[Darkblade 02] - Bloodstorm Read online

  Off to port the battle had not gone so well. The Black Razor drifted in a burning embrace with a Skinrider ship—one vessel had boarded the other and in the furious battle that followed both ships had caught fire and no one had been able to extinguish the flames. The Sea Dragon was sinking slowly, the waves lapping over her rails as the sea poured through the jagged holes punched through her hull. But her killer had little time to savour her victory. The last Skinrider ship was now well to the south, trailing burning rigging and a broken mast and dogged by three more druchii corsairs that harried her like wolves.

  Bruglir had never been outnumbered, Malus realised. He’d divided his force into three squadrons and sent two of them off to east and west, just over the horizon. When the battle had begun he’d signalled them and they’d swept down on the Skinriders’ flanks, closing on them like a set of jaws.

  The sounds of battle at the stern suddenly subsided. Malus turned and saw the Skinrider captain drop his sword and fall to his knees before Tanithra—evidently the blazing visage of Urial and his axe had been enough to force an uncharacteristic surrender. Tanithra let out a shout of joy and struck the man’s head from his shoulders and the crew let out a long cry of victory.

  The cries of celebration were so loud that Malus almost didn’t hear the thin wail coming from the bow. The highborn frowned. That sounds strangely familiar, he thought. Then he remembered: Hauclir!

  Malus rushed to the bow. The vagabond was gone, swallowed by the hungry waves. The highborn peered over the side and saw the retainer hanging from a boarding rope, clutching bundles of soggy charts. Malus let out a startled shout and hauled on the rope for all he was worth, wishing he still had a little of the daemon’s strength left in him.

  Long minutes later Hauclir rolled over the rail. Water ran from his pale face and hair and poured in a flood from beneath the weight of his heavy armour. He still held the charts in a death grip and the look he gave Malus was both insubordinate and horrified at the same time.

  “The Dark Mother forbid,” Hauclir said shakily, “but if we’re ever on another sinking ship and something’s been left below, you can damned well go get it yourself, my lord!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  ISLAND OF THE LOST

  “There it is,” Bruglir declared, tapping a point on the yellowed parchment map with one gauntleted hand. That’s the Isle of Morhaut.”

  Malus folded his arms beneath the heavy cloak he wore, fighting against another bout of shivering. The icy touch of the daemon had yet to lapse, even though the battle on the Skinrider ship was more than four hours past. It was close to midday and the heaving northern sea gleamed like polished steel beneath diffuse, pale sunlight. The druchii corsairs were going about barefoot and shirtless, basking like lizards beneath the welcome heat, but Malus still felt frozen to the core. He’d told Tanithra and the rest that he’d been soaked fishing Hauclir from the water and the winter cloak had merited only passing interest from Bruglir and Urial. The highborn leaned over the captain’s table, squinting at the mosaic of finely-scrawled lines and bizarre notations on the Skinriders’ map. He’d seen sorcerer’s tomes that were clearer and simpler to decipher. “How can you be so certain? Everything is in some kind of pidgin language.”

  “Actually it’s Norse,” Bruglir answered, “Look here.” His finger retreated from the tiny mark representing the island and pointed to eight larger islands scattered across the approaches to the northern sea. Three of these islands are well-known as being major Skinrider camps and we can assume that the other five are significant outposts as well. You’ll notice that all of them have clearly denned courses laid out that connect them to one another.” His fingers traced the long, curving lines that ran from one rocky outline to the next, each one annotated in strange runic script. “Now, what else do these islands all have in common?”

  Malus studied the map. When Bruglir pointed it out, the answer leapt from the jumble of lines and runes. “They all have a course plotted to a centrally-located island that’s smaller than all the rest.”

  The captain nodded. “Exactly. This central island is their headquarters. Nothing else makes sense.” He reached over and leafed through a sheaf of druchii charts piled on a nearby desktop, finally settling on one and laying it out. The thin vellum rested on the Skinrider chart and showed the markings beneath, creating a composite picture of the same area. “See how the island doesn’t even appear on our charts?” Bruglir smiled cruelly. This is the secret they fought so hard to try and protect. Now we know where their heart lies—and we can tear it out and hold it up to their disbelieving faces!”

  Malus gritted his teeth against another wave of trembling and surveyed the other druchii sharing the cabin. Tanithra nodded to herself as she studied the map, her expression thoughtful. Urial the Forsaken stood rigidly erect, his eyes bright and fierce. Clearly the ecstasy of battle still sang in his veins and the look he gave his older brother nearly amounted to an outright challenge. The highborn wondered if Urial had ever fought in a true battle before today. Clearly the taste was to his liking. Malus considered the changes that had come over Yasmir since their arrival on the Harrier and wondered what this would mean for his plans. Very soon now he was going to have to act and he couldn’t afford to have Urial or anyone else doing something unpredictable.

  The battle with the Skinriders had gone on for another hour after Tanithra and her men had captured the raider. Three of the enemy ships were totally destroyed, their hulls savaged by the sorcerous fire of the dragon flame bolts. Of the three remaining, two were stripped of everything useful and then set adrift with blazing pitch scattered across their decks, as there wasn’t enough spare crew to man them. The Bloodied Knife was given to the flames as well—her captain and nearly all of the crew were dead and her rigging all but completely destroyed during the fight. The majority of the crew of the Sea Dragon had been lost as well, freezing to death in the cold waters before another ship could arrive to rescue them. That just left the ship Tanithra had taken—and clearly expected to keep, judging by her pointed requests to Bruglir for more crewmen and supplies.

  Once the battle had concluded the Harrier had pulled alongside the captured raider. Malus and Urial had gone aboard with the charts and the highborn had sent Hauclir to dry himself out and learn what had transpired in their absence. Now the remainder of the fleet was tacking northward, working slowly but surely towards the Island of Morhaut.

  “All right,” Malus said. “It appears that everyone agrees with your conclusions, captain. What next?”

  Bruglir shrugged. “Providing we encounter no other Skinriders on the way we’ll reach the island within the week,” he said. “After that, it’s up to Urial to get us past the island’s defences—if he’s capable.”

  Urial stiffened further, a flush rising on his pale cheeks. “Oh, I’m capable of many things, brother,” he said with surprising venom. “You’re going to learn that very soon indeed.”

  Malus cleared his throat in the sudden silence. “What do you know of the island’s defences, Urial?”

  For a moment Urial and Bruglir continued to lock eyes over the spread charts. Finally Urial turned away. “There are few concrete details, unfortunately,” he said to Malus. The libraries at Hag Graef contain few references to the island at all, but I was able to unearth some information about Eradorius, the sorcerer who resided there and supposedly created the defences thousands of years ago.” Urial’s brass-coloured eyes shone like heated coins. “It appears that Eradorius was a servant of Chaos during the years of the First War—a conqueror and a master of arcane lore who was a terrible foe of Aenarion and his twisted kin, until he fled from his castle of iron and bone and took refuge on a distant island in the northern sea.”

  Malus felt his mouth go dry. “Fled, you say?”

  “So it would appear. Most likely his lieutenants turned on him, coveting his wealth and power,” Urial replied. “Whatever it was that Eradorius feared, he devoted all his remaining power to try and e
scape it. According to legend he laid many sorcerous wards around the Isle of Morhaut, meant to destroy anyone foolish enough to approach it.”

  Tanithra frowned. “Wards?” she said with a grimace, as though disliking the taste of the word. “Like what? Storms of blood and flocks of daemons?”

  Urial chuckled. “No. Such defences require great power to maintain and wouldn’t have survived without regular infusions of power. No, these wards were more subtle, twisting an intruder’s perceptions so that they more than likely wouldn’t even notice the island at all.”

  “And if they did?”

  “Then they would become forever lost.”

  Tanithra shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  The former acolyte spread his hands. “That was all the legends said. I will know more once I’ve had a chance to study the wards first-hand.”

  “We will use the captured raider,” Bruglir said. “Once Urial has found his way through the defences we’ll take the rest of the fleet in.”

  “So does that mean I’ll get the crewmen I need?” Tanithra asked.

  Bruglir took a deep breath and straightened to his full height, his head brushing the beams overhead. “After the last battle the fleet has few sailors to spare,” he said carefully. “I don’t want to leave our ships undermanned with another major battle looming.”

  “You’re leaving one dangerously undermanned right now,” Tanithra shot back.

  “I have no intention of taking the raider into battle,” Bruglir replied. “Once we’ve found the way past the island’s wards and have a sense of what lies beyond, we’ll scuttle the ship. It has no value to me as a prize.”

  Tanithra’s jaw dropped. Her dark eye flashed with anger. “You’re talking about my ship, captain. I won her with blood and steel and no one decides to scuttle her but me.”

  “You had a ship, Tani and you lost her in the battle,” Bruglir answered coldly. “And every captain on every ship in this fleet serves at my pleasure. I’ll need you back here on the Harrier when the battle begins in earnest.”

  Malus gauged the reactions of the two corsairs carefully. He cleared his throat. “Brother, you are being unfair to your first officer. She handled the vagabond with great skill and she led her crew to victory over an enemy more than twice her size. Even I know that the law of the sea dictates her claim to the prize.” He paused for effect. “If this is about Yasmir—”

  “This is about my command of this fleet,” Bruglir snapped. “Something that your precious writ has no influence on whatsoever. This meeting is concluded,” Bruglir said coldly, then bent to the charts before him. “We will reach the Isle of Morhaut in six days. Now get out.”

  Malus turned on his heel, concealing a fleeting look of amusement. He reached for the cabin door but Tanithra swept past like a fast-moving thunderhead, all but shouldering him aside as she stomped down the passageway. Hauclir, waiting just beyond the door, barely leapt out of her path in time.

  Urial followed close on Malus’ heels, pulling the door closed behind him. “Is this your plan?” he asked the highborn in a harsh whisper. “Provoke Tanithra to murder?”

  Malus cast a glare at Urial over his shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, brother,” he hissed. “After all, this is a ship under weigh and even discussing what you’re talking about is grounds for public vivisection.”

  But the former acolyte was unfazed by the thinly veiled warning. He stepped close to Malus, his voice dropping into a lower but no less intense register. “She won’t kill him,” Urial whispered. The other captains would tear her apart in an instant. I had expected you to take more of a direct hand in this.”

  Malus turned until the two were practically nose to nose. “Why, so the captains can tear me apart instead?” The highborn looked Urial up and down. “You have grown a bit overbold since we took that raider, brother. If you’re so keen for Bruglir’s blood, why not challenge him yourself?” He nodded at the cabin door. “You looked as though you were working up to it back there. What’s preventing you?”

  Urial stepped back, a snarl twisting his features, but if he’d intended an intemperate reply he appeared to master himself at the last moment and his face settled into a stolid mask. “I merely wish to remind you of your obligation,” he said. “I might decide to call your debt due before we reach the Isle.”

  “Don’t be stupid, brother,” Malus hissed. “Like it or not, we will need Bruglir to defeat the Skinriders. You’ve suffered his existence your whole life; can you not wait a few days more?”

  “My patience is limitless,” Urial said flatly. “My trust, however, is not. Think on that, Malus,” he said, pushing past the highborn and continuing down the passageway.

  The highborn watched his brother turn a corner and disappear from sight, shaking his head in disgust. “And to think I feared them once upon a time,” he muttered. “Such artless fools!”

  Hauclir shrugged. “On the other hand, even the wiliest rat dies if you stamp on him hard enough.”

  “Are you calling me a rat?”

  “Not at all sir,” the former guard captain deadpanned. “Just saying there’s a lot of big boots stamping around on this ship, that’s all.”

  “Have a care one doesn’t land on your head.”

  “It occupies much of my waking moments, my lord.”

  The highborn failed to smother a sigh of exasperation. “Tell me you’ve spent the remainder of your precious time serving my interests.”

  “It wounds me to hear you say such a thing my lord,” Hauclir replied archly. “Of course I have.”

  “Then what transpired while we were away from the ship?”

  The retainer fell in alongside Malus as they headed for the chart room. “Yasmir never left her quarters, though there are rumours that she has collected the crew’s offerings into a sort of shrine in her cabin. Urial’s men watched her quarters day and night.”

  Malus nodded. “So that’s why he left them behind. Interesting. What were their orders?”

  Hauclir snorted. “Who knows? Perhaps they were watching to see if she’d show herself. They didn’t try to enter her room, nor did they interfere with the crew’s offerings.” Hauclir glanced about, his voice dropping into a near-inaudible whisper. “They also did nothing when Bruglir visited her in the dead of night.”

  The highborn smiled. “So the great captain is being cautious. And how did the visit go?”

  The retainer shrugged. “There weren’t any loud shouts and Bruglir left with the same number of limbs he arrived with. Make of that what you will.”

  “How do you know of this?

  “One of the hands caught sight of the captain leaving Yasmir’s quarters shortly after midnight. Everyone down in the ship’s mess is talking about it.”

  Malus nodded thoughtfully. “Then I believe an agreement has been reached. That’s excellent news.”

  Hauclir’s brow furrowed in consternation. “It is?”

  “Oh, yes. That fits my plan perfectly” They had reached the highborn’s cramped quarters. Malus pushed the door open and paused in the doorway. “Now all we must do is reach the island and penetrate its wards and everything will be in place.”

  “I see, my lord,” though from the expression on Hauclir’s face it was clear that he did not. “What shall I do in the meantime?”

  “Take a bath. You smell like dead fish,” Malus answered, closing the door in the retainer’s face.

  The wind was brisk off the port bow, whistling through the rigging and slowing the captured raider to a near crawl as she approached the spot where the Isle of Morhaut was believed to be. Malus stood close by the ship’s wheel, dividing his attention between scanning the northern horizon and watching Urial’s preparations just a few feet away.

  Urial knelt close to the deck, a brass bowl in one hand and a rune-carved brush in the other. The wind blew thin streamers of congealing blood from the surface of the bowl, painting livid streaks in his hair, but Urial paid it
no mind, absorbed in the task at hand. He had painted a small circle on the planks with his brush and now turned slowly in place, decorating the inner arc of the figure with complicated sigils. Tanithra stood at the wheel, her expression savage and brooding.

  She had returned to the captured ship immediately after the conversation with Bruglir, now almost six days past and the great captain had not summoned her back since. In that time Hauclir reported that Bruglir had visited his sister twice more, both times in the dead of night. Once, there were sounds of what might have been a struggle, but what actually happened in the cabin was anyone’s guess. Malus believed that Bruglir was trying to make amends, having offered to kill Tanithra at the earliest available moment in order to redeem himself. Urial haunted her quarters like a wraith, watching the comings and goings of Bruglir with something akin to righteous indignation but taking no action of his own. At this point Malus felt that the only reason Urial hadn’t sent his men to murder Bruglir in his sleep was that he needed to pin the captain’s death on Malus in order to gain Yasmir’s affection. The highborn wondered how much longer Urial’s patience would hold out.

  Malus had busied himself in the intervening days by drinking up every bit of liquor to be had on Bruglir’s ship. Despite Hauclir’s protestations each and every night that he’d scrounged up the very last of the ship’s spirits, somehow Malus’ combination of wit and malicious threats brought the retainer to his door the following evening with a new bottle in hand. As much as the highborn hated to admit it, he was beginning to find the former guard captain indispensable.

  He needed to drink to keep the dreadful chill of the daemon’s influence at bay. Though not as strong as it had been in the wake of the sea battle a week ago, it was still painfully evident, enough for Malus to fear that he’d finally crossed some threshold into the daemon’s clutches that there would be no coming back from. That thought was bad enough to keep him awake at night; worse still was the fact that he was having more and more strange dreams, each one more intense and terrifying than the one before.