Rise of the Wolf

by Curtis Jobling

  Drew stayed put, feeling further embarrassed about his appearance now he was in the presence of such an elegant lady.

  ‘She is staying with us ahead of her impending nuptials, Hector,’ answered Baron Huth on her behalf. Did Drew detect a hint of displeasure in the Boarlord’s voice? ‘The king wants her to head out from Redmire by ship to Highcliff. He intends to send a flotilla of yachts up the Redwine to escort her to the wedding.’

  Gretchen grinned with impish pleasure.

  ‘Indeed. Kindly Uncle Huth has been a most gracious host,’ she said, skipping over to plant a kiss on the old man’s cheek. ‘Your poor father has had to endure my chattering ladies-in-waiting for two weeks already. It would drive a sane man quite mad! I don’t know how he does it.’

  Baron Huth rolled his eyes, as if in agreement.

  ‘It has been my pleasure to look after you this past fortnight, my lady, and I and my house are at your service for as long as you need us.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Uncle,’ she said. ‘I shall be out of your hair in no time. Highcliff awaits and as delightful as your little town is I’ll admit I long for the city and my place in the royal court by Prince Lucas’s side.’

  Hector shifted nervously at the mention of Prince Lucas. Drew remained seated, trying to avert his gaze from the young woman. She noticed him suddenly, as if he’d been invisible previously.

  ‘Father, did you say the king is sending ships here?’ questioned Hector.

  ‘Yes, in a little over a month,’ replied the old man.

  Hector turned to Drew. His look was grave. ‘I don’t think we can stay here for long,’ he said to his friend.

  ‘And tell me, cousin, who is this man and why has he remained seated in front of his future queen?’ said Lady Gretchen sharply. Her face was a mask of horror, as if Drew had committed the most appalling act. He rose quickly, bowing clumsily, the dirty cloak falling open.

  ‘And why on earth is he naked?’ She looked Drew up and down as if he’d just crawled out of a sewer, and took a step back. ‘And when was the last time he bathed?’ she gasped, holding her hand to her mouth.

  ‘Father,’ said Hector, turning from Drew to the seated old man. The young Boarlord’s face looked sick with worry at what was coming. ‘We need to talk.’

  3

  The Fox and the Hound

  Baron Huth had taken Hector’s news badly. Drew had left father and son alone to speak at great length of the previous fortnight’s events, discussing everything from his arrival at Brackenholme to their appearance on the doorstep of Redmire Hall. They’d disappeared into the lord’s private chambers to talk further, with Vincent close behind.

  The maid, Marie, had escorted Drew to a guest room, filled a hot bath for him and left him to his own devices. Drew had soaked in the soothing water for over an hour, dozing off as the heat worked its way through tired muscles to aching bones. When he finally got around to washing his hair, he was horrified to find it was in solid clumps, half a year living as a hermit having had quite a profound effect upon his appearance. Rooting through a dressing table he’d found a knife, which he used to cut the huge knots away. Grimacing, he stared at himself in a mirror. With his madman’s hair and distinctly scruffy beginnings of a beard he looked absurd. He sighed. There was nothing that could be done about it. Possibly a cunning hat might do the trick, he mused.

  Drew found a closet that was hung with a variety of garments, from hunting and riding wear through to outfits that he imagined wouldn’t look out of place in the king’s court. Choosing a simple brown shirt and breeches, he managed to squeeze his feet into a pair of stiff leather boots. Washed and dressed, he left the room and returned to the balcony.

  It was mid-morning, and with the terrace vacant it appeared father and sons were still in deep conversation. Finding a chair he pulled it up to the balustrade so he could look out over the river. He felt about as welcome as a dose of the pox in Redmire. If he could, he’d have left there and then. The sound of movement behind him made him turn. It was Lady Gretchen. Behind her, three girls, equally finely dressed and roughly the same age as her, stood in a huddle, giggling and whispering among one another. He rose to his feet quickly and improvised his very best bow.

  ‘You’re still here? What on earth are you wearing?’ she said dismissively as she strode over to a table that was laden with a variety of fruit.

  ‘I took it from the wardrobe in my room,’ said Drew innocently.

  Gretchen rolled an apple in her palms, polishing it on the length of her scarlet skirts. ‘I suppose it’s got to be an improvement on the outfit you arrived in.’ A chorus of girlish laughter followed from the trio of ladies-in-waiting.

  ‘My lady,’ protested Drew. ‘That clothing wasn’t worn to intentionally offend you. I’ve been in the Dyrewood. I was –’

  ‘Young man,’ cut in Gretchen. ‘I would be mortified to arrive at the doors of a Werelord of such importance as Baron Huth dressed in such inappropriate attire. I don’t know how you do things in your Dyrewood, but in civilized society we find such crass appearances appalling.’

  Drew was speechless. Speechless with shock, embarrassment and, in no small part, anger. Who did she think she was, speaking to him like this? She might be a noble lady but that didn’t give her the right to address a complete stranger in such a foul and abusive manner. But he held his tongue, remembering he was a guest of Hector’s, and subsequently of Baron Huth’s. He wouldn’t let her words upset him. He couldn’t.

  ‘I apologize if my appearance caused any offence,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I forget myself.’

  ‘You might also want to do something about the rest of your appearance,’ she continued, his apology unnoticed. ‘Which sheep shearer attacked your hair? Tell me, I’ll see he’s flogged.’ She laughed, amused at her little joke, turning to her companions who all giggled in appreciation.

  Drew forced a smile back to her, bowing once more. That’s it, he thought. Humour her. She’ll get bored shortly.

  ‘So tell me, ruffian,’ she went on. ‘What on earth is dear Hector doing in the company of such an unusual fellow as yourself? Are you some kind of manservant? Do you carry his luggage?’

  ‘Lord Hector has shown great kindness to me,’ said Drew. ‘I would go so far as to call him a friend, that is if such a boast from someone as lowly as I doesn’t offend you?’

  ‘It doesn’t offend me,’ barked Gretchen, ‘although I’m sure poor Hector would have issue with that claim. Whatever reason it is that has brought the two of you together, I’m sure now that he’s back home in Redmire your relationship has run its course. You could really be on your way now, don’t you agree? I can’t really see what’s keeping you here. Hector is home safe and sound now – I shall see to it that you’re paid whatever reward you desire, but I think it’s best that you’re gone before he gets out of Baron Huth’s chambers. What is it you need? Gold? Food? A barber?’ Again the supporting cast laughed. A smile of satisfaction spread across Gretchen’s face.

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just wait, my lady, until Lord Hector’s business is finished with his father. I shall be off immediately after I’ve said my goodbyes. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.’

  ‘Too late for that,’ she muttered with a bitter sigh as she took a bite out of her apple.

  Drew considered himself a pretty good judge of character. How could he have got this girl so wrong? His first impression of her had been of a flighty songbird, uncatchable and captivating. Now, in such a short time, he saw her for what she was: a spoiled little rich girl who was used to getting her own way. Drew was just a plaything for her to poke at, like a cat attacking an already dead mouse until it grew bored. Prince Lucas was marrying his double. He ground his teeth, keeping his anger in check.

  ‘Take your cloak and go now,’ Gretchen said, yawning. ‘I really do find you quite the most impertinent young man I’ve ever encountered. I’ll pass on your regards to Hector and have the guards esco
rt you out.’ She set off towards her friends, her job done.

  ‘No,’ said Drew.

  Gretchen stopped in her tracks, turning on her heels, her face white with horror. Drew thought he’d said smarter things in his life, but it felt good to make a small stand. She’d clearly never had anyone say no to her before.

  ‘I beg your pardon, boy?’

  ‘I said no. And I’m not “boy”. My name is Drew.’

  One of the girls behind Gretchen started laughing but swift looks from the other two quickly silenced her. The glances that passed between them were serious.

  ‘You forget your manners, boy,’ said Gretchen. ‘You are speaking to your future queen, Lady Gretchen of Hedgemoor, and you will address me as such.’

  ‘I don’t see a future queen before me,’ snapped Drew, no longer able to hold back. ‘I see an arrogant little girl who doesn’t know how to speak with the humanity that Old Brenn gave her.’

  Her eyes popped. ‘Do not speak to me of humanity,’ she snarled, stalking towards him. The ladies-in-waiting shrank back as the very air around her seemed to darken. ‘Humanity is the curse that you and your kind must live with each day, a fleeting lifespan and a fear of death. In a blink of an eye your life is over, snuffed out by a misplaced step or a common cold. I am blessed with something greater than humanity. I am therianthrope, boy – a Werefox. I am better than you, and I’ll make sure you never forget that.’ She raised a hand to strike him, bringing it down swiftly towards his face.

  He caught her by the wrist with an even faster hand.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he whispered. ‘You’re no better than me or anyone in this world. You are rotten, Gretchen, and you and your kind stand for all that is wrong in this land.’

  ‘You dare to insult the Werelords?’ she gasped.

  ‘I dare to insult anyone who would trample beneath their feet those who they saw as less than human, simply on account of what hand life and chance has dealt them. I judge people as I find them, and I find you to be a very suitable bride for that nasty boy, Prince Lucas.’

  ‘You will hang for these insults,’ the Werefox snapped, trying to tug her hand free, but Drew held it firm. One of the girls behind her ran off down the stairs, calling for the guards. ‘You know nothing of my prince!’

  ‘I know he’s a vile and cruel child, who was content to beat Hector and let his pet Ratlord cut and carve me to within an inch of my life.’ He couldn’t hold his secrets in now as he felt the animal growling in the pit of his stomach. ‘I have only Hector’s intervention to thank for being free this day. I’m sure you and the Lion cub will be very happy together; you make the perfect couple.’

  ‘Get off me, you dog,’ she cried, slashing at him with her free hand. Her fingertips were now clawed, he noticed, as they tore livid red strips along his cheek. It seemed she was struggling to hold the Fox in check.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he growled, tugging her closer. His eyes shifted from green to a deep golden yellow as, to her horror, she looked into the eyes of a fellow Werelord. ‘I am no dog.’ With that, he let her go, striding back towards the balustrade.

  Gretchen staggered back into her companions, who caught her as she stumbled, rubbing her wrist with anxiety. The guards arrived at the top of the stairs with the third lady-in-waiting, lowering their pikes as they advanced on to the balcony. Drew paced along the far side of the wooden decking, hands flexing, claws showing. He glanced down over the side to the rushing river.

  ‘Seize him!’ Gretchen cried, pointing at him with a trembling hand.

  Before the guards could move a voice boomed from within the building.

  ‘Halt!’ cried Baron Huth, limping from his private chambers with his twin sons by his side. ‘There shall be no blood shed here today, not any day. This young man is my guest and you shall all do well to remember that. I am sure whatever has just occurred was a misunderstanding, nothing more than that.’

  ‘But, Baron Huth,’ gasped Gretchen in disgust, ‘he manhandled me! He threatened me!’

  ‘My dear,’ went on the aged Boarlord, embracing her, ‘you don’t realize how tightly wound you are with the upcoming wedding and all the drama that accompanies it. And young Drew here has been travelling in the wilderness, bringing my boy Hector safely home. I am sure he is still exhausted from his journey, and any offence he has caused is solely down to having been away from civilization for such a long time. Isn’t that right, boy?’ said the old man, indicating clearly that this was Drew’s one and only opportunity to back down.

  ‘My lady,’ said Drew, gathering himself, ‘I apologize unreservedly. I forget my place and have disgraced myself. Please forgive me.’ Again, he bowed, but this time it was less low.

  Lady Gretchen looked from Drew to Baron Huth and, in a furious swirl of scarlet cloth, strode swiftly from the balcony and towards her bedchambers with her ladies in hot pursuit.

  Baron Huth limped up to Drew, stopping by his side to clutch the balustrade with gnarled and liver-spotted hands. He grimaced. ‘Young man,’ he began. ‘I can provide you with a roof over your head, warm food in your belly and a bed in which to sleep for a week, no more. In this time you must stay within the confines of my house. My son has told me everything I need to know.’

  ‘My lord …’ Drew started, wanting to apologize.

  ‘It’s fine, boy, you don’t need to say it. She’s difficult – I understand. But I made a promise to her father on his deathbed to look after her, and so I shall until the king sends his men to retrieve her for this wretched wedding. We all have our little penances to endure. Mine comes in the form of a fiery young Werefox.’

  ‘Are you not worried she will tell the king who you have harboured?’ asked Vincent.

  ‘She wouldn’t do that,’ said Hector. ‘She’s hot-headed and used to getting her own way, but she would never put Father or anyone else here at risk. Our two households have known one another for too long, are too firm friends. No, she may dislike Drew, but I’m sure she’ll stay silent as to our involvement in helping him. For the time being, at least.’

  ‘But you must not be here when the king’s men arrive to collect her,’ said Baron Huth. ‘You must be gone, beyond my borders and as far away as your legs or a fast horse can carry you. I thank you for helping bring my son home, but I also resent you for what shame you have brought upon him. He can never go back to the life he had, can never take his place on my throne here or in Highcliff’s royal court. That life is dead to him now, and he must go into exile like some common criminal. My people here can be trusted – they’re loyal and faithful to me – and I even believe Lady Gretchen will keep her cousin’s fate secret from the Lion. But the king has to believe my son died that night in the Dyrewood at the hands of bandits. And I must mourn his loss as if that very thing happened.’

  Baron Huth’s head sank to his chest. Hector put a hand on his father’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. His brother looked on coldly from a distance, eyes locked on Drew.

  ‘But I shan’t be dead, Father. I shall be alive, safe from harm and retribution. Only not here. Not with you.’

  The old man placed his cheek against his son’s hand.

  ‘Drew,’ said Vincent quietly, beckoning. ‘Come, we should leave them alone. They still have a great deal of business to discuss, not least where my brother’s exile will be. Let me walk you to your room so we may become better acquainted.’

  The brief journey back to Drew’s guest quarters in the old hall provided little time for the two to discover a great deal about one another. Vincent’s questions were pointed and predictable, the youngest Boarlord keen to know where Drew originally came from and how it was that he could be a Werelord. Drew was unable to answer this, still not entirely convinced he was one himself, and when he arrived back at his room he was relieved to be able to close the door on Vincent’s queries. He lay back on the bed, staring at the beamed ceiling, wondering how he managed to keep getting himself into these situati
ons.

  4

  Preparations

  The following days were for the most part uneventful for Drew. He kept his head down, steering clear of Lady Gretchen whenever possible, only sharing her company in the evening for family meals. The iciness between them was palpable in the very air of the room; hardly a word passed between the two of them for the remainder of his stay. She would make the odd pointed remark that was meant to belittle Drew, but he continued turning the other cheek.

  On one occasion, she’d managed to surprise him, though. He had been in the library late one evening and had heard a woman quietly singing on the balcony. It was a sweet, lilting tune, a folk ballad not dissimilar to the kind his mother would sing to him when he was a child and had trouble sleeping. Following the sound, expecting to find one of the staff singing while carrying out chores, he’d been shocked to discover Gretchen as the source of the pleasant music.

  She stood with her back to him, palms flat against the balustrade and facing out to the night-shrouded Redwine. She was alone; no ladies-in-waiting present, no audience but for a hidden Drew. A warm breeze floated over the open landing, sending ringlets of red hair fluttering as she opened her heart to the lullaby. It was melancholic, and clearly very personal. Was she crying as she sang? Drew suddenly felt terribly intrusive, more so than on any occasion during his stay at the Boarlord’s hall. He’d backed up quickly, slipping away before he was noticed.

  Lying in bed later he could still hear her gentle song playing through his head as he’d drifted off to sleep. She confused and angered him, but not for much longer. Before the week was out he intended to be back on the road.

  His time in Redmire Hall also allowed him time to reflect, something he’d barely had a chance to do since encountering Whitley and Hogan in the Dyrewood. His thoughts inevitably returned to the Ferran farm and the events of that fateful night. He quickly realized why he’d kept those memories locked away for so long – once he cast his mind back he couldn’t get the image of his mother out of his head, her eyes glassy and body broken. She might not have been his birth mother, but she was the only mother he’d ever known, and he had adored her. His heart ached anew at the thought, the person he had loved more than any other, torn away from him in such a savage fashion. The nightmares that had haunted him back in autumn also returned, and Drew awoke each night, drenched with sweat, convinced the murderous black beast was in his room. His fingertips would move to the three scars that marked his chest, sore to the touch at the memory. Collapsing back to sleep, the monster would soon creep into his dreams again.