The island of Nowhere was disputed territory. Warriors had gathered here, intent to fight for it and hold it, like a recently discovered gold mine. The problem was, as I saw it, that one side didn’t truly know of its value. The Sea Wolves thought they had come here to fight for their territory. They knew only one of their ships was missing. They didn’t know about the doorway to a distant realm, nor of the need to flee through it. They didn’t know of the pale man, or that he’d controlled the minds of Xavyer Ice and Inigo Night Walker. They didn’t know that Marius Cyclone had conspired to annex the island. And, above all, they didn’t know that the sea was rising, and that swords and strength would be meaningless against the breaking waves of the Sunken God. But I knew, and I too was a Sea Wolf. I’d been given a task by the Old Bitch of the Sea, and I was determined to honour her.
The ignorance of my people was paramount in my mind, far more prominent than my own obligations, as I looked at the four tall ships at anchor in the bay. Each had three masts, with stowed sails, tied to dark wood. I recognized the largest. It was called the Blood Hammer and was usually to be found at Laughing Rock. It flew a billowing flag, displaying a ravening wolf, and all the ships were filled to the railings with fully armoured warriors. They’d been there since morning, and made no effort to communicate with those on land. A party of Mirralite, led by Ten Cuts, had made themselves visible, standing in plain view on the beach, but so far the Sea Wolves had ignored them. They didn’t know Vikon Blood was dead. If they had, they’d have swarmed ashore and killed every living thing on Nowhere. At least they’d have tried.
“You know you’ve stopped twitching,” observed Loco Death Spell. “When we first met, the left side of your face looked like it was dancing. But since we got back from under the Maelstrom … nothing.”
I sat on the grass, upon a cliff to the east, reclining against a tree, with the clean-cut void legionnaire’s straight sword resting on my shoulder. Any freedoms I’d been given, after the pale man restructured everyone’s memories, had been swiftly taken away once we left Cold Point. They wanted to use me as a white flag of sorts, but didn’t trust that I wouldn’t run back to the Sea Wolves, screaming of foul treachery.
“Ignoring me, boy?” prompted Loco, tapping his blade against the bare skin of my neck.
“Will I have your sword against my throat when I talk to them?” I asked, nodding at the four warships.
“You will,” he replied. “And four short bows aimed at your head.”
I felt a gentle ache in my left leg, as if Twist was scoffing at Loco’s implied threat. The pain spirit and I both knew that they would no longer kill me out of hand. I turned towards him, looking along the length of his sword. “I’m not a diplomat,” I said. “If you want me to mediate with a blade against my throat, I’ll probably fuck it up.”
The young Dark Brethren never smiled, nor did he allow obvious emotion to intrude upon his face, but he relaxed his sword-arm. “I don’t want anything,” he replied. “I’m just a void legionnaire, but Lord Inigo wants whoever is aboard those ships dealt with peacefully … until he returns. You are the only Sea Wolf survivor of the Dead Horse. You also know that the sea rises, and have seen our only means of escape. I should think that makes you the perfect diplomat.”
“As soon as they hear the Second Fang is dead, they’ll attack,” I replied.
“Don’t tell them,” he stated. “You need to mollify them, or every Sea Wolf who comes ashore will die. It is for their own good … in the short and long term. When Lord Inigo returns he will sit down with them, but we must achieve a parlay before that can happen. The Stranger always intended to include the Sea Wolves in his plan. Just not yet.”
I’d not seen Inigo Night Walker since we left Cold Point. He, and the majority of the fifty void legionnaires, had not accompanied us to the coast. Only Loco and my four other guards were present. They stayed clear of the warriors of Ice, camped in the low ground beyond the bay. The Grim Wolf wasn’t here, but he’d despatched a significant force to greet the Sea Wolves, apparently enough to defeat the crews of four warships.
I sighed. I wasn’t afraid anymore, and saw wisdom in Loco’s words, and Inigo’s intentions, but I couldn’t forget that they’d killed Vikon Blood. They’d killed Cold Man, Anthony Blitz, Lydia Hearth and the entire crew of the Dead Horse. I couldn’t clearly remember the vision of the Sunken God, but I remembered the massacre of the crew with crystal clarity. The Old Bitch of the Sea wasn’t the only one I had to honour.
Blade Smile emerged from the low ground, leading a squad of warriors. They lacked the upright uniformity of the Dark Brethren, appearing more like thugs than soldiers. The People of Ice resisted being called Sea Wolves, but they looked like them, covered in leather and steel, with heavy cutlasses and wide-bladed falchions. The only thing that united their appearance was the chip of blue ice on each chest, and the way they looked at me. Their fear of my wyrd was now tinged with anger, as if the presence of more Sea Wolves made them remember that they should hate me.
“I expected you an hour ago,” said Loco, glaring coldly at the Grim Wolf’s son.
“I had no plans to be here an hour ago,” replied Blade Smile, grinning like a madman. “But I’m here now. I’ve decided your commander is probably right. Slaughtering more Sea Wolves will complicate things.”
“You’ve decided?” snapped Loco. “Inigo Night Walker is Sentinel of the Dark Harbour and commander of the third void legion, his wisdom is matched only by that of Marius Cyclone. But you’ve decided he’s probably right?”
The thin warrior of Ice didn’t stop grinning. He enthusiastically nodded his head. “Yup, I’ve decided. But first we need to know who’s coming ashore on those longboats.”
Loco frowned, rushing to the edge of the cliff. The other Brethren went with him, and I was swept up in their movements.
“I’ve not been to the Severed Hand since I was a boy,” said Blade Smile, calling after us. “I wouldn’t know Lord Ulric or any of his dogs by sight, but I think the big guy at the front of the first boat is someone important. What do you think, Duncan?”
I shielded my eyes from the glare of the shimmering blue ocean and saw three huge longboats in the water. Oars stroked them slowly towards Ten Cuts and the Mirralite on the rocky beach below. The big guy was Lord Ulric Blood, First Fang of the Sea Wolves and elder of the Severed Hand. He was at least sixty years old, but still emanated an aura of indomitable power. Over his fur-clad shoulder was Jacob Hearth, captain of the Black Wave, and at the back of the boat was Taymund Grief. There were other faces I knew, duellists and sailors, some I could name, most I just recognized. The Brand twins weren’t there, neither was the Wolf’s Bastard, but Ingrid Raider and Vincent Heartfire were at the fore of the second boat. The face that grabbed my attention was Siggy Blackeye, Mistress of the Dead Horse. She’d escaped Nowhere and made her way back to the Severed Hand.
“Time to go,” said Loco, pulling me away from the cliff’s edge. “Your first diplomatic assignment will be mollifying Lord Ulric Blood. Auspicious indeed.”
*
Since I’d arrived on Nowhere, I’d been surrounded by people who saw the Sea Wolves as villains, and few of their reasons could be genuinely challenged. The People of Ice had been oppressed and forgotten. The Dark Brethren had been demonized, whilst suffering under relentless piracy. Even the Pure Ones hated us, and their reasons were more profound than most. But still, it was the Dark Brethren and the People of Ice who’d conspired a way to save the Eastron. Was the loss of a single ship of villains truly so significant when our very survival was at stake?
But I was a Sea Wolf, and I couldn’t forget Lord Vikon or our totem. The pale man told me that I was too powerful for him to control. If that was true it meant I had free will. Perhaps the Sunken God was too powerful to fight, and our only chance of survival was fleeing into the void. But seeing the First Fang on the rocky beach reminded me whose side I should be on. As much as I admired his son and heir, Lord Ulric was like a god to me. He had as much right to decide upon our fate as Marius Cyclone or the pale man.
Loco and his men led me from the high cliffs, down a winding path, to approach the beach from the north. Behind us, Blade Smile commanded a mob of warriors, hidden from the beach by a grassy ridge, and above us, on the flanking cliff tops, were two wings of archers, ready to emerge and fill the Sea Wolves with arrows.
Ahead of us, sauntering from their longboats in loose formation, were a hundred warriors. The First Fang led the vanguard, with many more Sea Wolves watching from anchor. There was a significant mob of grubby-looking Kneeling Wolves with Lord Ulric, staying behind the Sea Wolves, but just as well-armed. The forces of the Severed Hand were dressed for war, and those in the front warily regarded the high cliff tops. They’d know how open to ambush they were, but they still approached Ten Cuts and the Mirralite, where a line of spears had been stuck into the ground, indicating a parlay. Everyone else was hidden from sight.
“There’s no point in hiding,” I told Loco. “They know the Brethren are here. They know you attacked the Dead Horse.”
The point of his straight sword had remained in the small of my back as he’d pushed me down to the beach. The four legionnaires with short-bows were in a line behind him, their arrows nocked and ready. “And how would they know that?” he replied.
“Siggy Blackeye,” I said. “She was Mistress of the Dead Horse, and she escaped.” I glared at him. “It appears I wasn’t the only Sea Wolf to survive.”
The young Brethren took a moment to think, glancing out of cover to assess Lord Ulric and his warriors. He then looked inland, past Blade Smile and the massed warriors of Ice, as if waiting for his commander to give him an order. But Inigo Night Walker was not here, and Loco would have to make his own decisions.
“What you waiting for, pretty boy?” asked Blade Smile, coming to stand with us. “I got a lot of swords here, and they’ll kill those Sea Wolf bastards if you wait too long.” There was a collective nod from the closest People of Ice.
“I have orders,” replied Loco. He clearly didn’t like the Grim Wolf’s son, but no hint of irritation showed on his face. “Duncan, walk.” He nodded towards the beach and waved his men to follow.
I took a deep breath and made my way over the rise, to stand in clear view of the Sea Wolves. Five Dark Brethren walked with me, down loose sand and pebbles, to clatter across the rocky beach of Nowhere. Blade Smile commanded a small army, each of whom would gladly wet their blades on Sea Wolf blood, but they stayed hidden, close enough to rush from cover if needed.
Loco walked within whispering distance of me, keeping his sword at my back. “History does not always reward heroism,” he muttered. “Remember what’s at stake. Your job is to keep your people alive … for today, and perhaps forever. The small picture and the big picture, both will be brighter if we find a peaceful solution on this beach.”
I feigned a stumble on the rocks, so I could scratch at the thorn clinch. Twist was silenced by the glass of Nowhere, but I wanted his input. It was a strange thing to wish for pain, but I trusted no-one else. I didn’t know what to do. My wisdom agreed with Inigo Night Walker, and wanted nothing more than a peaceful solution. But my instincts thought otherwise. It was as if my reason fought with my passion over the future of the Sea Wolves, but I had no earthly idea who was right and who was wrong. The sword in my back pushed me towards a confrontation I wasn’t ready for.
Lord Ulric Blood, First Fang of the Sea Wolves, and elder of the Severed Hand, strolled at the front of the column. Men and women either side of him hefted cutlasses and circular shields, glaring at the small group of Dark Brethren. Their movements were controlled, but each one was a coiled spring, seconds away from violence. Most took a step forwards, ready to attack the brazen Dark Brethren, until they saw me. Siggy and Lord Ulric conferred, nodding in my direction, and the Sea Wolves lowered their blades.
Ten Cuts and the Mirralite parted, and we met in the shadow of the two overlooking cliffs. Lord Ulric, grey-haired and fierce, stood in front of Jacob Hearth, captain of the Black Wave, and Siggy Blackeye, Mistress of the Dead Horse. Loitering behind them was a Kneeling Wolf, likely their captain. He was short and muscular, with greasy black hair, braided down his back, and a coiled whip across his shoulders.
“Master Greenfire,” said the First Fang, scratching at his beard. “Good to see you haven’t found a way to get killed. How flows your wyrd?”
A hundred warriors, mostly Sea Wolves, stood in a mob before me, and my mind conjured a vivid memory. I thought of a day and a night, spent in the Bay of Grief, and of a cold walk to the Wolf House. I remembered a duellist, who warned me not to trip on the red carpet of the Bloody Halls, and I remembered the high table, and the elders of the Severed Hand, welcoming me as a Sea Wolf. Maron Grief had been there, and he’d made a stupid comment about my height. My father had thrown his usual scorn, but Vikon Blood and Tomas Red Fang had stuck up for me.
I stared up into the face of Lord Ulric, hoping to find some answers or, at the very least, some reassurance. I found neither. To my surprise, what I did find was a small surge of wyrd. Twist was warily pawing at my leg, equally surprised that the glass allowed us any power. Somewhere nearby, likely aboard the four ships, were Sea Wolf spirit-masters. I couldn’t tell how many, but I could feel their wyrd-craft, like it was a comforting smell. It made sense that they knew about the glass of Nowhere, and had come prepared. Villains we may be, but the Sea Wolves were far from stupid.
“Duncan,” snapped Ulric. “Say something. Where’s my son?” He scowled at Loco. “Do the Brethren have him?”
“No,” I replied. “They … want a truce.”
I didn’t speak loudly, but those Sea Wolves close enough to hear erupted in laughter. The Kneeling Wolf captain threw his head back, and Siggy Blackeye chuckled, before spitting on the rocks. I felt like a fool for saying something so stupid. Twist was dancing up and down my leg, angry that I didn’t just tell them the truth.
“We don’t wish to fight,” offered Loco Death Spell, prodding me in the back with the point of his sword. “We brought Duncan as a show of good faith. My commander, Inigo Night Walker of the third void legion, wishes to talk … not fight. We have a tale you will want to hear.”
They stopped laughing. The warriors of the Severed Hand must have known that there were additional forces waiting in ambush, but they couldn’t know how many archers skulked above, nor of the small army commanded by Blade Smile. If stories were to be believed, the First Fang alone was the match of any ten men, but the vanguard was in the open and could be cut down with relative ease.
“Where’s my son?” repeated Lord Ulric, now talking to Loco. “Where are the survivors of the Dead Horse? Siggy told us a dozen at least survived.”
“Why aren’t we killing them?” slurred the Kneeling Wolf captain, with a grotesque lick of the lips.
“This is Charlie Vane, called the War Rat,” said Lord Ulric. “He also came here looking for his son. A father’s rage should not be ignored.”
“So, shall I kill ‘em?” asked Charlie Vane. “How many more do you think there are?” He scratched his nails along the handle of his leather whip.
Loco removed his blade from my back, and pointed it at the muscular Kneeling Wolf. “Silence, rat. Men are talking.”
Ulric chuckled ominously. “Give us the boy,” he said. “And the other survivors. Then we can talk.”
“No,” replied Loco. “The boy stays with us. You will remain here until Lord Inigo returns. No-one needs to die on this beach.”
I almost walked forwards, turning to join the Sea Wolves, but the Dark Brethren closed around me. Four short bows were now inches from my head, and I wasn’t willing to gamble that they wouldn’t kill me, but I wanted to tell the First Fang that Lord Vikon Blood was dead, that his son had been executed by Inigo Night Walker and the third void legion. Twist and I wanted to use my wyrd to help them reclaim Nowhere. The pain spirit was practically screaming, making me grit my teeth to stop from blurting out something stupid.
Behind us, giving in to impatience, Blade Smile appeared on the ridge, leading a single line of warriors. Most were still hidden, but the young man of Ice seemed to be reminding the First Fang who held the upper hand.
“Hmm,” grumbled Lord Ulric, chewing on his lip. He again looked to the overhanging cliffs, as if planning an appropriate strategy.
I felt beads of sweat trickle down my forehead, as I struggled to bear the pain of the thorn clinch. Honour us, Duncan. It was Vikon’s voice, but felt like it was Twist speaking. I was grateful to him for reminding me who I was, even if he had to hurt me to do it. “Vikon’s dead,” I announced, practically shouting. “Inigo executed him.”
There was a pause, as if everyone stopped breathing for an instant. Silence erupted from the vanguard of Sea Wolves, and everyone stared at me. Loco was wide-eyed, the most expressive I’d seen him, and his men hesitated, suddenly aware they were alone on a beach with a hundred Sea Wolves. They took a step away from the First Fang, taking me with them, as Loco interposed himself between us.
Slowly, Lord Ulric’s face vibrated through a series of complex emotional states, before hardening into a mask of rage. Then he threw back his head and emptied his lungs. The sound was deep and discordant, like a dying wolf, howling defiance with its last breath. It stretched and echoed, filling the air with the anguish of a father who’d lost his only son. It travelled inland, washing over the warriors of Ice, reaching the ears of Blade Smile’s archers, hiding on the cliffs. The sound made tears appear at the corners of my eyes, as I remembered Vikon’s face, the moment before he died.
Before I knew what was happening, I was being bundled backwards, with Loco’s sword now at my front, guarding against any Sea Wolves who gathered themselves quickly enough to attack. Luckily, none did.
“Let me go!” I snapped, fighting back tears. “I’m a Sea Wolf, I should be with them.” I struggled against restraining arms, but couldn’t free myself. I reached for the Sea Wolves, wanting more than anything to stand with them.
Loco growled at me over his shoulder, but kept his attention focused on the Sea Wolves. “Keep the boy safe,” he ordered. “We need him. Now, move!”
As the First Fang stopped roaring, and the vanguard began a resolute advance, Blade Smile started shouting. The young man of Ice directed his warriors to form up on the ridge. He waved an arm at the cliffs, and dozens of longbows appeared. As the five Dark Brethren and I retreated, we were passed by a deep column of warriors, advancing onto the beach. The People of Ice had a huge advantage of numbers and appeared confident. At least until they saw a hundred Sea Wolves summon their wyrd.
The spirit-masters were sending wave upon wave of spiritual energy towards Lord Ulric and the vanguard. Somewhere beyond the Sea Wolves, perhaps only visible to me, small sea spirits snapped and snarled amidst the incoming waves, summoned by the spirit-masters and adding their power to the warriors of the Severed Hand. I could sense them in the void, as if a fragment of the Old Bitch of the Sea had travelled with the First Fang. I could almost feel her warm fur against my skin.
Ulric gave curt orders and his warriors split in two, each group of fifty moving to the base of the adjoining cliffs, taking cover from the longbows. I saw Taymund Grief go to the left, raising his shield above his head and pushing wyrd into his limbs. Ten Cuts and the Pure Ones melted away in alarm, grabbing their spears and running to the relative safety of the dead ground beyond the beach. Lord Ulric himself stayed in the open, throwing off his cloak and drawing two heavy cutlasses. His prodigious wyrd created a bluish glow around his outline, mixing with the low sun and causing a glare. It became an expanding star of energy, before rushing into his extremities with an audible crack.
The warriors of Ice swore in alarm, confused at the display of power. They muttered that the chaotic glass of Nowhere had forsaken them, or that the Sea Wolves were somehow able to bend the void to their will. A hundred and fifty years of submission had instilled in the People of Ice a paranoid fear of the First Fang, as if he was all their nightmares incarnate.
The void legionnaires dragged me over the ridge, and away from the beach. Loco spun me around, so I couldn’t see the First Fang, and wrapped his hand around my throat. His stoic demeanour was gone, to be replaced by a homicidal glare. “You have fucked everything up,” he shouted. “Now watch your people die.”