The Sword Falls

by A. J. Smith

  Jonas Grief, standing at my other shoulder, shielded his eyes to get a good look at the approaching warship. “Halfdan’s Revenge,” he replied. “Tynian Driftwood’s ship. I don’t think you’d like him, Mistress Strong. Bit of a temper that one.”

  “Oh, I try to like everyone,” said Tasha. “The key is always to cook them a good meal.”

  “Not sure that would do it,” I offered. “Think what he’s coming back to… a broken hold, a third as big as he remembers it.” I pointed up at the break in the glass. “And I bet a few of his crew are puking at the sight of that thing.”

  The Revenge spilled the remaining wind from its sails, and ropes were flung to the stone jetty. Men ashore, commanded by Siggy Blackeye, moved quickly to tie-off the warship and bring it to a complete stop. It’s deck was full, with the crew clamouring against the rail to get a good look at the ruined hold. For many of them it would be the first time they’d been back to the Severed Hand in years.

  “Homes and family!” boomed a voice from the upper-level of the quarterdeck.

  “What?” replied Siggy, craning her neck to look up at whoever had spoken.

  “I’ve got a hundred and fifty Sea Wolves here,” replied the voice. “And they want to know what’s happened to their homes and family. When I drop the ramp, they’re going to run into the hold.”

  “So?” answered Siggy.

  “So, no one should get in their way. And someone should be ready at the Wolf House to receive them.”

  From where we stood, I couldn’t clearly see the faces of the crew, but I imagined fear, grief and other complex emotions enveloping them.

  “Jonas,” I said to the master-at-arms, “send someone back. The scroll-masters should be ready with the lists. A lot of men and women are going to want to know who’s dead and who’s alive.”

  “Right you are,” he replied, turning to bark at three duellists behind us. They looked momentarily annoyed at having to leave Laughing Rock, but quickly turned and ran back to the Wolf House.

  “Can you wait a few moments?” I shouted to the ship. “Before you unleash your crew. We were not expecting you.”

  “Okay,” came the reply. “But, just a few moments, mind. They’re a bunch of fucking animals, this lot.”

  The clamouring was getting out of hand, as the crew of Halfdan’s Revenge pushed and wrestled with each other, trying to reach the quarterdeck and the ramp ashore. Many would have been born here, with a childhood home and parents to check on. Others would be from Last Port, with family and friends at the Severed Hand. Some were clearly more agitated than others, but precious few had any sort of composure. Those with little connection to the hold just stood aghast, staring at the break in the glass, as if a nightmare had taken them. It was midday and the sun was bright, but a slice of the pitch-black void cut through the sky, almost as wide as the hold itself. I’d been looking at it for a month, and it still terrified me. I felt for them, as they realized, all in one moment, that the Sea Wolves could no longer stay at the Severed Hand.

  “Mistress Blackeye,” I shouted. “They can come ashore.”

  Siggy nodded and allowed the boarding ramp to be flung onto the stone jetty. The crew of Halfdan’s Revenge appeared to defer to a handful of officers, and left the ship with no actual violence. They pushed and shoved, but maintained some kind of order as they hastened across the ramp to solid ground. They wore ship-leathers, but most had discarded blades and cloaks in their haste to get ashore. Duellists, sailors and curious citizens parted, allowing the crew to rush past. Most didn’t give me or the master-at-arms a second glance, nor did they look at the sky, as if by ignoring the break in the glass, they could pretend it wasn’t there.

  When the crew had disappeared into the ruined hold, I led the way down stone steps to greet a small group of sailors who were calmly bringing up the rear. Jonas and I joined Siggy Blackeye, with Tasha scurrying along behind us. The Kneeling Wolf had appointed herself to my service, and I enjoyed her company and her cooking too much to complain.

  Coming to face us down the wide, wooden ramp came Captain Tynian Driftwood and a handful of others. Second on the ramp was Kieran Greenfire, the High Captain’s son and quartermaster of the Revenge. I’d met them both before, but not for several years.

  “Welcome home,” I said. “I apologize that we have no warm welcome for you.”

  Captain Driftwood made a point of placing both his heavy boots onto solid ground before he answered. It was a ritual shared by many captains who spent most of their lives at sea.

  “Hello,” he said, rolling slightly on unsteady feet. “I forgot how warm it was here.” He had red hair, tied as a top-knot, and braided into a forked beard. “I suppose my mother’s dead.”

  “We have lists,” I replied. “We’ll take you to the Wolf House, and you can tell me why you’re here.”

  “She lived in Wise Town,” said Tynian Driftwood, “with my two younger brothers and a nephew or two, in a wooden house. I don’t see any wooden houses.” He stood, facing me, and there was more hostility than I expected. He was a burly man, but no real threat to me. “What the fuck did you do, little Brand?” There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and I sensed that he wanted somewhere to put his anger. I didn’t have time for him to direct it at me.

  I straightened, as did Jonas Grief and Siggy Blackeye. Balling my fist, I measured the distance to his jaw, but was interrupted by Kieran Greenfire. The High Captain’s eldest son stepped past Tynian Driftwood and interposed himself. He was in his late twenties and tall for a Greenfire, around six feet. But, like his brother, he was slight in stature. He held his captain by the shoulders and spun him around, turning him away from me.

  “She didn’t do it,” said Kieran. “You know who did it.”

  Driftwood fell into the arms of his quartermaster and cried. He didn’t appear to care who listened. Hundreds of people were at Laughing Rock and all of them stood in silence, watching the captain of Halfdan’s Revenge howl in grief. He clung to Kieran, until his crying became swearing, and the rest of his crew had left the ramp. They assembled around their captain, removing any desire I had to punch him. Not all of the small group cried, but all had red eyes and shaking hands.

  After a moment of shared emotion, Kieran Greenfire broke from the group and came back to address Jonas and I. “He didn’t mean to insult you,” said the quartermaster. “But he’s been talking about his mum since we left Last Port. When we got to the Folly he decided she must be dead. So, this is three days of stored-up grief.” He was shorter than me, but close up his wiry build and sharp movements made him look dangerous. “I hope you can forgive him, my lady.”

  I didn’t answer. Jonas Grief puffed out his barrel chest and grumbled. “We understand,” he stated, sensing my thoughts.

  “I’m glad,” replied Kieran. “Now, before we go and find out who is actually dead, you wanted to know why we’re here.”

  I nodded, glancing over at Captain Driftwood and the remaining crew. They had regained their composure, but made no signs of approaching me, or joining their shipmates in the ruined hold.

  “Tomas Red Fang called this place a necropolis,” I said. “And we’ve been living in it for over a month. If we appear callous, I apologize. I ask with respect, Master Greenfire, please tell me why you are here.”

  He gave me a shallow bow, and glanced around. “I don’t see Lord Ulric, so I assume either his madness took him, or you did. So, the message we were given must be delivered to you. A message your father would trust to no spirit. Since my captain is unable to deliver it, it falls to me.”

  My father, Mikael Brand, called the Battle Brand, elder of Last Port. I could barely remember what he looked like. Everyone used to say that my twin brother, Arthur, had his eyes, and Arthur’s eyes were brown and predatory. So, in my head, my father was simply a man whose eyes were brown and predatory. I had few strong memories of him, as we’d only met three or four times since I was a young child. I wondered how he’d feel about his
daughter defeating the First Fang in a duel.

  “I killed Ulric yesterday,” I stated. “He left me no option. When I sent his daughter to the Silver Dawn he made it clear he disagreed. As long as he kept to himself, grumbling about Vikon and Nowhere, he could stay as First Fang. But challenging me...”

  “It was kindness,” offered Tasha Strong, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “His madness would not have given him so clean a death.”

  “Deliver your message,” I said.

  Kieran Greenfire stepped closer and spoke quietly. “The Sea of Stars rises. Depth barges and Sunken Men have been seen off Lost Karcosa and Shatter Point. And the Tassalite Pure Ones speak of the Dreaming God, who dreams no longer.” He paused, and his eyes moistened. I sensed that this man, and this crew, had seen things they couldn’t un-see. “This war you plan to fight… Well, it appears the enemy are deploying their forces, far to the south.”

  6

  I sat in the void, atop the Wolf House. Beyond the glass, the building was far taller, and its roof had been the home of the Old Bitch of the Sea. I’d visited often, since the spirit fell, and I found it calming. I’d never been at home in the void, but the peaceful silence helped me to think clearly, as did the musty smell of dog. She was a part of me now, and I hoped that frequent visits to the spirit world would help me to understand what that meant. As I killed Lord Ulric, I felt beyond human, as if the Old Bitch of the Sea had given me more than potent wyrd. In my dream, Jaxon had said that I would become more and more spirit, and less and less human. Perhaps a desire to spend time beyond the glass was the first symptom.

  In the distance, the break in the glass resembled torn fabric, wafting in the wind and revealing the realm of form. Every now and then I’d glimpse a building I knew, or the mast of a familiar ship. From the void, the Severed Hand didn’t appear ruined. Only a handful of buildings had a reflection beyond the glass and all were made of stone. The ruined wooden sections, and thousands of dead men, women and children made no impact in the void, as if our lives were meaningless to the spirit world.

  Somewhere, beyond my sight, in the depths of the far void, was a realm to which Marius Cyclone claimed we could flee. I didn’t trust him, or any Dark Brethren, but he’d spoken with enough conviction to convince me that he at least believed what he was saying. Perhaps in this far realm we’d have meaning. Perhaps we’d even have peace. I looked at the stump of my left arm, remembering the chaos spawn that’d bitten it off, and wondered how I would cope with peace. Could the Sea Wolves ever truly live in peace?

  Though calm, and certainly more relaxing than the realm of form, the void did provide its own unique distractions. Spirits had their own wants and needs, and they moved in cycles that only the mightiest of spirit-masters could interpret. To my uneducated eyes they were flocks of ephemeral birds, or clusters of whirling insects. I could see all manner of improbable creatures, given form beyond the glass. Spirits of loss, appearing as ghostly, grey figures, glided around the tear. Above them, dancing through the air in strange somersaults, were rabid void serpents, twisting in and out of view as they tried to comprehend the break in the glass.

  Then, from the depthless blue sky, gliding on an invisible current, came a single spirit. It soared through the coils of a green and red void serpent, and plunged towards the Wolf House. As it got closer and grew bigger, I saw a heavy-bodied black creature, with long, membranous wings. The spirit was a bat of some kind, and was flying directly at me. It banked left at the last second, and described a tight circle in the void sky, before soaring downwards. It landed on the edge of the building, flaring its wings before tucking them back. It resembled a huge vampire bat, with a wicked, curved snout, and a chattering mouth of nasty looking teeth. It’s ears were oversized and they twitched as it scuttled towards me.

  “Brand.” The bat spirit was the size of a large dog and it hissed my name.

  I frowned. I’d never been able to understand spirits. It was a skill usually reserved for spirit-masters, with the occasional talented duellist developing the ability. “How can I understand you?” I asked.

  “The great wolf,” replied the bat. “Brand now part spirit.” It licked its fangs and hissed again.

  “Were you looking for me? Messenger spirits go to the spirit-masters, not a duellist.”

  “Don’t like you,” hissed the bat. “Don’t want to be here. Dark Wing made me.”

  I stood and approached the creature. I’d never been insulted by a spirit. The only ones I’d communicated with had been Jaxon and the Old Bitch of the Sea, and both of them appeared to like me. Though it made sense that a mad old man like Dark Wing would send a disagreeable bat to deliver a message. He was more formally known as Roland Lahandras, an ageing Sea Wolf duellist who felt the need to live in the Mirralite Reservation. I’d met him twice before – once as a confident warrior, with my brother and Jaxon, heading to the Bay of Bliss, then as a broken escapee, fleeing back to the Severed Hand.

  “And what does Dark Wing want?” I asked, looking down at the spirit and letting my wyrd surge outwards.

  The bat flared its wings again, but it now used them to cover its eyes, as if my wyrd was too bright for it. “Not fight, not fight,” babbled the spirit. “Message, message.”

  “Deliver it,” I replied, drily, pulling my wyrd back into a subtle blue nimbus, and hoping the spirit had better news than Kieran Greenfire.

  “Dark Wing say… Brand must come to bone palace. Brand must see something.”

  *

  Two messages in one day, and I struggled to find a peaceful moment to think about them. Once I returned from the void, I was assailed by the realities of a hundred and fifty hardened sailors returning to the Severed Hand, and finding it in ruins. In the time I’d been gone, each and every one had found something to be angry about. Dead loved ones, destroyed homes, the apparent vulnerability of the Sea Wolves. It was easy to be angry, and I feared that I was becoming numb. Their grief was powerful, and I felt for them, but my mind was occupied by a bigger picture. The small part of me that was now spirit imparted a coldness to my mind. It was only thoughts of Young Green Eyes that convinced me I was still me. But he only existed in my dreams, and I’d found no time to return to Swordfish Bay. The longer I was away, the colder I felt myself becoming. My home was being evacuated and I’d not yet shed a tear.

  “Adeline, ten ships are supplied and ready,” said Siggy Blackeye. “But we’d hoped for at least another day to say goodbye.”

  “Whatever happens at the Bay of Bliss,” offered Kieran Greenfire, “this is likely the last time any of us will be… Sea Wolves of the Severed Hand. Though our crew don’t want to stay any longer than they have to.”

  I was in a circular map room, in the Bloody Halls, looking at a detailed rendering of the Red Straits and the Mirralite Reservation. I was surrounded by ship captains and their quartermasters. Siggy stood with Jacob Hearth, Lachlan Bark stood with Charlie Vane, Kieran Greenfire stood with Tynian Driftwood, and a handful of other men and women joined us. The High Captain was also there, though he’d barely shared a handful of words with Kieran, his eldest, and only living son.

  “I need to visit Roland Lahandras, called Dark Wing, before we attack the Bay of Bliss. Ten ships will launch tonight, you’ll drop me off in the Mirralite Reservation, and you’ll hold position, east of the Place Where We Hear The Sea. No ship is to approach Nowhere.”

  “Dark Wing?” queried Tasha, poking her head around the door frame. “The big man with the dogs?” She’d not been invited into the map room, but true to form, the Kneeling Wolf cook was as close to me as she could get. “He lives close to the Bay of Bliss… just south of it, in a creepy forest. He knows a lot.”

  “You’ll be coming with me, Tasha,” I stated. “It was Dark Wing who first told us about the Sunken God. He showed me a black statue of the thing. It’s how all this started.”

  Several of the captains frowned at me, though most were becoming accustomed to Tasha’s presence.


  Wilhelm Greenfire cleared his throat. “I assume we’ll be sending a column of duellists with you, my lady.”

  “You would assume wrong,” I replied.

  More frowns, and the High Captain bit his lip. A tense moment developed, until Captain Driftwood broke the silence. He’d not apologized for his earlier insult, but we’d shared several loaded glances, indicating that there was no tension between us. “Halfdan’s Revenge is the fastest ship we have. We’ll take you, my lady Alpha Wolf.”

  “Maybe seven hours at good speed,” added Kieran Greenfire. “And we can leave as soon as the wind allows. The rest can catch up.”

  “Indeed,” I replied. “High Captain, fleet deployment is over to you. Prioritize catapult and ballistae crews. Fire is our weapon.” I turned to the grubby, black-bearded face of the War Rat. “Charlie Vane, no artillery for you. Load the Lucretia with as many rabid killers as you can. We need two landing parties. Again, fire is our weapon.”

  The War Rat growled at me through a grotesque smile. “Aye,” he replied, with mania in his eyes.

  “You all have things to do,” I said. “Go and do them. Keep your edge and may your wyrd flow freely.”

  “Once more for the Sea Wolves,” said Siggy Blackeye, drawing all eyes to her. The High Captain, and several others, winced at her words.

  “I believe the term is...” began Wilhelm Greenfire.

  “Fuck off,” interrupted Siggy. “The Severed Hand has had enough from me and mine. It’s just a place where we built a hold. Some Mirralite called it the Lodge of the Rock a long time ago, and Duncan Red Claw decided he liked the view. We fight for the Sea Wolves now.”

  “No challenges today,” I barked, stopping the High Captain launching himself at the mistress of the Black Wave. “Go, with whatever words give you comfort.”

  The map room emptied slowly, with each man and woman wanting a moment with me. Most were happy with eye contact, but a few offered their hands, or wished us all luck in their own way. As our glum congregation ended, Tasha felt comfortable in entering the room to stand with me.