Storm of Sharks Read Free Page A

his shoulders, draping it over his master.
    ‘You turning into a sleepwalker? Had a
friend of mine back in Highcliff who was one o’ them: walked straight off the
jetty and into the harbour. They found his body the next day, but not before the crabs
had nibbled him to pieces.’
    He reached around Hector, helping the
Boarlord sit up straight. Ringlin dabbed at the back of the magister’s head, his
fingers coming away bloody from where Hector had struck the flagged roof.
    ‘Sorry about that, my lord. Small
price to pay, though, eh?’
    ‘Indeed,’ agreed Hector,
woozily, trying to gather his senses. ‘How did you know I was in
danger?’
    ‘You passed a chambermaid in your stupor:
she came to alert me. I figured you didn’t sound yourself so came looking. I just
followed the trail of confused servants and it led me here.’
    ‘Thank you, my friend,’ said
Hector, struggling to his feet, the Boarguard helping him rise. It felt odd that Hector
should consider Ringlin a friend, especially in light of the circumstances that had
forged that friendship initially. The death of Hector’s brother Vincent had
brought Ringlin and another rogue, Ibal, into his service, the two men having worked for
the slain Boarlord. His brother had been killed by Hector’s own
hand – an accident, though that fact counted for little in the eyes of his
twin’s ghostly vile that both haunted and served him. Hector had been trained as a
magister, a healer, but had turned his back on the fairer arts of late, concentrating
his knowledge on the realm of necromancy. After his death, Vincent had returned in the
form of this vengeful vile, a spirit that in turn tormented and comforted Hector. As for
Ringlin and Ibal, what had started out as a distrustful business arrangement had grown
into something more. Whether it was a genuine fondness, Hector was reluctant to say. His
last true friendship hadn’t ended well, he figured, thinking back to Drew.
    ‘Reckon you had another of those bad
dreams? You’ve been having plenty lately.’
    ‘This was no dream. I witnessed
everything, Ringlin. I was locked away inside my body, seeing everything as clear as you
before me now. It was as if I was … 
possessed.
As if something had
taken hold of me …’
    His words trailed away, his mind leading him
back towards Vincent.
    ‘Grim words, my lord. You fear
it’s your brother, don’t you?’
    Ringlin was no fool. The rangy rogue had
frequently witnessed Hector’s struggles with the Vincent-vile. At first,
Hector’s outbursts must have appeared to the Boarguard as deranged babblings, the
magister arguing with the voices inside his head. In time a pattern had appeared, the
outbursts intensifying whenever Hector channelled his dark magicks, often hissing his
brother’s name in anger. The young Werelord now stood at the height of his powers,
seemingly in total control of the vile. Vincent’s torment had all but ceased by
day, the spirit dutifully obeying Hector’s commands as and when it was called
upon. The nights, however, were another matter.
    ‘Perhaps,’ said Hector, his
voice lacking conviction. He knew full well that the vile was behind his perilous
sleepwalking. But how far would his brother take things? Why would the vile send him to
the top of the Bone Tower, a footstep away from death?
    ‘Is he listening to us now?’
asked Ringlin, glancing across Hector’s shoulder as if the vile might suddenly
become visible to him for the first time.
    ‘He’s always here; he never
leaves me,’ whispered Hector, ‘athough he remains suspiciously silent at
present. Where are you, brother? Why so shy all of a sudden?’
    Hector had become used to Vincent’s
presence since his death, haunting his every deed and bending his ear. The banterhad dwindled in the last few months, since Hector had seized Icegarden
from Duke Henrik, attacking the White Bear’s city with his army of Ugri
warriors.
    ‘Do you finally know your place,
Vincent? Is that it?