War of the Werelords (21 page)

“We need to march at the soonest,” added Tiaz, his voice subdued as he addressed the throng. He clearly appreciated the fact that he was the newcomer, the proverbial cat among the pigeons. It would take time before Drew's friends finally accepted him as one of their own, if ever. His eyes lingered upon Taboo as he continued.

“Those Redcloaks and Goldhelms who broke rank will be scurrying back to Onyx as we speak. We shouldn't be wasting time eating and drinking. We should catch them on the run.”

Count Carsten turned and glowered at the Tigerlord, his haggard face barely visible beneath the bandage. “In case you didn't notice, some of us have been starved to the point of death over recent weeks within this city. Your army saw to that. Many of us have lost those closest to us, loved ones and family. If it's all the same to you, Tiaz, we'll take a moment. We'll eat. We'll drink. We'll prepare our dead for the long sleep. Then we'll march west.”

Tiaz growled. “Now isn't the time for sentiment or blame.”

“It's the perfect time for sentiment,” retorted Carsten, taking a step toward the hulking Tiger. Faisal placed a hand on the Hawk's shoulder while Opal moved between the two therian lords.

“Each of you makes fair comment,” said Drew. “Let's not fight over this. We'll work as quickly as we can to organize our departure, but we don't scrimp on ritual with our dead. In the meantime, those who are able-bodied should prepare for the road. Send word to every commander down there to ready their troops for the journey into the west. Duke Bergan and the people of Icegarden were sighted heading toward Robben, according to Mikotaj and Miloqi. That's where we're going, because you can bet your life Onyx will be hot on their heels. Count Carsten: this isn't a question I relish asking, but how soon will your brothers be ready to take to the air?”

“Some are already out there, Drew, having gone after the Vulturelords. A handful remain here, less than ten of them. But we can be ready to fly tonight. A bit of shut-eye this afternoon, prayers for our fallen, and we'll be good to go.”

“Good,” said Drew, seizing the count's forearm as the two shook hands. “I hate to burden you again, but we'll be needing you to carry a handful of us. Demeaning, I know, but needs must.”

“Consider it our honor,” replied the grizzled Eagle.

Drew set off into the hall where they had banqueted, the crowd falling in behind him. The enormous table that they had sat at still had the remains of the feast littering it. The hulking Mikotaj, barbarian White Wolf of the frozen north, had his pack open, emptying slabs of half-eaten meat and whole poultry into it. He looked up as they entered, giving them an unapologetic shrug.

“Well, nobody was eating. I didn't think you'd mind.”

T
HE
S
HARK AND THE
H
AWK

“YOU KNOW, YOU
could be gentler with me.”

Count Vega winced as Shah yanked his arms high in the air. Miloqi, the white-haired seer from Shadowhaven, passed the bandage about the Sharklord's chest, binding it tight around his torso. The handful of medics in the House of Healing were down below in the Bana Gap, working their way through the many wounded survivors of the battle. As Vega's injuries were not life threatening, it had been left to Miloqi to stitch him back together.

“I could be a lot of things with you, Vega, but most of them would put you closer to death's door,” snipped the Hawklady. “Quit your whining and keep still.”

“Don't confuse my words for misery, my dear,” said the count, his smile briefly transforming into a wince before those perfect teeth flashed once more. “Rough though your touch is, I'd still brave every demon of the sea in order to feel it upon my flesh once more.”

“He has a way with words, doesn't he?” muttered Miloqi as she worked the dressing into a knot below his breast.

“Oh, he's all charm.” Shah nodded, glowering at the smiling Pirate Prince of the Cluster Isles.

“I never mentioned charm,” said the seer, coaxing a chuckle from the Hawklady.

Faced by the twin scorn of the therian ladies, Vega's smile slipped. “Ganging up on a defenseless old sailor? Hardly fair.”

“Calling yourself old, now?” said Shah. “Are your misspent years catching up with you? Regretting your past?”

“I regret some things, certainly,” said Vega, the humor gone from his voice now. He placed a hand on Miloqi's wrist as she finished up on his bandage. “Lady, could you perhaps give us a moment alone?”

“You rest up—while you can—and don't do anything strenuous,” said Miloqi. “I'm no magister, but I know herbs and medicines like few others. Who needs magicks when Mother Nature blesses us with her rich bounty? The dressing stays on for at least a day—you can thank Brenn that you heal quicker than most.”

She stepped away from the two, leaving them alone in the darkened room. A candle sat in a pool of wax on the bedside table, the flame flickering and sending shadows dancing over the Hawklady's face. Vega lay back upon the cot, looking up at Shah as she stood over him, arms crossed.

She was every bit as beautiful as he recalled. Her long black hair was braided, piled atop her head, great gray eyes trained upon the convalescing count. Slender though she was, that gentle frame hid the fiery strength of the Werehawk. Her late father, Baron Griffyn, had been the heir to the city of Windfell, home of the Hawklords of the Barebones. Yet here was his daughter, playing nurse to the Shark. He couldn't resist teasing her.

“You know, you could always fluff my pillows,” muttered the Sharklord, shifting awkwardly as he settled. “It's not too much to ask, is it?”

“It most certainly
is
too much to ask,” said Shah. “I'm not even sure why I'm here making sure you're all right.”

“I get under the skin, don't I? Even after all these years you still love me, don't you? It's fine, I get that. You're only therian.”

Shah ignored his playful words, sticking with her anger. “You abandoned me, Vega. You left me in Kesslar's hands in Ro-Shan. What happened to taking me with you?”

“I was a guest of Lady Hayfa,” replied Vega. “She was courting me, wanting my hand in marriage—”

“Hayfa courting
you?”
scoffed Shah.

“Believe it or not, little bird, I'm quite the catch! Anyway, her agents got wind of our friendship—”

“Friendship?” said the woman, interrupting him again. “Is that how you'd describe it?”

Vega sucked his teeth. “Our
affair,
then. She didn't take kindly to the news, was going to have me killed, such was her rage. I had to get out of Omir quickly, and besides which, Kesslar had already set sail with you aboard the
Banshee.
There was no way I could go after you without endangering the lives of you and your father.”

“You could've come for me,” said Shah, her voice hard but her face soft, tears rising in her eyes.

“You belonged to Kesslar. The Goatlord would never have released you from bondage, or dear old Griffyn for that matter.” He reached forward to take her hand. “I heard what happened to your father. I'm so sorry, Shah.”

She pulled her hand away. “If you were any kind of man at all you'd have come looking for me, and my father.”

Vega's head dipped, ashamed. “Back then I wasn't the man I am now. I was more selfish, more cowardly. I'm different now. I've learned that some things are worth fighting for.”

“A little late in the day for an epiphany, isn't it?”

“You can blame Drew Ferran for my change of heart. If I was any kind of noble beast back then I'd have come looking for you, searched the oceans and turned the seas red until I'd tracked down Kesslar.”

Shah arched an eyebrow. “Yet you didn't, did you? You disappeared, back to the Cluster Isles, your reputation intact.”

“Hardly! The Cluster Isles were no longer mine—Leopold had given them to Ghul, the Squidlord. The only home I had was the
Maelstrom,
the only family the lads who worked her decks by my side.”

“My heart bleeds for you, Vega,” snapped Shah. “You poor, poor wretch! What a life you were left to live!” She leaned in close, her breath hot in his face as he flinched before her fury. “You left me
with child
! I was pregnant, and that infant was yours, Vega! You had your fun and were on your way. That baby was taken from me, Shark; taken by my own father and spirited away so that Kesslar never got wind of it. If he'd had that child, he'd have sold him or done worse. So my father gave him to a merchant friend. Brenn only knows what became of my beautiful baby.”

Vega cleared his throat as she slowly pulled away, picking his words carefully. He didn't want to mention Casper's whereabouts, not here and now. The lad was aboard the
Maelstrom
with Figgis. The count had to pick his moment to introduce son to mother, and vice versa. Better to wait until he knew they were close.

“You have to hope Griffyn placed the child into safekeeping. You father will have done right by you and the baby. I'm sure it's fine.”

“
It?”
Shah slapped him hard, propelling his head back into the pillow. “
He
was a boy, a beautiful boy and I'll never know him! He was
your
son, Vega. Show some compassion, you cold-hearted swine!”

She went to strike him again, but Vega caught her wrist in his hand. He faced her, cheek still smarting from where she had struck him. There was little he could say that would make her feel any better. He let go of her wrist.

“Hit me, if it helps,” he whispered. “Peck, rake, and kick me if it takes the edge off your pain. But don't remain angry at me, I beg you.”

He lay back, waiting for the blows to rain down, but none came.

“I'll remain angry at you until I close my eyes for the long sleep,” said the gray-eyed woman. “I hate you, Vega. Dear Brenn, it feels good to say that to your face,” she gasped, sniffing back the tears and laughing.

“How can you say that?” gasped Vega, horrified to hear her words. He had loved her all this time, yet had been unable to tell her, to find her.

Shah's laughter was gone in an instant. “Kesslar may have crushed my spirit and bruised my body, but strength of spirit can be found in others, and bruises always heal. You broke my heart, Vega. You ruined me, as sure as the Goatlord ever did.”

Shah turned her back on the weary Sharklord, leaving him alone in the dark room once more, only the candle for company.

• • •

Leaving the Count behind her, Shah stepped through the doorway, her head and heart in turmoil. Despite all that had happened, a part of her still loved the man, but she would be damned if she would let him see it. Her child remained gone, her father still dead, her life in tatters. She could well imagine what he had been through when he had been chased out of Ro-Shan without even being able to say good-bye. She didn't doubt that every word he had said had been truthful, that he regretted what had happened so long ago. But was he truly a changed man? Could she allow him to get close to her again? Just seeing him again had rekindled that fire that had burned within her. She wanted to hold him in her arms, but now wasn't the time or the place. The Shark still had penance to serve.

Pulling the door closed behind her, Shah turned, instantly jumping with alarm when she spied the figure in the shadow-strewn corridor. It was Djogo, fellow survivor of the Furnace and another soul who had been abused by Kesslar. For a long time she had depended upon him, and he had been there for her through her darkest moments. They had been close, that bond born out of the trials they had faced. It had not been love, though; not like with Vega. The farther they had traveled away from the hellhole that was the Furnace, the more their passion had cooled, but she would forever consider him her friend. She embraced him.

“You gave me the fright of my life there, Djogo,” she said as he hugged her back. They separated and she looked him up and down. “It's good to see you again. I feared I would die in this Brenn-forsaken city without seeing those dearest to me again.”

Djogo flinched at her words, a peculiar smile appearing upon his lips. “You're much loved by us all, Shah. I feared we'd never be reunited.” He held her hands in his own, giving her fingers a squeeze. She withdrew them, though the former slaver was reluctant to release his grip.

“We have so many people to thank for our good fortune,” she said. “Perhaps we
can
defeat the Catlords after all.” She looked over her shoulder at the door to Vega's chamber, then back to Djogo. He'd been out here when she left the room.
How long had he been standing there? Was he eavesdropping?

“
Have you been out here a while?” she asked.

“I came looking for you. I thought you might want to eat: it's been an awfully long day, and I put some food aside for you.”

“That's very sweet of you, Djogo.”

“You've been crying,” he said, raising a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. She flinched. He looked past her to the door. “The Sharklord.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yes,” she replied, annoyance still evident in her voice. There was something odd about Djogo and she couldn't quite place it. He seemed outwardly calm, but his eye—that one good eye that Drew hadn't taken from him ages ago—remained fixed upon the door, unblinking.

“Come,” she continued, disturbed by her friend's mood and keen to lead him away from the House of Healing. “This meal you've spared for me. I would eat it, and hear about all that you've done since we've been apart.”

Djogo blinked at last, as if waking from a trance. He held a hand out before him in the corridor.

“After you, my lady,” he said, as the two set off down the carved, stone corridor, leaving the sickbeds and Sharklord behind them.