the girl faced the world as a woman. Her experiences aboard the galley left Althea shuddering. Malta laughed, a terrible sound, at how her disfigurement had preserved her from worse treatment. By the time Malta finished, Althea loathed the Satrap, yet understood the value Malta placed on him. She doubted he would keep his promises to her, but it impressed Althea that even in her time of danger, Malta had thought of her home and family and done all she could for them.
Truly, the girl had grown up. Althea recalled ashamedly that she had once felt that some hardship would improve Malta. Undoubtedly she had been improved, but the cost had been high. The skin on her hands looked as coarse as a chicken's foot. The cicatrix on her head was a monstrous thing, shocking in both color and size. But beyond the physical scarring, she sensed a dulling of her high spirits. The girlchild's elaborate dreams of a romantic future had been replaced with a woman's determination to survive tomorrow. It felt like a loss to Althea.
'At least you are with us now,' Althea offered her when Malta finished. She had wanted to say, 'Safe with us,' but Malta was no longer a little girl to be cozened with falsehoods.
'I wonder for how long,' Malta replied miserably. 'For where he goes, I must follow, until I am sure he is safely restored to power, and that he will keep his word to me. Otherwise, all this has been for nothing. Yet, if I leave you here, will I ever see you again? Althea, at least, must find a way to get off this ship and away from Kennit.'
Althea shook her head with a sad smile. 'I cannot leave my ship with him, Malta,' she said quietly. 'No matter what.'
Malta turned aside from her. Her chin trembled for an instant, but then she spoke harshly. 'The ship. Always the ship, distorting our family, demanding every sacrifice. Have you ever imagined how different our lives would have been if Great-great-grandmother had never bargained our lives away for this thing?'
'No.' Althea's voice went cold. She could not help it. 'Despite all, I do not begrudge her anything.'
'She has made a slave of you,' Malta observed bitterly. 'Blind to all else.'
'Oh, no. Never that.' Althea tried to find words to express it. 'In her lies my true freedom.' But did it? Those words had once been true, but Vivacia had changed. She and the ship no longer completed one another. A tiny traitor portion of her mind recalled her stolen day with Brashen in Divvytown. If he had lived, would she have been able to say such words? Did she cling to Vivacia because she was all that was left to her?
The whole ship suddenly reverberated with the trumpeting of serpents. 'They come,' Malta whispered.
'It would be safest for all of you if you stayed here,' Wintrow announced. 'I'll find out what is going on.'
KENNIT STOOD ON THE FOREDECK, RELIEF COURSING THROUGH HIS BODY. THE serpents were coming. He had spoken boldly to the envoy from the fleet, wondering all the while if the serpents would aid him. When he granted the Jamaillians time to confer, he was secretly stealing time for Vivacia to persuade the serpents. When first Vivacia had called them, the water about the ship had boiled with the serpents, but they had dispersed suddenly, and for a time, he feared that they had forsaken him. The Jamaillian ship rejoined its fleet and boats from the other vessels converged on it. Time dragged for Kennit. There, across the water, men discussed strategy to crush him while he waited docilely on his foredeck in the biting wind.
After a time, the Jamaillian boats returned to their ships. He had not dared ask Vivacia what was happening. His crew had come to the ready and now waited. The anticipation aboard the ship was palpable. Kennit knew every pirate waited to see the serpents suddenly flash toward the fleet. At a distance, he would see a sudden turmoil of serpents and hear their muted calls. But none came near. Soon he would have to make a decision: stand and confront the Jamaillian fleet, or flee. If he fled, the fleet would certainly give chase. Even if they didn't believe he held the Satrap, the odds against him were too great for the Jamaillians to resist. His piracy and his destruction of the slave trade would rankle with all of them.
Then, with a suddenness that roused whoops of delight from his crew, a forest of serpent heads on supple necks rose suddenly around the Vivacia. They spoke to the ship, and she answered in their tongue. After a time, she glanced at him. He drew close to her to hear her soft words to him.
'They are divided,' Vivacia warned him quietly. 'Some say they are too weary. They will save their strength for themselves. Others say, this last time, they will aid you. But if we do not take them north tomorrow, all will leave without us. If I fail to keep my word-' She paused before stiffly resuming, 'Some talk of killing me before they leave. Dismembering me and devouring the wizardwood parts of me for my memories might be helpful to them.'
It had never occurred to him that the serpents might turn on Vivacia. If they did, he could not save her. He would have to flee on the Marietta, and hope the serpents did not pursue them.
'We'll take them north tomorrow,' he confirmed to her.
She murmured something that might have been agreement.
Kennit considered only briefly. Tomorrow, this weapon might no longer be his to control. He would wield it one last time, in a way that would become the stuff of legend. He would break Jamaillia's sea power while he had the strength to do so. 'Attack them,' he commanded flatly. 'Show no mercy until I say otherwise.'
He sensed a moment of indecision from Vivacia. Then she lifted her arms and sang in that unearthly voice to the gathered serpents. The maned heads turned toward the fleet and stared. As silence fell, the serpents surged forward, living arrows flying toward their targets.
The serpents flashed and glittered as they streamed toward the oncoming ships. Only about a third of them went. Those that remained were impressive, he told himself, flanking his ship like an honor guard. He became aware of Wintrow behind him.
'I did not send as many this time,' Kennit hastily told him. 'No sense in risking sinking the ships, as they did with Paragon.'
'And safer for the serpents as well,' Wintrow observed. 'They will be more spread out, and harder to hit.'
This had not occurred to him. Kennit watched the phalanx of serpents. Perhaps no other human eye could have discerned that they did not move as swiftly as they once had, or swim as powerfully. Even their colors were less jewel-like. Truly, the serpents were failing. Those who surrounded his ship still confirmed his fears. Once- gleaming eyes and scales had dulled. Rags of skin hung from a maroon serpent's neck as if it had tried to slough its skin but failed. No matter, he told himself. No matter. If they would get him through this final battle, he would have no further need of them. He had pirated well before the serpents allied with him. He could do so again.
The decks of the oncoming Jamaillian ships teemed with activity as war machines were readied against the advancing creatures. Human shouts mingled suddenly with serpent calls. The smaller ships released volleys of arrows. Rocks arced over the glittering water, finishing in silvery splashes as several large ships released their catapults. By the sheerest luck, they struck a serpent on the first volley. Harsh cheers of triumph rose from the Jamaillian ship. The injured creature, a skinny green serpent, shrilly trumpeted its pain. The other serpents flocked to its cries. Its long body wallowed on the surface, sending up sprays of silver water as it thrashed.
'Broke its back,' Wintrow harshly whispered. His eyes were narrowed in pained sympathy.
The figurehead gave a low moan and dropped her face into her hands. 'My fault,' she whispered. 'He lived so long and came so far, to die this way? My fault. Oh, Tellur, I am so sorry.'
Before the green serpent sank out of sight, the rest of the serpents left Vivacia's side. The purposeful wave of creatures cut the water in a multitude of wakes as they sliced toward the oncoming ships. On board the threatened ships, crews worked frantically, rewinding and reloading the catapults. The serpents no longer roared. The shouts of the frightened humans carried clearly across the water. Beside him, Kennit heard Wintrow draw in a deep breath. A deep mutter swelled behind him. Kennit glanced over his shoulder. His crew had halted in their tasks. They were transfixed in the anticipation of horror.
They were not to be disappointed.
The serpents encircled the ship that had fired the successful shot. The long-necked serpents reminded him of the closing tendrils of a sea anemone. Roaring and spraying venom, they engulfed the ship. The canvas melted from the masts, and then rigging tumbled to the deck like an armful of kindling. The shrill screams of the crew were a brief accompaniment to the serpents' roars. Then the larger serpents threw themselves across its deck like living heaving-lines. Their great weight and thrashing coils bore the ship under, where it swiftly broke apart.
