Verena studied Lorimer and Tiarnach standing on the deck of The Sly Griffin. “Should those two move,” she said to her crew, “cut every line and get them the fuck away from my ship. Fill them full of arrows if you have to.”
“Charming,” Tiarnach said as Craggan fled for the safety of the lowered rope.
“Indeed. As base as all of her piratical breed,” Lorimer said, watching as Maeven clumsily climbed up the swaying rope. The crew gave her a wide berth, forcing her to clamber up and over without assistance.
“Ach, no, I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Tiarnach replied. “She’s made of steel, that one. It gives me the horn.”
Lorimer groaned. “You are attracted to withered crones with whips?” His hunger was rising and he could almost feel the crew’s flesh ripping between his hands, and taste their blood on his lips.
“Don’t knock it till ye try it,” Tiarnach replied. “But this one is hardly that, you foul old leech. When I was a god, I often found that old crones spoke the most sense.”
Lorimer shrugged, spines bristling. “How long do we give Maeven?”
Tiarnach squinted up at the sun and then studied the shadows cast on deck while scratching at his beard. “Until the mast’s shadow reaches the wheel, I reckon. What do you plan to do if she doesn’t return?”
Lorimer grinned his shark’s smile. “Feed.”
Verena enjoyed watching Maeven’s laboured ascent of the rope: panting with the strain, feet and hands slipping. Had she felt so inclined, she could have ordered an actual rope ladder lowered to make it easier. But forty years ago this vile creature had tried to kill her, and had now murdered her men and taken her ship. No queen of the Awildan Isles could allow that to remain unavenged. All pirates bowed their heads to their Crown or they lost them – or a queen would inevitably lose her own.
As the wheezing necromancer clambered onto the deck, her crew clutched charms and in a dozen languages muttered folk-spells to ward off evil. The crew hailed from shores far and wide, and Verena hoped some of their protections were worth more than the breath wasted on them.
Verena descended from the quarterdeck to examine her old ally, her subsequent enemy, who had seemingly not aged at all. Irusen stirred around Verena’s neck, the slynx’s small body vibrating in agitation. Yes, things would turn out very differently this time, she decided. She would hear what Maeven had to say, and if there was any real threat to her family, she would force answers from her. Then the necromancer would die. Tiarnach she would try to save, if the mad savage could be persuaded to behave and have a drink with her. That land-pirate had always been the life of the party.
“Come this way,” she said, turning her back and entering her cabin. She sat on a chair at the head of her table, waiting as Maeven – shadowed by the imposing bulk of Gormley – followed her in. Gormley closed and barred the door and then took station behind the sorceress, a knife ready in his fist.
Verena drummed her fingers on the table. “Begin.”
Maeven cleared her throat. “Firstly, I should ap–”
“I have no time for apologies or excuses.”
Maeven did not seem taken aback at her brusqueness. Instead, she leaned forward on her chair. “The Lucent Empire have built a fleet.”
The drumming stopped. “Is that so?”
Maeven frowned, scouring her expression for any hint of what she was really thinking. She gave her nothing. “I had thought this information would have proven more disturbing. Have they not sworn to wipe your kind off the seas? To invade the Awildan Isles and put all pirate havens to the torch?”
“So I am told,” Verena replied. “For centuries the Awildan queens have heard those very same boasts from the mouthpieces of kingdoms and city states all across Essoran. All have proved utterly incompetent at the task. Even Bridan Sere, called the greatest general in history, failed to conquer us. I reckon we have little to fear.”
What she left unsaid was that Bridan Sere had been winning. Through numbers, magic and tactical genius, Bridan’s fleet had forced her mother to resort to unleashing the Awildan bloodline’s greatest secret – an ancient monster that slumbered in the deep darkness below the sea. Verena had accompanied her mother on a single small ship to face the massed fleet of five city states. There, her mother, great Queen of the Awildan Isles, sacrificed her life to the monster to save her people. When Verena returned home alone, not a single enemy remained alive. Verena had suffered nightmares ever since. Dread things lurked in the depths, with enormous eyes that stared deep into her soul, and hungered for it…
Verena suppressed a shudder and bent her mind back to the threat at hand. “The growing power of the Lucent Empire is hardly recent news to anybody with eyes and ears.” She leaned back on her chair. “However, I have not received reports of warships being constructed anywhere along the coast, and you may trust that I certainly would have if they existed. I always pay attention to potential threats. So, then, necromancer, what now of your tale?”
Maeven smirked. “Oh, I never said they were building them along the coast.” She reached into her cloak and Gormley’s blade was instantly at her throat. He flipped back the cloth to reveal a small scroll case on her belt. On removing the lid, he found it stuffed with papers. Verena waved him back. Maeven massaged her throat with one hand while the other pulled the papers free and pushed them across the table.
Verena glimpsed Black Herran’s spidery handwriting and paled, shaken at last.
Maeven smiled coldly. “This warning does not come from me. She’s back.”
The pirate queen leaned forward, studying the papers.
“These pages of ledgers,” Maeven said, “contain details of seasoned timber, nails and steel fittings being delivered to Saroth Fort on the banks of the Caldar, along with orders for craftsmen to be sought out and brought there.”
Verena rose and retrieved her silver-rimmed reading glass from a dresser fixed to the wall and peered at the papers. “The draft of a warship is too great for the Caldar,” she said. On noticing Maeven’s blank look she explained further, “The river is too shallow.”
Maeven shrugged. “I bow to your knowledge, but Black Herran seems quite sure of it, and as you know she had – and apparently still has – demonic eyes everywhere. These documents clearly show they have spent years importing supplies, shipbuilders, blacksmiths and carpenters from across their empire. What else can it be?”
Verena studied the documents. They did indeed suggest that the Lucent Empire was building a great fleet – perhaps they had dredged the river to deepen it. They could be forgeries of course, but unless Maeven had also gained a master’s knowledge of shipbuilding… “And what exactly do you want from me?”
“Oh, this is not for me,” the necromancer said. “This is all Black Herran’s idea. The Lucent army will march south come summer sun and drier paths, and she plans to crush them at Tarnbrooke.”
Verena snorted. “Tarnbrooke has no army worthy of the name, nor walls high and thick enough to force a siege.” She leaned forward. “And by all the hells, why would I ever help somebody who took one of my ships and tried to kill me? I should cut you down and tell my old general to go fuck herself with a hot poker.”
Maeven grimaced and, for the first time in Verena’s eyes, seemed ill at ease. “Black Herran’s demons can go anywhere and get to anyone.”
Verena stiffened. “I don’t take kindly to threats.”
Maeven sat there and said nothing.
“Where is the demon-fucking old bitch?” Verena demanded. “Where has she been all these years?”
Maeven gave her a knowing look.
“Tarnbrooke?” Verena laughed. “Rancid arse of a whoring sea-pig! She’s spent her golden years in that run-down backwater? And she expects to bend me to her will?”
“Not just you,” Maeven replied sourly. “I am gathering all of her surviving captains. Lorimer Felle, Tiarnach, you, and next I go for Amogg Hadakk. Lastly, I am tasked with retrieving Jerak Hyden.”
Gormley hissed as the name Jerak Hyden was uttered. His face reddened and his hand and knife lifted, trembling with fury. Verena lifted a finger, chastising him with her gaze, promising a world of pain if he dared step out of line. He might be her first mate, but he was far from indispensable. Her chair scraped back as she rose to pace the room. “Madness, utter madness. Amogg was always a feral beast but she was useful, and honourable in her own way. Jerak is a true monster. I will have nothing to do with him.” She looked to Gormley and his readied knife. Her lips pursed.
Maeven shook her head. “I would not recommend attacking me, oh righteous queen. As you are aware, I am no petty dabbler in the arcane arts.”
“Is that so?” Verena said.
“My power runs deeper and darker than ever,” Maeven replied. “Do not force me to defend myself.”
“By all means – offer me a demonstration of your might.”
Maeven pointed a finger at the queen’s chest. Nothing happened. The necromancer’s eyes widened in shock, staring not at Verena but Irusen’s amber eyes glaring balefully from around her queen’s neck.
Verena smirked as the little slynx hissed and bared its needle-like teeth. “Your power means nothing. Sorcery can no longer touch me. I should gut you and feed you to the sharks.”
Maeven glanced at the wooden deck beneath her. “Can you say the same for your ship? It was once living, after all. All that lives turns to dust, sooner or later. Would you like to wager which power would prevail, when not targeting you directly? In any case, if you did kill me your deaths are assured.”
The pirate queen glanced at the deck, lips thinned. “By assured, I take it you mean the vampire lord? An arrow through his skull will leave him wallowing in the sea unable to reach us.”
A smile slid back onto Maeven’s lips. “Let your best shot try, if you are willing to lose your men.”
Verena sat back down. “You are quite right. I should cut the lines between our ships and set The Sly Griffin adrift. Then I will set her alight with fire arrows.”
Maeven hissed. “You would abandon one of your own ships?”
“Pride has been the downfall of many great and powerful people. Black Herran is a soulless creature, and you are selfish and slimy and as manipulative as always. She may have dug her claws back into your withered heart, but I refuse to do as she wishes. She is no longer my fierce general setting out to change the world.”
Maeven grimaced. “When we face a common foe, it is madness to kill each other.”
“Pray tell, why do I need you or your allies? The way I see it, Black Herran needs me.”
“The Lucent Empire is expanding in all directions. Every marching season sees a new clutch of towns and tribes falling before them, to be absorbed into their armies and indoctrinated into the cult of the Bright One. If we don’t band together to stop them now, it will be too late. You might be safe for the meantime across your sea and behind your walls of ships, but that will last only a few more years.”
As much as Verena hated to admit it, the woman spoke some sense. Over the last few years she had received reports of armies of the Lucent faithful being trained, but until now she had heard nothing of a navy. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop again, thinking. “And what would Black Herran have me do?”
“Tarnbrooke straddles the Mhorran Valley; the only safe land route through the Mhorran’s Spine mountain range. This makes it a natural choke point where the bastards can’t bring their greater numbers to bear. We can hold them there, but if they are able to ship enough men behind us, they will crack us like a nut between hammer and anvil. She wants you to make sure that does not happen.”
Verena pursed her lips. “Cargo ships full of soldiers would be slow and cumbersome. Easy pickings to our ship ballistae and catapults if we didn’t try and board them. You are asking me to consign hundreds to a sea grave.”
Maeven raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem? Have you become squeamish in your old age?”
Verena tutted. “Most are likely blameless conscripts no different from any I might call my subject. Unlike you, I don’t relish mass slaughter.”
“But will you do it? In a few years the Lucent Empire will control the west coast from Vandaura in the north to Whiteport in the south. Where will your ships find berth on the mainland then? And of course, there is the fleet they are building…”
Verena ground her teeth, thinking. Storm clouds gathered across every possible future she could imagine. The survival of the Awildan Isles depended on Essoran’s numerous cities, tribes and nations warring and bickering with each other. Their fleets were kept small and they were more concerned with their petty wars than low levels of piracy. She had taken great pains to spread her raids widely, so that no single ruler would see her pirates as a greater problem than their own neighbours.
The Lucent Empire was a new and growing threat, one that sought to swallow the entire continent. The agents of the Awildan Crown had always watched for would-be conquerors and the growing might of states; they would then snip off the bud before it could fully bloom. This time, however, their agents had fallen silent; assassinations and arson had failed, and the Lucents simply did not care about the economic impact of losing traders and ships. Their armies grew with each conquest, and their inquisitors had no equal on the field of battle… or did they? In the old days none could equal Black Herran and her captains…
“I can sink their ships easily enough,” the queen said. “But if you fail that would only focus their attention on the Awildan Isles once they have seized Tarnbrooke.”
“You deal with them on the sea and we shall deal with them on land,” Maeven countered.
Verena narrowed her eyes. “And what do you get out of this?”
“None of your business,” Maeven answered. “Black Herran gets her oh-so-precious town and children saved and you get your isles protected. That’s all you need to know.”
“She has children?” Verena marvelled. “Her? Poor bastards.” She paced the creaking wood, thinking hard.
Behind Maeven, Gormley’s hand trembled on the hilt of his knife, itching to cut the necromancer’s throat. “They are monsters and dark-hearted sorcerers, My Crown,” he said. “Their kind cannot be trusted. I always says so. It ain’t right them being aboard.”
Verena nodded, still pacing. Finally, she waved Gormley to stand down.
“I will let you live for now, Maeven. After this is done, we will have words. Do we have an–” Screams and cursing outside made her fling open the door to the deck.
One of her crew, a tall, pale-skinned northerner with a braided beard was leaning over the side of the ship, a war-bow larger than most of her crew in his hands. Helg, his name was – an arrogant barbarian who’d fled his village three years back. Supposedly the Lucents had made his home into a work camp now. The Awildan people were renowned for taking in every foreigner who washed up on their shores, accepting anybody who wanted a home and a trade, but sometimes that meant they had to deal with the dross too. And this fool had just loosed an arrow at The Sly Griffin, taking Lorimer Felle through the eye.
Helg grunted, nocked and loosed another arrow with a single swift movement. “I’ve taken harder shits. Now for the old ginger prick.”
Lorimer blurred, contemptuously brushing aside the second arrow as it flew. Tiarnach leaned back against The Sly Griffin’s mast, chuckling nastily, knowingly.
“Oh, Helg,” the pirate queen said, shaking her head. “You were too dim-witted to live for much longer anyway.”
Lorimer grasped the arrow lodged in his skull and shoved it all the way through, snapping off the point and then tearing the shaft out. His eye popped back into shape and he snarled and leapt clear across the water onto the side of the Scourge of Malice, clawed fingers burying into the wood, climbing in two great heaving pulls until he reached the northerner.
One second Helg’s head was there, and the next it was bouncing across the deck with blood spraying across the shocked crew. Lorimer was a beast of
twisted flesh and sharp bone that flowed up and onto the deck, fanged maw chewing.
“Hold, Lorimer!” Verena shouted. “You can see Maeven is unharmed. That idiot deserved to die for attacking you without orders.”
Maeven placed herself between the vampire and the ship’s crew before he slaughtered them all. “I trust that this demonstration was sufficient proof of our power?” she said. “He is only one of our companions, and not the worst. Your Majesty Verena Awildan, will you ally your forces to ours?”
Verena appreciated the deference shown in front of her crew. Maeven had always been sly. What choice did she now have with the vampire lord on board? Irusen baulked the necromancer’s dark magic but the vampire could end them all with ease in such close quarters. “Agreed. We join forces against the Lucent Empire. May the sea swallow their wicked hearts.”
Lorimer picked up Helg’s corpse in one massive clawed hand and tore a leg free, biting a huge chunk of flesh from the thigh and moaning with pleasure like it was a cut of prime steak.
Men gagged and backed away, and Verena did not blame them. She looked to Maeven. “You are right. He is still far from the worst. Come back into my cabin. Gormley, with me.”
The necromancer narrowed her eyes at Gormley’s presence, but said nothing. She waited until the door was shut before choosing her words carefully. “Lorimer is a monster, that is true, but he is of old nobility with ethics and morals of a sort. Tiarnach and Amogg have slaughtered more men than live on your isles – they will be useful in the fight ahead. And then there is the one that worries even me; our skilled alchemist who must be rescued from his enslavement in Hive…” She paused, and shuddered. “We face a seasoned army, Verena. We need him.”
“Jerak Hyden,” Verena supplied, the name burning like venom on her tongue. “Not much scares me, but I am not ashamed to admit the mad alchemist does. I once took control of a small trading port he had been stationed in for a time, making weapons for Black Herran’s war effort. What I found there gives me nightmares to this day. Children cut open and their organs stored in jars, some still living attached to mechanical contraptions of tubes and bladders filled with liquid. Men flayed, and the skin of animals grafted in place of their own. Women horrifically disfigured by chemical burns, coughing up their own teeth…”
The Maleficent Seven Page 7