23

Halfdan Blood, called the Bloody Fang, was fond of dungeons. Before Lord Ulric took his father’s place at the point of a blade, he built extensive chambers under the Wolf House. Long, dark tunnels of grey flagstones, housing two hundred cells, not tall enough to stand up in or wide enough to lie down in. The Bloody Fang called it his place of forgetting.

For most of my life its inhabitants had been skeletons and rats, and, if paranoid fisherman were to be believed, the ghosts of slain Pure Ones. I had never seen it with my own eyes. Not until two days after Tomas Red Fang left my chamber, and I saw a familiar face being dragged under the Wolf House. Two duellists led a gang of chained Pure Ones down the narrow steps, to be caged, and questioned when and if the Wolf’s Bastard remembered they were there. Third in line, his face a mask of red cuts and black bruises, was Young Green Eyes.

I’d not thought of him since I returned. My blood had not risen and I’d felt no urge to visit Swordfish Bay. I’d felt no urge to do anything. I’d not left the Wolf House, nor checked on Jaxon. Yesterday I’d slept, today I drank. There was an empty seat next to me, and if I hadn’t been staring at it, I wouldn’t have seen the line of captive Pure Ones marched past the low bar’s entrance. It was an hour or two after midday and I’d been drinking since breakfast.

“Stop there,” I said to the duellists, draining my mug and rising to meet them. I was on unsteady feet, but my senses were only a little dulled.

“Mistress,” said one, with a bow of his head.

“What is that one’s crime?” I asked, pointing at Young Green Eyes.

The two lesser duellists looked at each other. “Not known, mistress. They are the latest group. Swordfish Bay is being purged.”

I coughed and spat on the floor. “How many are dead? So far.”

“Not known, mistress,” he repeated. “You should speak to Master Coldfire.”

I turned from them and faced Young Green Eyes. He wore only a pair of ragged trousers, with his feet and chest bare. He’d been cut and badly beaten, and his beautiful eyes were hidden behind swelling and blooded hair. He didn’t acknowledge me until I put a hand under his chin and raised his head. “My world is a fragile place,” he murmured, with a thin smile. “I knew this. And you knew this.”

I wanted to say I could help him, that I could remove the chains with a word, but I glanced back at the two duellists and realized it was impossible.

“Don’t struggle for words, Adeline,” said Young Green Eyes. “There are none.”

“If you know something, tell them,” I whispered. “It may not save your life, but it will soften your death.”

He looked at me, his face bulging and red, with bruises spreading from his chin and cheeks. “I don’t especially want a soft death. All deaths are hard since the Invaders came.”

“Mistress,” said one of the duellists. “Is there something else you need? These men are required below.”

I bowed my head. “Take them away,” I said, not looking at Young Green Eyes.

“Aye, mistress.” The gang of Pure Ones were led away, down the narrow stairs, until they disappeared into the darkness below.

I’d sobered up quickly and there was now a rancid taste in my mouth. I looked down, realizing that my fists were tightly clenched and numb. I rubbed feeling back into my palms and fingers, and allowed myself a single tear. I didn’t know if I’d have cried for him before. Perhaps, or perhaps I would have thanked the purge for ridding me of a problem I lacked the fortitude to rid myself of.

“You don’t see us as superior anymore,” said Jaxon. He’d appeared silently behind me. “Neither do I.” His face had some colour, but his eyes remained haunted, and his clothing was little more than a robe, with no markings to signal his station as a senior duellist.

I slowly faced him and paused, moving in for an emotional embrace when he showed me a thin smile. “I knew you’d mend,” I whispered.

“And I knew I’d find you in the bar,” replied the Wisp. “You always drink to forget.”

I led him back inside the low bar and we took seats opposite each other. He kept his shoulders hunched, and he moved in small steps, with little strength or confidence.

“Do you know what’s happening out there?” he asked. “The spirit-masters wouldn’t tell me.”

“I’ve not left the Wolf House since we returned,” I replied. “I only know that the chaos sprits are being bound here and Pure Ones are being questioned and purged. I have no further information. I think Tomas Red Fang relieved me of duty … for the time being at least.”

That I was told,” said the Wisp. “Gossip still spreads. It is said that Adeline Brand has felt fear, and is no longer the same woman.”

“Hard to disagree,” I replied. “But I should belt on my blades and visit the Wolf’s Bastard. I feel like knowing what is happening to the Severed Hand.” I went to the bar and drew two large mugs of ale. “You should come with me.”

*

The main chamber of the Bloody Halls was half-full. The worn red carpets were filled with duellists, spirit-masters and scribes, and around the circular table sat the hold elders, at least those that were still here. The Wolf’s Bastard, Tomas Red Fang and Jonas Grief sat with Lagertha Blood and Torstein Hearth, the scroll-master. A young Kneeling Wolf was also there, though standing next to the table. Jaxon and I had not tried to join them, and we stood with Tasha Strong, next to a carved wooden pillar to the left of the high table. In total, four or five hundred Sea Wolves awaited news. Many thousands more, mostly lesser duellists, were in the hold, doing what they could to maintain order and smoke out rebellious Pure Ones.

“We have little time for gatherings,” began Jonas Grief, addressing the huge chamber, “so this will be as brief as we can make it. The Severed Hand remains under martial law, with only Eastron allowed abroad after dark or to grace the stone of the Wolf House.”

Rys Coldfire stood and took over from the master-at-arms. “The purge has not worked,” he announced, with a sigh. “We’ve killed hundreds and have not found a single varn capable of any kind of binding, let alone the shit currently squirming in the void.” He looked at Tomas Red Fang.

“We’re looking for one or two immensely powerful Pure Ones,” offered the spirit-master. “The only name we have is a Mirralite, called Varn Gloom Scribe.”

“If we do not find this man,” continued Rys, “it is likely the chaos spirits will multiply until …” He gritted his teeth and looked at the floor.

Tomas Red Fang took over, and it became clear that they did not want the assembled Sea Wolves to know that the spirits would be able to break the glass and enter the realm of form.

“We have no count of missing Eastron,” said the old spirit-master. “Though hundreds at the very least have disappeared in the void. Anyone breaking the glass does so at their own risk.”

“Tell them of Lord Ulric?” prompted Lagertha Blood. She was only sixteen years old, and rarely seen in the Bloody Halls, but with the First and Second Fang absent, she was allowed a seat at the high table.

“As you may have heard,” said Jonas Grief, “the First Fang has not yet returned from Nowhere. We have sent messengers to inform him of the dire situation here, but we’ve received no word of him or Lord Vikon.”

I leaned into Jaxon. “How many men did he take? Do you know?” I asked.

“Four ships,” replied Jaxon. “Including the Lucretia. Eight hundred warriors, maybe.”

I frowned at him. “What was the Lucretia doing at the Severed Hand?”

“Don’t know,” he replied. “But the Kneeling Wolf by the high table is Oswald Leaf, the Friend’s eldest son.”

Lagertha stood from the table. Her voice was clear and precise, but it crackled slightly with nerves. “Until my father or my brother return, we have a duty to protect our people and our hold. We will find whoever is binding these spirits and we will kill them.”

“Once more for the Severed Hand!” shouted the Wolf’s Bastard.

The words were echoed by every other Sea Wolf in the Bloody Halls. Every other Sea Wolf except two. Neither Jaxon nor I shouted. We just looked at each other, then at the assembled warriors. Each pulsed with wyrd, from the slight vibration of the lesser duellists, to the torrent of energy from the mightiest spirit-masters. They each felt a powerful sense of their own superiority, as if they had already won and the fight was a formality. They were Sea Wolves of the Severed Hand and had never known their match. At least that is what they were told to believe. Our one true defeat had been twisted into a ghost story and the enemies forgotten. I hated myself for thinking it, but it was the truth.

Quickly, the hall emptied. Men and women, driven by conviction, exited the Bloody Halls, intent on being the one to find Gloom Scribe and secure the hold. Jaxon and I remained, with Tasha trying to stay hidden behind us.

“That was really impressive,” whispered the Kneeling Wolf. “They all have very loud voices.”

“Shouting a lot trains you to speak loudly,” I replied.

“You two, get over here,” ordered the master-at-arms, proving my point.

Neither of us were properly attired. Jaxon wore his robe, and I wore woollen leggings and a black tunic. Around the table, each of the hold elders wore armour of some kind. Rys and Jonas wore breastplates, Tomas and Torstein wore light chainmail, even Lagertha wore moulded leather armour. Only Oswald Leaf, the visiting Kneeling Wolf, was unarmoured, standing casually in a heavy, black overcoat and canvas clothing.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” said Jonas Grief. “Adeline Brand has felt fear.”

“Easy,” said Rys. “She’s earned our tolerance a hundred times over, and I will hear no insult toward her or the Wisp.”

I said nothing, intending to let them insult or dismiss me as they saw fit. Luckily, the words of the Wolf’s Bastard stopped anyone else making a comment. Tomas wanted to say something clever, but even he was cowed into silence.

“I’m still a duellist,” I said, quietly. “Just a little wiser.”

They all looked at me, as if I’d just posed them a complicated riddle.

“Mistress Brand,” said Oswald Leaf, with a bow of his head. “I have heard much about you. I hope you and your friend are well.” He exchanged a restrained smile with Tasha. “We, at the Folly, have also seen the touch of these Sunken Men. A cathedral of flesh was found on Big Brother. The frogs were sacrificing Jorralite Pure Ones to their dreaming god and twisting their bodies into an altar. I came here with Charlie Vane to assist any way I can.”

I frowned at him. The man was young and fresh-faced, and his cheeks pinched into dimples as he spoke. He was tall for a Kneeling Wolf, but still shorter than the average Eastron.

“We are not alone in our battles,” said Jonas Grief. “The Friend will sail to our aid if we need him. Worry not, Adeline. You may return to your chambers and sleep. You are clearly in need of rest and your counsel is not needed.”

“Fuck off!” I replied. “You have no dominion over me. I act, as I have always done, for the Severed Hand. That I am now more aware of the threat should be a boon, not a burden.”

Rys chuckled. “You have words, Adeline?”

“I do, for these are not times for arrogance. Jaxon and I have seen the enemy. We have seen it in forms you’d struggle to comprehend. We have seen it in forms both terrifying and unstoppable. And we are alive. Dismiss us, and you may die sooner than you expect.”

“The teeth and gums of chaos,” offered Jaxon. “They have been fed on Sea Wolf flesh. My flesh.” He parted the front of his robe and revealed a bandaged torso. “The varn have trained them to hunger for it. When they are unleashed, they will fall upon us like starving dogs. We are not their match.”

“What do you want us to do,” snapped the master-at-arms. “that we are not already doing? Hundreds of Pure Ones … none of them know a thing.”

I sneered at him. “Perhaps cutting off their feet is not the best way to garner information.” I knew the comment would mark me as weak in their eyes, but I also knew I was right.

“Adeline,” said Tomas Red Fang, his eyes narrow and aware. “I do not think you are ready to resume your duties. The same goes for you, Jaxon. There is little any of us can do until Lord Ulric returns.”

I turned, showing them my back and marching from the chamber. Jaxon followed a step later and, hurrying along behind, came Tasha. I was angry and didn’t trust myself to stay calm. I wouldn’t challenge any of them, but I’d given them ample reason to challenge me, and I wanted to avoid such foolishness. I could still help, even if I had to do so without their consent.

“What do we do now?” asked Jaxon. “I don’t feel like resting … and that’s all anyone tells me to do.”

“We’re not resting,” I replied.

“So, er, what are we doing?” asked Tasha, hurrying along behind us.

“We’re going to find Gloom Scribe,” I replied.

*

The staircase to the Bloody Fang’s place of forgetting was narrow and steep. There was no railing, just a close wall to steady myself against. Someone with shoulders larger than mine might need to descend the stairs sideways, to stop from getting stuck. There were lights at the top and the bottom, but nothing in the steep downward tunnel. As it levelled out and we entered the first globe of torchlight, we were faced with a handful of lesser duellists, standing at intervals next to dozens of tiny cells. Small passages linked more corridors and more cells, and a low moan of pain echoed from almost every angle. Men and women were being stored here until someone thought to question them. The Pure Ones wouldn’t be fed or cared for. They’d either be taken away to some unpleasant fate, or forgotten about and allowed to starve to death. It reminded me of an unpleasant recent experience.

“Mistress,” said one of the duellists. “How can we assist?”

“Stand aside,” I replied. “I’m here to talk to someone.”

The duellist frowned and looked at his fellows. They wouldn’t have been told to interfere, but they’d know of my situation and that I had no business in the dungeon.

“Excuse me,” said Jaxon. “If you make Adeline Brand ask you a second time, she may be inclined to hurt you.”

“Oh, yes,” offered Tasha. “She gets really cross.”

The duellist took a final look into my eyes and stood aside. He knew I could kill him with one hand, and, though I never would, the name of Adeline Brand was still enough to cow him.

I didn’t rub it in and make him feel any worse. I just wandered away from the stairs, pausing to look into each of the tiny cells in the first row. They were narrower than the staircase, and the ceilings were barely five feet from the dusty ground. I saw bronze-skinned men and women, mostly young and badly beaten, leaning against bales of straw or slumped forwards through the bars. Some were pleading for their lives, saying that they were loyal Nissalite; others were crying in pain or grumbling about the Shackles of the Wolf. I was sure that none of them knew where they were or what fate awaited them.

“Which of these poor wretches are we looking for?” whispered Tasha.

He knows,” I replied, pointing at the Wisp, but not slowing my pace.

“I’m not supposed to know,” said Jaxon.

“But you do,” I replied.

“So, er, who are we looking for?” repeated Tasha.

“Her lover,” said the Wisp. “I don’t know his name, but she’s been trying to convince herself that she’s not in love with him for a little over a year.”

I nodded at the assessment, as I walked past an unconscious Nissalite woman, curled up in her cell. “His name’s Young Green Eyes. He’s Mirralite.”

“Complicated,” offered Tasha, with an accepting smile.

Halfway down the line, I stopped. Sitting in the small cell was a man I knew. His beautiful face was puffy and bruised, but his eyes still shone. He’d suffered no further beating since I last saw him, but hate and rebellion were written all over his face. He looked up with no surprise, as if he’d heard our entrance. There was a thin smile, but nothing more.

“Adeline,” he whispered. “I hope you’ve been ordered to kill me.”

Jaxon and Tasha stood either side of me, peering into the cell. The lesser duellists had melted away, confining themselves to gossiping at the base of the stairs.

“I’ve not been ordered to do anything,” I replied. “Things are … different now. You told me it wasn’t my world and you were right. I should have died, but I was cursed to come back with what I know.”

“You hear the sea,” he said, with a slight nod. “I did warn you. For all your advantages, Sea Wolves can be fragile.”

I stepped towards him and grasped the cell bars. “You’re right. You are. But I can still save the Severed Hand. If you help me.”

“What do you think I’ve held back? I’ve already been beaten and burned. You call it questioning. You apparently call murder purging.”

I tightened my grip around the bars. “Yes, we’re terrible people. We always have been and we always will be. We are pirates and killers and should pay for our arrogance. But if you believe every Eastron at the Severed Hand should be eaten by chaos spirits, tell me now. Or fucking help me.”