Storm of Sharks (38 page)

‘While a few found Taboo difficult and
unmanageable, many warmed to the girl’s wild demeanour and unpredictable nature,
and found her antics a breath of fresh air within the stuffy council chambers of the
capital. Indeed, one young
felinthrope took a particular shine to her:
Chang, son of Lord Chollo, the Cheetahlord of the Teeth. The attraction was mutual and
the two were soon courting. Their tempers were well matched – when they
weren’t holding one another’s hands they were gripping one another’s
throats. But we’re Catlords. We’re nothing if not passionate.’

Opal took a deep breath before speaking, the
Beauty of Bast’s tough exterior melting before their eyes.

‘There was another who loved Taboo, a
young Catlord who was on the rise. Quietly spoken, he was a man of action, unlike the
smooth suitor that was young Chang. Well … this shy felinthrope, though he had
little in common with the young Tigerlady, approached Taboo one evening, declaring his
undying love for her. The girl, still little more than a child herself, laughed at the
Catlord who’d proposed to her, throwing his love back in his foolish
face.’

Opal’s eyes were wet with tears as she
stared into space, recalling the terrible incident.

‘He seized her, distressed by her
rebuttal. She struck him, clawing his chest. He hit her back and she fell hard, just as
Lord Chang returned to her chambers. The boy leapt to the girl’s defence, but he
was no match for his rival, who was freshly returned from a military campaign, battle
hardened. A few punches from the warrior were enough to crush the Cheetah’s
slender body. Taboo, enraged, leapt on to the Catlord’s back, raking his torso,
clawing at his face, biting and tearing at him with all her fury. He grabbed her, he
beat her, he throttled her until she was unconscious. Then he fetched his
sister.’

Drew knew what was coming next. He shivered to
think about how complicit Opal had been in Taboo’s fate.

‘I helped Onyx set the scene.
According to our version, he was with me when we heard screaming. While I rushed for the
palace guard, Onyx went to investigate. He found the lovers fighting one another. Onyx
leapt forward, valiantly trying to wrestle the Tiger from the Cheetah, but the boy was
already breathing his last, while the girl turned her hateful blows on my brother. When
I arrived with the guard and other members of the court, we told our story and she was
carried away to a cell.

‘High Lord Oba, my father, pushed for
the execution of the girl – she was sick in the mind, a danger to all as well
as herself. She pleaded for clemency, claiming not to recall the events of the night.
That was very probably the case – I don’t doubt that Taboo suffered a
grave trauma at my brother’s hands, both emotionally and mentally. She denied she
could have ever harmed Chang, swore she loved him, but who were the elders going to
believe? A crazed young girl with a history of foul temper and fights, or a
many-times-decorated young war hero? High Lord Tigara begged for leniency, for his
granddaughter’s life to be spared.

‘It was left to the Lion, High Lord
Leon, to pass judgment. Leon is the father of Leopold, and as old as any of the
Werelords of Bast. Even back then he was very fond of my brother. Upon the advice of
Onyx and my father, Leon agreed that Taboo should be stripped of all title and position
and gifted to the Lizardlords of Scoria, forced to fight out her days in the Furnace.
She was banished, and all the felinthrope races turned
their backs
upon her. The shame upon the house of Tigers was immense, the stain
immovable.’

Opal rocked forward on her haunches, looking
from Vega down to Drew. She lifted her wrists and held the chains out before her. The
Pantherlady closed her teary eyes.

‘That is Taboo’s sorry
tale.’

‘It’s time, my lord.’

Hector looked up from the tome. Ringlin
stood at the library’s entrance, edgier than he’d ever been. The Boarlord
winced as he closed the heavy book cover, a cloud of dust billowing as it slammed shut.
The pain in his chest was a constant reminder of the wrongs he’d committed and how
far he’d wandered from the right path. He could have administered his own remedies
and magicks, but he’d ceased to practise all forms of magistry. Perhaps Duchess
Freya could forgive him once he freed her, and she might help him then.

‘Have they all gone?’ he asked,
rising and hobbling to the door.

‘I left Ibal escorting the remaining
prisoners from their cells,’ said the Boarguard captain. ‘Once they realized
they were being freed, the miners and smiths were more than
forthcoming about the road beneath the mountain. They were happy to point it out.
Carver and Manfred led the way, with your Lady Bethwyn in their company.’

Over his shoulder he carried his backpack,
and the cloak he wore was a thick, woollen affair. He was dressed for the outdoors.
‘If you’re going to do this, you have to come now.’

‘Good man, Ringlin,’ said
Hector, seizing him by the forearm with a gloved left hand. ‘I had you down for a
cold-blooded killer when we first met.’

‘Oh, I’m still that, my lord.
Only there’s a time and a place, see?’

‘You know this is the right thing to
do, don’t you?’ whispered Hector, pausing at the door.

‘That’s your decision to make,
Hector,’ said Ringlin, dropping the formalities for a moment. ‘I’m a
Boarguard; I’ll follow you whatever you do.’

‘You’re loyal so long as I pay
you,’ said the Boar with a sigh.

‘Not necessarily. Your brother paid
us, and I could hardly say I was loyal to
that
drunken fool. I like you,
Hector. Ain’t ever been able to say that about a master. And this new leaf
you’re turning over, when all the world is in ruins around you: it may be the
making of you.’

‘You flatter me, Ringlin,’ said
Hector, moving into the corridor. ‘You must be after a wage rise.’

‘You really think I do this just for
the money?’ said the other, snorting, as they set off, deep beneath the palace.
‘Show me somewhere I can spend my gold and you might be nearer the
mark.’

‘I’ve one more piece of business
before we leave, Ringlin,’
said Hector as they walked. ‘I
must free the Ugri from their bond, allow them to return to their homeland. Two Axes
watches over the Duchess Freya. I’ll give him that news once we collect the
queen’s body, and then we may follow the others out of here.’

‘You never know,’ said Ringlin,
taking Hector by the elbow as he stumbled down the sloping corridor. ‘Two Axes may
want to take Icegarden for himself.’

‘No,’ replied Hector. ‘He
and his people may kill as many of the Crow’s men on their way out of here as they
wish, but this city belongs in the paws of the White Bears. I aim to make it theirs
again.’

Deeper they went into the belly of the
palace, following twisting corridors and staircases down into the earth. Hector stopped
suddenly, throwing his palm against his forehead.

‘What is it, my lord?’ asked
Ringlin.

‘What a fool,’ he muttered,
shaking his head. ‘I was in such a hurry that I’ve left a trinket
behind.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Something my father gave me long
ago.’ Hector sighed. ‘It’s a brooch, a clasp for my cloak: a charging
boar fashioned out of bronze. It’s the only thing of his I still own.
Damn.’

‘Let me go back and fetch it,’
said the man.

‘We haven’t time!’

‘I’ll be quick. Let me do this
for you.’

‘It’s on my bedside table,
Ringlin. Hurry, and I’ll meet you in the chapel.’

With that, the Boarguard was off and running
back the way they’d come. Hector watched him disappear, continually
impressed by the reformed rogue and the road to salvation the two
were now embarking upon. Turning, he continued on his way.

As Hector neared the chapel, he felt cold
sweat soaking his robes again, nausea rising in the pit of his stomach. Instantly his
hand went to his chest, nursing the wound he’d sustained upon the end of
Manfred’s antler. He could still feel the ribs grating within, his ragged lung
rasping and rattling uselessly. A wave of dizziness came over him, growing with each
faltering step, as the world turned and the corridor spiralled like a corkscrew. He
blinked, trying to fight the vertigo.

‘Come on, Hector,’ he whispered,
trying to bolster his fragile confidence. ‘Get a hold of yourself.’

Since his revelation in the company of
Manfred and Carver, Hector had felt spiritually reborn, his mind almost returned to
normality. He knew that there was a world of recompense due, that his crimes were great
and many, but his heart was set upon reparation. His greatest joy came from the fact
that he’d dispelled Vincent. There’d been no sign of the vile since his
confrontation, and Hector’s relief was immense.

Clutching the wall, he continued onward
along the gently curving corridor. Around the corner he saw the doorway, a torch
spluttering in a bracket beside it. While one hand clutched his magister’s case,
the other reached out to the wall of the corridor as he composed himself, the dizziness
gradually lifting.

Hector took a further moment to compose
himself before opening the door, taking the torch and entering the Chapel of Brenn.

Walking up to the altar, he placed his
medicine bag at the foot before stepping up to the table’s head. Gingerly taking
the sheet in his hands, he gently pulled it back, revealing Amelie’s peaceful
face. He’d seen to her care in the aftermath of her death, ensuring she received
all the funeral attention a deceased monarch deserved. The wound in her breast had been
stitched up – by his own hand – and herbs and tinctures had been
applied that would preserve the body and delay its decay.

‘I’m so sorry, Your
Majesty.’ Hector sniffed, a trembling hand stroking her frigid cheek. ‘I
promise, I’ll return you to Drew, or I’ll die trying.’

Another wave of dizziness washed over him.
He wobbled where he stood, reaching out and taking hold of the altar’s edge.
Hector shook his head, trying to chase away the vertigo before the attack could
escalate. The feeling along the left side of his body suddenly disappeared and he
staggered down the stone table’s length, clattering into his magister’s
case. The bag tumbled from the table, its contents smashing and spilling across the
floor of the chapel.

Hector dropped the torch to the floor and
put a hand to his head, forcing his palm to his eye socket to quell the rising nausea.
It felt like his skull was being torn apart.

‘Make it stop!’ he shouted as
the pain suddenly intensified. The attack came on hard, far greater than before, an
assault upon Hector’s every sense. Knives were driven into his ears, his eyes run
through by burning pokers, his nose overcome by the foul stench of brimstone. He tried
to cry out but his scream was stifled, as if a great beast were forcing itself down his
throat, choking the air and despair from his twisted lungs. He
tasted
blood and bile, salt and sulphur. Hector was no longer aware of his surroundings. All he
knew was pain, overwhelming and agonizing.

Banish me, would you, brother? I’ll go when I’m good and ready. All that
knowledge in your pathetic little head …

Hector’s knees went from under him as
he keeled over, his head cracking against the altar’s edge on his way to the
floor. As the darkness approached, the last thing he heard was Vincent’s
voice.

Wasted on you …

‘My lord?’

Ringlin stepped carefully down the darkened
corridor towards the Chapel of Brenn. By now the freed prisoners were traversing the
road beneath the mountain, on their way out of Icegarden and into the Whitepeaks. Ibal
was with them, of course, no doubt keen for him to catch up. His giggling friend
wouldn’t usually go anywhere without him; this was already the longest the two had
been apart in years. Ringlin had his doubts about Hector’s plan, but he’d
accepted there was no other course of action. Events in Sturmland had taken a distinct
turn for the worse. Better to get out of the mountains now in one piece, and perhaps
find his way back to the Dalelands.

‘Lord Hector?’

He’d hurried after his master as
quickly as he could, knowing only too well how impulsive Hector could be. He looked at
the bronze brooch in his hand, the heraldic symbol which was still of great value to the
Boarlord. Clenching it in his fist,
he called out again as he
approached the chapel’s open door.

‘Hector?’ he called and pushed
it open.

The room was a mess. Ringlin stepped
gingerly through the debris, his foot sending a glass vial spinning across the floor,
rattling as it went. The torch lay on the floor, its fading light illuminating the altar
beside it. All around, the contents of Hector’s medicine case lay crushed and
broken underfoot. Crouching, Ringlin reached out and took hold of the torch. As he
righted it in his grasp he could now better see the floor. He caught his breath.