«Brora, we're going to attack the southern end of the pirate fleet.»

Brora turned pale and swallowed, then nodded. He didn't need to spend much more time than Blade thinking out what Charger might do-and at what cost. He turned away, bawling orders to the oarmaster and the rowers. The beat of the oars quickened, and Blade felt the timbers under his feet begin to throb with that beat.

So far, no one had connected the sudden attack from Royth with Blade, and Charger was moving away unmolested. Behind her the flagship was now ablaze for nearly half her length, and Blade could see the splashes made by sailors hurling themselves from her high decks into the sea. On shore, people were swarming down the beaches and scrambling aboard ships, and a number of the anchored galleys of the inner line were already underway. There was no sign of Sea Witch or of Cayla's allies. When Cayla appeared, with or without allies, Blade knew he would have a fight on his hands.

A large galley with black and orange checked sails was turning almost broadside to them as her oarsmen settled to their beat. Blade ran aft and stationed himself alongside the tillermen, while Brora ran forward to speak to the oarmaster and then manned the catapult on the bow. Charger's head came around slightly to starboard, aiming for a point nicely calculated to intercept the other galley. The oarsmen bent to their work, the oars thumping in their sockets and the foam curling higher and higher alongside as they worked up to their racing stroke.

The men of the galley ahead had only a brief minute to realize that the other galley racing down on them meant to attack. Blade saw men running on her deck, heard Charger's catapult twang and spray a shower of lead slugs into the men on the enemy's deck. Some of them died, others threw themselves flat. Those who had thrown themselves flat were just beginning to rise when Charger's ram crashed through her opponent's oars and into her side amidships. Oars cracked, timbers splintered, the enemy's mainmast snapped and went over the side, dragging half the tiller crew with it, men mangled by the ram or by the flailing oars howled and screamed below decks. Brora snapped out orders, and Charger's oars went into reverse, pulling her free of the other galley. She was heeling over and sagging low in the water even before Charger had come about on a new course in search of a new victim.

This new victim was a smaller galley, as nimble as Charger and expecting the attack. Her oarsmen worked furiously, swinging her bows-on to the approaching Charger. Blade grinned. He had suggested one or two unorthodox tactics to Brora, who had trained his crew appropriately. Now Brora gave the necessary orders. Charger's bow swung until she was aiming her ram down the side of the approaching enemy, then he bellowed, «In all oars, starboard!» The entire starboard crew jerked their oars in through the ports and everybody aboard Charger braced themselves as she ploughed along her opponent's side, snapping and splintering the whole bank of oars on that side. The archers on Charger's deck had time to add to the enemy's discomfiture with three volleys, then the two ships were pulling apart, Charger building up speed again, the other limping away crab-wise.

The catapult fired again, this time hurling a huge wad of oil-soaked rope across the deck of a small merchantman passing under their lee only fifty yards away. A pinnace with a dozen men in it scuttled across Charger's bow, miscalculated its distance, and was trampled underfoot by the rushing galley. Blade saw the men spilled into the water and thrashing wildly to avoid Charger's oars, but there was no time to pick up survivors. Arrows, catapult bolts, and stones were beginning to splash down about Charger or crash and chunk into her decks as the crews of the ships around her realized that she was an enemy.

A galley came backing off the beach now, moving slowly, with only about half her oars in action. She was keeping such a poor lookout that Charger easily darted in and rammed her in the stern, smashing her rudder, then threw a firepot onto her deck as she tried to turn under oars alone. Three down! Blade began to wonder whether the arms of the rowers-or Charger's seams-could take the strain of much more high-speed maneuvering and violent ramming.

Then Brora squalled incoherently, with the note of panic in his voice sounding so loud that Blade spun about as though an assassin were striking at his back, whipping his sword free in the same instant. Racing toward them out of the smoke pall laid across the water by the burning flagship was Sea Witch. Cayla was clearly visible, perched on the bow just above a ram that was half-submerged in green water by the speed of Witch's passage. She had her arms stretched out toward the sea, and as Blade watched, his jaw set, she raised her arms.

Five monstrous fanged heads rose out of the sea, turning inquiringly on the ends of twenty-foot lengths of scaled green neck. Blade saw those heads turn toward Charger, felt the glare of five pairs of angry red eyes sear him. Then he instinctively stepped back from the railing as the heads and necks fell back into the water. Five mounds of water rose up where they had been, five mounds arrowing straight for Charger. Here were Cayla and her allies-here were the Serpent Priestess and the Serpent Guardians-she had summoned them out of the depths of the sea, out of the depths of nightmare. And here was a last deadly battle for life itself.

Whatever arcane skills had conjured these beasts out of their lairs, they were still flesh and blood. Blade was the first to realize this and feel his own cold fear fade, but Brora was the first to act. He leaped back onto the foc'sle where the catapult stood loaded for another shot, swung it around on its pivot, and jerked the firing lanyard. The bolt whistled across the narrowing gap of water and struck one of the creatures a glancing blow on the neck, ripping away scales and part of the long crest of bony spines that ran down its back. It hissed with a fury like a boiler releasing steam, opened its mouth in a wider gape, and came on. But now there was blood flowing down its neck, a green, thick, gluey ichon, whose foul reek came even across the water.

Seeing one of the creatures wounded put new heart in Charger's crew. Arrows whistled from bows, bounced off scales, fell into the churning water. Other sailors snatched up javelins and shields and braced themselves to throw.

«Aim for the eyes!» Blade roared. «Ramming speed! Tiller hard a-port!» Charger heeled over sharply, throwing some of the men off their feet. Blade was aiming away to the right of the approaching monsters, toward Sea Witch and Cayla herself. Slay their mistress and guide, and the serpents would be reduced to mindless hulks of muscle and ferocity, a menace to all and therefore the foe of all. They would not stand or survive in the face of a hundred ships, whatever they might do to Charger.

He stared at Sea Witch, trying to make out Cayla in the smoke that hung thicker and thicker over the water. She no longer rode her ship's prow like a figurehead; was that she, the slim figure amidships? Yes! Blade ran forward to the catapult and slapped Brora on the arm, pointing toward Cayla. The sailor nodded. «Aye, 'tis finally time to reckon things up with that she-demon!» The catapult went spung and its bolt splintered a section of railing beside the figure on Witch's deck. But the figure only waved a mocking arm, and then the five monsters were on Charger and it was time to fight them off before turning against their mistress.

Charger heaved as though caught in a tidal wave as three of the creatures rose under her, tilting so far over that one whole bank of oars thrashed the air futilely. The fighting men on deck either held onto things or were tossed wildly down the length of her deck. Two of them clawed at splintered lengths of railing, missed, went over the side with a splash. A fanged head turned their way, lifted, dipped, plunged into the sea in a spray of foam and blood, its hisses drowning their screams. Then Charger lurched back the other way, and those who had kept their feet during the first heave went sailing into the bilges in a clatter of weapons and gear.