Storm of Sharks

by Curtis Jobling

  Gretchen kept very still, her eyes fixed on the surface of the water. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? She was tired and weary, her Harriers constantly on the move, changing camp from day to day, never staying in one place for too long. Trent had the most military experience in the group, but he wouldn’t lead. That task was a Werelord’s; this was Gretchen’s role. The command of the band had fallen upon her shoulders, and the responsibility weighed heavily. She squinted at the spot in the river where the head had surfaced, her eyes growing bleary as the water constantly moved. No, she thought. I’m not going mad. There was a head there … wasn’t there?

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Gretchen jumped, startled by the voice. It was Trent. She looked back to the water.

  ‘I saw something.’

  ‘In the river?’

  ‘Of course in the river,’ she said with irritation.

  ‘I was only asking,’ he replied gruffly.

  She turned and glared at him.

  ‘We might be in the wilds, on the run from the Lion’s army, but don’t forget your place, Ferran.’

  Trent arched an eyebrow at her before glancing over the rushing water.

  ‘It was probably a fish, Lady Gretchen. You’ll find most rivers are full of them,’ he replied cheekily.

  ‘I know a fish when I see one,’ she snapped, tugging her first boot on.

  ‘It’ll be that other thing, then: a duck.’ The tone of his voice was playful, but Gretchen was having none of it.

  ‘Can’t you control the men in my absence?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’

  ‘I want them ready to march at a moment’s notice. We’re not so far from Redmire, Ferran – our ultimate target, remember? I’m surprised half of General Vorhaas’s army hasn’t descended by now, with the racket they’re making.’

  ‘Can you really blame them for being in good spirits? They’ve much to be proud of, with victories over the Lionguard from the Low Dale Road to the edge of Badgerwood. We’ve achieved a great deal in a short space of time.’

  Gretchen sighed. ‘We are but a fly that irritates the fat rump of Lucas’s army. Do you think news of these “victories” reaches the Lion’s ears, or those of Onyx? They won’t have heard about our skirmishes. They probably take us as seriously as Muller’s idiots in the Badlands, and we’re a tiny fraction of the sheriff’s number.’

  ‘Why the sudden pessimism?’ asked Trent. ‘Do you forget what the Harriers consist of? We’ve cobblers, bakers, coopers and builders. These aren’t warriors or mercenaries. They’re honest, ordinary men who fight for freedom. Sure, they may have forgotten themselves for a moment, but don’t deny them a little pleasure.’

  Trent walked off. ‘I’ll go and speak to them, but don’t expect me to berate them.’

  ‘Save your legs and your breath, Ferran,’ said Gretchen, tugging her last boot on and standing. ‘I’ll speak to them myself.’

  The Lady of Hedgemoor started to walk past Trent, but he grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her back to him.

  ‘Unhand me!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Not until you give me some straight answers.’

  ‘You forget who you speak to, Redcloak.’

  ‘I don’t forget a single thing, Gretchen. If you think you can sneer at me like something you’ve scraped off your boot after everything we’ve been through together, think again. Call me Redcloak all you like if it makes you feel superior, I don’t give a Ratlord’s behind, but I deserve an explanation. Why are your claws out?’

  It was a figure of speech, but it was true. Gretchen stared at her hands, clawed as the fox flashed through her, ready to lash out. She tried to pull free but Trent’s grip remained firm.

  ‘You’ve been irritable with me for the last month, ever since we hooked up with the Dales men,’ he continued. ‘Are you afraid to be seen speaking to me in front of your subjects?’

  Gretchen laughed. ‘Brenn help us, you think an awful lot of yourself, Ferran, don’t you? It must be wonderful when the world revolves around you!’

  ‘This from you, of all people?’

  ‘It’s not who you are or where you come from, it’s how you act with me,’ she snapped. ‘You’re always fussing around me, like I’m a child. I’m quite capable of looking after myself!’

  ‘This is about the other day, isn’t it? When we attacked Krupha and his men? You’re picking a fight with me because I wanted to make sure your wound was seen to, is that it?’

  ‘I wasn’t the only one injured – there were others in our number who were wounded!’

  ‘You’d taken a blow to the stomach!’

  ‘It was a glancing blow, and you forget – I’m a therianthrope. I heal when others don’t.’

  ‘So I’m guilty of caring for you, then? Is that any reason to continually pick fights?’

  ‘You need to treat me as you would any man in the Harriers,’ Gretchen replied.

  ‘But you’re not a man, let alone just anybody. You’re a Werelady, a figure of hope, a cause for the Dalelands to rally behind!’

  Gretchen yanked her arm free and started walking, leaving Trent to gasp with exasperation before following.

  ‘I thought you were different from your brother,’ Gretchen spat out over her shoulder, ‘but you’re just as pig-headed and stubborn as he ever was. Is it just the Ferran boys who are soaked in chivalry or every man along the Cold Coast?’

  ‘How are we supposed to act? You’re a noblewoman. A lady who was betrothed to Lucas not so long ago. You can’t be the pampered princess and the freedom fighter at the same time.’

  She spun round and levelled on him.

  ‘Take a look around you, Ferran. Do you see me living any differently from the rest of you? I sleep under the same stars, in the same muddy ditches, soaked by the same stinking rain.’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ said Trent angrily. ‘You may think you’re one of us, but believe me, the men in that camp treat you differently. You get the first of the rations, you get the pick of the spots to sleep and some of them treat you with more respect than they would their own grandmothers. Face it, Gretchen: you’re more important than any of us.’

  ‘I can’t do anything about how they treat me! What do you want from me?’

  ‘I don’t expect you to do anything about it. You’re a therian. You have your place, we have ours, whether you’ll admit it or not. We can never be like you. You were born to rule; we were born to serve. There’s no shame in it, for Brenn’s sake – you can change into a beast, you’re impervious to most things that could kill a man. You have to be better than us, or what chance do we have of surviving this war?’

  Gretchen stood motionless. She knew she was unlike any of them. She’d been raised to consider herself better than humanity: that was the way of the Werelords. But now it sickened her that all her comrades had been treating her differently.

  Trent set off to walk past her. ‘Perhaps that’s why you’re so happy to treat me as a fool.’

  Her hand flew out, instinct triggering the attack. But before she could strike his face, Trent had caught her by the wrist. Her other hand came across to hit him but he snatched that, too, out of the air. The two stood face to face and hand in hand, the Werefox snarling at the boy from Westland.

  ‘I thought we’d grown close in the Dyrewood,’ Trent said, his cool blue eyes focused on hers. ‘When it was just you and me, it felt like there were no barriers. We were just two friends, depending upon one another. Yet now you seem to be ashamed of me.’

  Gretchen growled. ‘Let go of me, Trent.’

  ‘Why the shame?’ he continued, ignorin
g her protestations. ‘Is it because you can’t bear to admit there might actually be something between us?’

  She lashed out with her leg, her foot cracking Trent across the shin and sending him falling to the grass-covered riverbank. As she tumbled to the ground he pinned her down. She snarled, her fox teeth sharpening ever so slightly. Trent stared back, jaw set and firm in the face of the therian girl, hands still clasping hers tightly.

  ‘You abhor the fact that a human could mean so much to you, don’t you?’

  ‘Pah!’ she spat out, trying to tear free again. ‘You’ve an inflated opinion of yourself, Ferran,’ she gasped, writhing beneath him, trying to work her knees free to launch a crippling kick.

  ‘No,’ he said, smiling without feeling. ‘It’s not me at all, is it? It’s him.’

  Gretchen didn’t need to ask who ‘him’ was. She wanted to tell him that it had nothing to do with his brother, that Drew had no effect on their relationship, but she’d be lying. She was torn by her feelings for each of the Ferran boys: the memory of Drew and how he’d made her feel, and how she’d come to look upon Trent as more than just a friend through the terrible dangers they’d faced together.

  She opened her mouth to speak, to deny that her aggression had anything to do with the heir to the throne of Westland, the Werelord at the heart of the war of the Seven Realms. Her green eyes frantically searched Trent’s as he stared down at her. The words caught in her throat, her feelings betraying her. Say something, she thought. Prove him wrong, even if he’s right!

  At the moment she was about to speak, Trent kissed her. She struggled half-heartedly, her sharp teeth catching his lips, but Gretchen’s resistance was crumbling beneath the intensity of the kiss. She should have bitten him, torn a strip off him for his impertinence, but the anger she’d felt for him moments ago was gone, and with it the beast receded.

  Trent broke the embrace and pulled away. A drop of blood bloomed on his lower lip where her teeth had snagged him. Again, Gretchen wanted to speak, but this time to tell Trent what she truly thought of him, how he made her feel: safe, secure, special. But the young man spoke first.

  ‘I won’t be second best to him,’ he whispered, releasing her and jumping to his feet.

  Trent stalked away towards the Badgerwood. Gretchen watched him go, none of her usual quick-fire ripostes coming to mind. She turned back to the Redwine, the apparition she’d seen earlier in the river forgotten. Calm though it appeared, the Werelady knew better. Currents raged beneath the surface, as turbulent as the thoughts that clouded her mind.

  2

  Skipper

  Drew’s eyes watered, the faint outlines of his fingers fluttering as he waggled them back and forth. The strain induced a blinding headache but he pushed it to one side, willing his vision to focus. The field of white was now grey, broken by the shifting shadows as he brought his ghostly digits closer to his face. This is progress, he thought, fighting the urge to holler with delight.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Casper. ‘If the wind changes, your face might stick.’

  Drew jumped at the voice. He’d been concentrating so hard that he hadn’t even been aware that Casper had entered the hut. The siblings had left him alone all day, while they were hard at work outdoors for the Krakenguard. They’d hidden him beneath blankets when the foreman had collected them, and he’d stayed in the hut since then.

  ‘You really do sneak around a lot. How long have you been there?’ asked Drew.

  ‘Long enough to see your eyes nearly burst from their sockets.’

  ‘I might be blind but I can hear that grin from here. Why aren’t you out there working with the rest of them?’

  ‘Like you, I ain’t supposed to be around here,’ said Casper. Drew heard the boy sit down. ‘Being cabin boy aboard the Maelstrom hardly won me any friends, especially among your enemies. I, too, need to stay hidden. I’ve been hiding out in the harbour, beneath the jetties. Ain’t nobody lookin’ for wanted men – or kids – there. Gregor, Pearl, Kit and the rest of the children have been press-ganged into labour by Hackett’s men. They count ’em in and count ’em out – if any are missing, they come looking and dish out some hurt. If I turned up at roll-call I’d be as good as stickin’ my neck through the noose.’

  It was good to hear the boy’s voice again. Drew had only spent a brief time in Casper’s company, back when his ordeals had begun. Count Vega the Sharklord had captured Drew and stowed him aboard Vega’s ship the Maelstrom, delivering his prisoner to King Leopold. But when Drew and his allies – including Vega – defeated the Lion, Drew had given the pirate Vega a place on the Wolf’s Council. After shaking off his distrust of the Sharklord, Drew had come to depend upon the pirate prince in matters both political and personal.

  Throughout it all, Casper had been close to his captain’s side, the nearest thing Vega had to a page boy.

  Since Casper – or ‘Skipper’, as the children of Cutter’s Cove called him – had appeared the previous night, Drew hadn’t had a chance to speak properly with him. It was clear that the boy had assumed a position of power among the enslaved youngsters. He knew that Bosa’s fleet had been scattered across the ocean by the Kraken. But Vega’s whereabouts still eluded him.

  ‘How are your eyes, then?’ asked the boy.

  ‘On the mend. It’s gradual, but I can make out shapes again. Who knows, I might be the new lookout aboard the Maelstrom by this time tomorrow!’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ the boy said with a snort. ‘That’s my job. You stick with ruling Westland, my lord.’

  Drew dropped his joking tone. ‘We never got to speak properly the other night, Casper. You only half said hello, before you were off again.’

  ‘Sorry about that. I had to speak to some of the other lads first. They’ve put a lot of faith in me. Was amazed to find you still here when I got back, to be honest. Hated to think what Gregor might’ve done.’

  ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘I don’t mind him. He’s only looking after his own. He doesn’t trust me.’

  The boy’s relationship with the others sounded complicated, but there was only one thing Drew wanted to know right now.

  ‘Where’s Vega, Casper?’

  ‘Taken alive by Ghul, along with many other pirates from the Cluster Isles who opposed him.’

  ‘What happened to the Maelstrom and her crew?’

  ‘Got took from the captain, didn’t it? We were heading north, around the cape of Tuskun toward Sturmland. The captain and Duke Manfred were set on visiting Icegarden. Only someone had different ideas – tried to do away with my master and threw him overboard. I followed him over the side. Neither of us saw the Maelstrom again. I’d die for that man,’ added the lad, with utter sincerity.

  ‘Who tried to kill Vega?’

  ‘Your pal, the Boarlord. Shivved him with his fancy dagger while his men threw a sack of cannon shot around the captain’s neck and tossed him into the sea.’

  Drew shook his head, unwilling to believe it. ‘Hector wouldn’t do that. I know him. He’s a good man: he’s no killer.’

  ‘Saw it with my own eyes,’ said Casper quietly. ‘With respect, don’t question what I witnessed, my lord. Not after what Blackhand did to my captain. If Count Vega were still here with us he’d tell you as much himself.’

  Drew grimaced, the bile rising in his throat. There was that name again: Blackhand. The wicked magister, who now ruled Icegarden.

  ‘This ain’t news to your ears, is it?’ asked the perceptive boy. ‘You’ve heard other bad things about your Baron Hector, ain’t you?’

  ‘Things I wish I hadn’t,’ replied Drew, forcing back his misery. He
couldn’t believe that Hector had actively sought to take Vega’s life. There had to be another explanation for this and the events in Icegarden.

  He took a lungful of air, trying to clear his head of his friend’s betrayal.

  ‘Just when you think you know someone –’ started Casper.

  Drew broke in. ‘So how did you and Vega escape a watery grave?’

  ‘I dived in, tore the sack from about the captain’s throat and kicked up to the surface. Found myself adrift with him, didn’t I? Well, I’ve always been a strong swimmer – reckoned I got that off my old man, so the captain said. So I put my back into it, keeping him afloat until he came round. We’re lucky he’s a Sharklord and that the knife wasn’t silver – the captain woke up enough to swim a bit too, if you can call it that, but between us we had a good idea which direction land was. Got picked up by a fur trader’s wee ship, off the Tuskun coast. From there we eventually made it back to Moga.’

  ‘That’s quite the tale of survival. Vega owes you his life. So what happened then?’

  ‘Captain and I went to war beside Baron Bosa,’ Casper said proudly. ‘Took the battle straight to the enemy. Lion, Squid and all ships that flew the Black Flag of Bast – they were scared witless by the Whale’s attacks. For a good time we had ’em on the run. That was before they started with the kidnappings: taking folk from their homes, loved ones and the like. Didn’t take long for sailors to start turning themselves over to Ghul, whole shiploads of pirates switching sides for fear of what the Kraken might do to their families.’

  ‘So your fleet shrank?’

  ‘Family’s a powerful thing.’

  ‘You’re not wrong. How did you end up here?’

  ‘We were working aboard the Beggar’s Bride, Captain Mesner’s ship, with the count serving as first mate. Mesner had a reputation on the White Sea before this war even kicked off. Big man, full of bluster and bravado. He and Bosa went way back.’