Storm of Sharks

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘You’re bluffing,’ said Opal, but her voice caught in her throat.

  ‘Can you afford to take that chance?’

  Opal jumped up, chained hands gripping the bars. Her face contorted, black fur bristling from her ebony skin as she snarled and bared her teeth.

  ‘My children are but babies!’

  Vega calmly stepped up to the grille, inches from Opal, utterly unfazed.

  ‘My friend up there is a good man, an honest man, one wracked by conviction and what it means to do right and wrong. I can assure you, Opal, I’ve no such compunction. Your children may be mewling kittens, but it’s you and your Catlord brethren who wrote the rule book on how this war’s fought. I’ll not be accompanying the fleet as they attack your armada. The Maelstrom shall remain removed from the battle, ready to sail to Bast and find your children should you betray us.’

  ‘You’ll never make it to Bast,’ said the Werepanther in a scoffing tone. ‘The Lyssian Straits are clogged with Scorpio’s ships. You’ll be spotted and hunted down.’

  ‘At which point I’ll dive overboard and swim the remaining distance, woman,’ said Vega coldly. ‘You forget, Brenn and Sosha blessed each of us in special ways.’

  Opal snarled as Vega continued.

  ‘After all the horrors you’ve dealt out, in both Bast and Lyssia, to friends of mine and total strangers, you’ll find no compassion in my beaten, black heart. You’re a prideful, vainglorious killer, Opal. You speak of your infants as if they’re gems among a sea of dirty stones, somehow better than every other little one out there. Yours aren’t the only children in the world, and you aren’t the only parent. You underestimate what a father might do for his children. Do we have an understanding?’

  She nodded slowly, emerald eyes narrowed as she hissed at the sea captain.

  ‘Now,’ said Vega, clapping his hands merrily, his mood lifting to one of playfulness in a heartbeat. ‘Make yourself comfortable; I’m off to get a scroll and quill. I suspect it’s going to be a long night.’

  4

  A Darkness Lifted

  ‘If we’re to believe you, Hector – and I’m not saying we do – where did this sudden epiphany come from?’ said Duke Manfred, glowering at the young Boarlord suspiciously. ‘What’s changed?’

  ‘I’ve made terrible mistakes, Your Grace, done unimaginable things to those I thought were my enemies,’ replied Hector earnestly. ‘In my defence, I wasn’t in my right mind – though I’ll admit that’s a poor excuse.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Bo Carver from where he sat chained to the wall beside Manfred. ‘The boy consorts with demons. Sorcery has led him here. If you’re in a quagmire, it’s of your own making, Blackhand. We should let you drown.’

  Ringlin and Ibal stepped forward from behind Hector; the words of the Thief Lord rankled with the two rogues. Hector snatched at his men, catching each by a shoulder and hauling them back.

  ‘He’s right,’ said the magister. ‘I’ve been gripped by a darkness ever since I first communed, so long ago.’ He released his grip on the pair as they stepped back.

  ‘We warned you, Hector,’ said the Staglord wearily. ‘Back in Highcliff, when news of your necromancy reached the ears of the Wolf’s Council. I said no good would come from it, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘I couldn’t listen, didn’t want to, Your Grace. I’ve spent so long seeking counsel in the dark places that I no longer sought help in the light.’

  Hector’s eyes sparkled, a trace of the old madness still there.

  ‘It got its claws into me, took hold of me. I couldn’t just dip my toe into those waters of knowledge. It was never enough. I had to hold the secret to every scrap of arcane knowledge.’

  He looked up at the two prisoners where they sat chained to the wall.

  ‘I dived in. I immersed myself in the arts of communion, wasting no opportunity to practise my necromancy. I’ve gorged upon the minds of Lyssia’s greatest living magisters – and even one of its dead ones – in order to master that dark magistry. And what good has it done me? I’ve driven away all those I once held dear, betraying and killing those I loved. That you don’t trust me now … I don’t blame you at all. I wouldn’t trust myself, either.’

  His speech was a whisper, his cheeks wet once more. He didn’t think it was possible to cry so much, every waking moment having been spent mourning his actions, reliving the horrors.

  ‘That Amelie should be dead …’

  Hector’s voice trailed away, his mouth unable to form the words. The room was silent as both Carver and Manfred looked up at him, the young Boarlord wavering where he stood as if mesmerized. Ibal stepped past him, approaching the prisoners and dropping to his knee. He shifted the brass ring around on his belt, fishing through the keys with his fat fingers.

  ‘What’s this?’ blustered Manfred, as Ibal jabbed a key into his manacles.

  ‘You’re being freed,’ said Ringlin. ‘Baron Hector would see you out of Icegarden at the soonest opportunity.’

  ‘We’re to flee the White Bear’s city only for you to loose an arrow into our backs?’ asked Carver. ‘That’s your way, isn’t it, Ringlin?’

  ‘Believe me, Carver, it’d be a fine sight easier for his lordship, Ibal and me to leave alone, under cover of darkness. Freeing every prisoner from the cells beneath Icegarden is likely to alert the entire Whitepeaks.’

  ‘You’re freeing everyone?’ exclaimed Manfred as his manacles fell apart, and Ibal moved on to the Thief Lord.

  Hector snapped out of his trance suddenly, turning back to the men. He wiped a sleeve across his face, sniffing back the tears as Manfred rose to his full height before him.

  ‘Every poor soul I stupidly imprisoned,’ said the Boarlord. ‘Magisters and miners, townsfolk and traders. I won’t leave a man, woman or child behind.’

  ‘And what do the Crowlords make of this?’ asked Carver.

  Ringlin and Ibal both looked at their master warily, as Hector flinched nervously.

  ‘They’re unaware of what you’re doing?’ said Manfred. ‘My boy, the Crows of Riven are not to be crossed. If you’re in league with them, you couldn’t have chosen more reprehensible allies. These are the folk who destroyed Stormdale in Lucas’s name!’

  Hector shifted awkwardly, raising his good hand to stop the Staglord.

  ‘Your Grace, I may not have told you the truth there. Stormdale still stands. The forces from Riven and Vermire were repelled by the Stags … with the help of Drew.’

  Manfred grimaced and shook his head. ‘More lies, Hector –’

  ‘From the old me, Manfred,’ the magister interjected, blushing furiously. ‘I’m coming clean now, admittedly late in the day.’

  ‘How is it that the Crows haven’t just seized Icegarden for themselves yet?’ asked the duke. ‘What stands in their way? You and your snow warriors of Tuskun?’

  ‘I don’t doubt that they want Sturmland for themselves. I fully expect them to strike me down any day now. Believe me, I didn’t willingly enter an alliance with the Crowlords. But it’s fear that’s stayed their hand thus far.’

  ‘Fear?’ whispered the Staglord.

  ‘Formidable though the Ugri are, it is not my army that they fear,’ said Hector sheepishly. ‘It’s me that they’re afraid of.’

  ‘You?’ exclaimed Manfred incredulously. ‘I saw your little magic trick, throttling poor Bethwyn beyond the Strakenberg Gate. That’s what they’re afraid of?’

  ‘A little more than that, Your Grace. Lord Flint has witnessed at first hand my command over the dead. He’s seen me commune and hold thrall over the risen. He now wonders if the power can be used as a weap
on. He spoke of using my necromancy in the field.’

  ‘In the field?’ said Carver, rising with the help of Ibal, the Thief Lord throwing his waddling jailer a hard stare.

  ‘The dead,’ chimed in Ringlin nervously. ‘Flint reckons that the bodies beyond the wall can serve a further purpose against any who try to invade Icegarden. Baron Hector’s said before now that the Wyrmstaff might help him achieve this aim, such is the power it harnesses.’

  Manfred looked confused at the mention of the ancient staff, but a quick word from Carver soon set him straight.

  ‘It’s some relic from yesteryear, this Wyrmstaff. That’s if it exists at all. It supposedly magnifies a magister’s strength, channelling his power to greater effect.’ He smiled at Hector as he rubbed his wrists. ‘See, I was paying attention to your addled ramblings, Blackhand.’

  ‘I can’t remember – nor do I care to recall – what rants I’ve made you endure, Carver,’ said a shamefaced Hector. ‘I only pray that my future actions show me in a better light and prove to you that there’s still a good soul in here.’

  Hector tapped his breast with the fingers of his withered hand, his eyes lingering upon the black, blistered flesh. The pain in his chest where the Staglord’s tine had punctured his lung was hard to ignore, but he tried to push it from his mind. He’d see to his wounds once he’d set things right.

  ‘The Crows will bide their time before striking when you’re at your weakest,’ warned Carver, ignoring the Boarlord’s overtures. ‘I’ve watched in the passing months how you’ve wasted away, Blackhand, shrinking into yourself, obsessed as you are with that accursed staff. They’ll have been watching too, waiting for their opportunity. Looking at you now, before us, that could be at any moment.’

  ‘How can you be sure the Crows won’t strike?’ Manfred asked.

  ‘They ain’t here at the moment, although their army from Riven mans the walls,’ said Ringlin. ‘The Crows have been sparring with the Cranelords from Bast for days on end. But they’ll be back any day now. And they’ll want you when they get here, Duke Manfred,’ the rogue added with a crooked smile. ‘Flint’s been banging on about capturing you for months now. Sounds like the Crows are none too fond of the Stags.’

  ‘Do you trust your Boarguard?’ said Manfred, glaring warily at Ringlin.

  ‘All of them,’ said Hector. ‘The Ugri are sworn to me by blood since I killed their old mistress, Queen Slotha.’

  ‘So what you’re saying,’ said Carver, ‘is if someone were to kill the leader of the Ugri, they would instantly inherit an army?’

  Carver left it hanging there, the implication obvious to all. Should Flint strike now and slay Hector, he would have the city and the Ugri nation at his back.

  ‘And where is this army now?’ asked the Thief Lord.

  Hector scratched his jaw. ‘Mostly beyond the walls. The Ugri are superstitious about the White Bear’s city – they’re happier camping in the mountains. Some, such as Two Axes and the Creep, remain within the palace, close by should I need them. But the city is patrolled by the soldiers from Riven.’

  ‘And the Wyrmstaff?’ enquired Manfred. ‘What of it?’

  Hector took a breath. ‘I’ve stopped looking for it, Your Grace. Let it remain hidden as the Daughters of Icegarden always wished. Clearly it’s too dangerous to ever leave the Strakenberg.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’ said Carver. ‘How do you free your prisoners without raising the suspicion of the soldiers from Riven? They man the walls, do they not? I can’t see them standing by while you march your prisoners out of the Strakenberg Gate.’

  ‘There’s another way out of the city,’ said Ringlin. ‘The miners and smiths know it well enough, an old road beneath the mountain that’ll lead you into the Whitepeaks beyond. It’s not been used in our lifetime, but it should still serve its purpose.’

  While Ringlin and Carver put aside their differences to discuss the escape route, Manfred stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Hector’s shoulder.

  ‘You know, this is a new beginning for you, Hector. You can start again, put the madness and mayhem behind you.’

  ‘The magistry as well, Your Grace. I can’t go near it. Never again.’

  ‘Don’t be so quick to dismiss it, my boy. Your powers can still be used as a force for good –’

  ‘Not as a magister,’ said Hector, shaking his head. ‘The temptation’s too great. I mustn’t even toy with the idea. I’ll heal with herbs and bandages from now on, but no cantrips and magicks; I daren’t even dabble.’

  Manfred nodded. ‘Nobody knows better than you the grip it had on you.’

  ‘I was seduced, Manfred. Totally. Haunted by my own brother’s phantom, I allowed myself to be dragged into darkness. I can see and hear the spirits of the dead – though the good souls move on, the wicked ones linger in the form of viles, malevolent spectres that shadow dark magisters. Vincent was one such monster.’

  ‘You fear he’ll return, that your torment at your brother’s hands isn’t over?’

  ‘No.’ Hector smiled wearily. ‘He’s gone. But I can never allow myself to be seduced by the dark arts again.’

  ‘Well, you have your friends back, Hector, and with your blessing, I’ll be keeping an eye on you like a Hawklord henceforth. If I see you so much as mutter a word of magick, I’ll crack your skull, right?’ Manfred’s smile hardened, a sincere look of concern etching his grey face. ‘No harm shall come to you on my watch, Hector, as Brenn is my witness.’

  The two men hugged, their heartfelt reunion complete. They turned to the rogues in time to see Ringlin handing Carver one of his long knives, Ibal giggling nervously beside them.

  ‘Try not to stick it in my back,’ said the Boarguard through clenched teeth.

  ‘What? Like you did to me at the South Gate not so long ago? Relax, Ringlin,’ said Carver, his eyes narrowed. ‘We’re all turning over a new leaf here.’

  ‘We’re to leave right away?’ asked Manfred.

  ‘I’ll need you to help Ringlin and Ibal free the rest of the prisoners,’ said Hector. ‘Lady Bethwyn is with the Daughters of Icegarden close by. Two Axes watches over Duchess Freya. I’ll fetch her myself; I owe the duchess a great many apologies. But there’s no reason to linger here – as soon as you’ve got people moving, you should accompany them, my lords. Who knows what awaits them on the road beneath the mountain?’

  ‘And you?’ said Manfred. ‘You’ll be coming too?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Hector. ‘I’ll gather my belongings and come through last of all with Ringlin and Ibal. I need to call at the Chapel of Brenn. Pick up the queen’s body …’

  He sighed, the Vincent-vile having been replaced by shame and misery, shadowing his every move. ‘I won’t leave her here, alone. Ringlin and Ibal can help me carry her out and perhaps I can reunite her with Drew one day.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Manfred ruefully, stroking the whiskers on his lip.

  ‘Are you truly finished with your dark magistry, Blackhand?’ asked the Thief Lord, turning the borrowed long knife in his palm. ‘How do we know this isn’t a trick?’

  ‘That part of me’s dead, I swear upon the lives of all those I find dear, and there are yet many. And Carver,’ he added, staring in revulsion at his twisted limb, ‘my name’s Hector.’

  5

  The Choice

  ‘Oh, Vega, I could kiss you!’ cried Baron Bosa, sloshing his goblet in the air before the Sharklord.

  ‘A toast will do just fine, old friend,’ said the count politely, placing a firm hand upon the Whalelord’s shoulder. He grabbed a chalice from the passing tray as the ship’s cook circuited th
e forecastle of the Nemesis. The other captains of the fleet joined him, fully twenty of them celebrating the good news.

  ‘A toast to all, in fact, and the good fortune Sosha blesses us with!’

  Bosa raised his goblet aloft as the others followed suit.

  ‘To the Wolf!’ shouted Captain Ransome, his words echoed by his fellows.

  Drew smiled at the cheering sea captains, their spirits now soaring after being low for so long. Whitley stood across from him and managed a smile, raising her cup. He nodded back.

  ‘I still don’t see how you finally persuaded Opal to give up her secrets, Vega,’ said Drew, glancing over the shoulders of a group of captains who were gathered around a collection of scrolls. Each bore the scrawled handwriting of the Sharklord, with lists of vessel names, thumbnail maps and a definitive code for flag flying. Here was everything their ships needed to be able to sail into Scorpio’s fleet undetected.

  ‘Yes, Vega,’ said Whitley. ‘Tell us, how did you do it?’

  ‘I discovered something of value to her, my lady,’ he said. ‘Something that would provide us with leverage. The scrolls you see before you: trust me when I tell you their contents are genuine. There’s no way on Sosha’s blue sea that she’s lied to us.’

  ‘But how can you be sure?’ asked Ransome.

  ‘Take my word for it, she risks too much to have lied to us. We have all we need right here.’

  ‘So Opal’s outlived her usefulness,’ said Bosa. ‘A shame. I was warming to her charming threats.’

  ‘She no doubt still has information that will be of use to us,’ said Vega. ‘Her knowledge of the Catlord armada’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are more secrets to be extracted from the Beauty of Bast’s exquisite head yet.’