‘It seems so,’ shrugged the Boarlord, slightly ashamed by the lack of perceived threat he’d posed to Count Vega. ‘Well, you should be proud, Drew. You caused all kinds of trouble in the hold. You’d brought down a crate of Spyr Oil flasks on to your head. When we got you clear, you were delirious, didn’t know who or what or where you were. You’ve been under its influence for three days now, this being the first time you’ve fully and properly regained consciousness. If a normal man had taken a hit like you did, I imagine his brain might have exploded.’
‘Three days? How many days in the last month have I been comatose?’ Drew almost laughed with the notion, but the humour couldn’t quite break the surface.
‘Gretchen cleaned you up. Between the two of us we’ve been looking after you.’
‘Thank you. Both of you,’ he said, making extra effort to extend his appreciation towards Gretchen. ‘Is he really taking us to Leopold?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Gretchen. ‘We’ve spent these days in the count’s company, talking with him over breakfast, lunch and dinner, and he’s immovable on the subject. He sees this as being a way of getting his precious Cluster Isles back.’
‘What’s the story with them?’ asked Drew, still trying to get a handle on their situation.
‘Well,’ began Hector. ‘Count Vega was one of your father’s allies back in the campaigns. I’ve never met him before, but I know enough about him from my father. He was the youngest sea captain in the navy, and came from a long line of noble stock from the Cluster Isles. I say noble, but they’re a pirate people, governing one another with ruthless duplicity. I mean, how can one govern pirates?
‘However, just when your father needed him most he betrayed him, selling precious information regarding the whereabouts of the Royal Fleet to Leopold when he saw the tide was turning. The story goes that he thought this would bring him even greater wealth than his Cluster Isles. The fleet was scuppered and Leopold sailed into Highcliff unopposed.’
Drew was beginning to wonder if any of the Lords of the Seven Realms had managed to avoid betraying Wergar. It seemed to him that the Wolf had been abandoned by his allies from all quarters in his darkest hours, which could be read one of two ways. Either Wergar was the maniacal monster that legend said he was, or King Leopold was a far more cunning beast than anything the Wolf had encountered in his many military campaigns. He’d underestimated the Lion, and it had cost him everything: his throne, his family and his life.
‘And what was Vega’s reward?’ continued Hector. ‘He was banished from setting foot in Highcliff – the new King Leopold said any man prepared to sell out his king for the promise of gold could not be trusted. He didn’t want him anywhere near his court. The king sent a governor to the Cluster Isles, and since then Vega has been forced to wander the White Sea, privateering in the king’s name, bringing loot to His Majesty and then heading out to sea again. With no home beyond the wooden frame of this ship he’s a drifter and a traitor.’
Drew was surprised to hear Hector pulling no punches. He clearly despised Count Vega, his language full of spirit and anger. Still, Drew wondered whether the count had been painted in a bad light by King Leopold, as he suspected his father had been. His head spun: who could he trust beyond Hector in this world of backstabbing, betrayal and side-switching nobles?
‘Have we really no hope of getting him to change his mind?’ asked Drew. ‘Surely a lifetime of sailing the ocean, banished by this tyrant king, has brought some sense to the man? Why should he want to help him when he’s clearly his enemy?’
‘Vega genuinely believes he can be redeemed in the king’s eyes, and thinks this is the way to do it,’ said Gretchen, interjecting. ‘This whole thing leaves my blood cold. I’m being bandied about like some rotten bag of bounty, handed over to the highest bidder. And neither of you, no matter how irritating I find you,’ she said directly to Drew, ‘deserves this fate.’
‘We could jump overboard,’ suggested Drew.
‘And swim where?’ asked Gretchen. ‘We’re miles out at sea.’
‘Maybe we could steal a boat?’ he chanced. ‘Do they have any rowing boats on deck?’
‘They do,’ said Hector, ‘but we’d have no hope of finding land without the proper navigational equipment and maps. Plus we’re on the Maelstrom, remember,’ he added.
‘What’s so special about the Maelstrom?’ asked Drew. ‘Have I missed something?’
‘Not that the man is averse to boasts,’ said Hector, ‘but if Count Vega told you that the Maelstrom was the fastest vessel in the ocean, he would be telling no word of a lie. It’s legendary. He can outrun anything in this ship, and chasing down a small boat piloted by three fugitives would be next to no challenge at all.’
As if he needed further evidence of how great a boat this was, Drew set off to the doorway to make his way up on deck. The other two followed, close behind him. Winding his way through a corridor he walked up a flight of slatted wooden stairs and into the bright sunlight beyond.
The Maelstrom was indeed magnificent. Men raced around the rigging and decks, hurrying about their business, paying the three new arrivals no attention at all. Drew noticed that Gretchen had told no word of a lie – two of the sailors walked by with great scars across their faces, the skin still pink and sore from the passage of her sharp claws.
Three huge masts reached up into the sky, the tiny figure of a boy in the crow’s nest visible to Drew, silhouetted against the sun. Eight great sails were taut with a favourable wind at their back, urging the Maelstrom through the waves of the White Sea. Drew peered over the side of the ship towards the sea below, where white foam and spray erupted from the surface of the water. A row of cannons could be seen intermittently poking out of her side, the wind whistling musically over their open ends.
Drew looked up, dizzied by the size of the ship. Nobody challenged him; nobody paid him any attention; nobody saw him as a threat. He was a toothless wolf to these men. And there, standing proud on the deck of the ship, clutching the wheel, stood Count Vega, Pirate Prince of the Cluster Isles, Lord of All He Surveyed. He smiled at Drew, revealing those perfect white teeth, as the Maelstrom made for Highcliff and the king.
4
Talking to the Departed
On the sixth day at sea, the Maelstrom had dropped anchor just off the small island of Cutter’s Cove. It was a small but frequently visited port for those who sailed on the White Sea, providing both a place to gather provisions as well as an opportunity to drop off goods to prospective business partners. Count Vega rarely missed an opportunity to stop there; the sea captain had explained that he had a crate of dates and fine wines to deliver to the island’s governor. The three captives had overheard a different reason as to why the Maelstrom had stopped in the port, as some of the deckhands gossiped about Count Vega’s relationship with the governor’s wife.
Other ships were anchored nearby, also making the most of what Cutter’s Cove had to offer. While some were traders’ vessels, others belonged to fellow pirates, the trio was informed, an uneasy amnesty in place while the sea captains were ashore.
Drew, Hector and Gretchen remained on the ship, tantalizingly close to the relative freedom of Cutter’s Cove. While there were hills and wilds on the island where they might seek sanctuary, it would only ever be temporary. The concerted efforts of a search party would soon find them, as the island was only about five miles across at its widest point. Their best hope would be to try to board another ship destined for the mainland, but the sea captain had left strict instructions in his brief absence. Not only were they to stay aboard the Maelstrom, but his crew were to watch them at all times, leaving no chance to make a break with a rowing boat.
While the majority of the crew had little to do with the captives, there was one who had taken a bit of a shine to Drew. The lookout, a ten-year-old boy by the name of Casper, had gone out of his way to bring food and drink to him at every opportunity, sitting with him and asking questions while he ate. At fi
rst Drew felt no inclination to chat with the boy – every inch a pirate in the making, Casper was cocky, mouthy and more than a little full of himself. It struck Drew that with a captain like Count Vega as a role model, it was no surprise that Casper was turning out this way.
With that in mind he’d engaged the boy in conversation frequently, answering questions about his own childhood back on the farm, and even recounting some of the adventures he’d got himself into in the last few months. The boy had warmed to these tales and eagerly devoured them. All the while Drew gently poked and prodded at Casper’s conscience, challenging him about his choices in life that had brought him here on to the Maelstrom, a fugitive from the law.
On this occasion he found the boy sitting on a flimsy wooden plank suspended over the bow of the ship by a couple of wooden ropes that were lashed down to the forecastle deck. A bucket swung from another rope as the boy scrubbed away at the figurehead beneath the glare of the sun. Drew leaned over the railing.
‘Could you not find a more perilous job?’
Casper looked up suddenly, a smile shooting across his freckled face.
‘This ain’t dangerous,’ said the boy as the waves lapped against the Maelstrom’s hull twenty feet below. ‘You want to try it when she’s breaking waves with the wind in her sails!’
‘What was it that attracted you to this life, Casper?’
‘Attracted me? I ain’t here outta choice, boss. The Captain, he took me in when I was a nipper, didn’t he?’
‘Took you in?’
‘My family were killed by pirates, see. The Captain took me in.’
‘Was it his pirates that killed them?’
Casper shrugged.
‘Does it matter? He didn’t have to take me; could have left me to die but chose not to.’
Drew cocked his head with interest. Count Vega, a seemingly selfish man, showing compassion? Or guilt?
‘Doesn’t sound like the fellow I’ve met,’ said Drew, eager to see how the boy might respond. Casper stopped to momentarily mop his brow and look up.
‘Don’t get me wrong, boss,’ he said, a gap-toothed grin expanding across his face. ‘He can be a real monster. I’ve seen him cut a man in two for cheating at a game of bones. You wouldn’t want to cross him. But …’
‘But what?’ asked Drew, prompting the boy further.
‘But he’s the closest thing to family I got, ain’t he? There’s a kind heart in there, boss. Swear to Sosha there is.’
‘Hold on to that thought,’ sighed Drew quietly, choosing not to press the lad any more. His own thoughts fluttered away on the wind, back to the old farmhouse on the Cold Coast. ‘Family is precious, for sure.’
Drew also found himself more frequently in the company of Gretchen, as Hector had locked himself away in his chambers to write and meditate. The Boarlord was frightened – Drew knew this – and for good reason. They were two days’ away from Highcliff, and both knew what fate awaited them when the king finally received them. If Hector chose to spend this time in his own company, reflecting upon the decisions that had led him here, then Drew couldn’t stand in the way of that. There was no harm in going to see him, though, in case the Boarlord wanted to get anything off his chest. Drew made his way into the belly of the ship and headed for his friend’s bedchamber. He rapped his knuckles on the door.
‘Hector,’ he called. ‘Are you there?’ He tried the handle, but it was locked.
‘Just one moment,’ his friend responded.
Drew heard movement from within the room and the sound of furniture being shifted. It took the Boarlord a while to open the door; what was he doing in there? When it opened, Drew found the cabin was dark, the curtain drawn over the porthole. The bed was still made, and Hector’s satchel lay open on the bedspread, some of the contents within spilling out.
‘What have you been up to?’ asked Drew, walking past his friend and making for the window. He grabbed the curtain and pulled it back, letting the sun’s rays stream into the room. Hector squinted at the harsh light, shuffling to sit on the bed.
‘Just sleeping,’ said Hector. ‘I’m tired.’
Drew looked at the bed again, unruffled and covered in the satchel’s contents. Not quite true, he thought.
‘I was worried about you,’ he said, sitting in a swivelled leather chair like the one in his own room. Papers littered the Boarlord’s writing table, scribbled ink notes in a language Drew didn’t recognize adorning each page. ‘You know, if you want to talk about anything, I’m here.’
‘I know,’ said Hector, stifling a yawn. ‘But, really, don’t worry about me. I’m just a little weary.’ He stretched, his heels catching on the round rug at the foot of his bed, the edge of which was folded up. Drew could just make out a line of yellow powder that had been scattered on the floorboards beneath it. He jumped up and grabbed the rug, pulling it clear and causing Hector’s feet to fly into the air.
‘Drew, no!’ he cried, but it was too late.
A circle of brimstone had been carefully traced on to the floor; within its centre smaller circles with wax symbols were melted into the grain of the boards. A black candle rolled out from where it had been stowed under the lip of the rug, proof if Drew needed it that his friend had been practising magick.
‘What have you been doing, Hector?’ he demanded.
‘Nothing,’ said the Boarlord, shaking his head. ‘Don’t worry, please, Drew. I’ve caused no harm to myself or anyone on board the ship.’
‘But brimstone? The candle? Have you been communing with the dead?’
‘Yes,’ said Hector, his head hanging shamefully.
‘But why?’ asked Drew. ‘You saw how dangerous it was last time. That shaman’s corpse would have killed you if I hadn’t been there. Why would you put yourself – and everyone else – in peril again?’
‘But I know where I went wrong last time, Drew. I didn’t pay the ceremony enough respect; I was careless. This time I haven’t made the same mistakes. I’ve been careful,’ he said, striding to the table and picking up a clutch of papers. ‘These are my own notes on the ceremony, with revisions and safety measures in place to ensure I don’t lose focus again.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said Drew. ‘Not one bit. Have you been speaking to the shaman? What on Old Brenn’s earth could he tell you? This is madness!’
‘I’ve been speaking to my father,’ replied Hector in a quiet, tremulous voice. ‘I’ve been saying goodbye to him.’
Drew fell silent. His shoulders sagged with heartbreaking sympathy. He walked over to his friend, his arms open, and hugged him to his chest.
‘Oh, Hector,’ he said, as the other started sobbing. ‘I am so sorry. I … I didn’t realize …’
‘You weren’t to know,’ sniffed the Boarlord. ‘And yes, I am ashamed. But I needed to say goodbye, needed to know he was at peace. And he is, Drew. He is. He wants me to forgive my brother; can you believe that?’
‘Well, I can see his point, difficult as it is to take. Vincent was only doing what he thought was best for your family.’
‘For himself,’ snapped Hector, not quite ready for forgiveness it seemed. He looked at Drew, his face pale, a sheen of sweat leaving him looking quite sickly.
‘So how did you speak with him?’
‘I climbed into the circle this time. It’s not dangerous when communing with a loved one. It’s only when the line is broken and you’re contacting a dark spirit that you put yourself in danger. I do not fear my father’s ghost. He can sleep now, Drew. He can be at peace.’ Hector rubbed at the dried wax on his left palm, peeling it off in great clumps. The black mark still remained there, Drew noticed, larger now thanks to the new burns.
‘And will you be at peace now, Hector?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he replied sheepishly.
‘You’ve had a lot to deal with lately, my friend. You’ve lost everything, and in no small part thanks to me.’
‘Drew,’ said Hector, placing a hand on to his shoul
der and giving him a reassuring squeeze. His eyes suddenly lit up, his voice strong and sure. ‘You have to understand, whatever I’ve lost and however I’ve suffered, it pales into insignificance compared to your lot. What you’ve been through – and survived – it makes my head spin. I couldn’t have done it. I don’t think you realize just how important you are, Drew.’
Drew began to shake his head, but Hector continued.
‘The Seven Realms of Lyssia are in pieces thanks to Leopold, crushed by his greed and cruel rule. I know you wanted none of this, Drew, but even as a reluctant hero look what you’ve done for folk.’
‘I’ve done nothing.’
‘You saved the lives of a scout and his apprentice. You showed the people of Oakley that they could make a stand. You vanquished the Wereserpent, defeated her Wyldermen and saved Gretchen’s life. And you helped a cowardly Boarlord find a backbone too. You have an effect on everyone you come into contact with. There’s a ripple effect, Drew, and your influence is spreading. Just imagine what you could have achieved if you’d had a plan.’
‘A plan?’
‘Yes – you’ve let fate bring you this far and cast you into these predicaments. The people of Lyssia are crying out for a hero, someone who will stand up to the king. Until your arrival it never looked like that would happen. I read the history books and prophecies in Redmire’s library. Those writings are littered with predictions for this, “the Age of the Catlords” – dragons waking, the dead walking, brothers battling, a great werewar – who knows how many will come true? But most magisters share the belief that one was certainly true. The old scriptures spoke of a Champion of Light, who would make a stand against the Dark. I think that champion is you, Drew.’
Drew smiled but Hector wasn’t joking. He spoke earnestly, sniffing only occasionally as he wiped away the tears. Drew was shocked to hear the Boarlord speak so passionately. He seemed slightly delirious; perhaps he’d spent too long in the spirit circle.
Rise of the Wolf Page 23
