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' concentrated 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."