Storm of Sharks (34 page)

‘You still love her?’

‘I’ve been “in love”
time and again – I mean, which lady of Lyssia could truly resist a catch like
this?’ replied Vega. ‘The feeling has never remained long, always carried
away on a current as my heart leads me elsewhere. But Shah? I don’t think I ever
stopped loving her.’

Drew couldn’t quite believe it.
He’d thought he understood Vega, but here was the Sharklord’s softer,
sensitive side. Drew thought better of mentioning the former slaver, Djogo, who had
taken Shah to his heart. Whether those feelings had been since returned, he didn’t
know.

‘The boy’s always had his
mother’s looks,’ said Vega. ‘Such a rare thing. Trust Shah to steal my
therian lineage from under my nose, gifting the Shark a Hawk for a son! I’ll be
the laughing stock of the White Sea when this gets out.’

‘The Seahawk,’ said Drew.
‘He’ll be the first of his kind?’

Vega nodded. ‘And the last you saw of
his mother was in Azra, you say?’

‘Yes, but when I left, the city was
preparing for a siege by the Dogs and Cats. Why, do you want to take Casper to
her?’

‘I’ll be damned before I let the
Bastians take Shah.’

‘How do you plan to get there, Vega?
We’re sailing towards death in the Lyssian Straits, aren’t we? You’ll
never get Casper back to his mother’s arms.’

Vega was silent, his hands on Drew’s
shoulders as he stared past the young lycanthrope across to the
Maelstrom
. He
stood as still as a statue as the boat rocked and rolled, the wind ruffling his long,
dark hair.

‘What is it?’ whispered
Drew.

‘Something you just said has stirred a
memory. Opal let something slip while she tortured me on Ghul’s tower, a piece of
information that we may use against her. Wait here.’

Drew watched as Vega walked quickly away,
heading straight for the hatched door that led below to the brig.

‘To what do I owe this late-night
visit, Vega?’ said Opal, rising from the floor of her cell. ‘Are you trying
your hand at charming me again? I found you infinitely more attractive when you were
hanging from the walls of Ghul’s fortress.’

‘You’ve a lot to say, Opal, but
all I hear is arrogance,’ said Vega as he entered the brig, closing the door
behind him. ‘Typical Catlord. Leopold was arrogant, too, and look what happened to
him: he was killed by Bergan in Highcliff.’

Opal laughed. ‘Is that what you think?
Silly Shark. It was Lucas who killed Leopold!’

‘Lucas killed his own father?
Why?’

‘Why do you think?’ asked Opal.
‘Just as happened with Wergar and Leopold, a new leader came and took over. Wolf
or Lion, pack or pride, it makes no difference. It is the victor’s way to slay the
predecessor.’

‘Is Lucas really that
twisted?’

‘He’s suggestible and took very
little persuading.’

‘Why tell me this now? The news that
the so-called monarch of Westland is guilty of patricide could devastate the Seven
Realms.’

Opal scoffed at that. ‘Who are you
going to tell, Shark? And who’ll listen? You’re a dwindling force, while
those loyal to the Lion grow in number by the day. The Seven Realms belong to my nephew
now.’

‘Fair point.’

‘May I suggest a course of action for
you, Sharklord?’ she purred.

‘Speak freely,’ said Vega with a
smile.

‘Take me to the nearest port and let
me walk free. Then run as far as you can, for my brother and I shall come for you, I
promise.’

‘I was never one for running,’
replied Vega. ‘Swimming’s more my style.’

‘Then swim. Better still, fall on your
cutlass: take your own life before we find you, for your death will not be
swift.’

Vega stopped walking. ‘No?’

‘It will be lingering, drawn out, an
opus of torture such as
you cannot imagine. Your nails, your teeth,
your skin will be removed. You’ll be spared the touch of silver or the claw of the
Panther. I want your wounds to heal, your flesh to grow back, simply so I may remove it
again. You’ll die a hundred deaths before I’m finished with you.’

‘Are you done?’

‘I’ve hardly started, Sharklord.
You’ll win no war. Your Jackals and Hawks are entombed within the Bana Gap. The
Bears and Stags are falling as we speak. So sail into the Lyssian Straits with your
fleet of stolen ships. You will be blasted, burned and sent to the seabed by Sea Marshal
Scorpio.’

Vega clapped his hands together as he
stepped up to the barred gate, his palms meeting in prayer as he smiled behind them.

‘Ranting over? Good – my
turn now, so listen carefully, Panther. You’re going to tell me the codes of
Scorpio’s fleet, every ship that sails under your brother’s black flag,
every order they might expect to receive from the
Nemesis
, and you’re
going to do it right now.’

‘We’ve danced to this tune
already, Shark.’ Opal sighed.

She sat down again, turning about until she
found a comfortable spot on which to lie. Resting her head upon her manacled hands, she
closed her eyes as she spoke sleepily.

‘You couldn’t pull a hair from
your chin let alone a fact from a prisoner.’

‘You’ll tell me, Opal, or
I’ll travel to your ancestral home outside Braga, find your children and kill
them.’

Opal’s green eyes flicked open
instantly, the pupils wide and swollen as she stared at the Sharklord.

‘A bold threat, but nothing more,’
she said with a sneer.

‘You need to know something, Opal. If
I put my mind to something, I see it through. You doubt whether I could reach them?
Perhaps you have palace guards protecting them. Maybe you think they’re safe
behind some grand, golden walls. Hear me now. I’ll tear those walls down brick by
brick and paint that palace red with Bastian blood to reach those children, even if it
kills me.’

‘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.’

‘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.’