be seen, his teeth working in what could only be
agony. A mortal would already have broken, and Dom was close to breaking.
Andry ran, his sword flashing, the point level with the thickest part of the serpent. He aimed true, missing
Dom’s body by inches as he plunged the sword to the hilt, through hard muscle and scale. On the other
side, Sigil did the same, her ax working with blinding speed.
The coils loosened a little, the serpent bellowing, its blood pouring over the galley, the deck blacker than
the night sky. Andry felt it, hot and gushing, as it spurted around his hands. He didn’t relinquish his grip,
grunting as he worked the sword, trying to twist it, inflicting as much damage as possible.
The serpent lost its other eye to Sorasa’s dagger, its wail pitiful and keen. Dom snarled as the tight
spirals of the monster fell away. Andry shoved at the scales, pushing them off the immortal, his arms
caked in fresh blood.
“Thank you,” he heard the prince murmur, one hand pawing at his shoulder. Sorasa leapt to his side,
coaxing the Elder to sit back on the deck.
Blind and torn apart, the serpent curled and shuddered, wailing a death song on the deck of the trader.
The surviving sailors jeered, prodding it toward the broken rail. It flinched and slid, slower by the second.
“Get it off the ship,” Corayne called over the noise of the dying monster and the roaring wind. “Before it
drags us down with it.”
Charlie braced his back against the meat of the beast, brave enough to push the still-breathing serpent. “
A little help, please?” he snapped at the crew.
Together with Sigil, they eased the doomed creature into the sea. As soon as the serpent hit the waves,
the wind guttered and died, the sail falling loose.
Andry collapsed to his knees, exhausted and stunned. The blood was still there, staining his clothes up
to his waist. He took little notice, his breath coming in short gasps.
“Thank you,” Dom said again, breathless, lying back against the deck.
As soon as he was down, Sorasa stalked to the mast. The assassin loosed Corayne with a few cuts
from her dagger. Corayne lunged forward, sliding to Andry’s shoulder, her hands shaking as she looked
him over.
“I’m fine,” he murmured, sounding anything but.
Still willfully tied, Valtik cocked her head, leering around at the survivors. “Did anyone manage to grab a
tooth?” she said, as if asking for a second mug of ale. “The fang of a serpent is poisoned in truth.”
No one had the strength or will to respond.
28
THE HIGHEST BIDDER
Corayne
Smashed rails on either side of the galley. Lost cargo. A dead captain, along with a dozen members of
the crew. All in all, not so bad for a battle with a sea serpent.
Corayne assessed the damage with a keen eye before settling in with the ship’s navigator, who was now
the de facto captain. The stout little man reminded her of Kastio. Together they charted a course to take
advantage of the Strait’s winds and currents. Her fingers danced over the parchment maps spread out
like a carpet. The sun glowed warm; the air was clean and full of salt. This was where she belonged.
Once again, Dom found himself among the injured, stripped to the waist, his torso a mess of black-
and-blue bruises, patterned like scales. He made no sound as Sigil examined his chest, her fingers
prodding for signs of internal bleeding. Sorasa loomed over the pair, a long welt down one side of her
face from the serpent’s snapping tail. The Elder kept his mouth shut, but his annoyance was infinitely
clear. Only a cup of tea from Andry’s kettle settled him somewhat, as the squire made his rounds,
offering up the sweet-smelling brew to the sailors.
By the time night fell, they were ready with a watch crew, the ship swinging with lanterns. The darkness
passed without incident, as did the following evening. Nothing else rose out of the deep, but everyone
remained on edge, stealing glances at the waves.
No ship had ever been so relieved to spot the Crown Fleet of Ibal, the gallant warships spaced across
the narrowest point of the Long Sea like teeth in a lion’s mouth. Their flags danced in the wind, royal blue
and gold. The trader ran out its Larsian flag, a white bull on pale blue, and every sailor gave up a cheer
or a wave.
Corayne did not share the sentiment. Instead she watched Charlie set the last
| | |
|