Storm of Sharks (33 page)

‘I don’t
need
you,
Vincent!’ Hector cried. ‘It’s you who needs me, feeding off me like a
parasite. I have friends. What do you have?’

You have nobody, Hector. You’re a loveless, lonely loser.

‘I have Ringlin and Ibal,’
Hector said.

I’d sooner be unloved,
hissed
the vile.

‘Quiet!’ snapped Hector, rising
from the floor to shout at the shadows, finally finding his voice. ‘I see
I’ve made mistakes now, all too clearly! I realize I’ve been a
fool!’

Hector reached out, clutching the
altar’s edge in both hands, grief-stricken, as sobs shook his body.

A bit late in the day for tears, brother. Who are these in aid of?

‘These are the first honest emotions
I’ve felt since … since I don’t know when!’ Hector cried.
‘And look what it took for me to see the light: the mother of my best friend
dying! Killed by my hand!’

Get a hold of yourself!
whispered
Vincent, the phantom now materializing before his eyes, the shadows taking shape through
the clouds of smoking incense.
You’re an embarrassment! You
wanted
this! You’ve earned Icegarden and your enemies’
respect – don’t throw it all away now in a moment of
weakness!

‘It isn’t weakness!’
shouted Hector, his face contorted with fury, the veins bulging on his neck. Spittle
frothed on his lips as his eyes burned red with tears. He cried out as the pain in his
chest struck again, his ruined lung dogging every movement. He wagged his blackened hand
at the air, pointing at the fiend as the vile circled him.

‘This is how I feel!’ wailed
Hector, his other hand punching his chest. ‘This is how I should always have felt,
but you and your hatred stole it away from me. I had love in my heart once, for my
friends, for my family, and you ruined it, killed it. You sucked whatever goodness there
was from my soul, Vincent, as sure as a leech gorges on blood!’

I made you stronger, you ungrateful wretch! I gave you purpose and drive, I showed
you a life where you had none before.
I ruined you? It was you who killed me, remember?

‘I wish I’d never become a
magister,’ Hector sobbed. ‘I thought I could help people with my magicks,
serve them, heal them, but it’s brought me nothing but misery! I should’ve
wasted my youth as you did, as a self-serving, malingering gambler. When did you ever do
anything for anyone other than yourself, brother?’

You have the gall to ask me that? You took my life and you’ve used me ever
since, Hector: your attack dog, your slave!

‘I don’t need you,’
snarled Hector suddenly, a smile appearing across his crazed face. He nodded feverishly,
suddenly inspired. ‘Yes, that’s it. You’ve served me for the last
time, Vincent. I release you from your bond. Go, brother. Take the long sleep at last.
Or find some other soul to torment, I care not. But I’m done with you.’

You don’t
get
to release
me, Hector. You never summoned me, remember? I was born the night I died. I’m
part of you. I will always be beside you, behind you, within you …

‘Get out!’ Hector screamed, the
jewelled dagger in his hand now.

All the power at the tips of your withered fingers, and you’d throw
it away. On the threshold of greatness you’d turn away,
step back …

‘Out!’ cried Hector, slashing
ineffectually at the swirling vile.

Wasted on you …

The vile was laughing now, mocking Hector as
he tried to dispel it, revelling in his misery.

He blinked, trying to see through the tears
and sweat that blinded him, his dagger hand weary as the vile cackled. Hector looked at
his other hand. The black fingers twitched, as if possessed by a life of their own,
skeletal digits clawing at the air before him. Seizing the moment, Hector thrust the
necrotic limb deep into the burning brazier, the white-hot coals rolling over the dead
flesh as the flames licked up its length. The dark skin crackled and broke under the
blistering heat, peeling away to reveal the grey, rotten flesh beneath, the pain
registering with Hector for the first time in a long while. His scream shook the chapel,
Vincent’s cry mixing with his own as the phantom suddenly began to dissipate, its
form blown away on the breeze.

Wasted …
the vile hissed for
the last time, before blinking out of existence.

Hector dragged his smoking hand out of the
brazier and fell against the altar, his body wracked by sobs. He wasn’t sure how
long he knelt there, his brother’s cursed words still ringing in his ears, blood
thumping through his temples. Though he knew the shadow was gone, his eyes searched the
room for any sign of the vile.

‘Hector.’

His name repeated again and again at last
drew him from
his stupor. He glanced around the chamber, his eyes
finally finding Ringlin, who stood at the open door to the chapel. The Boarguard captain
stared at him fearfully.

‘Are you all right?’

‘He’s … he’s
gone,’ gasped the young magister, collapsing to the floor, the jewelled dagger
skittering across the flags.

‘Vincent’s gone?’ said
Ringlin, approaching and placing a tentative hand on Hector’s shoulder. He glanced
at the deformed limb in the Boarlord’s lap, the burned and blackened flesh still
sizzling, the stench unbearable.

‘Yes,’ sniffed Hector.
‘The darkness … it’s lifting. I am … myself
again.’

The boy from Redmire slowly began to sit
upright, Ringlin helping him rise. Hector stared down at the withered black limb with
fresh, horrified eyes. The hole through the centre of the palm, the skeletal fingers,
the corrupted flesh – he was a monster.

‘How did I come to be this?’ he
said, as much to himself as Ringlin. Lightning quick, his mind raced through the events
of the recent past, every poor choice, each regrettable action. ‘So many decisions
I’ve made, so terribly wrong. And you, Ringlin. You and Ibal helped me. Why
didn’t you stop me?’

Ringlin shrugged. ‘Wasn’t our
place. We worked for you, remember? Still do, for that matter. You tell us to do
something, we do it. We’re yours to command.’

‘But you must have
known
that
some of those deeds were wicked.’

The captain shook his head, showing no
remorse. ‘I’m
sorry, but you more than anyone knew that
Ibal and I were no angels when we entered your employ. You pay and promise a man enough
gold, he’ll likely do anything.’

These men had killed for Hector, murdering
people without a second thought. Could they truly be considered his friends still?

‘Epiphany or not, my lord, you can
still count on us. I didn’t much care for your brother when he was alive, even
less when he was dead. You’ve been good to us, and we can continue to be good to
you. What would you have us do?’

Hector looked at Amelie’s body
forlornly, shaking his head with regret. His cheeks remained wet with tears, his sorrow
a sea he could drown in. Some of his earliest memories revolved around the queen. On
their visits to Highcliff as infants, Hector and Vincent had been invariably left in the
care of the royal nursemaids. Leopold’s wife, so stern and serious to all who
visited the court, would share a smile or a laugh with the young Boars when alone in
their company, rare moments of warmth from the woman who would forever mourn the loss of
Wergar, the Wolf she had loved.

‘I need to begin righting my
wrongs,’ said Hector quietly, realizing the terrible gravity of his predicament.
‘Has Flint returned from his travels yet?’

‘No. The Crowlord and his brethren are
still on the wing, engaged with the Cranelords of Bast in the mountains. That said,
I’ve no idea when he’ll return. Why?’

‘We need to act swiftly and without
his knowledge,’ said Hector, his mind now firing with ideas. ‘Icegarden is
no longer safe for any of us. We must leave.’

Hector placed his pale right hand over the
shroud that covered Amelie, his palm gently caressing her brow.

‘And what of the prisoners?’
said Ringlin. ‘Freya and the Daughters of Icegarden? Carver and Manfred? All the
others?’

Hector turned to his man and smiled.
‘They’re coming with us, Ringlin.’

Leaning on the rail of the quarterdeck,
Drew watched the crew of the
Nemesis
as they sat in huddles, eating and
drinking, their voices low. Florimo had led them in a chorus of shanties throughout the
day, to take their minds off the horrors that had occurred in the brig. The songs had
ceased by sunset, and a gloomy mood settled over the warship. The further south they
sailed, the closer they came to the Lyssian Straits and the Bastian armada that awaited
them. Knowing how well drilled the Catlord forces were, many feared they were sailing to
their doom.

Drew turned, surprised to see Vega approach
from the aft deck. ‘You’re still here? They’ll be forgetting you
aboard the
Maelstrom
before long.’

‘Not for a long time,’ replied
the Sharklord. ‘I had to consult the Bastian sea charts one last time. See if
there was some alternative to striking blind in the dead of night.’

Drew arched an eyebrow and Vega shook his
head.

‘And Whitley. Is she speaking to you
yet?’

‘No,’ said Drew.
‘I’m not sure she will again.’

‘Not until you let her have
Opal’s head anyway, eh?’

‘I wonder if I should let Whitley have
her justice. What use is Opal to us now? She’ll never talk.’

Drew was grateful Vega didn’t provide
counsel. He knew the Shark wouldn’t have shied away from giving Whitley a silver
blade and letting her exact her revenge on the Pantherlady. But Vega knew Drew well
enough too, and rightly suspected that the young Wolflord wouldn’t sanction such
an act.

‘You know it’s been many days
since we escaped Ghul’s sea fortress,’ said Drew.

‘And?’ said Vega, stiffening
instantly, knowing what question was coming.

‘Casper: he’s a Hawklord. How
long have you known?’

Vega’s chin dropped as he smiled.
‘That he was a Werelord? I’ve known that since he was a babe in arms. That
he was an avianthrope? That’s news even to me,’ he said wryly, shaking his
head.

‘I asked Casper once how he came into
your service,’ said Drew. ‘He told me his parents had died and you’d
taken him in as one of your own, grooming him for a place aboard the
Maelstrom.
You didn’t tell him what really happened, did you?’

‘And what should I have told
him?’ asked Vega.

‘That his mother was Lady Shah of
Windfell and his father was Count Vega of the Cluster Isles. And that they both
lived.’

Vega grabbed Drew and led him away from
where the crew
were gathered. He bundled him into the shadows and held
him against the ship’s rail, his voice a whisper.

‘Where is she?’

‘Shah? The last time I saw her she was
in Azra, a guest of King Faisal.’

‘How is it that
you
know my
Shah?’

‘She was in the forced service of the
Goatlord slave merchant Kesslar, until we overthrew him and his Lizardlord friends in
Scoria.’

Drew quickly recounted his experiences with
the crippled Hawklord Baron Griffyn and his beautiful, reserved daughter. He spared no
detail, letting Vega understand what he’d endured in escaping the volcanic island
of Scoria with his friends from Bast, fellow Werelords who’d been forced to fight
like gladiators for the Lizardlords’ amusement. Though it was dark, Drew could see
that Vega’s eyes were wet as he described what Shah had been through.

‘I’d given up all hope of seeing
her again. Casper’s all I have, delivered to me many moons ago by a merchant from
the east. The fellow was clearly loyal to Griffyn, to have brought the boy to the
Cluster Isles. I had no idea as to her whereabouts.’

‘Where did you and she meet?’
asked Drew, enthralled by the unfolding secrets of the Sharklord.

‘Ro-Shann, in Omir. I was a guest of
Lady Hayfa, the Hyena. In truth, I was wooing her. My fortunes in the Cluster Isles had
recently been stolen from me by Ghul and Leopold. I was planning to make a life
elsewhere, and Hayfa had swiftly taken to my charms. I was in my pomp back then,
Drew …’

Vega grinned wistfully. The young Wolf cleared
his throat. ‘And Shah?’

‘Shah was in the service of Kesslar
then too – the Goatlord had many dealings with the Werelords of Omir; Shah
must have only been in her second decade at the time. A delicate thing with big grey
eyes.’

He shook his head, the smile still there.
‘As beautiful as Hayfa was, Shah was breathtaking. The minute I clapped eyes on
her I knew I’d never love another. She and I courted behind Hayfa’s and
Kesslar’s backs for weeks. I’ll say this, Drew: never try to carry on an
affair when you’re the guest of a caninthrope. Hayfa’s pack of spies quickly
got word to her of my carrying-on, and I had to make my excuses. And Shah was already on
her way out of port with Kesslar, heading Sosha knows where. I never saw her
again.’