she has purposely ordered no lights to shine. My money is on the first reason.”
“But why would she order the place abandoned?” Kefira asked. “It makes no sense.”
“It might if she believes that the fleet was destroyed,” Duvessa said. “Perhaps her supposed victory was only one part of her plan, and another part is to be carried out elsewhere. That would explain much. Whatever the reason, the Conclave must be informed.”
With the discovery of the darkened Citadel, Duvessa suddenly found herself torn between two conflicting choices. The Conclave needed to know about this unexpected development as soon as possible. But the only way to ensure that was to reverse course and abandon her quest for Traax. As she searched her heart, she tried to imagine what her betrothed would have done had their roles been reversed. In the end there was but one answer. She and Kefira would abandon the search.
Just as she was about to give the order, some clouds parted, allowing more light to stream down onto the sea. A shiny moonlit path came to life atop the waves, lying directly between the hovering warriors and the Citadel. Lying on the path was a piece of mast, bobbing atop the water. Wasting no time, Duvessa headed for it.
As they neared they saw that the mast section was long and heavily entangled in torn rigging. Several spars were still attached to it. Suddenly Duvessa thought she saw something else. Redoubling her efforts, she winged her way toward it for all she was worth.
Buffeting the air with their wings, Kefira and Duvessa slowed as they approached. As Duvessa looked closer, the breath caught in her lungs. There was a body lashed to the mast.
Duvessa and Kefira landed to stand atop the bobbing mast as best they could. Duvessa quickly bent down to turn the body over. It was Traax. His skin pallor was ghostly white, and he looked dead. Duvessa quickly understood that he had somehow found this mast, then used the rigging to tie himself to it, so that his face would remain above the waves. He lay chest-down, with one cheek pressed against the cold, soaked wood.
With tears filling her eyes, she quickly unsheathed her dreggan and cut the ropes that bound him to the mast. She turned him over and pressed her fingertips against his neck. There was a very slow, nearly undetectable pulse. Then she saw the tourniquet bound around his upper arm, and she knew.
When his patrol was attacked, he and some others had stayed behind, trying to buy time for Axel and Valgard to warn the fleet. He was suffering not only from exposure but also from massive blood loss. Even if he got immediate care, his chances for survival were not good. Her eyes filled with tears again as she saw her wet, bloodied, ruby pin still attached to his body armor.
But as she looked around, her heart fell again. Tired as she and Kefira were, she doubted that one of them could lift him into the air, and trying to carry his body between them would probably reopen his wound. Then an idea came to her. Cradling Traax’s head in her lap, she looked into Kefira’s worried face.
“Draw your sword!” she ordered. “We have work to do!”