Shadow of the Hawk (Book 3)

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘The Maelstrom is eighteen souls light after last night. I can’t decide what’s best for her when we reach Roof. Do I crew up and head back out to sea? Or disembark and continue on with you, to Icegarden?’

  ‘That’s for you to decide,’ said Manfred, not about to be drawn on Vega’s tormented morals.

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace. Ever helpful with your counsel,’ said the Sealord sarcastically.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said Bethwyn, turning to the queen, a tired smile across her face. ‘If you could excuse me, may I head above decks?’

  ‘You look exhausted my dear,’ said Amelie.

  ‘Here,’ said Hector, seizing the moment to step forward and offer his arm. ‘Let me escort you.’

  Amelie smiled at the Boarlord approvingly, while Bethwyn blushed at the show of courtesy.

  ‘Really, Baron Hector, I’m quite all right,’ replied the girl. ‘Please don’t mistake me for a damsel in distress. I merely need to take some air.’

  ‘Sounds like a fine idea,’ said Hector. ‘If you’d allow me to join you?’

  ‘Persistent fellow, isn’t he?’ said Vega with a grin.

  See how he can’t resist making a joke at your expense, brother? hissed the Vincent-vile.

  Hector ignored his brother’s voice and held a gloved hand out to Bethwyn. The young woman looked at it tentatively before taking it.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she said to Amelie, managing a clumsy curtsy before allowing herself to be led away by Hector.

  The two made their way to the main deck.

  She’s putty in your hands, the vile persisted.

  Hector shivered, trying to shake the spirit loose.

  ‘Are you cold?’ Bethwyn asked.

  ‘A little, my lady,’ he said awkwardly, hating his tormenting brother with every step.

  They emerged on deck into bright daylight, the cold morning air bracing. The remaining crew were busy, rushing about their business with even greater industry than before. Figgis stood steady at the wheel, keeping the Maelstrom’s course steady. Casper stood beside him, watching Hector with suspicious eyes.

  Even that wretched urchin distrusts you, brother.

  Hector walked Bethwyn over to the rail and out of the way of the busy crew, many of whom were still scrubbing the gore and slime from the decks. The corpses of the Sirens had been tossed overboard once the battle was over, Vega waiting until they’d put some distance between themselves and the scene before burying his slain crew at sea.

  ‘Your hand,’ said Bethwyn, holding the railing. ‘Is it wounded?’

  ‘Pardon?’ asked Hector, alarmed by the question.

  ‘Your left hand: I saw it last night. You’ve a burn in your palm, a big one. What happened?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Hector, flustered. ‘I burned it on a lamp. I know; I’m a fool.’

  ‘It should be looked at.’

  ‘Don’t worry, really,’ said Hector. ‘I’m a magister after all. It’s nothing I can’t take care of.’

  She nodded, seeming to accept his answer. She looked pale – exhaustion and terror having chased the warmth from her face. The crew had begun to sing a shanty, sailors chiming in as they worked to the tune’s rhythm. Hector spied Ringlin and Ibal near the ship’s aft, apart from their fellows, shying away from work again.

  ‘I’d have thought we’d heard enough singing after last night,’ said Bethwyn.

  ‘They’re a tough breed, aren’t they? They buried their brothers only hours ago and they’re finding their voices again.’

  Hector rapped his gloved fingers along the rail’s edge to the beat of the shanty, trying to look relaxed while his insides were in turmoil.

  ‘You were very brave,’ he finally said. ‘If you and the queen hadn’t acted so swiftly, who knows what might have become of us. Thank you, Bethwyn.’

  ‘It’s I who should thank you, Hector. You stopped the Siren that would have killed me, didn’t you? How did you do that?’

  Hector smiled nervously.

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘I saw you: you strangled it! You broke its neck, yet you were a great distance away. How could that be?’

  She’s on to us, Hector. She saw your little parlour trick, sending me out to do your dirty work. Tell her about me, brother. Tell her about your shadow hand …

  ‘I wasn’t so far away, my lady. Perhaps it seemed further from where you lay?’

  ‘I could’ve sworn you were many yards from my struggle,’ she said, raising a hand to rub her brow.

  ‘I can’t remember the night’s events clearly myself. In the chaos of battle it’s hard to see straight, let alone recall what happened.’

  He plucked up the courage to place his hand over hers on the rail. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘You’re safe now, my lady. That’s all that matters.’

  Vega, Manfred and Amelie emerged from the cabins nearby, the captain heading to the wheel while the duke and queen promenaded along the deck.

  If this is courtship, brother, I was getting it wrong all these years, laughed the vile.

  ‘You’ve been the queen’s lady-in-waiting for some years now,’ said Hector, his hand still on top of Bethwyn’s. ‘Do you not long for your own life, away from service?’

  ‘I’m the queen’s confidante,’ replied the young Wildcat. ‘I was appointed her companion, and that’s more important than ever now.’

  ‘How long must you remain with her for?’

  She turned, puzzled, her big brown eyes narrowing. He kept his hand over hers, Bethwyn having not yet pulled away.

  ‘For as long as she needs me. In Highcliff my responsibilities were manifold: music, languages, writing letters for the queen. Out here, however, I do whatever she asks.’

  Hector nodded.

  ‘You’re most noble, Bethwyn. You do your father and Robben proud.’

  ‘I do my duty, Hector.’

  Don’t make a fool out of yourself, piggy. What could she ever see in you? A sickly bookworm with a penchant for dark magistry …

  Hector cleared his throat, taking a big lungful of sea air. His heart felt like it might leap from his chest as he squeezed her hand once more.

  ‘I would speak with Baron Mervin once this war is over, my lady.’

  ‘Regarding what?’

  ‘Regarding your hand, Lady Bethwyn.’

  She didn’t react immediately, but when his words registered, a shocked look flew across her face as she whipped her hand away. Hector raised his black-gloved palms by way of apology.

  ‘My lady, I’m sorry if my words cause offence!’

  You clumsy oaf! Do you really think this is how one asks a Werelady for her hand in marriage? Stick to your books and scrolls, fool!

  ‘You caught me unawares, my lord,’ she gasped, bringing her hands to her bosom and clenching them together. She backed away, the colour having returned to her cheeks in a crimson blush. Her big brown eyes looked anywhere but at Hector. He took a step forward as she retreated.

  ‘My lady …’ he began, but he was interrupted by her flustered response.

  ‘I must return to the queen. Thank you, again, for your kindness last night, and just now. Walking up. Thank you. The fresh air …’

  With that she was hurrying after the queen, leaving Hector alone by the rail. He turned, grinding his fists into the timber banister, shaking his head.

  That went well, I thought!

  ‘Curse you, Vincent! Cease your incessant chatter!’

  Too late, brother: I’m already cursed!

  Hector opened his left hand, the black leather creaking as he splayed his fingers. His head was splitting, an ache cutting into his temple. He could feel anger rising, threatening to erupt in glorious fury: anger at their predicament, at Vega, at Bethwyn and at his own hapless attempts to charm her.

  Hector clenched
his hand tight, his eyes alone seeing the black smoke curling around it, the vile in his grasp, choked in his fist.

  ‘Hold your tongue, vile. You forget the control I have over you. The Siren last night was a reminder. You’re mine, Vincent, to do my bidding, as and when I please!’

  Hector waited for a smart-mouthed response from the vile, but nothing came. He kept his fist closed, thumping it on to the rail as he closed his eyes, letting his head slump miserably into his chest.

  Count Vega looked down from the poop deck, watching the Boarlord of Redmire rage. He winced as Hector snarled and spat, holding a heated discussion with himself. Vega worried about the magister, after all he’d been through – continued to go through. He knew Hector had a good heart and prayed the young man stayed out of the shadows.

  The cabin boy, Casper, handed the sea marshal his goblet. Vega smiled as he took it, washing the day’s first brandy down his throat. He’d purloined a bottle from the Bold Thunder for himself, while handing the rest over to Cook. He’d make sure the lads had a drink this day. They’d earned it after last night’s horrors.

  ‘Captain,’ said the boy, still at the count’s side.

  ‘What is it lad?’ asked Vega, giving the cabin boy his full attention.

  ‘Last night, those Mermaids – I saw what happened.’

  Vega put a hand on the boy’s head, ruffling his hair.

  ‘Saw what, lad?’

  Casper looked across the deck. Vega followed his gaze as it settled upon the irate Boarlord.

  ‘I saw what he did to that monster.’

  Vega’s cheery mood vanished in an instant. He crouched down beside the boy, turning him to face him. Casper looked shocked, and more than a little frightened. When Vega spoke again, his voice was a whisper.

  ‘What did you see, Casper?’

  ‘Wasn’t natural, the way he killed it. His hand, Captain: that black hand. It was dark magick, I swear to Sosha. The magister scares me.’

  ‘Then stay close to me, my boy,’ said the Wereshark. The boy smiled nervously at Vega, the captain, his hero, his everything. The count brushed Casper’s mop of dark hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Stay close to me.’

  1

  Battle of the Beasts

  The crowd had enjoyed their fill of blood. Fifty gladiators had entered the Furnace and only twenty-five had walked away. Every appetite had been catered for. Horseback warriors had jousted, boxers had duelled with bare fists, bowmen had peppered opponents with arrows while spearmen had launched their javelins. Swords, scimitars, axes and tridents had clashed across the volcanic earth, limbs and heads severed and hoisted as trophies. The Bestiari, specialists in fighting animals, had come up against lions, bears, jackals and wolves. The cruellest contests involved two recently condemned criminals pitted against one another: one armed but blindfolded – the other unarmed but clear-sighted. The blindfold ultimately proved too great a handicap. Now the Scorians quietened as Lord Ignus appeared upon his balcony.

  ‘People of Scoria, I give you the rarest gift. I show the fire mountain the greatest generosity – my therian warriors from across the known world. You all saw the Blood Moon last night, signalling the need for sacrifice. Those gladiators who have fallen thus far today shall have gone some way to quench the mountain’s thirst, but she hungers for yet more. We must honour Scoria with the mightiest offerings in order to appease her fire. My Eight Wonders enter the Furnace. The contest is over when only five remain standing.’

  He cast his hands over the arena below, oily skin glistening in the midday sun.

  ‘Behold: the Battle of the Beasts!’

  Eight iron gates were cranked open around the Furnace, each one sending clouds of dust billowing into the arena. From out of the pens the therian gladiators strode forward. Ignus clapped his hands, turning to his fellow nobles and Lizardlords who had gathered as honoured guests. He’d just witnessed his most recent acquisition from Kesslar provide the fight of his life. Djogo had triumphed against the trident-wielding Obliss of Ro-Shann. Of the Goatlord there had been no sign. Ignus suspected Kesslar was still smarting from the humiliation he’d dealt him.

  Drew squinted through the dust clouds as he looked around the Furnace. He’d seen Djogo moments earlier when the gladiator had returned to the gates, the two sharing a look as they’d passed. Drew walked forward as the sand settled, taking in the combatants. The Behemoth had entered from a gate directly opposite. To his side the Wereapes, Arik and Balk, had appeared, immediately moving together into a pair. Between Drew and the brothers stood Taboo, limbering up as she prepared for the fight. To the other side of Drew stood the Rhino, Krieg, flanked by the lean figure of Drake. The Werecrocodile looked the most relaxed of all, turning to look towards the chanting crowd. Last of all, between Drake and the Behemoth, Stamm could be seen, the Buffalo shaking the dust from his shaggy mane. Drew wondered who – if any – would follow his lead.

  None of the other Werelords carried weapons. In a cruel twist devised by Ignus, they were to use tooth, claw and their therian strength alone to best their opponents. Only Drew’s trident dagger remained on his stumped wrist. Drew hoped to avoid the Behemoth in the coming fight. The giant had been responsive to the idea of breaking out, but that was yesterday. Here, in the heat of the arena, it might count for nought. There had to be a fight: and that fight would separate those who were with Drew and those who were against him. Arik and Balk were certain enemies, while questions remained over Drake and Taboo.

  Then the battle began.

  It happened so fast, triggered by the two brothers. As if reacting to Drew’s thoughts, the Apelords wasted no time, rushing Taboo as their opening gambit. As they charged they changed, forearms exploding with muscles while their backs expanded, silver bristles bursting from their skin. Within seconds the brothers flanked the young woman, their mouths open to reveal huge, deadly canines.

  Taboo was ready. She kicked up the dust, sending a cloud into the air to provide cover. By the time Arik brought his huge hand down at her, the girl had gone. She shot a lithe leg through the dusty air, her clawed foot striking and piercing the Ape’s shoulder, sending him tumbling away. When Balk’s fist flew through the air where he’d imagined she stood, Taboo rolled out of the dust, transformed, her body shimmering with dark black stripes across orange skin. The Weretiger snarled, unfazed by the brutes.

  Drew turned just in time to see the bowed head of Krieg charging him. The Rhino was transformed, head down and shoulders thick with hide armour. Dodging the great horn, Drew caught the brunt of the attack from the Rhino’s shoulder. The collision was colossal, the pain immense. Drew was catapulted into the air and back towards his gate and landed in the dirt. As he flew he tried to breathe, the air having been crushed from his lungs.

  Drew rolled, choking and gasping as he saw Krieg skid, changing his angle of attack. The head was his primary weapon and the ground thundered as he sped back towards Drew.

  ‘Krieg!’ he yelled, his breath returned. ‘What are you doing? We can fight together!’

  ‘It can’t work, boy!’ Krieg snorted as he charged. ‘Better let me finish you, end this quickly. Three of us have to die, and I won’t be one of them!’

  Drew hadn’t wanted to fight Krieg. He had believed he’d be an ally, but he’d got it wrong. Drew let the Wolf in, and the transformation was rapid. He leaped up from the floor on to powerful, lupine legs, his clawed feet digging into the dirt for extra purchase. The specially built trident dagger sat snugly on his left arm, while his clawed right hand was open. His yellow eyes blazed with purpose as he peeled back his lips to reveal deadly teeth. He let out a deafening roar to alert Krieg.

  The crowd screamed deliriously as Drew changed, but he ignored their cheers, his attention focused on the Rhino. The armour plating over Krieg’s head, shoulders and back afforded him a confidence in battle that few therians would know.

  Drew’s trident dagger bounced off t
he main horn, sending his arm ringing with shock. He dropped to one side as the brute raced to the centre of the Furnace, allowing his clawed hand to rake the Rhino’s flank. Drew felt the claws struggle for any purchase, scraping harmlessly over Krieg’s armoured skin.

  The Rhino was far bigger than the Wolf, but what Drew lacked in size he made up for in agility. He readied himself for Krieg’s next attack using the same defence as before, raising the dagger again. At the last moment, with Krieg almost on top of him, Drew leaped in the air, spinning and coming down to land on the Rhino’s shoulders. Krieg snorted, swinging his head, legs still pumping, momentum carrying him forwards. Drew held on tight, his arms around the Rhino’s throat as Krieg charged on.

  Krieg looked up suddenly as the arena wall appeared before him. He felt Drew’s feet dig into the armour of his back as he sprang away to safety, the Rhino struggling vainly to slow down. He crashed into the wall with a sickening crunch, rocks and rubble coming loose and showering him as he collapsed to the Furnace floor in a heap.

  Drew landed gracefully, looking around the arena as the other battles that raged. Taboo had been joined by Stamm, evening up the fight against the Apes. The Crocodile, Drake, was darting around the Behemoth, who now stood transformed. Drew was amazed by the sight.

  He’d heard about mammoths as a child, giant beasts from Bast, dismissing them as being as mythical as dragons. The animals the other therians were brethren to – crocodile, rhino, ape and buffalo – he could comprehend. But the Weremammoth was beyond all his experience. He was monstrously impressive – twice Drew’s height, with legs like battering rams, the Behemoth dominated everything around him. Enormous fists smashed down, narrowly missing his opponent. Huge ears flapped from the side of his boulder-sized head, while curling ivory tusks jutted from his mouth. A snaking trunk swung through the air, smacking Drake across his long, toothy snout and sending the Werecrocodile flying.

  The Apes were brutal. Their silver backs rippled with muscles as their powerful arms lashed out at their enemies. While Stamm was holding his own with Arik, Taboo was faring less well with Balk, tiring under the relentless blows of the Wereape, as his fists connected with alarming frequency.