A Tale of Stars and Shadow Read online

  A Tale of Stars and Shadow

  Lisa Cassidy

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Creator: Lisa Cassidy

  Publisher: Tate House

  ISBN: 9780995358997 (Printed)

  ISBN: 9780648539209 (eBook)

  Copyright © 2019 by Lisa Cassidy

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design: Jessica Bell

  Map design: Oscar Paludi

  Music and Lyrics: Peny Bohan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Also by Lisa Cassidy

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  It was the deepest hour of the night.

  Rain and wind lashed at Feather Bay, turning its usually tranquil surface into a turmoil of white-capped waves. Merchant ships anchored in the seething waters listed heavily, pulling up hard against their anchors, spray soaking their open decks.

  The Shadowhawk stood still, hands folded loosely before him, voluminous cloak hiding his form. His attention focused on one ship amongst the many. Having arrived earlier in the afternoon with barely enough time to anchor before the storm hit, it had yet to unload.

  Anticipation kindled in his stomach with a slow burn that he savoured like fine wine. As the sensation unfurled and spread through his body, he remained outwardly still, ignoring the rain driving into his masked and hooded face and the wind tearing and clawing at his cloak.

  His gaze narrowed, tracking a moving pinprick of light on the deck—likely the handheld lantern of a crew member with the unenviable duty of checking everything remained locked down in the storm.

  Abruptly the Shadowhawk shifted attention, warned by a flickering in the shadows of the narrow alley to his left. His hand slid to the narrow blade he wore tucked into the small of his back.

  A man emerged. Familiar. Offering a slight nod as he came to stand at the Shadowhawk’s side.

  The Shadowhawk moved his hand away from the blade and slid his gaze back to the ship.

  “We’ve been watching the docks since The Merry Raven berthed. Two Falcons on board, with a shift change every four hours. Next shift change should be dawn.” The man’s voice was pitched above the sound of the wind and held no trace of nervousness or uncertainty.

  The Shadowhawk’s lip curled. Only two Falcons. “And your group is in position?”

  It was always a different group, each led by a different man or woman who knew nothing about the other groups. Each had a different way of communicating with him.

  And none of them knew the Shadowhawk’s face.

  “Awaiting your word.”

  The Shadowhawk nodded. “Wait a half-turn then follow me out. Make for the cargo hatch at the stern.”

  It was too dark, the weather too wild, for anyone to notice the shadow slipping over the starboard railing of The Merry Raven and making straight for the main hatch leading inside. It lifted easily, a faint light glimmering from below, but nobody shouted or called the alarm.

  The Shadowhawk dropped inside, crouching on the top step and securing the hatch behind him. Immediately the driving rain was cut off and he was left with only the roar of the wind and waves hurling themselves at the ship.

  At the bottom of the ladder, two narrow passageways led in different directions. The light was coming from under the door of a cabin at the end of the passageway leading straight ahead—probably the captain’s room.

  The Shadowhawk turned left.

  Darkness was his friend, and as he moved, he gathered the shadows around him, allowing them to shroud his cloaked form. He padded quickly through the ship, moving with the lurching of the floor under his feet. One lit cabin at deck level held a handful of sailors playing cards—presumably those on watch—but the rest of the crew should be below trying to sleep through the storm.

  He turned away. He needed to find the sleeping crew. They would likely be positioned close to the cargo hold, and despite the sound the storm was making, he couldn’t take the risk that they might hear him.

  He’d done this many times before, and it didn’t take him long to make his way down into the bowels of the ship and find the sleeping berth. Keeping the shadows close—anyone watching would see only moving darkness—he pulled the door closed and latched it.

  At the quiet snick of the latch falling into place he waited, breathing to stay calm. But nobody inside roused.

  He thought about going back up, locking in the captain and the sailors playing cards. But they were awake. If one of them heard him doing it or tried to leave… but the storm was loud. It was unlikely they’d hear anything happening down in the cargo hold. And if they did, well, merchant sailors weren’t soldiers.

  Decision made, he moved down the narrow passageway leading to the cargo hold. It was there he found his first obstacle—two armed Falcons standing guard on either side of the hatch.

  Not that either of them would strike fear into anyone trying to get in.

  The Shadowhawk couldn’t help the sharp smile of amusement that spread over his face at the sight. One was half-leaning against the wall, his skin a green hue almost matching the colour of his wings, his left hand clutching his stomach. The other just looked bored. Their immaculate teal uniforms and silken wings contrasted sharply with the rough wood of the ship’s interior and the dim light from two flickering torches further down the passageway, making them seem horribly out of place.

  Briefly he considered sneaking past them in the shadows. He discarded the idea the moment he thought it. The seasick one was practically standing on the hatch and the lamplight was strong enough to make the shadows surrounding him look unnatural if he stepped into it.

  A single steadying breath, and he summoned the deep, husky voice of the Shadowhawk. “I’ve got an arrow drawn and pointed at your heart. One move and I let loose.”

  He was unarmed apart from the knife at his back, the knife he never used, but they didn’t know that—he was utterly hidden by the darkness beyond the pool of lamplight. The two Falcons jumped, the seasick one adding a shade of yellow to the green tinge of his skin. The other
one’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, but the Shadowhawk barked, “Don’t! There’s no need for either of you to die tonight. You know who I am. Do as I say and you live. Start walking backwards. Slowly. Arms up.”

  They shared a glance, neither willing to attack with the threat of an arrow coming out of the darkness at them, but still reluctant to leave their post.

  “My patience is running out.” His voice turned edgy, dark. “Start walking, or I loose this arrow. The second will follow before the remaining one of you can get anywhere near me.”

  His glance fell on the face of the seasick Falcon—a young man surely no older than twenty—and for a moment guilt tried to flicker. He squashed it ruthlessly.

  After sharing another glance, the two Falcons began inching backwards up the passageway, hands in the air, their wings making their usually graceful movements awkward and clumsy in the confined space.

  He moved them back until they reached a hold he’d spotted earlier, on his way from the sleeping berth. “Inside. Not a sound. Shut the door behind you. Go.”

  They hesitated only a moment longer, the seasick one swaying, clutching his stomach harder. The second one opened the door and shoved his comrade in before following suit. Once the door swung shut, the Shadowhawk moved quickly, dropping the bar over the doorway.

  The sharp scent of penned sheep had hit him earlier as he passed the doorway—the hold where livestock were kept would be one that could be barred from the outside, holding back any panicked animal herd trying to flee. A perfect place to trap someone.

  Besides, there was no small satisfaction in sticking the pretty winged Falcons in with stinking sheep.

  Mouth curling in contempt at their uselessness, the Shadowhawk returned to the hatch leading to the cargo hold, listening hard through the rain drumming on the deck above. Nothing else loomed out of the darkness, so he opened the hatch and dropped through before pulling it closed and securing it from the inside. It should prove a good enough obstacle if the crew on watch worked out what was happening.

  The two Falcons wouldn’t be missed until shift change at dawn, still at least two full-turns away. Once that happened, he wouldn’t have long before many more Falcons descended on The Merry Raven.

  The sheer number of crates stacked in the hold gave him pause—but his informants on the docks had told him they were all full of supplies of wheat from Montagn. His eyes tracked the dim interior of the hold until landing on the unloading door at the stern.

  He winched it open, ignoring its loud screech and the icy wind rushing in as the door splashed down into roiling ocean. Several two-man rowboats were waiting, rocking wildly on the storm-tossed waves. At the sight of the opening door, one of the boats came in closer.

  It unloaded four men into the hold. Seasoned sailors all of them, with the way they easily jumped the gap from boat to hold, not even a glance at the raging ocean below their feet. At a nod from the Shadowhawk they began working, dragging crates over to be loaded onto the waiting boats.

  By the time the third boat was full, shoulders and arms ached, but he gritted his teeth and increased his pace, forcing the pain to the back of his mind. When all the boats were filled with crates, he looked up at the sky. The rain and low clouds made it difficult to tell the time, but they couldn’t have longer than a half-turn before dawn.

  The first three boats were already almost back to shore as the fourth one turned and began following. The Shadowhawk straightened his aching back and looked up towards the citadel.

  It was time to go. Any longer and he’d risk getting caught. And he was too smart for that.

  Casting a regretful look at the remaining crates, he reached inside his cloak and drew out a carved wooden arrow, fletched in black. After carefully placing it on the floor by the hatch entry, he headed over to the cargo door and leaped across into the final boat. “Go, get out of here,” he barked at the rowers. “We need to make it to shore before light or the Falcons coming for shift change will spot us.”

  The wind was bitingly cold and the water hadn’t calmed. The two men at the oars struggled for what felt like ages against the strong current, the work made harder by how heavily laden they were. An edge of anxiety tugged incessantly at him despite his physical weariness—Falcons would be searching the water and shoreline relentlessly once they reached The Merry Raven at dawn and saw what had been stolen. And though he’d done this many times before, he never took for granted that one day he might be caught.

  Dawn was a faint pink glow on the horizon when they finally dragged the boat up onto the sand of a beach on the western headland of Feather Bay. Panting, aching, and stiff with cold, they all clambered out and joined the hive of activity around the other boats already ashore. They’d been pulled up high onto the sand, and more helpers were there to unload them and carry crates away.

  He recognised one of the rowers—a kahvi brewer in another life—and a handful of the others helping unload crates. It had been a while since he’d worked with this group, but they were well-practised and efficient.

  Apart from leaders of each group, he didn’t even know their names. And they had no more idea who he was than any other man, woman or child on the streets of Dock City. It was safer for all of them that way.

  As each boat was unloaded, its crew pushed them back out into the water and rowed south. Once the sun rose, they’d be nothing more than one of the myriad fishing vessels out to get the morning’s catch.

  None spoke to the Shadowhawk as he began helping to move the crates from the fourth boat into the backs of two large wagons. Dawn began inching across the sky, and the wind lost some of its strength, the pounding rain dropping to a light drizzle. They were tying down the load on the second wagon when a familiar figure appeared, stalking towards him with her customary confident gait.

  “You got my message.” He stepped away from the wagon to speak with her, not wanting any of the workers to overhear.

  “You would have been shit out of luck if I hadn’t,” she observed.

  True, but letting her know too long in advance… that was risky. He shrugged. “You know why I don’t give you more notice.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She lifted a hand from where it had rested on the hilt of the dagger she always wore on her belt, dark skin blending with the dim light as she dismissed his words with a sharp gesture. Even soaking wet from the rain she was calm and collected. “The first wagon is already sorted, and we’ll have the rest away by midday. After I’ve taken the cut for my people, we’ll get the rest up north to Mair-land for you.”

  That was the usual arrangement. He used his people to identify the ships to hit and steal the supplies from. Saniya’s network hid and distributed the goods to those who needed it.

  “You never have told me how your ‘people’ are different to the rest of Dock City or Mair-land,” he said casually.

  “And I never will.”

  He barked a laugh. Fair enough. “And that’s why I’ll never give you advance notice. I don’t trust you.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “I don’t give a flying flea’s shit about your trust, Shadowhawk. It’s enough to know that neither of us could operate without the other.”

  “Shadowhawk!”

  He turned—the kahvi brewer was pointing southeast, where two winged figures were outlined against the ever-lightening sky, making directly for The Merry Raven. Scorn simmered in his gut—they’d clearly waited for the storm to calm before risking flight and completing their shift change.

  “Didn’t want to sprain a wing, I suppose.” Saniya’s voice mirrored his contempt.

  He turned away, gaze following one of the wagons as it trundled away. Satisfaction displaced the scorn and the lingering cold and exhaustion. There had been enough wheat in those crates to replace the yield destroyed in a recent avalanche that had badly affected several villages who relied heavily on farming for survival.

  But quick on the heels of his satisfaction came a burning shame. It wasn’t enough. He should be able
do more, and hated that he didn’t have the courage for it. Sighing, he rubbed at the beginnings of a headache throbbing at his temples. Always the same argument with himself. It got old, and tiring.

  “Go, get out of here.” Saniya’s sharp voice dragged him from his thoughts. “I’ll make sure the last wagon is sorted before the Falcons start searching the beaches.”

  He nodded, taking a final glance at the remaining wagon before setting off with quick strides along the beach. Once out of sight of Saniya and the wagons he tugged off his mask, shoved it deep inside his tunic then shrugged out of the cloak and balled it up, tucking it under his arm.

  By the time he reached the waking streets of Dock City, he was just one of the crowd. An average, unremarkable human.

  Chapter 2

  She’d allowed herself to keep one good memory from before. It was nothing special, and she rarely let herself do it, but sometimes, in her worst moments, remembering it would lift her depression just enough to allow her to breathe. To put one foot in front of the other. To get out of bed.

  The other memories she’d wrapped up and buried—as far away as she could push them—in the back of her mind. Those had the power to leave her gasping on the floor, unable to think under an overwhelming tide of grief.

  But this memory…