Now the embattled Motley was right before them. One of her brightly-colored sails was down and drooping uselessly. The crew had cleared most of her deck of boarders, but the two ships were still both grappled and tangled. Vivacia bore down on them, screaming like a dragon, archers ready. The Marietta moved off to allow them room. Sorcor’s supply of both arrows and shot were probably nearly spent.

“Look at that!” Wintrow exclaimed suddenly. The white serpent had surfaced by the Jamaillian ship that was locked with the Motley. As if it knew their plans, it roared, and then opened wide its jaws to spray the deck with venom. Men screamed. The serpent was too close for their catapult to be of any use. Their volley of arrows rattled off him harmlessly. He disappeared beneath the waves, then surfaced again off the ship’s bow. He sprayed the ship again, then bent his great head to press his brow against the wood of the hull. He pushed furiously, lashing the sea to cream with his efforts. Wintrow heard the groan of wood. The great timbers, smoking with the serpent’s venom, actually bent with the pressure. On board the Motley, men struggled to push their ship clear. Overhead, tangled rigging resisted, but sailors with axes were swarming aloft. They cut themselves free with reckless abandon. With a lurch, the ships suddenly parted.

As the pirates on the Motley gave an uneven cheer, the serpent rose once more to spray the other ship with venom. A lone archer, screaming with the pain of his scalds, let fly a single arrow. It struck the white serpent, just behind the angle of his jaw. The shaft plunged out of sight and the serpent screamed in agony. It whipped its head about wildly as if it sought to dislodge the arrow. In horror, Wintrow saw a sudden wound open on the serpent’s neck. It ran blood and steaming white toxins. Its own venom was eating away at its flesh. Vivacia gave a cry of fury and horror.

Paragon suddenly swept past them. With complete disregard for the figurehead, the ship rammed the Jamaillian craft. As his bow caught the other vessel amidships, Paragon screamed in wordless fury. He seized the ship’s railing and tore it loose.

Wintrow had never thought to gauge the strength of a liveship’s figurehead. Before his eyes, an enraged Paragon used the ship’s railing as a club to batter at the hapless vessel. Splinters flew at every blow. Men fled, seeking shelter from the flying pieces of wood. When the railing gave way, he snatched the war axe from his belt. He wielded it two-handed. With every crushing stroke, Paragon roared. Deck planks gave way, and then he reached overhead to tear at canvas and rigging. With his axe and his hands, he reduced the ship to wreckage before Wintrow’s disbelieving eyes. On Paragon’s deck, his own crew darted for cover, shouting with terror.

THE OTHER JAMAILLIAN SHIPS HAD MOVED BACK DEFENSIVELY. PARAGON continued to throw chunks of wreckage at them. An anchor trailing a length of chain crashed into the rigging of one ship. A ship’s boat, flung with wild strength, cleared half the deck of another. In their haste to be out of his range, one Jamaillian ship rammed another. They drifted in a circle, rigging tangled. Paragon’s wild attack had broken an opening for them. Small good it would do them, but Althea watched as the Marietta swept through it, followed by the limping Motley. They at least would escape.

“Paragon! Paragon!” From the helm, Brashen yelled the ship’s name hoarsely. It did no good. The rage of a dragon burned in him, and with every wild blow, he roared it. Vivacia swept through the gap in the circle. “Follow, follow!” she cried to Paragon as she escaped, but he appeared not to hear. His sails strained to push him on, but he caught hold of the Jamaillian ship with one hand and kept punishing it with the other. The two vessels groaned against one another. A stone thudded against their stern, reminding Althea that the Jamaillian ships were still attacking. Another stone hit the afterdeck and took out a piece of Paragon’s railing. If they smashed his rudder, they were doomed. Another stone struck. Death reached for them.

Kyle Haven had emerged from hiding. In the midst of the chaos, he danced a madman’s jig on the main deck. “Die here, die here!” he chanted shrilly. “Die as you all deserve, every one of you! Serves you right! You brought his body on board! We’ll take it to the bottom with us.”

Etta had been closeted with Mother. Now she appeared and made a determined rush down the deck. As she ran, a small ship swept past, the same one that had harried Vivacia earlier. “Get down!” Althea cried as the row of archers let fly.

Etta heeded her. Kyle did not.

He fell, jerking, with two arrows through his body. Etta did not give him a glance. She picked herself up and ran. When she reached the foredeck, she screamed her words with the force of a sudden cold wind. “Faithless ship! Bear us away! Or Kennit’s child will die unborn, a child he bid me name ‘Paragon’.”