‘I didn’t know how that would play out,’ Drew muttered. ‘I won’t take a life without just reason.’
‘I could have told you the crimes those three committed in the outside world before you were led into your pen, Wolf,’ said Krieg. ‘That may have made your decision to fight that bit easier.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All three were murderers. They were bought by Ignus to perform. None will leave alive.’
‘Seems Ignus might have done something right there,’ said Drew.
‘Ignus serves himself when buying the lives of these killers,’ said Stamm. ‘His reasons are entirely selfish. He wants the very best killers to walk on to the red clay and do battle.’
Drew looked over his shoulder, spying the human gladiators still watching him.
‘They knew Djogo. Did the slaver fight here in the past?’
‘He used to be one of them, a gladiator, and a fine one for a human,’ said the Wererhino, snorting as he threw his rice down his throat. ‘Kesslar struck a deal with Ignus, buying the man and making him his own. Djogo’s worked his way into a position of power for the Goat by all accounts. He’s the exception to the rule.’
‘He’s a ruthless killer,’ said Drew. He hadn’t seen the slaver since the fight in the Furnace. He wondered what had become of him.
‘The young Wolf catches on fast,’ chuckled Stamm, scooping the remainder of the rice out of his own bowl. The Buffalo shoved it into his wide mouth, slurping the last grains from his thick, dirty fingertips.
Drew shook his head. ‘Why did Ignus throw him into the arena?’
Krieg leaned across the table, keeping his voice low. ‘Ignus and his brothers own everything on Scoria. Anyone who comes here is a guest of the Lizards so long as they remain in favour. It appears Kesslar displeased Ignus when his star gladiator failed to live up to expectations. That would be you, of course.’
Stamm added his voice. ‘In Ignus’s eyes, the Goatlord deceived him. He took Djogo as payment for Kesslar’s bad business. You cost the Lizard a great deal of gold, Wolf.’
Just then the Behemoth came over, sitting down at the opposite end of the table from them. Drew felt the bench bow as he took his seat.
‘Won’t you join us?’ asked Drew, making the most of the thaw in relations between the therians.
The Behemoth turned slowly as he was about to take his first mouthful of food. The man’s eyes were spaced further apart than one might expect on a human, and his skin had a hard, hide-like quality, as if whatever beast he was remained hidden just below the surface. Without speaking, the Behemoth rose. Any fears Drew had that he’d offended the giant disappeared, as he paced further down the long table to join them, the ground trembling beneath his footsteps.
‘Thank you,’ said the Behemoth as he sat. ‘Am I joining you to dine, or for something else?’
Stamm and Krieg looked at one another, unsure what to make of the Behemoth’s question. Drew wasted no time.
‘What else could you be joining us for?’
‘The grand speech you made the other day – I dismissed it as sunstroke initially. But now I see you’re a man of conviction. You really intend to escape the Furnace, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
Stamm waved his hand dismissively. ‘You waste your words; talk of escape is futile.’
‘How is it futile?’ said Drew urgently. ‘I was told the Werelords were noble; look what you’ve been reduced to!’
‘Be quiet, boy,’ said Krieg, big lips curling back to reveal teeth like blocks of granite. The therians may all have been wearing silver collars, but each was more than capable of killing Drew in human form if they put their mind to it. Nevertheless, Drew would not back down.
‘You’ve become used to fighting alone, looking after your own skin in the Furnace. But imagine what we could do if we were to combine our strength and make a stand! Do you not want to see your homelands again?’
‘Our homelands are enslaved, just as we are, Wolf,’ said Stamm. The laughter that had earlier been evident had disappeared, the Werebuffalo’s thick mane casting shadows over his face once again, sad eyes drooping as he stared at the floor. ‘Do you think Lyssia is the first of the Catlords’ conquests?’
‘The boy does not speak for me,’ said Krieg, shaking his head.
‘If we escape the arena, we can work together, Krieg. We can unite against our common enemy. You risk your life every time you enter the Furnace. Why not risk it for something noble for once?’
Krieg snatched angrily at Drew, but the young Werewolf was too quick for the Rhino, dodging out of reach. The debate was descending into a fight.
‘Leave the Wolf alone, Krieg,’ said the Behemoth. Krieg growled and snorted, bringing his fist back but keeping his glare on the young man.
‘He’s right,’ the giant continued quietly. ‘Each of us has been dragged to this purgatory. We all have scores to settle with Ignus and his friends, like Kesslar and the Catlords.’
‘And where would your grand plan start?’ asked Stamm, his voice a whisper.
The Behemoth sighed. ‘Thinking was never my strength. My strength … would be my strength.’
Drew looked around the ludus at the other gladiators. Galtus and Obliss couldn’t be trusted, but there had to be other humans present who wanted to escape. He saw Taboo eating at another table with Drake. His eyes suddenly recognized a familiar face, being led out of the small surgery tent at the rear of the ludus by master Griffyn.
‘Excuse me,’ said Drew, rising immediately and making his way between the tables, ignoring the jeers of Galtus and Obliss on one side and the Apes on the other.
Griffyn was in deep conversation with his man, heads close together as they spoke quietly. Drew slowed his pace. The two appeared to know one another very well. The aged gladiator had his arm around the other’s shoulder in a fashion more familiar than Drew might have expected. Almost paternal, thought Drew. He thought back to the rare occasions as a boy when Mack Ferran would put a consoling arm around him when he was hurt. He stepped before the two men, who looked up with a mixture of surprise and shock. Griffyn seemed flustered.
‘Can I help you, boy?’ asked the wiry old man, his hands scratching at the silver collar that encircled his ragged throat. So Griffyn’s a therian, thought Drew. Yet Ignus ensures the collar remains round his neck. It seems freedom in Scoria still comes with conditions attached. The man beside him wore a newly forged collar of iron.
‘You might be able to,’ said Drew, before turning to the Furnace’s latest recruit. The man stared back at Drew with one good eye, the other missing from a recent fight. ‘But it’s Djogo I really wanted to talk to.’
6
Song of the Sirens
She swam in a lake, crystal clear waters breaking with each stroke of her arms. The shore was comfortingly close by; the silence deafening yet beautiful. She was alone, the only soul in the world, content with her solitude. Rolling over, she made a series of backstrokes, her hands cutting through the heavenly water and propelling her gently backwards. She looked up at the sun, its warm rays invigorating and caressing her from above. She let her arms trail as she kicked her feet, turning once more on to her chest, allowing a giggle to escape her lips. She dipped her head beneath the water and opened her eyes.
The darkness consumed her. If the surface world was the beautiful day, the terrible night lurked in the depths. Black shapes moved in the deep, snaking their way up, up through the black water, up towards her. Slits of light broke the shadows, opening into round globes of light. Eyes: terrible pale eyes with pinprick pupils. She struggled to return to the surface, hitting a sheet of glassy ice above. Beyond, she could see the sunlight, tantalizingly out of reach. She hammered the ice with the balls of her fists, her lungs bursting, trying to find an escape route. She looked down once more into the darkness, as the first of the phantoms took a grip on her legs,
its claws cutting deep into her flesh, and a scream burst from her mouth in a cloud of bubbles.
Bethwyn’s eyes flicked open, the nightmare replaced by the cabin’s darkness. She looked to the bunk opposite, the sleeping form of Queen Amelie faintly visible in the gloom. She reached a hand beneath the covers to feel her legs, the sensation of the monster’s claws still evident on her skin. Finding no wounds, she relaxed once more, her head collapsing on to her pillow.
Sleeping on board the Maelstrom was proving difficult for the young Wildcat. Having grown up on an island in the middle of a lake, her father, Baron Mervin, the Lord of Robben, had regularly taken her boating. They were good times, happy times. But life on board the pirate ship was quite different from a lazy day on the lake.
She’d felt no split loyalties when Leopold had been overthrown. Although she shared the felinthrope heritage of the Catlords, their similarities ended there. The Wildcats were creatures of the north, native to Lyssia; they had as little in common with the Cats of Bast as with the Dogs of Omir. Mervin had wasted no time in swearing allegiance to Lord Drew, returning home to Lake Robben after the uprising, leaving his daughter behind to care for his queen.
With only Amelie and the staff of Buck House for company, Bethwyn had found herself looking forward to the visits of Baron Hector. He’d been a frequent visitor to the Staglord mansion in Highcliff, often on official business with Drew. She sensed he’d wanted to make a formal introduction to her, but the shy Boarlord had never seized the moment back in the city. Even now, on board Count Vega’s ship, he struggled to find something to talk about with her.
Starting in the morning, she made a silent promise to make more effort with the magister. There was something there – it just needed coaxing out. Bethwyn’s heartbeat began to slow again, as sleep promised to return.
Then she heard it.
Initially she dismissed it as the sound of the waves lapping against the Maelstrom, sloshing against the thick timber hull. Yet the noise was constant, a gurgling sound shifting from high to low, as water might disappear down a drain. There was something musical about the sound, an undulating rhythm that built gradually, as if in a chorus. Soon the noise was all around her, crawling through the cabin and creeping through the shadows.
Bethwyn swung her legs out of the bunk and dropped to the floor. She reached for the lamp that swung from the ceiling, unhooking it and turning up the burner. The light chased the darkness away, as the queen stirred in her cot.
‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘What’s the matter, Bethwyn?’
‘Don’t you hear it, Your Majesty?’
Amelie lay still, a hand shielding the light from her face, listening intently. Her eyes widened as the gurgling sound registered. The queen pushed the covers away and climbed out of her bed, joining Bethwyn barefoot on the floorboards. She took her robe, wrapping it about herself, while her lady-in-waiting picked up her own cloak.
‘That song,’ said the queen. ‘Where’s it coming from?’
The girl opened the cabin door a crack, expecting to see crew members rushing by to investigate the strange sounds. The corridor was empty.
Bethwyn turned to the queen. ‘Please, Your Majesty, remain here while I investigate.’
Amelie shook her head. ‘If you think I’m going to allow you to go up there alone, you’re sorely mistaken, my girl. I’m coming with you.’
The women walked along the corridor, the ship’s constant creaking adding to the sinister chorus that filled the air. Bethwyn leaned against the wall as she advanced, one hand trailing along the varnished wood as she drew closer to the steps that led to the main deck. Taking hold of the rail in her free hand she rose up the staircase towards the open air. The hatch door was swinging on its hinges, left open to the night.
The men of the Maelstrom were gathered on the deck, standing like statues in the fog. They swayed with the motion of the ship, shifting like a field of barley. The sound was louder now, clearly coming from the sea, surrounding the ship.
‘What’s the matter with them?’ asked the queen.
Each man stood as if under a spell, mesmerized by the gurgling drone as it came high and low through the cold night air. Bethwyn spied Hector and Manfred among them, the Boarlord and old Stag still wearing their nightshirts. She moved through the crew towards the magister, manoeuvring in front of him.
Hector’s face was slack, his mouth parted slightly, eyes staring through her like she wasn’t there. She waved her hand across his field of vision, but he didn’t even blink, as if hypnotized. Bethwyn took his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze – nothing. She raised his wrist up and gripped harder, digging her nails in – no reaction. She glanced down at the palm, shocked to see a dark mark that filled it like an ink-stain.
‘Bethwyn!’ called Amelie fearfully.
Bethwyn looked for the queen, unable to see her through the bewitched crew and the unnatural fog. She kept hold of Hector’s hand and began to lead him, his steps clumsy and staggering, as if sleepwalking.
‘Your Majesty?’
‘Bethwyn!’ A scream now.
She moved fast, dragging Hector behind her like a stumbling corpse, bumping into the crew, none showing any reaction. Bethwyn burst from their midst, the magister coming to an immediate halt beside her. Queen Amelie was retreating from the railing on the port side of the Maelstrom. The gurgling chorus had grown louder still, rising from the depths and rolling over the decks. Bethwyn moved in front of her queen, raising the lantern to provide illumination.
A scaly green hand clung to the rails, webbing spanning the gaps between each clawed finger. Another hand lurched up beside it, this time the forearm reaching over to grasp an upright post. A dark shape followed, its head looming from the mist as its torso came over the side. Scales covered the creature’s entire body, its squat skull sunk low between the shoulder blades, merging with its chest. Two enormous eyes the size of saucers blinked at the lantern light, as the beast’s mouth hung open, the terrible song guttering from its throat through a maw of needle sharp teeth. Seaweed hung from the creature like an emerald shawl, clinging to its skin as it landed with a wet thump on the deck.
Bethwyn and Amelie screamed and clung to one another as the monster crawled towards them. From below its waist they could see the beast had a fish’s body that snaked along the deck, flapping movements propelling it forward as its clawed hands dug into the decking. A long spiked dorsal fin ran along its spine to an enormous tail, the fin rattling as it advanced. Bethwyn spied pendulous breasts hanging from its chest.
‘Get back!’ she screamed, swinging the lantern, causing the beast to back up, its song lifting into a gurgling screech. The chorus grew from every side of the ship as Bethwyn and Amelie looked about. With rising dread the women saw more of the shapes emerging over the side. Still the crew remained motionless, oblivious to the nightmare that unfolded around them.
‘What are they?’ came a shout above. Bethwyn glanced up, spying the shape of the boy, Casper, straddling the spar overhead. Like the women, he seemed immune to the ghastly song of the creatures.
‘Stay where you are, child!’ warned Amelie.
The women moved closer to the sailors, bumping into them as the creature nearest closed in. Another joined it, this one slightly different in shape and colour, its skin a mottled red. She could hear them crawling over the decks, surrounding the crew.
‘There must be nearly twenty of them, ma’am!’ gasped Casper, his voice tearful. ‘They’re going for the lads!’
One of the sailors suddenly went down, caught in the grip of one of the sea creatures. He was quickly followed by another and in seconds, six of the men had been thinned from the crowd. None cried out. All the while the creatures sang as they tossed the sailors over the side.
The swinging hatch door slammed open suddenly as Count Vega emerged on deck. He wore his leather breeches and nothing else, having been rudely woken by the commotion an
d not a moment too soon. Cutlass in hand he leaped forward towards the nearest creature, which reared up on its tail. He lunged in, catching the creature across the belly, the cutlass splitting the flesh. The monster’s arms shot out, grabbing the sea captain by his shoulders and pulling him towards its jaws. Vega began to transform instantly, chest and shoulders rippling and causing the beast to lose its grasp. He brought his head down, mid-change, butting it in the face, its teeth scraping furrows across his brow as its mouth crumpled. The two tumbled to the deck, Vega having badly underestimated the strength of the beast.
‘Captain!’ Bethwyn cried, moving to help the Wereshark, whose changed head now emerged from the violent struggle.
‘Get back!’ he yelled, his monstrous mouth flying down to bite at the creature’s throat. Black blood fountained, spraying the count and the deck around him as the beast clawed wildly at the Shark’s face.
More creatures appeared, avoiding the two women, skirting around them as they went for the men instead. Bethwyn stepped forward as the one they’d first encountered hissed, clawing at the motionless Hector beside her.
‘No you don’t!’ she shouted, smashing the lantern over the creature’s head. The Spyr Oil within erupted, sending flames over the beast and back across Hector. Monster and magister shrieked at the fire, Hector waking instantly. He swiftly patted down the flames, trying to comprehend what was happening.
‘What in Brenn’s name is that?’ he gasped as the burning sea creature thrashed about, its face aflame.
Bethwyn noticed that the guttural singing had ceased, the creatures now distracted by their fight with the Wereshark and her fire.
‘The lantern!’ called Amelie. ‘They’re afraid of the flames!’
Bethwyn snatched up the broken lantern from the floor, sloshing the remaining oil at another beast. It roared and recoiled as the oil burst into flame, scuttling away in terror. Still it was not enough. The men continued to fall and the creatures departed with their prizes. But now the crew were being woken up by the noise and heat of the battle. They were confused and terrified but instead of being dragged over the side, limp and lifeless, they now screamed, kicking and clawing at the creatures as they tried to wrestle them overboard.
Shadow of the Hawk (Book 3) Page 9
