by Robin Hobb
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.
From behind Kennit came hushed exclamations of awe and horror. Kennit himself could vividly imagine how Vivacia could come apart in their coils.
As the Jamaillian ships retreated from the serpents' victim, they continued a hail of stones. The serpents snatched up the drowning crewmen and devoured them, then turned their attention to the other ships. Several vessels sought to flee, but it was already too late for that. The serpents spread throughout the fleet, as yielding but capturing as a bed of kelp. The efforts of the creatures were divided now, the results not as swift. Serpents circled the ships, spraying venom. Some of the larger serpents resorted to ramming. One ship lost its sails. Another serpent was hit. It screamed furiously, and lunged at the ship before falling away lifelessly. That ship became a target for the surviving serpents' co
ncentrated fury.
"Call them back," Wintrow pleaded in a low voice.
"Why?" Kennit asked conversationally. "If we were in their hands and dying, do you think they would be seized with sudden mercy for us?"
"Please, Vivacia! Call them back!" Wintrow cried out to the ship herself.
Vivacia shook her great head slowly. Kennit's heart soared to find her so loyal to him, but then in a mutter meant only for Kennit and Wintrow, she slew the pirate's dream.
"I cannot. They are beyond anyone's control now. They are in a frenzy, driven as much by despair as revenge. I fear that when they are finished, they will turn on me."
Wintrow's face paled. "Should we flee now? Can we outrun them?"
Kennit knew they could not. He chose to put a brave face on it. Well, at least no one would outlive him to tell any tales. He clapped Wintrow on the shoulder. "Trust the luck, Wintrow. Trust the luck. All will be well. Sa did not bring me through all this to leave me serpent bait at the end." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Signal Sorcor on the Marietta.. Tell him to send Etta back to me."
"Now? In the midst of all this?" Wintrow was horrified.
Kennit laughed aloud. "There's no pleasing you, is there? You told me that Etta belonged at my side. I've decided you're right. She should be beside me, especially on a day like this. Signal Sorcor."
Tiny Chalcedean galleys flanked a sailing ship on the seas below them.
"Shall we liven up their day?" Tintaglia suggested in a low rumble.
"Please, no," Reyn groaned. The deep bruises on his chest made even breathing painful. The last thing he wanted was to be shaken in her clutches as she swooped and darted above the ships. He felt a shudder of anticipation run through her and groaned, but she did not dive on the ship.
"Did you hear that?" she demanded.
"No. What?" he demanded, but instead of answering, her great wings stroked with a sudden energy. The ocean and the ships upon it receded beneath him. He shut his eyes as she beat her way higher still. When he dared to open them again, the ocean below them was a rippling fabric, the islands scattered toys. He could not get his breath. "Please," he begged dizzily.
She did not reply. Instead, she caught a cold current of air with her wings and hung there. He closed his eyes and endured miserably. "There!" she cried out suddenly. He did not have the breath to ask her what. They tipped and went sliding down the sky. The cold wind bit to his bones. Just when he thought he could be no more miserable, Tintaglia gave vent to an ear-shattering scream. The sound rang in his ears even as his small human soul was consumed by her mental shout of triumph. "See them! There they are!"
"Something's happened!" Althea announced to the others in the room. "The serpents cease their attack. They all turn their heads." She stared out of the small porthole. She could see a small segment of the battle, but by it she judged the whole. Of the five ships she could see, all had taken damage. On one, sails drooped in tatters and there was little deck activity. It would never see port again. The serpents had broken the fleet's formation and scattered them, forcing each ship to battle individually. Now the serpents had suddenly ceased their attacks and stared up at the sky with their huge gleaming eyes.
"What?" Malta asked anxiously, sitting up straight.
Jek gave up her vigil at the door. "Let me see," she demanded, coming to the porthole. Althea ducked out of her way and stepped to the middle of the room. She reached overhead to put her hands flat to a beam. "I wish I were more closely linked to Vivacia. I wish I could see with her eyes, as I once did."
"What does she feel? Wait! Where are all the serpents going?" Jek demanded.
"She feels too much. Fear and anxiety and sorrow. Are the serpents leaving?"
"They're going somewhere," Jek replied. She turned away from the porthole with an impatient snort. "Why are we staying in here? Let's go out on the deck and see."
"Might as well," Althea replied grimly.
"Wintrow said we'd be safer here," Malta reminded them. She lifted her hands suddenly to her head as if even the thought of venturing onto the deck pained her.
"I don't think he expected things to go this way," Althea replied reassuringly. "I think we should find out what is happening."
"I demand that you all remain here!" the Satrap shouted suddenly. He sat up, his face creased with anger. "I will not be abandoned! As my subjects, you owe me loyalty. Remain here, to protect me as necessary."
A grin twisted Jek's mouth. "Sorry, little man. I'm not your subject, and even if I were, I'd still go up to the deck. But if you want to come with us, I'll watch your back for you."
Malta dropped her hands from her face. She drew a sudden breath through her gaping mouth, then announced, "We have to get to the deck. Right now! Tintaglia comes! The dragon calls to the serpents."
"What? A dragon?" Althea demanded incredulously.
"I can feel her." Wonder was in Malta's voice. She jumped to her feet, her dark eyes growing ever larger. "I can feel the dragon. And hear her! Just as you can know things through the ship. Don't doubt me, Althea. This is true." Then she paled, her wonder turning to despair. "And Reyn is with her. He comes, all this way, seeking me. Me!" She lifted a hand to cover her mouth and her face crumpled.
"Don't be frightened," Althea said gently.
The girl hunched on her chair. Her fingertips prodded the ridged scar on her brow. She dropped her hands away as if burned, then stared at her claw-like fingers. "No," she whispered. "No, it's not fair."
"What is the matter with her?" the Satrap demanded disdainfully. "Is she ill? If she is ill, I wish her taken away."
Althea knelt beside her niece. "Malta?" What ailed the girl? "Stop." The word was as much command as plea. Malta pushed herself ponderously to her feet. She moved as if she were made of separate pieces, none of which fit together very well. Her eyes were flat. She picked up her headwrap from the table, looked at it, then let it fall from her fingers. "It doesn't matter." Her voice was distant, impartial. "This is who I am now. But…" She let her thought die away. She walked toward the door as if she were entirely alone. As she passed through it, Jek held it wide for her. The Six Duchies woman gave Althea a quizzical look. "Are you coming?"
"Of course," Althea murmured. She suddenly grasped what her mother must have felt down the years, wanting good things for her daughters, but so powerless to make them go well. It was a sickening feeling.
"Halt! What about me? You cannot leave me here, unattended," the Satrap protested angrily.
"Well, hustle along then, little man, or be left behind," Jek told him. But she did hold the door for him, Althea noted.
Kennit stared up, aware that he gaped but unable to do anything about it. He was dimly aware that Vivacia gazed upward also, her hands clasped before her bosom as if she prayed. Beside him, Wintrow did pray, not a prayer for mercy, as Kennit might have expected, but instead a joyful flow of words that celebrated the wonder of Sa. The boy sounded as if he were chanting in a trance. "The wonder, the glory is yours, Creator Sa…" He could not tell if Wintrow mouthed familiar words or if the majesty of the creature above them had spurred him to spontaneous worship.
The dragon circled again, blue scales glinting to silver as the winter sunlight ran along its flanks. Again, it gave cry. When the dragon spoke, Kennit felt Vivacia's response. A terrible deep yearning ran through the ship and infected him. She longed to move that freely through the sky, to soar and dip and circle at her own pleasure. It put the ship in mind of all she was not, and never would be. Despair like poison seeped through her.
The serpents had ceased their attack on the Jamaillian ships and swarmed in the open sea. Some were near motionless, heads raised high, great eyes spinning as they stared aloft. Others frolicked and cavorted as if their antics could attract the dragon's attention. The Jamaillian fleet had seized this opportunity. From certain death, they grasped at survival. One smaller vessel was sinking, her decks awash. Her crew was abandoning her for another ship. On other decks, men sought to ma
ke order out of chaos and disaster. They cut fallen rigging free and threw canvas overboard. Yet even there, despite all they had endured, men shouted and pointed at the dragon as their ships retreated.
In the boat that Sorcor had dispatched, Etta crouched low. Her gaze darted from the cavorting serpents to the circling dragon. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on Kennit. The men in the boat with her pulled savagely at the oars, their heads hunched down between their shoulders.
On every circling pass, the dragon swooped lower. Unmistakably, Vivacia was at the center of its gyre. It clasped something in its front legs, Kennit saw. Prey, perhaps, but he could not make out what it was. Was it sizing up the ship before an attack? Would it land on the water like a gull? It swept past yet again, so close that the gust of its wings buffeted the ship's sails and set her to rocking. The sea serpents set up an ungodly ululation that rose in volume and pitch as the dragon descended. Then, as it passed right over Etta's rowboat, the dragon let its burden drop. Whatever it was narrowly missed hitting the boat; it landed beside it in a gout of water. With a ponderous flapping of wings, the creature rose laboriously. It roared and the serpents clamored an answer. Then it flew away, much more slowly than it had come.
The serpents followed it. Like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, they trailed after the dragon. The swift led the way, while others hummocked painfully through the water in the foaming wake, but all were leaving. The dragon gave a final, drawn-out cry as it flew away, taking Kennit's triumph with it.
It was a man, and he was alive. Etta had a single, astonishing glimpse of him as he plummeted into the water. His legs kicked wildly as he fell, then the splash of his impact swallowed him. The dragon had dropped him so near the boat that he had nearly swamped it. Etta would have sworn it was deliberate. The boat rocked wildly in the surge of his dive. Despite that, she seized the edge of the boat and leaned over the side, looking after him. Would he drown? Would he come up at all? "Where is he?" she shouted. "Watch for him to come up!"