The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  Paragon dropped his jaw open wide. The sound that came from him vibrated the planks under Brashen’s feet, and then rose until it became a high ululation. Another deep breath, and then he cried out again, in a voice more like sea-pipes than a man speaking.

  In the silence that followed, Brashen heard Amber’s breathless whisper. ‘They hear you. They slow and look at one another. Now, they come on, but cautiously, and every one of them looks to you. They halt and fan out in a great circle around you. Now one comes forwards. He is green but gold flashes from his scales when he turns in the sun –’

  ‘She,’ Paragon corrected her quietly. ‘She Who Remembers. I taste her in the wind, my planks feel her presence in the water. Does she look at me?’

  ‘She does. They all do.’

  ‘Good.’ The figurehead drew breath again, and once more the cavernous language of the sea serpents issued from his jaws.

  Shreever followed Maulkin with heavy hearts. Her loyalty to him was unshaken; she would have followed him under ice. Shreever had accepted his decision when he surrendered his dominance to She Who Remembers. She had instinctively trusted the crippled serpent with a faith that went beyond her unique scent. The serpent herself inspired her confidence. Shreever felt certain that those two serpents together could save their race.

  But of late it seemed to her that these two leaders had given authority over to the silver ship called Bolt. Shreever could find no trust for her. Although the silver one smelled like One Who Remembered, she had neither the shape nor the ways of a serpent. Her commands to the tangle made no sense, and her promises to lead them safely to a cocooning place always began with ‘soon’. ‘Soon’ and ‘tomorrow’ were concepts that the serpents could ill afford. The cold of winter was chilling the waters, and the runs of migratory fish were disappearing. Already the serpents were losing flesh. If they did not cocoon soon, they would not have the body reserves to last the winter, let alone enough to metamorphose.

  But She Who Remembers heeded Bolt, and Maulkin heeded her. So Shreever followed, as did Sessurea and the rest of the tangle. Even though this last command from the ship made no sense at all. Destroy the other silver ship. Why, she wanted to know. The ship had not threatened them in any way. He smelled of serpent, in the same confusing, muted way as Bolt did. So why destroy him? Especially, why destroy him but leave his carcass undevoured? Why not bear him down and share out his flesh amongst themselves? From the scent of him, it would be rich with memories. The other silver they had pulled down had willingly surrendered both flesh and memories to them. Why should this one be any different?

  But Bolt had given them their strategy. They were to spray the ship with venom to weaken its structure. Then the longer males were to fling themselves against the ship to turn it on its side. Once its wings were in the water, the smaller serpents could add their weight and strength to drag it down. There they must batter it to pieces, and leave the pieces to sink to the bottom. Only the two-legs could they eat. A foolish, deliberate waste of energy, life and food. Was there something about the ship that Bolt feared? A memory hidden in the silver ship that she did not wish them to share?

  Then the silver ship spoke. His voice was deep and powerful, shimmering through the water. It brushed along Shreever’s scales commandingly. She slowed, her mane slackening in wonder. ‘Why do you attack me?’ he demanded. In a harsher voice, he added, ‘Does he bid you do this? Does he fear to face me then, but sends others to do this task in his stead? He was not once so guileful about treachery. I thought I knew you. I thought to name you the heirs to the Three Realms. But they were a folk who served their own ends. They did not scurry and slither to a human’s bidding.’ His voice dripped disdain like venom.

  Abruptly the serpents were milling in confusion. They had not expected their victim to speak to them, let alone question and disparage them. She Who Remembers spoke for them all as she demanded, ‘Who are you? What are you?’

  ‘Who am I? What am I? Those questions have so many answers they are meaningless. And why do I owe you an answer, when you have not replied to my question. Why do you attack me? Do you serve Kennit?’

  No one replied to his question, but no serpent attacked either. Shreever spared a glance for the silent two-legs that clustered along the ship’s flanks and clung to his wing tips. They were unmoving, silently watching what transpired. They knew they had no say in this: it was business for the Lords of the Three Realms. What did his accusations mean? A slow suspicion grew in Shreever’s mind. Had the command to kill this ship truly come from Bolt, or from the humans aboard her? Shreever watched avidly as both She Who Remembers and Maulkin waited for the other to reply.

  But it was the white serpent, Carrion, who spoke. He had remained an outsider to the tangle, always on the edges, listening and mocking. ‘They will kill you, not at the command of a man, but because the other ship has promised to guide them home if they do so. Being noble and high-minded creatures, they immediately agreed to murder as a small price for saving themselves. Even the murder of one of their own.’

  The creature that was part of the ship spread wide his limbs. ‘One of your own? Do you truly claim me, then? How strange. For though with one touch I knew you, I still do not know myself. Even I do not claim myself. How is it that you do?’

  ‘He is mad,’ a scarred scarlet serpent trumpeted. His copper eyes spun with impatience. ‘Let us do what we must do. Kill him. Then she will lead us north. Long enough have we delayed.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ the white serpent chortled throatily. ‘Kill him, kill him quickly, before he forces us to face what we have become. Kill him before he makes us question what Bolt is, and why we should give credence to her.’ He twined himself through an insulting knot, as if he courted his own tail. ‘Perhaps this is a thing she has learned from her time infested with humans. As we all recall, they kill one another with relish. Have not we been assisting them in that task, all at Bolt’s behest? If, indeed, those commands come from Bolt at all. Perhaps she has become the willing pupil of a human. Let us show her what apt students we are. Kill him.’

  She Who Remembers spoke slowly. ‘There will be no killing. This is not right, and we all know it. To kill this creature, not for food nor to protect ourselves, but simply because we are commanded to do so is not worthy of us. We are the heirs of the Three Realms. When we kill, we kill for ourselves. Not like this.’

  Relief surged through Shreever. Then Tellur, the slender green minstrel, spoke suddenly. ‘What then of our bargain with Bolt? She was to guide us home, if we did this for her. Shall we now be left as we were before?’

  ‘Better to be as we were before we encountered her than as she nearly made us,’ Maulkin replied heavily.

  She Who Remembers spoke again. ‘I do not know what kinship we owe this ship. From all we have heard, we converse with death when we speak to these beings. Yet once they were of us, and for that we owe them some small respect. This one, we shall not kill. I shall return to Bolt, and see what she says. If this command comes from the humans aboard her, then let them fight their own petty battles. We are not servants. If she refuses to guide us home, then I will leave. Those who wish to can follow me. Perhaps what I recall will be enough to guide us. Perhaps not. But we will remain the heirs of the Three Realms. Together, we shall make this last migration. If it does not lead to rebirth for us, it will lead to death. Better that than to become like humans, slaughtering our own for the sake of personal survival.’

  ‘Easily said!’ trumpeted an orange serpent angrily. ‘But harder to live. Winter is here, prophet, perhaps the last winter we shall ever know. You cannot guide us; the world is too much changed. Without a sure guide, to go north yet again is to die. What real choice have we but to flee to the warm lands? When next we return, there will be far fewer of us. And what will we remember?’ The orange swivelled her head to stare at the ship coldly. ‘Let us kill him. It is a small price for our salvation.’

  ‘A small price!’ A long scarlet serpent agreed with the
orange. ‘This ship who gives us no answers, not even his name, is a sacrifice for the survival of our kind. She Who Remembers has said it herself. When we kill, we kill because we choose to do so. We kill for ourselves. This will indeed be for ourselves, to buy survival for us all.’

  ‘Do we buy our lives from humans, paying with the blood of our own? I think not!’ The mottled saffron serpent who challenged these words did so with mane erect. ‘What will come next? Will humans command us to turn on one another?’ In a display of disdain, the challenger shook fish-stun toxins from his mane onto the red.

  The long red serpent retaliated, shaking his head and spattering venom wildly on his neighbours. Almost instantly, the two serpents locked in combat, wrapping one another and releasing spray after spray of venom. Others darted into the conflict. A drift of toxin hit one of the giant blues, who reacted reflexively with a stinging spray of his own. Furious with pain, a green closed with him and wrapped him. Their struggle thrashed the water to white foam, driving lesser serpents to collide with others, who sprayed or snapped in response. The chaos spread.

  Over it all, Shreever heard the bellowing of the silver ship. ‘Stop! You injure one another! Kill me if you must, but do not end yourselves in this useless wrangling!’

  Did one of the serpents take him at his word? Was the drift of venom that brought hoarse screams from him an accident? Too late to wonder, useless to know. The silver ship bellowed his agony in a human voice, flailing uselessly at the burning mist. The cries of humans were mixed with his, a wild pitiful screaming. Then from the deck of the ship, a winging arrow skipped over Shreever’s hide and bounced harmlessly off Maulkin. The futile attack on their leader enraged the agitated serpents. A score of them closed on the hapless ship. One immense cobalt rammed it as if it were an orca, while several lesser ones spattered venom at him. They were not accustomed to fighting above the Plenty. The fickle winds of the upper world carried most of their spray back into their own faces. It only increased the frenzy of the attack.

  ‘Stop them!’ Maulkin was roaring, and She Who Remembers lent her voice as well. ‘Cease this madness! We battle ourselves, to no good end.’

  Carrion’s voice rang out over all of them. ‘If Bolt wants this ship killed, let her do it herself! Let her prove herself worthy of being followed. Challenge her to the kill!’

  It was his words, rather than those of the leaders, that damped the frenzy. Sessurea wrapped two struggling serpents and carried them down and away from the ship. Shreever and others followed his example, dragging the combatants down and away into the calming depths until they could master themselves.

  As abruptly as the attack had begun, it ceased. ‘I don’t understand.’ Brashen staggered to the railing and stared incredulously at the serpents as they flowed away from his ship. ‘What does it mean?’

  Clef stared up at him in white-faced relief. He clutched at his scalded forearm but still managed a grin. ‘Means we don’t gotter die yet?’

  The length of the ship, men were screaming and staggering. Only two archers had been hit with a direct spray of the stuff, but the drift had debilitated many. Those who had been affected writhed on the deck, pawing uselessly at the corrosive slime. ‘Don’t rub your injuries! You’ll only spread the stuff. Seawater!’ Brashen bellowed through the confusion. ‘Get the deck pumps going! Every man who can manage a bucket! Wash down the figurehead, your mates and the deck. Dilute the stuff. Scramble!’

  Brashen quickly scanned the water, hoping for a glimpse of Althea’s boat. He had seen her regain command of it. While the serpents surrounded Paragon, she had turned back towards Vivacia. The dazzle of sunlight on the waves and the moving, flashing backs of the serpents surrounding the other ship dazzled his eyes. Where was she? Had she reached safety? It was a physical wrench to turn his back on the water. He could do nothing for her; his immediate duties were closer to hand.

  In several places, the railing and the deck smoked with the cold burning of the serpent’s venom. Brashen seized a bucket of seawater from a passing hand and took it forwards to the figurehead. Amber was there before him. She dashed a bucket of water over Paragon’s steaming shoulder. As the seawater carried away a gelatinous mist of serpent venom, the whole ship shuddered in relief. Paragon’s keening dropped to panting moans. Amber turned to Brashen and tried to take the bucket he held. His breath seized in his chest. ‘Stand still,’ he ordered her gruffly, and upended the bucket over her head.

  Great hanks of her hair flowed away with the running water. On the left side of her body, her clothing hung in steaming tatters. That side of her face was rippled with blisters. ‘Strip off those clothes, and wash your skin thoroughly,’ he ordered her.

  She swayed where she stood. ‘Paragon needs me,’ she said faintly. ‘All others have turned on him. Every family, every kin he has ever claimed have turned on him. He has only us, Brashen. Only us.’

  Paragon suddenly turned a pocked and steaming face towards them. ‘I do need you,’ he admitted hoarsely. ‘I do. So get below and strip off those clothes before the venom eats you through.’

  There was a sudden shout of horror from Clef. He was pointing with a shaking hand. ‘Ship’s boat, ser! A serpent’s tail struck it, en they all went flyin’ like dolls! Right into the middle o’em serpents. En now I ken’t see’m atall.’

  In an instant, Brashen stood beside him. ‘Where?’ he demanded, shaking the boy’s shoulder, but all Clef could do was point at nothing. Where the boat had been there was now only the colourful rippling of serpent backs and glittering waves. He doubted Althea could swim; few sailors bothered to learn, claiming that if one went overboard, there was small sense in prolonging the agony. The weight of her clothes would pull her under; he groaned aloud. He could not let her go like that, yet to put out another ship’s boat into that sea of serpents would simply murder the men he sent.

  ‘Up anchor!’ he shouted. He would take the Paragon in closer to Vivacia and search the stretch of water where Clef had last seen them. There was a tiny chance they remained alive, clinging to the capsized boat. Pirates and serpents notwithstanding, he’d find her. He had to.

  Kennit watched the oncoming wave of heads and gaping maws and tried to keep his aplomb. The distant screaming of his ship crawled up his nerves and grated against his soul, waking memories of a dark and smoky night years ago. He pushed them away. ‘Why do they return? They have not finished him.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘I thought they could do this swiftly. I would have a quick end to this.’

  ‘I do not know,’ Bolt replied angrily. She threw back her head and trumpeted at the oncoming serpents. Several of them replied, a confusing blast of sound.

  ‘I think you will have to vanquish your own nightmares,’ the charm informed him quietly. ‘Behold. Paragon comes for you.’

  In a moment of great clarity, Kennit watched the ship ponderously swing in the wind, and then start towards him. So. It was to be battle after all. Perhaps it was better that way. When the battle was over, he would tread Paragon’s decks once more. There would be a final farewell, of sorts. ‘Jola!’ He was pleased that his voice rang clear and strong despite how his heart shook inside him. ‘The serpents have done their task. They have weakened and demoralized our enemy. Prepare the men for battle. I will lead the boarding party.’

  Brashen should have noticed that despite all the roaring and thrashing, the serpents were not attacking Vivacia. He should have noticed the pirates massed along the railings as Paragon came alongside. His eyes should have stayed on Kennit’s ship instead of searching the water for Althea. He should have known that a truce flag was no more than a white rag to the pirate king…

  The first grapples hit his deck when he thought he was still out of their range. Even as he angrily ordered them cleared away, a line of archers stepped precisely to Kennit’s railing. As Brashen shouted that they searched for survivors, arrows flew, and his men went down. Men who had survived the serpents’ venom died shocked deaths as Brashen reeled in horror at his ow
n incompetence. More grapples followed the first, the ships were pulled closer together, and then a wave of boarders swung from their rigging into his. Pirates were suddenly everywhere, pouring over his railings and onto his decks in a seemingly endless wave. The defenders were pushed back, and then their line broke and became small knots of men struggling against all odds to survive.

  Paragon bellowed and thrust and parried with a staff that found only air. From the moment the first grapples were thrown, victory was an undreamt dream. Paragon’s decks soaked up the blood of the dying and the ship roared with the impact of the losses. Worse was the sound that reached Brashen’s ears with the relentless whistling of a wind in the rigging. Vivacia cried out in words both human and alien as she urged the pirates on. Almost he was glad Althea had perished before she had heard her own ship turn against them.

  His crew fought bravely and uselessly. They were outnumbered, inexperienced, and some were injured. Young Clef remained at his side, a short blade in his good hand, throughout the heartbreakingly brief struggle. As the wave of boarders engulfed them, Brashen killed a man, and then another, and Clef took out a third by hamstringing him but got a nasty slash down his ribs for his bravery. More pirates simply stepped over the bodies of their comrades, blades at the ready. Brashen grabbed the boy’s collar with his free hand, and jerked him back behind him. Together they retreated through the disorder, fighting only to stay alive, and managed to gain the foredeck. Brashen looked down at a deck fouled with downed men. The pirates were in clear command of the carnage; his own men were reduced to defending themselves or scurrying like chased rats through the rigging as laughing freebooters hunted them down. Brashen had thought to call out commands to re-form his fighters, but a single glance showed him no strategy could save them now. It was not battle, but slaughter.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to the bleeding boy at his side. ‘I should never have let you come with me.’ He raised his voice. ‘And I’m sorry, Paragon. To bring you so far and raise such hopes in us both, only to end like this. I’ve failed you both. I’ve failed us all.’