"Up anchor!" he shouted. He would take the Paragon in closer to Vivacia and search the stretch of water where Clef had last seen them. There was a tiny chance they remained alive, clinging to the capsized boat. Pirates and serpents notwithstanding, he'd find her. He had to.

KENNIT WATCHED THE ONCOMING WAVE OF HEADS AND GAPING MAWS AND tried to keep his aplomb. The distant screaming of his ship crawled up his nerves and grated against his soul, waking memories of a dark and smoky night years ago. He pushed them away. "Why do they return? They have not finished him." He dragged in a breath. "I thought they could do this swiftly. I would have a quick end to this."

"I do not know," Bolt replied angrily. She threw back her head and trumpeted at the oncoming serpents. Several of them replied, a confusing blast of sound.

"I think you will have to vanquish your own nightmares," the charm informed him quietly. "Behold. Paragon comes for you."

In a moment of great clarity, Kennit watched the ship ponderously swing in the wind, and then start toward him. So. It was to be battle after all. Perhaps it was better that way. When the battle was over, he would tread Paragon's decks once more. There would be a final farewell, of sorts. "Jola!" He was pleased that his voice rang clear and strong despite how his heart shook inside him. "The serpents have done their task. They have weakened and demoralized our enemy. Prepare the men for battle. I will lead the boarding party."

BRASHEN SHOULD HAVE NOTICED THAT DESPITE ALL THE ROARING AND thrashing, the serpents were not attacking Vivacia. He should have noticed the orderly way the pirates massed along the railings as Paragon came alongside. His eyes should have stayed on Kennit's ship instead of searching the water for Althea's body. He should have known that a truce flag was no more than a piece of white rag to the pirate king…

The first grapples hit his deck when he thought he was still out of range of such devices. Even as he angrily ordered them cleared away, a line of archers stepped precisely to Kennit's railing. Arrows flew, and Brashen's men went down. Men who had survived the serpents' venom died shocked deaths as Brashen reeled in horror at his own incompetence. More grapples followed the first, the ships were pulled closer together, and then a wave of boarders came swinging from their rigging into his. Pirates were suddenly everywhere, pouring over his railings and onto his decks in a seemingly endless wave. The defenders were pushed back, and then their line broke and became small knots of men struggling against all odds to survive.

Paragon bellowed and thrust and parried with a staff that found only air. From the moment the first grapples were thrown, victory was an undreamt dream. Paragon's decks soaked up the blood of the dying and the ship roared with the impact of the losses. Worse was the sound that reached Brashen's ears with the relentless whistling of a wind in the rigging. It was Vivacia's voice, crying out in words both human and alien as she urged the pirates on. Almost he was glad Althea had perished before she had heard her own ship turn against them.

His crew fought bravely and uselessly. They were outnumbered, inexperienced, and some were injured. Young Clef remained at his side, a short blade in his good hand, throughout the heartbreakingly brief struggle. As the wave of boarders engulfed them, Brashen killed a man, and then another, and Clef took out a third by hamstringing him but got a nasty slash down his ribs for his bravery. More pirates simply stepped over the bodies of their comrades, blades at the ready. Brashen grabbed the boy's collar with his free hand, and jerked him back behind him. Together they retreated through the disorder, fighting only to stay alive, and managed to gain the foredeck. Brashen looked down at a deck fouled with downed men. The pirates were in clear command of the carnage; his own men were reduced to defending themselves or scurrying like chased rats through the rigging as laughing freebooters hunted them down. Brashen had thought to get a better view of the battle and call out commands to re-form his fighters, but a single glance showed him no strategy save one could save them. It was not battle, but slaughter.

"I'm sorry," he said to the bleeding boy at his side. "I should never have let you come with me." He raised his voice. "And I'm sorry, Paragon. To bring you so far and raise such hopes in us both, only to end like this. I've failed you both. I've failed us all."

He took a deep breath and bellowed out the hated words. "I yield! And I beg quarter for my crew. Captain Brashen Trell of the liveship Paragon yields and surrenders his ship to you."

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the din. The clatter of swords gradually stilled, but the moaning of the wounded went on. Walking through the mayhem toward Brashen, his moustache elegantly curled, unsullied by blood or sweat, came a one-legged man who could only be Captain Kennit. "Already?" he asked dryly. He gestured at his sheathed weapon. "But good sir, I've only just come aboard. Are you certain you wish to yield?" He glanced about at the scattered huddles of survivors. Their weapons lay at their feet, while circles of blades menaced them. The pirate's smile was white, his voice charming as he offered, "I'm sure my lads would be willing to let them pick up their blades for one more try at this. It seems a pity to fail on your very first effort. This was your first effort, wasn't it?"

The laughter that greeted each of his sallies washed against Brashen like licking flames. He looked down to avoid the despairing eyes of his crew, but found Clef looking up at him. His brimming eyes were full of anguish as he protested, "I wouldena given up, sir. I'd a died f'you."

Brashen let his own weapon fall. He set a hand on the boy's fair head. "I know. That was what I feared."

AND SO, A TIDY ENDING AFTER ALL. FAR TIDIER THAN HE HAD EXPECTED, GIVEN all the hitches his original plan had encountered. Kennit did not even bother to step forward to accept the captain's weapon. The churl had let it fall to the deck anyway. Had he no concept of the proper way to do things? It was not that he feared to step on the foredeck. The crew was efficient. They had been too long without a real battle. This one had barely whetted their appetite before it was over. He would have to hunt down a slaver or two and let them indulge themselves. For now, he commanded that the survivors be secured under the hatches. They went docilely enough, expecting that he would soon summon their captain and negotiate terms for ransom. Once they were out of sight, he had his men throw the bodies overboard. The serpents, he noted with disdain, were quick enough to come for this easy meat that they had refused to kill for themselves. Well, let it be, let them think it was bounty from Bolt. Perhaps stopping a slaver or two and feeding the serpents fat again would restore their tractability.

The Althea matter was settled easily enough. There were no women aboard, amongst the living or dead. To Captain Trell's anguished questions as to whether the Vivacia had taken up any survivors from his ship's boat, he could only shrug. If she had been in the ill-fated rowboat, then it had not managed to return to the ship. He gave a small sigh that might have been relief. He did so hate to lie to Wintrow. He could have an easy conscience when he shrugged his shoulders and said that whatever had befallen her was none of his doing.

Trell's eyes had narrowed as Kennit ordered him below, but he had gone. He had little choice, with three blades hemming him in. The hatch cover had closed off his angry shouts.

Kennit ordered his men back to his ship, detaining only three with a quiet order that they return with casks of lamp oil. They looked, but they did not question him. While they were gone, he walked a quiet turn about the decks. His own ship buzzed with victory, but this one muttered with muffled cries from below. Some of the men they had put down the hatches were badly injured. Well, they would not suffer for long.