Shadow of the Hawk (Book 3)

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘Luck didn’t enter into it, Fisk,’ said the elderly Ransome, captain of the Leviathan. ‘It wasn’t chance that you were led into those rocks. Your enemy knew the battlefield. If you’d held back as I commanded the Ace might not have been reduced to driftwood. Stop whining; you were well beaten.’

  Vega smiled. ‘What can I say? I know these waters. Now if you’re quite done, I’d like to hear about your masters.’

  Captain Fisk laughed haughtily, spitting at the Sharklord. ‘We won’t tell you nothin’, fish! The Kraken’ll fillet you when he finds you!’

  Hector shivered to think about what fate the Wolf’s Council might face should they fall into the hands of the Squidlord Ghul, known throughout Lyssia by his nickname the Kraken. Ghul’s reputation was fearsome, built upon a lifetime of tyranny across the White Sea, showing little mercy to those poor souls he plundered. The Squidlord had been the eyes and ears of King Leopold, the Werelion, for many years, taking all that had once belonged to Count Vega in the process.

  Vega nodded. ‘Yes, yes, so you keep saying. The Kraken this, Ghul that, blah blah, cut me up – all very tiresome! You forget that forty-faced fool used to work for me; I know the squid all too well.’

  ‘Then you know he don’t take kindly to disappointment.’

  ‘Well he should prepare himself for a world of disappointment if he thinks his army of sprats will ever catch the Maelstrom. Last chance, Fisk: what are Ghul’s plans? What does his fleet consist of? Tell me and I’ll spare your life.’

  ‘I’d sooner embrace Sosha,’ snarled Fisk defiantly, throwing the sea goddess’s name in the Sharklord’s face once more.

  Vega’s cutlass flew from its scabbard, sliding gracefully into the man’s heart and out again in a fluid motion. The assembled crowd gasped, none louder than Queen Amelie. The captain of the Ace o’ Clubs collapsed to the deck, dying eyes wide with disbelief.

  He’s a cold-hearted monster, whispered Vincent to Hector. The young Boarlord nodded slowly as the Sharklord flicked the blood from his blade. His chief mate Figgis stepped over Fisk’s body, giving it a couple of kicks as he rolled it along the deck and hauled it over the side. Vega turned to Captain Ransome who stared back calmly.

  ‘Been a while, Eric,’ said Vega.

  ‘Indeed, lad. You’re still painting the sea red, then?’

  ‘Only when I have to, old friend.’

  ‘Spare the talk of friendship, Vega, if you’re going to do me in like that idiot Fisk.’

  ‘He had it coming. Parlay will only protect a pirate for so long, captain. This is war, after all.’

  ‘You’re on the wrong side, Vega,’ sighed Ransome. ‘You saw what sailed north from Bast. I heard what the Catlords did to your sorry fleet. There’s good money to be made working for the Cats. Perhaps it’s not too late. Maybe Lord Onyx can find a place for you in his navy.’

  ‘I’ve burned my bridges there, Ransome. I’ve sided with the Wolf, if you couldn’t already tell. I’m not sure the Catlords are as forgiving as you believe. A man is judged by the company he keeps, and I fear my choice of friends tells a terribly sorry tale.’ He waved a hand in the direction of Hector, Manfred and Amelie.

  Ransome nodded. ‘Shame. You’re a good captain. It would have been nice to sail alongside you once again.’

  Vega crouched in front of the old pirate. His skin had taken on a grey hue, eyes darkening. Sharp white teeth glinted within the shadows of his face. ‘Ghul’s plans, Ransome?’

  The captain of the Leviathan shivered, a lifetime serving the Werelords of the Sea still no preparation for the sight of one on the change. ‘Half of Onyx’s fleet has returned to Bast, the remainder is mooring up in Highcliff. It’s unlikely they’ll leave port until their cargo returns.’

  ‘Their cargo?’ asked Hector.

  ‘Bastian warriors: thousands of ’em. Seems the Cats are making Westland their own.’

  ‘So who patrols the White Sea?’ said Vega.

  ‘A handful of Bastian dreadnoughts are out there, but for the most part it’s the pirates of the Cluster Isles. Ghul’s sat on his backside for too long, growing fat on taxes he claimed in Leopold’s name. Onyx has set him to work, now.’

  ‘Doing what?’ asked Manfred.

  ‘Hunting you.’

  Amelie gripped the Staglord’s arm, face blanching.

  ‘There were only three of you,’ said the Sharklord. ‘Where’s the rest of your fleet, Ransome?’

  ‘There’s maybe twenty ships between Vermire and Blackbank, putting the word out that the Maelstrom’s a wanted vessel. There’s a bounty too; you’ll have every privateer in Lyssia hunting you before long.’

  ‘He sees the Maelstrom as that much of a threat?’ marvelled Vega.

  ‘He sees the Wolf’s Council as the threat. As long as the councillors live he sees Lucas’s kingship as under threat.’

  Hector’s ears pricked up at mention of Werelion Prince Lucas potentially being king. Having served his magister’s apprenticeship under the Ratlord Vankaskan, the young Boarlord had spent a great deal of time in the prince’s company. He had endured the young Werelion’s violent temper throughout his teenage years, and had finally been saved from the Catlord’s cruelty when Drew had crashed headlong into their lives. A bully and a brat, Lucas had been spoiled by his father and his planned marriage to the Werefox, Lady Gretchen, had been scuppered by the uprising of the Wolf’s Council.

  But what has happened to Leopold if his son now stands to inherit the throne? Hector thought, glancing at Queen Amelie, the Lion prince’s mother.

  ‘Lucas?’ said Amelie. ‘What of Leopold?’

  ‘Dead, Your Majesty,’ said Ransome respectfully. He might have been a pirate but he recognized royalty when he saw it. Manfred embraced her as she buckled at the news.

  I didn’t see that coming, brother, hissed the vile. It sounds like the Werepanther has taken the Lion cub under his wing. See how the old woman sobs! Her record for keeping husbands alive is decidedly poor!

  ‘How did he die?’ whispered the queen.

  ‘Duke Bergan killed him, they say, although the king slayed the Bearlord in the process.’

  Hector felt dizzy suddenly, the news of Bergan’s demise hitting him like a hammer-blow. He glanced at Manfred who looked back pale-faced. The Stag and the Bear had been like brothers. Such news so soon after the death of his younger brother, Earl Mikkel, would wound Manfred deeply.

  ‘What was Ghul’s last command?’ asked Vega, pushing past the dreadful news.

  ‘Follow the coast. Get word to the Isle of Moga, bring the Sturmish pirates on board. If the price is right Baron Bosa might aid us.’

  ‘He’ll never join the fray,’ said Vega confidently. ‘He’s a diehard neutral, that’ll never change.’

  Vega had told Hector about the Whalelord Bosa on the journey. Another old friend of his father’s – the Sharklords were well known across the White Sea it appeared – Bosa would deal with any party if there were money to be made. He’d retired from piracy long ago, although there were many villains who took their booty to the old Whale. Vega had intended to visit Bosa, but Hector now wondered whether avoiding Moga altogether might not be a better idea.

  Ransome shook his head, smiling grimly. ‘Your old man might have been friendly with Bosa once upon a time, Vega, but that’s history. Onyx is confident Bosa will sign up: it’s join him or sleep with Sosha. There are only friends and enemies in the Catlords’ world.’

  Vega flexed his cutlass blade in his hands, sharing a look with Hector and Manfred. Ransome looked up, eyeing the sword worriedly.

  ‘If you’re going to run me through, get it done would you!’

  Vega sheathed the blade, smiling at the Leviathan’s captain. ‘Fisk was an arrogant thug. He had it coming. You, on the other hand, Ransome, have my respect. I doubt you take a great deal of pleasure in hunting the Maelstrom and a few boatloads of townsfolk. I
give you the Leviathan back, your crew and the survivors of the Ace o’ Clubs and the Wild Fiddler. Your lives are your own. I don’t expect you to follow us; not only are you overladen with bodies, you have to replace those burnt sails before you can go anywhere.’

  Ransome looked astonished. ‘Thought you were going to do me in …’

  ‘You thought wrong,’ said Vega. ‘I do suggest you reconsider your decision, however, and certainly think twice about rejoining the hunt. If we should encounter one another again under these circumstances I’ll take great pleasure in tearing your throat from your body and feeding your guts to the gulls.’

  Ransome nodded, struggling to his feet as Figgis cut his bonds. ‘You won’t see me again,’ said the captain, but Vega was no longer listening, leading the Werelords away towards the rear of the ship.

  Hector fell in behind, passing his own men, Ringlin and Ibal, once henchmen of his brother, as he followed. The two men of the Boarguard looked up, acknowledging him briefly with nods.

  You seem to have straightened those two out, chimed the Vincent-vile. Do you trust them?

  ‘More than some,’ murmured Hector, his eyes on Vega ahead. Hector had once admired the count, the only fellow besides Drew who had ever stood up to Duke Bergan and the Wolf’s Council. He’d looked out for Hector when all others had deserted him. Drew was gone and the Bearlord had turned his back on him. Vega had been there for him when Vincent had been slain, disposing of the body, tidying up loose ends and remaining silent throughout.

  But as time went on, the debt he owed the count was becoming oppressive, weighing heavy on the young magister’s shoulders. Vega had betrayed his ‘friends’ before: the Sharklord had been the one to leave Highcliff undefended when King Leopold took the throne from the old king, Wergar the Wolf. Could Hector truly trust him? What was to stop Vega from selling Hector out and revealing his dirty secret, if the price was right? The idea of owing anyone anything, especially the Wereshark, was unbearable. He needed to pay the debt. He needed to be free of Vega.

  The nobles gathered on the quarterdeck, away from the activity below. Ransome and his men were already being transferred back to the Leviathan, which remained lashed to the Maelstrom by boarding ropes. None of the ship’s sails remained, the smouldering remnants hanging limply from the masts.

  ‘It’ll be days before they get her moving again,’ said Vega, looking down at the sea chart that was laid out over a raised hatch.

  ‘You realize he’ll send word straight to his masters?’ said Manfred.

  ‘By the time that old girl limps back into harbour we’ll be long gone.’

  ‘Is Bergan really gone?’ whispered Hector suddenly. Manfred and Vega looked at him, their faces grim as they nodded.

  ‘So it sounds, Brenn bless his soul,’ said Manfred.

  Vega placed a hand on Hector’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze. ‘Bergan would have wanted us to continue, Hector. We need to go on to Icegarden.’

  ‘Is that still the plan, then?’ asked the Staglord.

  ‘It has to be,’ said Hector. ‘We need to seek audience with Duke Henrik and find where his allegiance lies.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s feeling hospitable,’ said Manfred. ‘There’ll be plenty of folk looking for refuge in the Whitepeaks once the Catlords march through Westland. I’d imagine half of the Dalelands are already on their way after the Omiri Dogs tore a path across Lyssia.’

  ‘Death everywhere,’ murmured Amelie, staring at the map, her eyes moist. ‘It’s hopeless.’

  What think you, brother? Does she weep for Lyssia or her dead Lion?

  Hector ignored the vile, reaching a black-gloved hand across to take hold of the queen’s. She looked up at the young Boarlord.

  ‘Your Majesty, we must stay together, stay strong. We need to show the people that they don’t have to serve the Catlords – they have a choice. And Drew is out there, somewhere – he lives, I’m sure of it.’

  Amelie looked warily at Vega who kept his eyes fixed on the chart. ‘Do you feel no remorse, count?’ she asked. ‘Captain Fisk was unarmed; you could have thrown him in irons. You didn’t have to kill him.’

  ‘Please don’t shed tears for Fisk, Your Majesty. He was a killer.’

  ‘As are you, Vega.’

  He looked up from the map, nodding. ‘As am I, Your Majesty. Only I’m a killer who is on your side. We’re at war. Fisk’s fate helped loosen Ransome’s tongue, I’m sure you’ll agree. Please don’t lecture me on board my ship. The kings you married were hardly shy of bloodshed.’

  Amelie shuddered, releasing her hand from Hector’s and turned to her lady-in-waiting. ‘Come, Bethwyn,’ she said. ‘Let us return to our cabin. We might be stuck on board this cursed ship, but we can still choose the company we keep.’

  Lady Bethwyn curtsied to the men, and followed an angry Amelie as she departed. She flashed her big, brown eyes at Hector as she passed, causing his heart to flutter.

  That cow-eyed girl, Hector? And I thought you were toughening up. It seems you’re still soft inside, chuckled Vincent.

  ‘This “cursed ship” is the reason we still live,’ muttered Vega. He looked across to Manfred who was watching the queen depart.

  ‘Do you want to go with her, Manfred? Make sure she gets to her quarters all right?’

  The Staglord glowered back at Vega. Hector watched the two Werelords, the air crackling with tension. Manfred’s brow darkened, bumps beginning to appear beneath the skin.

  The antlers, gasped the vile. Here they come!

  ‘Watch your tongue, Vega,’ said the duke slowly, trying to keep the beast in check. ‘I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating.’

  ‘I insinuate nothing, Manfred. It’s clear to me you care for her, that’s all. As a friend, of course, nothing more,’ said the Sharklord.

  Your ridiculous little council is tearing itself apart, said the vile. Look at them, bickering over that old widow like schoolchildren. You’re doomed, Hector. All of you: doomed.

  ‘Shut up!’ he shouted, his black-gloved fist striking the map. Manfred and Vega both looked at him in surprise. Vega smiled before returning his attention to the sea chart.

  ‘Moga,’ he said at last, poking at the island on the map. Hector avoided Manfred’s gaze. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, but also something else. He may have spoken out of turn, but they’d listened to him; he’d silenced them. Am I indeed their equal?

  ‘Moga? Really?’ asked the Lord of Stormdale gruffly.

  ‘Onyx has yet to make the Whale his offer. If we get in early, who knows? Perhaps he’ll be struck by a rare moment of conscience. Maybe he’ll do the right thing.’

  ‘I would suggest we avoid Moga altogether,’ said Manfred. ‘Continue straight on to Sturmland. You’re inviting danger by going ashore in such a dangerous port. The forces of the Werewalrus, Lady Slotha, are harboured there, are they not?’

  Hector had heard all about Slotha, the Walrus of Tuskun. The tribal people of her remote region were known as the Ugri, fiercely loyal, owing more to the Wyldermen of the Dyrewood than the more civilized people of Sturmland. When Leopold overthrew the old king, Wergar the Wolf, she had sided with the Lion, gaining governance over the north-western tip of Lyssia in return for the muscle she added to the fight. In the following years she’d fortified her position in the frozen wastes, waging war on her neighbours in the Whitepeaks and striking fear into the hearts of sea traders. There was no love lost between the Walrus and the Wolf’s Council.

  ‘She has forces there, certainly, but Moga itself is still considered a free port. If anyone rules there, it’s Bosa. Let me speak with him, see if I can win his aid before Onyx comes knocking.’

  ‘We should sail on,’ said Manfred. ‘Hector; your thoughts?’

  ‘We’re low on supplies, Your Grace. We should stock up on fresh water and food. The few provisions we had on board when we left Highcliff are
virtually all gone.’

  ‘Besides which,’ said Vega, ‘our five fellow ships that fled Highcliff are ahead of us, somewhere. Chances are good that someone in Moga will have sighted them. Bosa has answers. Trust me, Manfred; we need to pay him a visit.’

  The Staglord massaged his brow between thumb and forefinger, the argument lost. ‘I think we’re making a mistake.’

  ‘We’ll take a couple of boats ashore. Hector – can you oversee the securing of provisions? Manfred – you and I shall speak with Bosa. We keep our heads down, keep a low profile.’

  Look at him, hissed Vincent. He’s enjoying this. Skulking about, piracy; he’s in his element. He’s pulling the strings, Hector. He’s in control now.

  Vega grinned at the Boarlord and winked slyly. ‘In and out. The Werewalrus Slotha won’t even know we’re there.’

  3

  The Black Staircase

  The drivers cracked their whips, urging the procession of wagons and horses onwards and away from the curving cliff edge. The wagon wheels found their way into the ancient ruts worn into the dark rock road by centuries of traffic. To the people of the island the circling road was known as the Black Staircase, running all the way from the harbour below, through the city, around the mountainous island.

  Drew pushed his face against the bamboo bars, looking down the cliff as the wagon he travelled in drove ever higher. There were six of them in the jail wagon, each equally miserable. No doubt Drew’s fellow slaves had been picked up by Kesslar on his travels, and each bore the scars of the journey. Battered and beaten, the men were weary with exhaustion and the long time spent in the hold of the slave ship. The Goatlord Kesslar travelled at the front of the procession in a sumptuous caravan, his ill-gotten gains of blood, flesh and bone following miserably behind.