“Aye, sir!”

With the line moved and more of the sail engaged, Captain Harl shaded his eyes and searched for the shadow against the horizon that meant land. Cut off from the mainland by the Catlaine Strait, the island of Barravista had always depended on the sea—on the fish that silvered the water over the coastal shoals, on the ships that brought in the food the rocky, wind-swept soil couldn’t produce. When the war had threatened to cut them off, when privateers backed by the enemy’s treasury had swept in from the south stripping schooners and caravels bare, Queen Isabella had called in Admirl Buryl and commanded him to take control of the sea lanes. “. . . hold against all Navareen aggression. I will not have the edges of my empire starved into surrender.”

So the admiral had pulled the Dawn Arrow out of the battle in the gulf, loaded its hold with grain and wine and oil, and sent it to Barravista. After the Arrow’s heavy catapult had sent the third privateer to the bottom in flames, the rest had cut their losses and headed south for easier pickings. Unfortunately, the admiral had decided to maintain the show of force and Harl continued to ply the merchanter’s route, the only danger the monotony of an easy passage.

“Land ho!”

The cry from the crow’s nest jerked him out of his reverie.

“Tighten up those lines; let’s put some wind in those sails! I want to clear that headland by . . .”

Impact threw him against the helmsman. He swore and grabbed for a ratline, hauling himself back up onto his feet.

“Heading?”

“We’re dead on course, sir.” The helmsman hauled the wheel around. “It’s no reef.”

“Debris?” There’d been enough merchant ships taken down in these waters to add the hazard of floating timbers to the trip.

“Nothing on the surface, sir!” the bow lookout called. She hooked her legs around the bowsprit and leaned out over the water. “And nothing just be . . .”

“Serpent!”

“In these seas?” Harl snarled as he turned toward the call. “Don’t be . . .”

Its head was already a tall man’s height above the waves and still rising. Glistening green and gold and blue, the color of sunlight on the sea, it blinked onyx eyes and tasted the air with a forked tongue. The only sound was the lap of water on wood and the hum of the wind in the lines as the crew stood frozen in shock. The great serpents were rare even in the south and never seen this far north.

It rose above the starboard rail.

Almost up the lowest spar.

“Archers!” The Weapons Master’s voice shattered the silence and jerked the crew into action.

Harl clamped his teeth shut on commands of his own. They were already running full out and had no hope of outdistancing the serpent even should he find more wind.

“Fire at will!”

As the serpent continued to rise, a rain of arrows bounced off iridescent scales and fell into the sea.

“Aim for the eyes!”

But the eyes had risen past the upper spar, the folds and ridges of the creature’s muzzle making it an impossible shot from below. As Harl watched in horror, the great head dove forward between the masts and arced down over the port side. Between one heartbeat and the next, a belt of flesh constricted around the ship.

“Blades!”

The belt tightened, unmarked by weapons. Ends of broken lines whipped around the masts. A body tumbled shrieking from torn rigging to the water. The upper rail splintered.

“All hands!” Harl bellowed pulling his long knife and charging forward. “Use your points! In behind the lap!”

They drew blood then—but not enough. It had barely splashed against the deck when the deck boards shattered. Curses and prayer came mixed from the sailors chancing the sea and the monster within it rather than be caught in the dangerous mess of wreckage.

As the masts toppled and the weight of the sails pulled the halves apart, Captain Harl went down with his ship, still driving his knife between the serpent’s scales. Finally, lungs screaming for air, he kicked toward the surface.

Felt sharp teeth close around his waist.

“So there’s a sea serpent in the Catlaine Strait destroying ships and then devouring the crews.”

“Yes, sir. One of my people was on the Sea Shepard . Given his report, I believe the Lord Ryden and the Dawn Arrow suffered the same fate.”

Admiral Buryl peered out from under heavy brows at his head of Naval Intelligence. “If this serpent is devouring the crews, how did your man escape?”

“My people are very fast swimmers when motivated, sir.”

“No doubt,” muttered the admiral’s aide. “Your people excel at getting away.”

Gaison NcTran ignored her and, with an effort, kept from rubbing the stump of his left arm. His people gathered intelligence; they didn’t fight battles they had no hope of winning. Nor did they die trying to save lives already lost.

“The moment we knew the Arrow was lost, I would have put one of your people on the Ryden. We wouldn’t have lost the Shepard if we’d had word earlier.”

He turned to the nearer of the two captains who’d accompanied the admiral to the briefing. “Our assumption was that the privateers had returned more heavily armed. Until we had confirmation this wasn’t so, my people were better deployed elsewhere. Our numbers are limited, and we need to go where we can be best used.”

“You need to be used where you’re most needed!”

They locked eyes. The captain looked away first. Unlike the admiral’s aide, who had all the prejudices of a fisher family toward shapeshifters who were not only their competition in the boats but had the unfair advantage of becoming seals in the water, the captain spoke from distress at loss of ships, of life.

“And you’re sure, NcTran, you’re sure this serpent is being used by the enemy?”

“As sure as I can be, sir.” Gaison turned his attention back to the admiral. “They hate the cold and the Catlaine Strait is never warm. Even in the south, they rarely bother with ships because the food value isn’t worth the effort expended. And, more tellingly, the Navareen fishing fleets have left the Empire Banks.”

“They’re paying the serpent in fish?”

The Navareen were paying the serpent the way all those who brought a tactical advantage to war were paid—it had been deeded its own estate, sole access to one of the richest fishing areas in the West Sea. But as that essentially meant they were paying it in fish, Gaison nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Wonderful.” Admiral Buryl sighed and stared down at the map table. “It’s not enough we’re fighting them on the sea, now we have to fight them under it as well. Can you talk to it?”

“It, sir?”

“The serpent, man, the serpent! If it was convinced to fight for the Navareen, maybe you can convince it to change sides.”

“Unfortunately, Admiral, even if we had something to offer it . . .” And there was no need to add that they didn’t. “. . . none of my people speak serpent. The Navareen have to have paid for the services of a Mer.”

“A Mer?”

“It’s the only way they could make the deal, sir.”

Buryl sighed. “They must really want to win this war if they’re willing to dump that much of their treasury into the sea. All right, we can’t talk to it and we can’t outrun it. Can we go around it? Stay in water too shallow for it, maybe.”

“Unfortunately, there’s no way to get to Barravista without crossing deep water. Miles of deep water,” he added, turning enough to the side that he could trace a large area out on the map with his remaining hand. “The serpent could be anywhere in this area.”

“Wonderful. What’s left?”

Gaison shrugged. “We destroy it, sir.”

“Of course we do. How?”

“The Mer . . .”

“Too expensive.” The second captain, the Admiralty’s member on council, raised her hand, cutting him off. “Even if the council would allow the expenditure, this war’s left bugger all in the treasury. You’ll have to think of something else.”

Buryl reached out and picked the wooden ship representing the Dawn Arrow off the table. “Think of it soon, NcTran, or we lose Barravista. Make stopping this serpent your first concern.”

“Sir, my regular duties . . .”

“Can be handled by your second. The queen refuses to lose that island, which makes it our job to hang onto it. Go. And I don’t want this to get out,” he continued, his voice stopping Gaison with his hand on the door. “People find out Navareen’s sent a sea serpent into our waters and we’ll have panic in every village up and down the coast. Every idiot who lives by the sea will be assuming the serpent’s come for them. No offense.”

All of Gaison’s people lived by the sea. “None taken, sir.”

No point in being offended at an accurate observation.

“Gaison!”

Closing the admiral’s door behind him, he turned to see Jeordi NcMarin, his Second and a cousin on his mother’s side, hurrying along the corridor, a sheaf of paper in one hand.

“We had a bird from outpost seven.” Jeordi thrust the paper toward him. “Mirag made landfall day before yesterday. She says there’s a new design being built in the Navareen shipyards. Shallow draft, lean and fast. She thinks they’re planning a run up the coast.”

Gaison nodded, ignoring the paper. “Makes sense. What with our attention on deep water right now. What about the second bird confirming?”

“Not yet. Weather’s been unsettled. It may have run into trouble.”

“It may have been shot and eaten,” Gaison snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Take the report into Admiral Buryl.”

“Me?” Jeordi’s dark eyes widened.

“He’s got me dealing with the trouble in the Catlaine Strait.” No need to be more specific, not within the Admiralty wing.

“Dealing? How?”

“Damned if I know.”

When the war with Navareen escalated from a border conflict into out-and-out conquest, Queen Isabella had conscripted all the mages within her borders into her service. Since four of the six were already in her service and the fifth had just celebrated his 107th birthday, while the sixth had barely passed his 17th, this made very little impact on either the mages or the nation.

They’d been given the top floor of the palace’s old south range and told to direct their studies toward winning the war. Their only contribution to date had been a spell that delayed the ignition of fireballs until the impact with the target shattered the glass ball containing the spell. When it worked, when the cork remained in the ball and the catapult operators hit the target, the results were impressive—but only the glass-blowers were completely happy with it.

The way Gaison saw it, enlisting the wizards might not help, but considering what they were facing, it couldn’t hurt.

“Preposterous.” The middle-aged woman peered at him from under an impressive tangle of bright red hair. “Sea serpents don’t come this far north.”

Gaison sighed and tried again. “This one’s working for the Navareen. They’ve sent it north into our shipping lanes to cut off Barravista. It’s attacking our ships from below.”

“Well, of course it’s attacking from below. It would hardly be attacking from above, now would it? You’re one of the seal people, aren’t you? Got your skin put away safe, do you? Have you been to a council meeting? This palace is a den of thieves, you know that, right? I imagine you’d be lost if it was stolen, wouldn’t you? Couldn’t change then, could you?”

“What do you want us to do about this serpent?” asked another wizard while Gaison still reeled under the spate of questions from the first.

He turned away from the redhead faster than was strictly polite. “I need to destroy it, and I was hoping you might have some ideas.”

“As a general rule, when the great serpents begin hunting in shipping lanes, it’s easier to move the shipping than the serpent.” The youngest wizard looked up from the massive book in front of him and Gaison caught a glimpse of an illustration of a ship split in two—very much like what had been reported happening in the Caitlaine Strait. “Is that possible?”

“Not this time. Her Majesty doesn’t want to lose Barravista.”

“I imagine Barravista doesn’t want to be lost, does it?” snorted the redhead.

“No. But neither,” Gaison added pointedly, “do we want to lose more ships or more lives. They’re going down with all hands, and I have orders to stop it. It seems the only way to stop it is to destroy the serpent.”

“The only way? The only way?” A wizard wrapped tightly about with strips of blue cloth rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that just like the army.”

“Navy.”

She ignored him. “The only way is destruction! Typical. Honestly. It takes your arm, you take its life.”

“What?’ He glanced down at his pinned sleeve then up at the wizard. “I lost the arm in the last war. The serpent had nothing to do with it.”

The redhead snorted again. “So you say.”

Nodding and grumbling, four of the six wizards returned to what they’d been doing when he arrived. The fifth continued snoring and the sixth squared his shoulders.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the youngest wizard said. “I had an uncle on the Dawn Arrow.”

Gaison had almost reached the shipyard when he realized the wizards had given him an answer.

“What do you mean we don’t have to destroy it?” Admiral Buryl growled.

“It’s the ultimate solution, sir, but until we can work out how, what we really need to do is get ships through to Barravista and home again.”

“You’re trying my patience, NcTran.”

“Sorry, sir.” Gaison straightened involuntarily, as though he were back on board ship being chewed out by the mate. “If the great serpents don’t normally attack shipping because there’s so little food return for the effort they put out, what we need to do is draw the serpent away from the ship with food that won’t require much of an effort. Decoy food.”

“Decoy food?”

“Yes, sir. When the serpent is spotted, half a dozen of my people will hit the water and lure it away from the ship. They’ll lose it in the shallows off the west end of Barravista, follow the shoals around to the harbor, and pick up the ship for the trip back where they’ll do the same thing.”

Heavy brows drew in. “You can order your people to be sea serpent food?”

“Decoy sea serpent food, sir. I’m pulling six of my best off intelligence work. After all, we excel at getting away.” He glanced over at the admiral’s aide, who colored.

Buryl stared at the map, at the blocks of wood that represented three ships lost with all hands, at the outline of the island cut off from desperately needed supplies. “They’re sure they’ll be fast enough?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Gaison rubbed at the stump of his left arm. “Unfortunately, there’s only one way to find out.”

“There’s another problem. Your report mentioned that the lookout didn’t see the serpent until it surfaced for the attack. That’s too late to decoy it away.”

“It is well camouflaged, sir, but I think I have a solution. It doesn’t go deep because it doesn’t like the cold, and so it tends to stay just under the surface where there’s some warmth from the sun. . . .”

“Wait.”

Gaison fell silent while the admiral gathered his thoughts.

“If it can swim that shallow,” Buryl asked after a moment, “how can your people lose it in the shoals?”

“Shallow’s not the same as just under the surface, sir. Something that big needs a lot of water around it.”

“Yes, well, you’d know,” the admiral grunted, his gaze flicking over the other man’s bulk. “Carry on, then.”

“The lookouts couldn’t see the serpent because of their angle . . .” He sketched it in the air. “. . . and the reflection of light on the water, but if we brought in some aerial support . . .”

“What did you have in mind, NcTran?”

“We borrow a couple of Hawk-eyes from the army.”

The waves remained ever changing, no section of the sea the same twice, but Donal NcAylo was positive they were nearly at the point the Dawn Arrow had gone down. “Anything yet?”

“No. Nothing. There was nothing half a second ago and there’s nothing now.” Somehow, the Hawk-eye managed to glare even through her feathered blindfold. “When I see something, you’ll be the first . . .”

“What?” he demanded in the pause.

“I see something.”

Donal stepped away from the scout and peered up at her hawk—a black speck growing larger as it broke off its search pattern and dove toward the sea.

“It’s the serpent.” The Hawk-eye cocked her head. “Damn, that thing’s huge.”

“Starboard side, people! Let’s move!” He slipped out of his breeches as his team joined him. “Remember we’re going to draw it as deep as we can. The cold water will slow it down.”

“Big snakes don’t like the cold,” his brother Eryc muttered as he stripped.

“That’s not what I’d call a big snake,” a cousin snorted, glancing at his crotch as she tossed her clothes onto the pile.

“Keep your attention on the job,” Donal reminded them. “Maintain formation as long as possible; we want it to think it can get us all in one mouthful.” Scooping up his skin, he went over the rail, aware of his team hitting the water behind him even as he changed to seal-shape.

A quick surface to check position—no mistaking Eryc, he was a big man and a bigger seal—then a deep breath and, digging at the sea with his flippers, Donal led his team toward the serpent.

When he heard the hawk scream a warning, he rose just far enough to fill his lungs then, nostrils clamped shut, he slid down into the trough of a wave and dove. Felt the others dive behind him. Felt currents shift and eddy as death changed course.

Donal tipped the whole formation deeper—left flippers up, right down, powerful tails beating against the sea—and felt the water begin to cool. The serpent followed.

So far, so good.

“Well, it’s not stupid, I’ll say that much for it, but it is hungry, so the plan worked.” Donal accepted the mug of sweet tea with thanks and all but gulped it down. “Worked better on the way there than the way back though, Gaison. If Kytlin hadn’t rolled back and slammed it in the eye, Eryk’s rear flippers would have been a mouthful shorter.”

“She damage it?”

The younger man shook his head. “Startled it is all, threw it off its stroke. Fortunately, we know these waters and it doesn’t, so we worked the currents and got clear.” He held out his empty mug.

Gaison took it, refilled it, then walked over to the window. He could see the tops of masts in the harbor, smell the salt, hear the gulls, and wanted nothing more than to swim away and leave the serpent for someone else to deal with. “Can you do it again?” he asked without turning.

“What, now?”

“We’ve had information that Navareen is planning to send two ships out and around to attack Barravista from the west.” Gaison turned then, his hand falling to stroke the sealskin lying on the end of his desk. “Her Majesty is sending two of the new warships out to defend the island.”

Donal’s dark eyes narrowed. “They’ll be stationed there? With full war crews?”

“Yes.”

“That’ll mean . . .”

“Supply ships will have to run more frequently, yes.” He waited while Donal thought it through, weighing the condition of his team against need.

“Will the army let us keep the Hawk-eye?”

“The army has volunteered another two pairs.”

“Really?”

“No.” Donal’s expression forced out the first smile Gaison had managed in weeks. “But the admiral convinced the queen that we needed the air support, so the army had no choice.” Then he sobered. “I’m putting together another two teams, but it’ll take time to pull people from the water and replace them with . . .”

“The young and the old,” Donal filled in the pause.

“Younger and older,” Gaison corrected, praying the war wouldn’t last long enough to make Donal’s words true. “Next time you’re in, you’ll get leave, but this time . . .”

He scooped up the bag that held his sealskin and stood. “Duty calls.”

Eyrk’s luck ran out on the return trip. They lost two members of the second team the trip after that. The next trip ran clean. The next they lost another two and Donal lost a back flipper when he turned to help a cousin caught but not dead. The serpent had slid farther up onto the shoals than it ever had before. It wasn’t stupid. It was learning and it was losing interest in the decoys. The last team practically had to feed themselves to it to get it to follow. The only good news was that with the serpent in the strait the sharks stayed away, even when there was blood in the water.

Gaison finished his report for the admiral and worked the stiffness out of his hand. The ships were safe, but at what cost? His people, their numbers never large, were dwindling. His family mourned. They were not the only family mourning, of course. This war with Navareen was being fought, and men and women were dying in places other than the Strait of Catlaine, but there were damned few among his people not family by blood or marriage, so every death swept past them all like an icy current.

The serpent had to be destroyed.

Unfortunately, all the information he’d been able to gather suggested the serpent couldn’t be destroyed. They had no way to attack it underwater and it only surfaced when it attacked a ship. Conventional weapons were useless until it was close enough to drive blades up under its scales, and by then it was far too close for blades to matter.

It had no natural predators, and poison enough to kill it would destroy everything else living in the strait. Gaison had even asked the herbalist about poisoning himself and then diving into the sea to poison the serpent. She’d shaken her head and said, “If this creature is as large as you tell me, you could not swallow enough poison to kill it. Seven, maybe eight of your people, yes, provided it got you all down before it noticed how nasty you tasted.”

Seven or eight to save the rest. They hadn’t come to that yet, but they might. . . .

A tentative knock brought him back to his office. He waited for Jeordi to open the door, remembered Jeordi had gone to the strait, and barked, “What is it?”

A thin, almost familiar young man stuck his head into the room. It looked as though bits of his hair had been burned away. “Commander NcTran?”

No one used his rank as a title. “What it is?” he asked again, beckoning the young man in.

“I think I know how we can destroy the serpent.”

Gaison frowned as he shoved back his chair and stood. “You’re the sixth wizard.”

“Alaster Grant.”

Of course he had a name. And, apparently, a solution.

“It’s a variation on the time delay spell we set up for the catapults. We tuck it into a heavy load, something that’ll sink fast, and, at the same depth as the serpent swims, it’ll explode.”

“Explosions underwater?”

“Yes. It’s the depth that sets the spell that blows the charge.”

“What if the serpent changes depth?”

“Each spell can be set before it’s fired.”

“The explosions will disorient it,” Gaison allowed. “Might give the ships time to get clear.”

Alaster straightened thin shoulders. “Pack the load with nails. It may do more than disorient it.”

Gaison grinned and grabbed the young wizard’s arm. The scorch marks on his robe matched his hair. “I like the way you think. Come on.”

“No! I couldn’t find anyone to get you! I’m not supposed to be out of the workshop!”

“Workshop be damned, lad. You’re going to sea.”

“I’d feel better about this if we could take a few practice shots,” the Weapons Master on the Dark Dancer grunted, glaring at the wizard once again bending over the rail.

Jeordi shrugged, tugging the heavy fleece robe tighter around his shoulders. He was too old to stand in a northeast wind wearing nothing but breeches. “Alaster says the spells are hard to set, and this . . .” A nod toward the row of eight depth charges. “This is all we have.”

“Better be enough or your lot’ll be freezing your tails off in the water.”

“We’ll be warmer in sealskins,” Jeordi told him. “And the colder the water gets, the better our odds of outswimming the serpent.”

The Weapons Master turned his scowl on the four men huddled around the Hawk-eye, their bulk shielding her from the worst of the wind. “No women in this group.”

“No.” Just younger and older men. Young and old men soon enough if the serpent wasn’t stopped.

“Are we there yet?” Alaster moaned, staggering back, wiping his mouth.

Before either Jeordi or the Weapons Master could answer, the Hawk-eye stiffened and cried, “Serpent!”

Jeordi grinned. “That would be a yes.”

Firing coordinates came from the bird struggling to maintain position in the chill wind, to the Hawk-eye, to the Weapons Master. There was no need to reset the first spell; unsuspecting, the serpent cruised at its usual depth.

The explosion to larboard was muffled but near enough to the surface that a geyser of water shot up tying sea to sky.

“It didn’t like that!” the Hawk-eye called, as someone cheered from the forecastle. “It’s turned. New coordinates—left about twenty degrees, maybe three meters deeper.”

Brow furrowed, Alaster laid his hands on the charge.

The second shot drove it deeper still. The third . . .

“I can’t tell for sure . . .” the Hawk-eye cocked her head as her bird barely skimmed the tops of the waves, “. . . but I think it took damage!”

The fourth went off close enough to the ship that there was a series of small thuds below the waterline and the fifth blew another geyser.

Then a long silence as half the crew of the Dark Dancer watched the bird, wheeling against low gray cloud, and half the crew watched the Hawk-eye.

“I can’t see it,” she said at last.

“Is it dead?” the captain called from her place by the helm.

“I don’t think so. But it’s gone!”

“What if it comes back before we get clear of the strait?” Jeordi asked under the cheers.

The Weapons Master shrugged. “Then we hit it again.”

“And on the return trip?”

They looked together at the three remaining charges and then went to rescue Alaster from the enthusiastic congratulations of the crew.

Injured or cautious, the serpent stayed well away for the remainder of the voyage into Barravista. For the five days in port, Jeordi’s team escorted the wizard from one celebration to another. Feted by sailors and locals both, Alaster was so overwhelmed by the attention that Jeordi was amused to note he actually welcomed their return to the Dark Dancer, even if it meant a return to hanging over the rail.

When the Hawk-eye spotted the serpent on the trip back to the mainland, everyone watched and waited, breath held, as Alaster laid shaking hands on the first charge and reset the spell.

“It’s turning. Heading aft!”

The second charge arced over the stern, disappeared beneath the waves, and blew a column of water nearly the serpent’s height into the sky.

“It’s not coming any closer!”

“Hold that last charge!” the Weaponsmaster bellowed. “Keep it in reserve until that monster comes closer in!”

A day and a half later, they sailed into the harbor with the last charge still loaded but unfired. The serpent had followed at a cautious distance to the edge of the deep water. Once or twice it lifted its head above the waves and fixed the ship in an onyx gaze as though trying to work out just how exactly its intended prey was connected to the noise and pressure and pain, but it came no closer.

The captain had sent a bird when they reached safety, and Gaison was waiting on the pier.

“Not dead, but definitely discouraged,” Jeordi called as his commander came aboard. “Alaster’s done it. The strait is ours again.”

“Glad to hear it.” Gaison gripped his cousin’s shoulder, then turned his attention to the wizard. “The admiral wants you with him when he speaks to the queen. Her Majesty will be well pleased with what you’ve accomplished, Your Wisdom.” He grinned as Alaster looked startled at the honorific. “I expect she’ll want to reward you before you head back to Barravista.”

“Back?”

“Well, I imagine Her Majesty will eventually order at least one of the other wizards shipboard, but for now, you’re it.”

“Me?”

“The Sea Vixen leaves tomorrow on the late tide.”

Eyes wide, Alaster clutched at Gaison’s sleeve. “But we’ve only one charge remaining!”

“Here.”

“No. Well, yes, but here is all there is. I only had ingredients to make the eight before we left.”

Gaison stared at the wizard, at Jeordi, and, just because he needed a few moments more to gather his thoughts, up into the rigging. “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll tell the admiral you need more time, and he can delay the Vixen until she can be armed. While you’re building new charges, you’ll put together a workshop so that while you’re at sea everything but the final spell can be reconstructed, ready for your return. How much time do you need?”

“Two of the elements are very rare . . .”

“You’ll have access to all the manpower you need,” Gaison told him. “How much time?”

“Six or seven months.”

“What?”

“Five,” Alaster squeaked, taking a step back. “Five, if the army has retaken Harstone and reopened the mines.”

“Six or seven months!”

The army had not retaken Harstone.

Alaster ducked behind Jeordi as Admiral Buryl stomped around his office growling curses under his breath. The admiral had gone to sea at fifteen and he had an extensive list of profanity to work through. Finally, he wound down, took a deep breath and glared at his head of Naval Intelligence. “Now what?”

Gaison glanced at his cousin. “My people go back in the water, sir,” he said.

“Will that even work?” the admiral demanded. “Suppose the serpent thinks, ‘Aha, those seals are in the water again. There were no explosions when they were in the water before so there’ll be none now and I can go after that ship.’ You said it was already losing interest in the decoys.”

“Yes, but I don’t think it thinks like that.” Gaison half shrugged as the admiral’s brows rose dramatically. His job was to know, not to think, and to find out if he didn’t know. Unfortunately, in this situation they had theories but no facts.

“It was hanging back on the return trip,” Jeordi offered. “Maybe that last charge might discourage it permanently.”

“Maybe. Might,” the admiral grunted. “I can’t risk crews on a maybe or a might. The only way to permanently discourage that monster is to destroy it.”

“If the serpent would swallow a charge . . .” Alaster began, flushed and fell silent as the other three turned to stare.

“Go on,” Gaison prodded.

The youngest wizard looked as though he wanted to run, but he cleared his throat and finally managed to keep talking. “Well, if it would swallow a charge, it’s possible that at a certain depth, when the spell went off, its physiognomy would react violently.”

“Its what?”

“Its, um . . . its physical construction.”

“How violently?”

“Ka boom. Where the ka refers to the charge blowing and the boom to the serpent.”

“How possible?”

Alaster cleared his throat again. “Fairly.”

“Would you risk your life on it?” Admiral Burl demanded.

After a long moment, Alaster nodded.

“If we could get it to open its mouth,” Gaison began.

“It would be easy enough to slap it in before the spell went off,” Jeordi finished.

“Easy,” the admiral snorted. But he didn’t argue. “I assume this puts your people back in the water, NcTran.” He drummed his fingers against his desk. “One question. If it’s lost interest in the decoys, how do your people get it to open its mouth?”

Gaison rubbed the stump of his left arm. “We make it an offer too good to ignore.”

“I can’t believe Admiral Buryl agreed to let you do this,” Jeordi muttered, head sunk deep within the high collar of his robe. “Setting yourself up as bait is completely insane. You’re in no kind of shape to be doing this.”

“If I was in shape,” Gaison reminded him, “this wouldn’t work. And besides, it’s not like I’ll be swimming alone—there’ll be others in the water.”

“And a sea serpent!”

Feet braced against the movement of the deck, Gaison ignored his cousin’s protest the way he’d been ignoring his protests ever since he’d floated the plan. He’d always been among the larger of his people and the last decade of relative inaction had helped to pack on more bulk. The serpent would not only see a large, meaty seal, it’d see a large meaty seal missing half a front flipper. Food that had no chance of getting away.

“What if it sees the charge?”

“What? With me there to snack on? I doubt it.”

“All right, what if you can’t get clear? What if it takes you as well as the charge? What if Alastar’s wrong and there’s just ka, not ka boom?”

“Then it looks like you get my job.” When no response was immediately forthcoming, Gaison clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Look at the bright side; we’re almost in sight of land with no sign of the serpent.”

And right on cue, from the crow’s nest: “Land ho!”

Jeordi peered toward the low smudge of gray on the horizon. “Do you think it’s gone?”

“Serpent! Starboard side!”

Gaison tightened his grip as the Hawk-eye tightened her bird’s pattern. “Actually, no.”

“This is insane,” Jeordi repeated when Gaison dropped his robe.

Gaison ignored him as Alaster handed over a slightly scaled down charge hammocked in a length of net.

“It’s set to go about six meters down,” the wizard told him, pointedly not looking toward his stump. “You need to . . . it’s just . . . I mean . . . Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Sealskin in his hand, net in his teeth, he waited until the others were all in the water and moving into position before he followed.

He missed the sea when he wasn’t in it, and he wasn’t in it much these days. When this was over, one way or another, he’d spend more time in the water. Net still clenched in his teeth, charge dangling below him, Gaison pushed himself forward and down with his tail, right flipper sculling back hard to keep him swimming in a straight line.

He could feel the serpent drawing closer and every instinct screamed at him to turn and swim for his life. Down as far as he needed to be—below the serpent but above the depth to set the spell—he paused, hanging in the water, the charge hanging down by his tail, his single front flipper driving him around in a flailing aimless circle.

Sharks would find the preformance irresistible. What large predator could resist prey already maimed?

Maimed, undeniably, but he’d had years to practice and adapt. When he finally came around to see the serpent diving for him, mouth gaping, he stopped his spin, flipped back and, releasing the net, slapped the charge right into the serpent’s mouth. If he also emptied his bladder, no one needed to know.

The charge clanged off a row of serrated teeth and bounced down the creature’s throat. Gaison knew that for a fact because he was staring right down that throat. Then two lithe forms slammed into him from below, driving him toward the surface. One of the longer teeth dug into his side as he twisted to clear the upper jaw. He rose in a haze of blood as the serpent continued down, too big to change direction immediately.

Two more dark shapes darted past, wedge-shaped shadows in the deep and the serpent, cheated of a sure meal, followed.

Gaison knew it the moment Alaster’s charge went off, knew it because with his two minders moving him toward the ship, he was free to twist his head back in time to see the great tail come whipping up toward the surface. He pushed the boy on his right hard away and rolled with the one on his left tight against his body. They fought turbulence sucking them under and down and had no idea how close they were to the ship until they slammed into it, his wound darkening the water with another cloud of blood.

Nostrils still clamped shut, he struggled to the surface pulling the stunned young seal with him. Heaving the limp body up onto his shoulders, he rolled it into the net and found himself rolled in turn by the second boy. By the time the sailors pulled them on board, the serpent had stopped writhing.

“I don’t see it,” the Hawk-eye announced.

Gaison shrugged out of his skin and stood, blood dripping to the deck as he counted his people. His two, one of them not happy but alive. One of the two who’d led the serpent deeper. Two short.

Barking from the larboard side drew everyone across the deck and the two uninjured seals went back into the water to help roll a bleeding body into the net and then roll in after it.

“This isn’t a wound I can treat a on a seal,” the ship’s medic protested, so they pulled Jeordi out of his skin and wrapped a leather belt lightly around the stump of his leg.

“The serpent?” he gasped.

Gaison shook his head and turned toward the wizard.

“There was no boom,” Alastar said miserably. “There should have been a . . .”

The water on the larboard side of the ship suddenly erupted. Chunks of scaled meat slammed into the deck.

A moment later, there was only an oval of white foam bobbing on blue-green waves.

“I suspect that was your boom,” Gaison said dryly, lifting the wizard back onto his feet.

Alaster stared down at the bloody mark where a fist-sized piece of meat had slammed into his chest. “Ow.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a bigger piece.”

“I know, but . . .” He lifted his head, eyes suddenly widening. “It worked.”

Gaison nodded, suddenly very, very tired. “It worked.”

The wizard frowned as he counted the hunks of meat. “But the serpent was huge. Enormous. This can’t be all of it.”

“The rest of it sank,” the Hawk-eye told them, holding her arm out for her bird. “Three, maybe four big sections heading for the bottom.”

“It’s dead, then?”

“Idiot,” Jeordi hissed through clenched teeth.

The cheering started then and continued into Barravista. This time, without an escort to run interference, Alaster lasted three days before he staggered back to the ship and hid out with the injured. Gaison sent a sloop out with birds to carry the message to the admiral and the queen.

A week later, after a heavily laden caravel came into port, the Vixen started home. Standing at the rail, watching the waves, Gaison realized that the serpent had gone down close enough to the Dawn Arrow that its body probably rotted on the seabed within sight of the first ship it had destroyed.

He couldn’t help but feel that Captain Harl would enjoy the view.