CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE — Hard Decisions

"COME BELOW SO I CAN BANDAGE THIS," MALTA INSISTED. "LORDLY ONE, YOU must not take chances with yourself." She flinched as a rock landed in the water aft of them. She glanced back and Reyn followed her stare. Their aim was getting better. The Jamaillian ships were closing in.

"No. Not yet." The Satrap clung to the railing and stared down gloatingly. Malta was beside him, pressing a rag to his sword thrust. The Satrap himself refused to touch his wound. Only Malta would do for that duty, but Reyn refused to be jealous. The Satrap clung to her presence as if she anchored his world, yet refused to acknowledge his dependence on her. It amazed him that the man could not hear the falsity in Malta's sweetness to him. The Satrap leaned forward suddenly and cupped his hands to his mouth so that his shouted words would carry his gleeful satisfaction to the men on the foundering Jamaillian ship.

"Farewell, Lord Criath. Give your good counsels to my white serpent now. I'll be sure your family in Jamaillia City knows of your bold cries for mercy. What, Ferdio? Not a swimmer? Don't let it trouble you. You won't be in the water long, and there's no need to swim in the serpent's belly. I mark you, Lord Kreio. Your sons will never see their inheritance. They lose all, not just my Bingtown grants to you but your Jamaillian estates as well. And you, Peaton of Broadhill, oh best of smoking partners! Your forests and orchards will smoke in memory of you! Ah, noble Vesset, will you hide your face in your hands? Do not fear, you will not be overlooked! You leave a daughter, do you not?"

The noble conspirators gazed up at him. Some pleaded, some stood stolidly and some shouted insults back at him. They would all meet the same end. When they had balked at entering the water in the ship's boats while the serpent prowled so near, the crew had abandoned them. Their distrust of the ship's boats had been well founded. They were floating wreckage now. Reyn had not seen a single sailor survive.

It was too much for the Rain Wilder. "You mock the dying," he rebuked the Satrap.

"I mock the traitorous!" the Satrap corrected him savagely. "And my vengeance will be sweet!" he called loudly across the water. Avidly, his eyes tallied the Jamaillian nobles who stood helplessly on the deck of the foundering ship. It was already awash. He muttered names, obviously committing them to memory for later retaliation on their families. Reyn exchanged an incredulous look with Malta. This savage, merciless boy was the Lord High Magnadon Satrap of all Jamaillia? Cosgo opened his mouth again, crying, "Oh, serpent, don't leave, here's a tender— Ah!"

He gasped suddenly and bent over his wound.

Malta looked as innocent as a babe as she held the rag firmly to the injury and proclaimed, "Oh, Lord Satrap, you must stop your shouting. Look, it has started your bleeding again. Come, we must go below. Leave them to Sa's justice."

"Bleeding again-ah, the treacherous cowards deserve to die more slowly. Kennit was right. He saved me, you know." Without asking permission, he clutched Reyn's arm and leaned on him as they tottered him toward the ship's house. "At the end, Kennit recognized that my survival was more important than his. Brave soul! I defied those traitors, but when they came with the killing thrust, brave Kennit took my death for me. Now there is a name that will be remembered with honor. King Kennit of the Pirate Isles."

So the Satrap sought to crown himself with Kennit's deeds and reputation. Reyn embroidered his conceited fantasy for him. "No doubt minstrels will make wondrous songs to tell of your great adventure. To Bingtown and the Rain Wilds the bold young Satrap journeyed. To be saved at the end by the unselfish pirate king who belatedly recognized the ultimate importance of the Satrap of all Jamaillia is the only fitting end for such a song." Reyn drawled the words, loving that Malta must fight to keep from smiling. Between them, the Satrap's face lit with delight.

"Yes, yes. An excellent concept. And a whole verse devoted to the names of those who betrayed me and how they perished, torn apart by the serpents that Kennit had commanded to guard me. That will make future traitors pause before they conspire against me."

"Doubtless," Malta agreed. "But now we must go below." Firmly, she eased him along. Her anxious eyes met Reyn's, sharing her fear that they would not survive the day. Despite the darkness of the emotion, Reyn treasured that he could sense so much of what she felt just by standing near her. He gathered his strength and radiated calmness toward her. Surely, Captain Kennit had been in worse situations. His crew would know how to get them out of this.

"I'LL LAY OUT CANVAS FOR A SHROUD," AMBER OFFERED.

"Very well," Brashen agreed numbly. He looked down on Kennit's body. The pirate that had nearly killed them all had died on his deck. His mother rocked him now, weeping silently, a tremulous smile on her lips. Paragon had gone very still since he had handed Kennit to his mother. Brashen feared to speak to him lest he did not answer. He sensed something happening within his ship. Whatever it was, Paragon guarded it closely. Brashen feared what it might be.

"We gonna get out of here?" Clef asked him pragmatically.

Brashen looked down at the boy by his side. "Don't know," Brashen answered him shortly. "We're going to try."

The boy surveyed the enemy ships critically. "Whyer they holdin' back?"

"I suspect they fear the liveships. Why risk lives when rocks will work?"

The Jamaillian ship was going down. A few desperate souls had fled to her rigging, for the white serpent had shown them that their ship's boats would provide no escape for them. Kennit's other two ships had engaged adjacent Jamaillian vessels and were trying to force a gap in the ring of vessels that surrounded them. Another missile landed uncomfortably close. Paragon rocked slightly with it. No doubt, as soon as they were clear of the Jamaillian ship, the rest of the fleet would be bolder with their rock throwing. "If we could get the white serpent to help those two pirate vessels, we might be able to break out. But then we'd have to outrun the fleet, too."

"It doesn't look good," Clef decided.

"No," Brashen agreed grimly. Then he smiled. "But we aren't dead yet, either."

A strange woman was stepping down onto the railing from Paragon's hands. She did not even glance at Brashen, but settled herself silently beside the fallen pirate. An inexpressible grief dulled her black eyes. She lifted Kennit's hand and held it to her cheek. Mother reached across Kennit to rest a wrinkled hand on her shoulder. The women's eyes met across his body. For a moment, the dark-haired woman studied Mother's face. Then she spoke quietly.

"I loved him. I believe he loved me. I carry his child."

The woman smoothed Kennit's curls back from his still face. Brashen, feeling an intruder, looked away from them to the retreating Vivacia. Wintrow and Althea stood together on the foredeck, conferring about something. Brashen's heart leapt at the sight of her. Cursing himself for a fool, he sprang suddenly to the rail. If one woman could cross, so could another. "Althea!" he bellowed, but the two ships had already drifted apart. Nevertheless, at his call, she spun. She sprinted wildly toward the bow. His heart choked him as he saw her spring wildly to the figurehead's shoulder. There was no mistaking the shock on Vivacia's face. She caught Althea in her headlong flight.

Her words to her ship carried clearly across the water to him. His heart flew on them. "Please, Vivacia. You don't need me. I want to go to him."

Vivacia glanced over at Paragon. Then her voice rang clear across the water. "Paragon! This one I give to you as well!"