by Rob J. Hayes
Three soldiers turned to face him. They’d been on their way to the stairs that led to the first floor, and now they walked nonchalantly back to the middle of the room, clearing tables and chairs out of the way with rough shoves. Two of the men wore the familiar armour of the soldiers that Keelin felt he’d been fighting forever. One of them wore no armour, only a plain yellow tabard cinched at the waist with a strip of red cloth. The man looked oddly familiar, and it took Keelin a moment to realise why.
“Derran?”
The man wearing the tabard laughed.
“You know him?” Ferl said. The man was pacing behind Keelin like a caged animal just waiting to be let free.
Keelin winced. He couldn’t reveal how he knew Derran without revealing his own past. Instead, he gave a non-committal grunt, wondering how he could extricate himself from the situation. As long as his brother recognised him there was no way it would end in a fight.
“Now it makes sense, brother,” Derran Fowl said, grinning. “You’re Captain Stillwater, the best swordsman in the Pirate Isles. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Brother?” said Ferl.
Keelin sighed. His secret was out now. Whatever happened from here, Keelin would just have to weather the storm somehow.
“Admiral’s orders were clear, Sir Derran,” said one of the soldiers next to Keelin’s brother. “Morrass and Stillwater are wanted alive for punishment.”
“I don’t care what your admiral’s orders are,” said Derran. “I can’t exactly test my little brother’s skill if it isn’t to the death.”
“Little brother?” said the soldier.
Derran’s sword whipped clear of its scabbard, sweeping first right and then left and then back into the scabbard all in the blink of an eye. The two soldiers flanking him swayed for a moment before dropping, blood leaking from their necks. Keelin took an involuntary step backwards and found Ferl standing next to him, looking equally as worried.
“He’s fast,” Ferl said with a slight tremble in his voice.
“Ever heard of the Sword of the North?” Keelin said. “Blademaster working for the Five Kingdoms who has killed more…” The sound of the door shutting behind him and the sudden lack of Fer at his side convinced him that the big pirate had indeed heard of the Sword of the North.
“What happened to you, little brother?” Derran said. “You always wanted to help the good folk, and now you’re killing them to steal from their masters.”
Keelin sighed and took a step towards him. “You ran away from home when I was just ten years old, Derran. I learned some hard lessons growing up. I learned the way the world really works.”
“It didn’t take you long to run away as well,” Derran shot back. “Burned down the family home on your way out.”
“You think Father was bad before you left? I was lucky to escape a day without a beating. And those were the good days, before Mother killed herself.”
Derran said nothing for a moment. “I’m sorry about Mother. But if you think the odd beating or two is a hard life, then maybe you are still the little boy I left dreaming of heroic deeds.”
Keelin barked out a laugh. “The odd beating or two? What Dad did to me was nothing compared to my time on The Black Death.”
Derran just smiled, and Keelin couldn’t help but return it. They’d been apart for longer than they’d ever known each other, but they were still brothers despite it all, and a fight seemed puerile and pointless now they were reunited.
“I almost had him a couple of years back, the bastard who killed Leesa,” Keelin said.
“Arbiter Prin,” Derran growled. The murder of their little sister had shaped so much of their lives. It had caused Derran to run away, and it had set Keelin on a path of revenge that had driven him for over half his life. “You really think you’re a match for an Arbiter, little brother?”
“For Prin I will be,” Keelin said venomously. “He needs to die for Leesa.”
“Then show me,” Derran said with a toothy grin. “I came here to fight the best swordsman in the Pirate Isles, and I’m not leaving until I test myself against him.”
“You want to spar?” Keelin said. “There’s a battle going on, Derran. My people are fighting and dying out there.”
“And if you want to go help them, you best beat me,” Derran growled.
Keelin realised he was still holding his cutlasses, and he remembered Derran’s words from earlier – “to the death”. Before he could argue any further, his brother was striding forwards, his sword flicking clear of its scabbard, and all smiles were long gone. Keelin had seen the look in his brother’s eyes hundreds of times before, in men he’d fought on land and sea. Derran Fowl meant to kill him.
The first stab was slow and lazy and Keelin turned it aside easily. Instead of returning the effort, he threw himself sideways, rolling over a table and putting the slab of wood between them. Derran had always had the reach advantage, being the taller of the two, and even now that they were both adults he was still taller.
Derran didn’t round the table, nor jump atop it. He locked his eyes on Keelin’s and smiled. Keelin smiled back, and a moment later the table shifted as Derran kicked it, the wood connecting with Keelin’s groin and sending him staggering back in pain. The distraction gave the Blademaster all the time he needed to walk around the table, and once more Keelin found himself within easy striking distance.
Again Derran flicked a lazy attack. This time Keelin turned the slash aside and returned two of his own. Derran’s sword flew backwards, catching one of Keelin’s then twisting almost unnaturally to snare the other. Before Keelin knew how it had happened, he found both his cutlasses crossed and against his chest with Derran’s sword pressed up against them.
Keelin pushed and Derran stepped away, his blade flicking around under Keelin’s guard and scoring a hit on his chin.
“You could have killed me.” Keelin dabbed at the cut, and his hand came away red.
“Yes,” Derran said. “I could have. Unless you start fighting seriously, little brother, the next one will.”
“You want me to try to kill you?”
“Yes. There is no other way to fight. If we hold back then we will never really know who’s better.”
“What does it matter who’s better?” Keelin remembered T’ruck Khan wanting to duel him for the same reason, and he’d beaten the giant without killing him just like he would his own brother.
“It’s the only thing that matters,” Derran said as he moved forwards again.
Keelin didn’t give his brother a chance to attack; he leapt forwards, slashing both high and low at once. Derran stepped back out of range and Keelin kept the pressure on, reversing his swords and attacking again. Again Derran stepped away. Keelin grinned and followed up, but a quick stab from his brother’s sword sent him stumbling backwards, pain coursing through his chest.
A spot of blood appeared on Keelin’s shirt, and it came with agony laced with fire. Before he could form a new plan, Derran was upon him with two quick slashes that Keelin blocked with ease. A third sweep came in, and Keelin parried and returned one of his own, trying to get some distance to recover. Derran caught Keelin’s arm with his free hand, twisted and stepped close. Pain exploded in Keelin’s face as the pommel of Derran’s sword connected with his cheek. He staggered away, amazed that he didn’t taste blood.
Opening his eyes, Keelin saw Derran standing in front of him with two swords. It took him a moment to realise one was his own.
“Impressive, br…” Keelin started, but Derran didn’t let up his attack.
They were well and truly in among the tables and chairs now, and Keelin found himself giving ground and struggling not to trip over any furniture. Derran seemed as adept with two swords as he had been with one, and the man gave nothing away. His guard was as flawless as his attacks, and Keelin couldn’t see an opening anywhere.
Blocking a slash from his own sword, Keelin grabbed hold of a chair and flung it at Derran. Derran stepped a
side and Keelin lunged towards the opening. His sword never made it.
Keelin screamed as the floor rushed up to meet him, his left leg collapsing. Looking down, he found his own sword wobbling in his thigh. With a grimace and a growl, he tried to drag himself away from his brother.
He hadn’t expected Derran to be so brutal. He’d said they were fighting to the death, but Keelin had thought it just a ploy to get him to fight harder. That his older brother might truly injure him or worse had never crossed his mind. It dawned on Keelin then that he didn’t really know the man in front of him, the man he hadn’t seen for over fifteen years.
“Fuck, Derran,” Keelin shouted as he dragged himself backwards. The sword in his leg was agony, but pulling it out now could do more damage.
Sir Derran Fowl, knight of the Five Kingdoms and world-renowned Blademaster, closed in on him, a blank expression on his face.
“I expected more from you, Keelin,” Derran said. “Not just because you’re known as the best in the isles, but because you’re my brother. Even as a child you showed skill. Where has it gone?”
Keelin winced and glanced at the sword in his leg. If Derran came just a couple of steps further he would be close enough for Keelin to stab him with it.
Derran pulled a nearby chair towards him and sat down. He let out a loud sigh.
“What now?” Keelin said, trying to buy some time. “You kill me and the rest of the town? Five Kingdoms win, and you murdered your little brother.”
“I have no intention of killing anyone else here. I came to test myself against the best swordsman in the isles. Seems I’ve already won. Barely even a fight.”
“Your king…”
“My king is a fool, Keelin. A well-informed fool, but a fool nonetheless.” Derran sighed. “He knows who you are. I should have figured it out myself. There can’t be that many swordsmen with your name. My king sent me to kill my own brother. What sort of man does that?”
“What sort of man follows the order?” Keelin said desperately.
Derran smiled. “I think I’m done with the Five Kingdoms and King Jackt Fucking Veritean. There must be someone in this world who can still give me a challenge.”
“What?” Keelin said, wincing at the pain and still trying to drag himself backwards.
“Perhaps the Wilds.” Derran grinned, fixing Keelin with a steely stare. In that moment Keelin couldn’t see a drop of the boy he’d once known, only the Sword of the North.
“Do you really think you have what it takes to kill an Arbiter?” Derran said.
Keelin was shaking with pain and fear and possibly blood loss. His brother didn’t seem to care. There was no emotion in Derran’s eyes.
“Goodbye, little brother.”
The Sword of the North stood and stepped forward. Keelin winced, but Derran stepped past him and carried on. Keelin felt the last of his strength leaving him, and the world went dark.
Chapter 16 - Fortune
A cheer went up as the last of the soldiers broke and ran for the relative safety of the trees. The pirates didn’t give chase; they were more than happy to let the jungle have the bastards. The little explosive coconuts Kebble had made had done more than just turn the tide – they’d devastated the enemy forces.
The Five Kingdoms force’s biggest advantage had been their training – they’d stuck together in tight formations so the pirates couldn’t get close without being cut down – but that advantage had worked against them in the end. Packed as closely together as they were, the explosions ripped through their ranks and caused equal amounts of death and chaos, and the latter let the pirates cause more of the former.
They’d won the day, though the cost had been almost more than they could bear. Already the wounded were being taken indoors and given over to triage, and anyone with even the slightest experience in the healing arts was being press-ganged into looking after those who needed it. The dead were piling up too, and there were a lot of them. Drake ordered them carted down to the beach so they could set up a proper pyre. Usually he ordered his dead given to Rin, but she wouldn’t accept any who had died on land, and the offering would be more likely to anger than appease the spiteful goddess.
Tanner limped towards Drake. The big pirate was bloodied and ruddy-cheeked, but there was a weariness about his eyes that Drake had never expected to see in his old nemesis. Drake’s own exhaustion had fled the moment the battle was won. He was no warrior – he was a leader, and he knew this was the time he needed to be most aware. There would be plenty of opportunities to grow his legend in the time just after a battle.
“Some of my boys want to go after the fuckers, mate,” Tanner growled, waving away his ship’s doctor, who seemed intent on bandaging his captain’s leg.
“Best not,” Drake said with a shake of his head. “You think your forest is dangerous? Stragglers on Cinto Cena don’t last long, Tanner. Besides, we’ve got plenty of work to do here. Folk need looking to. You should let your man see to that wound.”
“It’s a scratch,” Tanner said.
“Scratches can kill a man just as easily as a good stabbing if the wound ain’t looked after.” Tanner looked exhausted, and it was no surprise given how much of the battle he’d taken part in. Drake wagered if he could just get the man to sit down, he’d be free of him for a good few hours, and in those hours Drake could claim much of the glory. “Sit down and get that bandaged, Tanner. We need you. Can’t have you falling foul of an infection.”
Tanner growled again, but relented and let the doctor lead him away. Drake would have grinned, but he needed to keep the pained expression plastered to his face. He needed the townsfolk to see him as tired as they were and sympathetic to the losses.
“Anyone seen Stillwater?” he shouted.
“Aye,” said a big pirate with plenty of tattoos. “He was in the tavern, fighting his brother.”
“His brother?” Drake hated appearing to others as though he were in the dark, but at this point he well and truly was.
The pirate nodded. “Aye. Stillwater is brother to that Sword of the North.”
That name attracted a good few folk, and Drake was less than surprised. He’d met the Sword of the North once, and the man had been terrifying. Drake had never met anyone so sure of their own ability to murder everyone around them. He’d also seen a Blademaster in action once, and though it hadn’t been the Sword of the North, she’d been like death given form. They moved in a deadly dance, and there seemed to be very little that could stand in their way.
“Anyone carrying a shield or a bow with me, now,” Drake roared, pleased to see pirates and townsfolk alike jumping to his command. “Everyone else keep helping with the wounded.” As he stormed off towards the Righteous Indignation, he was happy to have a good twenty pirates backing him up and less than happy that he was at the front of them. If the Sword of the North was in a killing mood then it was likely that Drake would die first, and there would be little that could stop the Blademaster.
Not wanting to appear hesitant, Drake pushed open the door to the tavern and strode inside, fancying that he cut a real heroic figure. As pirates and townsfolk crammed in behind Drake, it became clear that the Sword of the North had done his damage and left. Tables, chairs, and three bodies were littering the floor, and none of the latter looked to be moving.
Drake took another step into the room. The two bodies furthest away were Five Kingdoms soldiers. The third body was wearing one of the fine blue jackets that Stillwater liked so much, only it was stained with an awful lot of red.
“Check if he’s alive,” Drake said, pointing to Stillwater’s body. He wasn’t about to let his own guard down until he knew the Sword of the North was well and truly gone.
Even inside the tavern and with the noise of twenty people around him, Drake could still hear the screams of the dying outside. It was more than a little unnerving. The tavern was a mess that they’d need to clean up soon. Pirates needed a place to drink, especially after the hell they’d all just been
through.
“Get these bodies out of here,” he said, turning away from the soldiers’ corpses.
Tanner came limping into the tavern, followed by his squat-faced first mate and his ship’s doctor, who still hadn’t managed to get the big pirate to stop long enough to bandage his leg.
“He’s alive,” called the woman tending to Stillwater. “Looks pretty badly messed up though.”
If the Sword of the North really was Stillwater’s brother, there appeared to be little love between them – just enough to leave the captain alive.
“Get away from me, ya fussing shrew of a man.” Tanner pushed his doctor away. “Yer old friend Stillwater needs ya fuckin’ poking an’ proddin’ more than I.”
The healer shot Tanner a baleful look, then turned away and knelt next to Stillwater. Drake seethed; he wanted Tanner gone. Unfortunately, now the man was here there was little he could do.
The Oracle had been clear, and insistent. Keelin Stillwater was integral to the creation of Drake’s empire, and Drake had never known his brother to be wrong. Hironous Vance had the sight, the ability to see into people’s futures, and together with Drake’s own gift of manipulation they’d used it to plan the birth of the pirate empire. Drake hated relying on anyone but himself to accomplish his goals, but he needed Stillwater alive.
“Well, doc?” Drake said. “Can you save him?”
The doctor mumbled something under his breath.
“Why are we saving him?” said the big pirate with the tattoos.
“Eh?” Drake turned to the man, who, despite his size, took a quick step backwards.
“He ain’t one of us,” said the pirate. “He’s one of them. I heard him and the Sword of the North talking. They’re brothers. That makes Stillwater Five Kingdoms, one of the fuckers trying to kill us.”
“I heard the Sword ain’t just a knight,” another pirate chimed in. “He’s a noble.”
“Bastard was probably in on it the whole time. He brought ’em here,” continued the tattooed pirate.
