Shadow of the Hawk (Book 3)

by Curtis Jobling

  All of a sudden the crowd shuffling up towards the gate seemed to get thicker, and Drew found himself separated by the pushing throng, which drove a wedge between him and his companions.

  ‘Djogo,’ called Drew, trying to catch the tall warrior’s attention, but he and the other crew members pulling the cart had fallen behind. Looking forward, Drew saw Shah had reached the guards and was trying to reason with a man who appeared to be an officer. The girl shifted in the Hawklady’s grasp, beginning to wake with the din of the crowd.

  Suddenly Drew found himself shoved to the front of the shouting and bickering traders, face to face with some more of the guards. One of them said something unintelligible to Drew.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand.’

  The guard’s officer overheard Drew’s remark, and left Shah momentarily, stepping closer to speak with the young Westlander.

  ‘You’re not Omiri?’ he asked, his voice thickly accented but understandable.

  ‘No,’ smiled Drew, awkwardly.

  ‘I tried to explain …’ called Shah, but the man ignored her.

  ‘Only Omiri enter Azra!’ said the man, harshly.

  ‘I don’t seek entrance!’ said Drew, aware that he was shouting and struggling to be heard. Both the officer and Drew caught sight of a scuffle taking place, beyond where Djogo and the men from the Banshee stood with the handcart. An altercation between merchants had descended into a fist fight. The officer looked back at Drew.

  ‘Then what do you seek?’

  ‘If you’d let me finish …’ yelled Shah, but the officer’s attention returned to the brawl. Many in the crowd were jeering as the merchants fought, the guards standing back while the men exhausted themselves. A fat slaver watched from his silk covered sedan chair, clapping with glee. The fight was spreading as a woman carrying a tall basket of fruit was knocked into. The basket tumbled, clattering into Djogo and the Banshee’s men, sending an avalanche of lemons over them. More fists flew as the woman’s companions joined the melee.

  ‘Who is this man?’ said the captain to Shah as he poked Drew’s chest.

  At that moment, the crowd barged into the fat slaver’s litter and sent it over, crashing into the handcart. A wheel sheared off, clattering over on to the wailing slaver’s body, while the Werelord’s corpse toppled from the broken cart on to the road. Several women in the crowd screamed, spurring the guards to push forward through the panicking mob. Soldiers and civilians instantly recognized the slain therian. Acting quickly, half the guards tried to hold the crowd back while others moved towards the men from the Banshee.

  At that moment, Djogo’s kash fell loose as he was jostled by the crowd.

  ‘Djogo!’

  The guards’ cries of recognition were not happy ones. They know him, realized Drew. Curse the man and his business with Kesslar!

  The soldiers immediately lowered their long spears and unsheathed their scimitars. In response, the tall, one-eyed warrior whipped out his own weapons. The crowd parted as the fist fight suddenly escalated into sword fight. Not prepared to leave their man outnumbered, the warriors from the Banshee withdrew their daggers and shortswords.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Shah, making a grab at the officer. With the fight spiralling out of control, the captain mistook Shah’s hand as an assault. He swung his arm back, scimitar pommel crashing into Shah’s forehead, sending woman and girl to the ground, instantly lost in the crowd.

  ‘Don’t harm them!’ shouted Drew, pushing past the guards to get to them.

  To his horror Drew found the commander now turning on him, taking hold and twisting Drew’s forearm in his grasp. He stumbled on to one knee, surprised at the other’s strength. The officer forced Drew’s hand up his back, the young man bellowing as he threatened to collapse. He couldn’t get into a fight, yet he couldn’t allow his companions to be harmed.

  ‘You don’t understand! We just want to leave the girl with you!’

  He tried to plead, but the soldier wouldn’t listen. Feet stamped around him as another turbaned warrior came forward, striking Drew over his head with the flat of his blade. Drew’s head rang as he collapsed on to the sand-covered flags and the officer jumped on him. Through the legs of the crowd, he could see Shah, trampled by the wild mob.

  Drew had no choice.

  The first notion the captain had that he was no longer wrestling with a human was when the arm he held twisted violently, throwing him one hundred and eighty degrees through the air. He landed with a crunch, his view of the world on its head as the beast rose to its full height, towering over him. The crowd screamed as the Werewolf roared.

  Drew’s eyes scanned the crowd around the overturned cart as they backed away. Djogo and the gladiators were being overpowered by superior numbers, and the guards had already removed Shah from the chaos. Of the child, there was no sign. Drew felt sick, having brought the girl to the gates of Azra only for her to be lost.

  Reinforcements flooded out of the gate as the Omiri circled him, scimitars and spears raised. They’d clearly fought Werelords before, and were treating Drew with a healthy dose of respect. He snapped his jaws, lashing out with the trident dagger while he frantically tried to decide what to do. Overhead, bowmen lined the walls, taking aim at the Wolf.

  Fools, he thought. Can’t they see we were bringing an innocent to them? But all the guards saw was a target that needed taking down. He needed to get back to the Banshee, regroup with the others, and find a way of rescuing their companions. He couldn’t be drawn into a fight here. These men were innocent – foolish, but innocent. He couldn’t take their lives.

  Dropping into a crouch he sprang backwards, high, narrowly avoiding the guards’ long spears before landing behind them. A dozen arrows rained down from the walls, half of them finding their target. The Werewolf crashed to the floor, the wind taken from his sails. The arrows weren’t silver, but they hurt. Drew cried with agony as he scrambled to his feet, body still aching from the river battle wounds.

  Drew stumbled down the Silver Road towards the port of Kaza, onlookers screaming and moving clear as he lurched along. The long spears flew, most hitting the paved road or bouncing off Drew’s thick, furred skin, but a couple punched their way home, breaking flesh and jarring bone. He howled, going down again.

  Booted Omiri feet surrounded him now as, dizzied, he tried to keep moving, willing his body on.

  ‘Wolf!’

  The shout came from the captain of the guard behind. The Werewolf looked back, guards parting to reveal the captured men of the Banshee. The captain forced Djogo to his knees, the prisoner’s hands tied behind his back. Raising his scimitar high, the blade hovered in the air above the ex-slaver’s neck, ready to fly.

  1

  Witness

  Looking back nervously, the young woman checked she wasn’t being followed as she hurried along the lurching corridor. Clutching the bottle of water, Bethwyn walked past the queen’s cabin and continued on, deeper into the belly of the Maelstrom. With a final glance to ensure she was alone, the girl from Robben opened the door to the dark cargo hold and slipped inside.

  Closing the door firmly, Bethwyn weaved between the lashed-down crates and barrels, gingerly making her way towards the prow. The hold’s contents were severely depleted, many weeks at sea having exhausted the Maelstrom’s provisions, leaving the pirates surviving on short rations and in desperate need of making land. Upon hearing the queen was thirsty, the ship’s cook, a gaunt fellow named Holman, had handed over the bottle to the lady-in-waiting, telling her to make it last; fresh water was a luxury, more precious than food.

  As Bethwyn neared the prow, she felt guilty for taking the bottle from Holman. He was a kind man who had always ensured she got a little extra when serving up the crew’s meagre portions of food. But she’d needed the bottle, an excuse to go below decks and disappear for a while, attending her mistress. There were prying eyes aloft that might question
her absence without any plausible reason. She finally arrived at the thick curved wall that marked the head of the hold and the prow of the Maelstrom. The others waited, gathered around a hooded lantern that gave out a tiny amount of light.

  ‘Nobody followed you?’ asked Amelie, moving up along the crate where she sat to make room. Bethwyn collapsed beside her, shaking her head.

  ‘He doesn’t suspect you?’ asked Duke Manfred.

  ‘He asked where I was going. If he follows that up, Master Holman will tell him the same thing – I’m with the queen, not to be disturbed.’ Bethwyn raised the bottle as if to emphasize the ruse.

  ‘Good,’ said Manfred, rubbing his knuckles against his temple. ‘What we discuss must never reach Hector’s ears.’

  ‘Murderous traitor,’ said Figgis, eyes narrowing in his leathery old face.

  ‘Steady on,’ said Manfred. ‘We don’t know for sure he’s a killer.’

  ‘You call me a liar? I saw it with my own eyes!’

  ‘What on earth would young Hector gain from killing Vega? The count was his friend. I question what you saw. I have to. I owe that to Hector.’

  The first mate spat at mention of the magister’s name.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Amelie, raising her hand gently.

  Figgis bowed to his queen before nodding to Manfred. The duke returned the gesture, to Bethwyn’s relief. She’d watched the old pirate trying to hold his nerve over the course of the day. He’d reported what he’d seen directly to Amelie late last night, hot on the heels of the captain disappearing. A search of the boat had followed, whereupon the crew discovered that Casper was gone, too. Everyone aboard the Maelstrom was suspicious, none more so than Figgis who’d stared daggers at Hector and his men all day long. It was only now, the following night, that the four had the opportunity to discuss the events in detail.

  ‘It’s as I said last night,’ said Figgis, his wiry arms sagging as he recounted what he’d seen. ‘I was doing my rounds when the captain come aloft; disappeared up to the poop deck and never came back. The boy followed him up there too. Then the three of them – Hector and his men – came down. Asked them where the captain was, I did. They said they’d never seen him. When I got up there they was nowhere to be seen, neither the captain nor the boy.’

  Bethwyn was surprised to see tears rolling down Figgis’s cheeks. The old man was as hard as they came, a long life of piracy behind him and many years by Vega’s side. As first mate he’d taken command of the Maelstrom, but the responsibility didn’t sit easy on his gnarled shoulders.

  ‘Why didn’t you challenge Hector at the time?’ said Amelie.

  ‘Question the Boarlord, Your Majesty?’ Figgis shook his head. ‘I didn’t know right away what had gone on. I went up there to find the captain gone, a bloodstain on the deck. By the time I returned your Lord of Redmire had scarpered to his cabin, along with his men.’

  Manfred shook his head wearily.

  ‘It makes no sense. Why would Hector harm one of us, especially one who’s looked out for him these recent months?’

  ‘May well be that the captain looked out for him,’ said Figgis. ‘But look at what happened in Moga. Then we had the White Isle – that was his doing too, so the captain said. That traitor let us land there when he knew it was cursed. He’s a bad one, that boy.’

  ‘How can you say that? Hector’s given everything in the service of the Wolf’s Council, Figgis.’

  Manfred can’t help himself, thought Bethwyn. He has to defend Hector. He knows there’s good in him, and can’t believe there’s any bad.

  The Staglord continued. ‘Couldn’t it be that Vega slipped? Struck his head? Fell overboard?’

  Figgis laughed. ‘This is a Wereshark you’re talking about, my lord. The captain knew every inch of the Maelstrom blindfolded. I never saw him slip on this deck in all the years I’ve been with him. And even if he fell overboard, he’s a shark. He’d have swum back to the ship, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Unless he was injured,’ said Amelie.

  ‘Exactly, Your Majesty,’ said the first mate. ‘And regardless of whether the captain fell overboard or not, there’s Casper going missing too. Two going overboard and not a trace of either?’

  ‘I have to agree with Duke Manfred here,’ Amelie put in. ‘Captain Figgis, I believe you saw what you say, I truly do. But the notion, that this dear young man could have done something so out of character? It’s simply too much.’

  Figgis looked like he might scream, his face shifting from bloodless white through angry red and then furious purple.

  ‘I believe Figgis.’

  Manfred and Amelie turned to look at Bethwyn, the girl’s big brown eyes wide with fright, but chin set with determination.

  ‘You believe him?’ asked Manfred, incredulously. ‘But Hector’s your friend!’

  ‘I cannot let friendship stand in the way of the truth, Your Grace.’

  ‘What makes you think this is true, my dear?’ said Amelie, placing her palms over the trembling lady-in-waiting’s hands. ‘Is this on account of what happened when he woke from his long slumber? Surely you realized that was his fever talking?’

  ‘That was upsetting, Your Majesty, but there were other things. His hand …’

  ‘What about it?’ said Manfred.

  ‘Something … something bad has got into it. His hand is blackened, Your Grace. It’s so cold to the touch, too. It reminds me of dead skin, all the life leached from it. I saw it well enough when I tended him.’

  ‘A diseased hand doesn’t make for a diseased mind,’ said Amelie, but the girl from Robben continued.

  ‘When the Sirens attacked the ship, Hector killed one that would have slain me, only from a great distance away. His left hand, the black palm – he had it open, as if controlling something. I know Hector’s a magister, and I know he uses magicks and cantrips to heal, but this was something else.’

  Manfred sighed. ‘The communing.’

  Amelie looked at the Staglord with horror. ‘Hector has communed? When?’

  ‘The first occasion was in the Wyrmwood, when he, Drew and Gretchen encountered Vala.’

  ‘The first occasion?’ gasped the queen. ‘This has happened more than once?’

  ‘Yes, regrettably. We thought we’d steered him off that course, but perhaps he has continued to commune in secret.’

  The four were silent. Bethwyn tried to stifle her tears, holding them back with all her will. She felt as though she’d betrayed Hector, but he was a changed boy from the bumbling Boarlord who’d made his bashful appearances at Buck House. She feared for him.

  ‘So,’ said Amelie quietly. ‘What do we do with him?’

  ‘I’ve been on ships where the likes of him would’ve been thrown overboard like bait,’ spat Figgis. ‘So long as he’s aboard the Maelstrom he’s cursing us all. Who knows what he might do next?’

  Amelie and Bethwyn shivered at the thought of the pirate’s justice, but neither spoke up.

  ‘No, we won’t execute him,’ said the Staglord. ‘He’d need a trial before his peers and besides, we still have no evidence. If he did send Vega and the boy overboard, how did he do it? And how did he make sure the count never came back?’

  ‘He can’t stay on board,’ said Figgis, his voice calm. ‘The men already whisper. They won’t hold back forever.’

  Manfred rose, stretching. ‘We need to return to our quarters, show our faces aloft before our absence alerts Hector.’

  The others stood, Manfred helping Amelie to her feet. Figgis picked the lantern up, peering through the dark hold and checking the path ahead.

  ‘Lead the way, Captain Figgis,’ said Manfred, placing a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t call me that,’ muttered the old pirate. ‘There’s only one captain of the Maelstrom, the best man I ever sailed with, and he’s in Sosha’s arms now.’

  The old p
irate stopped, his free hand scratching at the thin white hair at the back of his head. He turned back to the therians, his eyes catching the lantern light and glowing like embers.

  ‘There’s one more thing I’d wanted to tell you, my lord and lady, but feared not on account of an oath.’

  ‘An oath?’

  ‘Aye, my lord. To Captain Vega. Only thing is, he’s dead now, ain’t he? So, where does that leave my oath?’

  Manfred glanced to Amelie and Bethwyn, but the women had no answer.

  ‘If there’s something you need to tell us, Figgis, go ahead man.’

  ‘The captain … he did something for your baron. He got rid of something for him.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Manfred.

  ‘We thought it was an accident, y’see? Captain didn’t think it was done on purpose, but the more I think about it, the more I think Hector meant to kill him.’

  ‘Kill who?’ said Amelie.

  ‘Lord Vincent,’ said Figgis. ‘Hector killed his brother.’

  Amelie gasped.

  ‘Why would Vega help Hector cover this up?’ asked Manfred, shaking with shock.

  ‘Like I say, the captain believed it was an accident, but he could see others thinking otherwise. If word got out, Hector’s life would be as good as over. I got rid of the Boarlord’s body myself, Sosha forgive me. What a fool I was.’

  Manfred patted Figgis on the shoulder. ‘Your loyalty to Vega, even in death, is commendable, but you’ve done the right thing by telling us.’

  The Staglord fixed each of them with a steady gaze. ‘It’s more important than ever before that we remain tight-lipped over what we’ve discussed here tonight. This is a dangerous game we play with the Boarlord. Hector appears deadlier than I could’ve ever imagined. He can never know our plans.’

  ‘But what are our plans?’ said Amelie.

  ‘I need to inspect the count’s sea charts,’ said Manfred. ‘Vega may yet be able to help us, from beyond the grave.’