Rise of the Wolf

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘This Wyrmwood,’ he said, ‘what is it?’

  ‘It’s on the very north-western tip of the Dyrewood.’

  ‘So it’s part of Duke Bergan’s lands, then?’ cut in Drew, looking at where the river skirted the edge of the enormous woodland realm before heading out to sea.

  ‘No. Far from it. Duke Bergan doesn’t rule over the whole of the Dyrewood, just Brackenholme at its heart and a couple of outlying settlements. He has a great many soldiers, scouts and rangers at his command, but nowhere near enough to stake claim to the whole forest. His is the good heart in the centre of the treacherous Dyrewood, a haven for those travellers or foresters who are lost or in danger.

  ‘The Wyrmwood is far removed from Brackenholme. It’s the Dyrewood’s sickly younger cousin, if you will. Traditionally it was the home of Vala the Wyrm, the Wereserpent. If she’s still alive, and it’s extremely unlikely, she holds the Wyldermen of the region in her thrall. Legend has it she chose to take the form of a great serpent, the Wyrm, ignoring the human half of her life. She was a sorceress, and didn’t just embrace her shape-shifting ability, she indulged it, preferring it to the limitations of her human form. Vala accepted the human sacrifices of the Wyldermen, who worshipped her as a living god. She spent so much time in her wereform that she forgot how to change back. The Wyldermen still worship Vala the Wyrm, or at least the myth of the Wyrm.’

  ‘So she wasn’t a god?’ asked Drew, trying to keep up.

  ‘No,’ replied Hector. ‘Just a wicked creature. She’s long gone now, but the Werelords stay well away from the Wyrmwood out of a healthy degree of fear, respect and superstition.’

  ‘And that’s where we’re going?’ chimed in Gretchen from her curled-up position at the front of the boat. Drew thought she’d been asleep, and started at the sound of her voice.

  ‘Old Brenn, no!’ exclaimed Hector. ‘We’re going to moor the boat in the Bott Marshes and make our way on foot from there. There are a few human settlements dotted along the paths there where we might find shelter away from the Dyrewood and the Redwine. The Lionguard won’t have reached out that far in their search for us – they’ll be sticking to the main highways, I would imagine. Trust me, nobody will be expecting us to come ashore within the Bott Marshes.’

  ‘Can’t you leave me on the boat and let me take it further downriver, Hector?’ asked Gretchen earnestly. ‘I can sail this thing, I’m sure, and I’m bound to run into river traffic as I get to the mouth of the Redwine.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ answered Drew, immediately receiving a glare. ‘We need you to stay with us until we get to somewhere safe to leave you. Hector tells me that bandits run the Redwine, so it wouldn’t be wise for you to be alone.’

  ‘I wasn’t speaking to you, dog,’ she snipped.

  ‘No, but I needed to answer,’ said Drew.

  ‘You just want to hold me hostage for as long as you can, use me as a bargaining tool. You call Prince Lucas a monster and you’re no better than him!’

  ‘I apologize again for my actions back in Redmire,’ said Drew as Hector looked away once more. Drew and Gretchen had done nothing but bicker from the start of the trip, and Drew was uncomfortably aware that their fighting was taking its toll on his friend, still mourning the murder of his father. ‘I can only tell you that at no time did I intend to harm you, Gretchen.’

  ‘There you go again, dog,’ she said. ‘Forgetting your manners. Call me “my lady” or don’t bother calling me anything at all. And what if those soldiers had fired? What then?’

  ‘It was a gamble I had to take, my lady. Besides which, I was right. They didn’t fire. They couldn’t. The king and his son need you alive. Am I right in thinking your father is wealthy beyond my imagination?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘The king needs his son to marry you,’ he answered. ‘This is a political marriage, one of convenience and gold.’

  ‘You know nothing of marriage, boy,’ she said, turning away and shivering. ‘Prince Lucas is marrying me because he loves me – he could have had his pick of brides across the whole of the Seven Realms. Do not talk about things you cannot fathom or understand. You know nothing of love.’

  ‘As you say, Your Majesty,’ he said, sighing. ‘Will you at least take my cloak?’ he asked, unfastening it and offering it to her once again.

  ‘I have an aversion to fleas,’ she said. ‘Keep it – I want nothing from you.’

  She was impossible. Drew left the cloak on a wooden seat and returned to Hector’s side. He chose to continue the conversation in whispers now, away from the Werefox’s ears and jibes. She looked up when she realized they were whispering, made a sound of great annoyance and then threw herself back down into the prow.

  ‘Where are we going to let her go, Drew?’ asked Hector.

  ‘Believe me,’ said Drew. ‘I’d happily kick her overboard now. She’s unbearable. But I got her into this mess, so the least I can do is get her somewhere safe from where she can easily reach the authorities. I only hope that when that time comes she doesn’t send the troops after me. Maybe she’ll have cooled off by then,’ he added half-heartedly, not really believing it himself.

  Hector nodded in sympathy. ‘In that case I would suggest we try to get out to the coast,’ said the Boarlord. ‘There are any number of small ports and seafaring towns dotted along the Cold Coast where we can secure a room on a ship. I have gold with me,’ he added, patting a leather pouch on his belt. ‘Certainly enough to cover the two of us on a boat heading south. Once we have passage secured, we can send my dear cousin on her way.’

  ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘Give her a bit of space, Drew. Our fathers were very close. Though not blood relatives, they were close enough that we were encouraged to think of one another as family when we were growing up.’ He leaned closer to Drew. ‘I lost my father today, but Gretchen also lost a dearly loved uncle. She’s hurting too right now, so if you’re sparring with her she’s bound to lash out. Just let her be, please.’

  Drew was shocked. He didn’t realize that his words had been so combative, but Hector was right. He’d wasted no time in arguing with Gretchen when they were on their way, forgetting the fact that she had indeed been very close to Baron Huth. He looked across to her. She was still. His thoughts trailed back to the evening in Redmire when he’d overheard her singing. It wasn’t a spoiled child he’d heard that night, but a young woman who wasn’t half as frightful when she was without her audience of giggling girls. Had he felt sorry for her? Was it sympathy her song and mood had evoked in him? She didn’t seem like a confident future princess that evening, quite the opposite. She’d seemed anxious and a little scared, just like now.

  7

  King Wergar the Wolf

  Overhead the sky had darkened quickly, lithe stars lighting their way as they progressed into the night. The moon was only a third illuminated, but it still held a draw to him. He stared up at it, embracing its glare as it gazed down at him like a giant lidded eye.

  ‘You do that a lot, you know,’ said Hector.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Court the moon,’ he smiled. ‘It’s understandable; you’re a wolf, after all.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ asked Drew, looking a little embarrassed, feeling as if he’d been caught peeping at something he shouldn’t.

  ‘We all have a fascination with the moon, Drew, all the therianthropes. The moon is, after all, the eye of Brenn, looking over the world. Only with you, understandably, that attraction is a great deal stronger. They say the most focused lycanthrope can draw additional strength from the moon. Your father could do it, apparently.’

  Drew turned to his friend. It was the first time Hector had openly referred to Duke Bergan’s revelation that Drew was a direct descendent of the old monarch, and Drew had been wary of mentioning it himself.

  ‘What do you know about Wergar, Hector?’ he asked, seizing the opportunity. ‘The truth, I mean, not the rumours and tales
that one hears across the realms. Did your father know him?’

  Hector’s eyes lit up, as they always did when he was sharing knowledge, be it geography, language, magicks or history. It obviously provided distraction from thinking about what they’d left behind in Redmire.

  ‘What have you heard about him?’ Hector asked.

  ‘That he was a tyrant, a monster. They say he would eat the children of his vanquished foes, and leave their bones for the vultures.’

  Hector shook his head.

  ‘My father was the magister and court physician in Highcliff when the Wolf reigned. You must remember that it is the victor who gets to write the history books; what actually happened was quite different.’

  Hector’s words filled Drew with hope. He noticed out of the corner of his eye Gretchen shift in the prow, her head rising from where it rested on the planked seat. Was she eavesdropping?

  ‘Wergar was a warmonger, there’s no shadow of doubt,’ Hector went on. ‘He lived to fight, and would throw his men into battle wholeheartedly the length and breadth of Lyssia. He would lead them, though, right at the front line, inspiring great faith and courage in those who followed. His soldiers loved him. The people did too. He would seek out conflict with those who intended to harm his people, striking before they had a chance to strike first. If you were an ally to Wergar, you were safe. If you were an enemy, you had better look out. The Wolf was coming.’

  Drew sighed inwardly. He’d hoped that his blood father had been misrepresented. Sadly, those hopes had been quickly and effortlessly crushed by the Boarlord.

  ‘Duke Bergan fought alongside your father, as did many of the other Werelords, but as I understand they felt he was over-reaching with his choice of conflicts, taking his armies to far-flung places to contest battles that were unnecessary. Although King Wergar had crushed the threat from distant lands, and acquired greater wealth and prosperity for his people than they’d ever known, the other Werelords ultimately craved peace, wanting an end to war.

  ‘Sure enough, Wergar chose one campaign too many. He’d taken the might of his army east, beyond the Barebone Mountains to the land of Omir, where you were intending to head. Word had reached him that one of the Doglords, Faisal, the Werejackal, was assembling an army of the other Doglords. They had combined their strength to stand against him and form a separatist kingdom with Faisal as king. Duke Bergan would not assist Wergar in this battle, insisting that his own army were needed in Brackenholme and not halfway around the world. Angered by this, Wergar trekked across the continent to face Faisal, without the aid of his staunchest ally, and in the burning deserts of Omir waged a fierce war with his distant neighbour.’

  Hector twisted awkwardly in his seat now, his right hand rising from within his robed sleeve to rub the nape of his neck. His body language wasn’t lost on Drew. Again, Gretchen shifted where she lay. She was certainly listening to the Boarlord’s history lesson. It seemed to Drew that whatever events had followed clearly cast a long shadow over the Werelords of the Seven Realms.

  ‘But all was not well at home. Having taken his army east he had left the Seven Realms open to attack should anyone choose to strike. And that threat came in the form of forces from the south, led by the then-unknown Leopold. The only Werelord who stood in his way was Bergan, who rushed his troops to the defence of Highcliff to meet the Lion in battle. But the Werebear was defeated. Not only had the Lion marched north, but he’d sent a fleet of thirty war galleons along the coast, scuppering Wergar’s fleet and arriving victorious in Highcliff to swamp and lay siege to the city. He took Highcliff, the keep, the throne and Wergar’s wife and family. He gave Duke Bergan one option: surrender, and bring the Wolf to him. Only then would the king, his family and his people be spared.

  ‘When Wergar returned victorious but with a battle-weary and exhausted army, Duke Bergan rode out to meet him, telling him the grave news. In order to see his wife and children once more, he was to surrender and hand over the crown, before being sent into exile. The king’s first response was retaliation, but Bergan pleaded with him, to dissuade him from attacking for fear of what might befall the royal family. Other Werelords added their voices to Bergan’s: Manfred of Stormdale, Gaston of Hedgemoor. Even my own father encouraged him to relinquish the throne, citing false prophecies and fabricated portents as reason to surrender. Nobody understood the superstitious nature of the Werelords quite like Baron Huth.’

  Hector’s voice was low now, his head bowed as his delivery slowed. It seemed that this part of his story was the most shameful of all, judging by his weary telling. Drew kept his gaze on his friend, and Hector caught it. Drew nodded, encouraging him to go on. Gretchen had turned where she lay now, making no attempt to hide her interest in their conversation. Hector raised his head and continued.

  ‘Bitter and betrayed by those closest to him, Wergar saw no choice. My father was there to witness this. Bound in silver manacles, the Wolf was taken back to Highcliff and delivered to Leopold. What happened then … well, it’s almost unthinkable.’ Hector shook his head.

  ‘What?’ asked Drew. ‘What happened?’

  Before the Boarlord could answer the trio felt the boat judder, as it hit something below the surface of the water. Reeds began to whip past them as, still at speed, they found they were cutting into the skirts of the marshlands. Hector moved quickly to drop the sail, gesturing for Drew to take the tiller. Gretchen ducked down in the prow, peeking her head over the top of the boat like a guard on a parapet.

  ‘Where are we?’ she gasped.

  ‘The Bott Marshes, Gretchen, or certainly the beginning of them. Drew, try to steer the boat between those islands of reeds, would you?’ Hector asked as he struggled to lower the sail.

  Gretchen scrambled clear as the boom swung about, the sail bunching along its length as the Boarlord took it down. This slowed the craft’s speed, but the boat was still going too fast for a novice yachtsman like Drew. Hector took over the controls and began to navigate the inlets and becks that criss-crossed the marshes. Steadily the little islands became more numerous, and the boat slowed as it weaved between them, the main current of the river releasing them. Before long the boat was drifting idly, gradually nearing what appeared to be a larger expanse of land.

  Hopping from the boat, Hector landed in the muddy water, which came up to his waist. Taking the mooring rope and wrapping it over his shoulder, he began to wade through the midge-infested waters towards the bank. Drew picked up a long oar that lay in the belly of the boat, shoving it into the water until it hit the bottom and then pushing with all his might, punting the vessel closer and aiding his friend in the process. Soon Hector was scrambling up the mud bank, hauling the lightweight boat after him. Drew jumped across to join him.

  ‘We need to drag this into the reeds so it isn’t visible from the river,’ said the Boarlord, straining with the rope.

  Drew joined him and the two slipped and struggled against the treacherous sucking mud, gradually bringing it ashore. Once Gretchen realized she was being no help by sitting in it while they worked, even she summoned the courage to hitch up her dress and underskirts and leap on to the mud bank with them. She landed with a deep squelching sound that Drew found tremendously satisfying. He tried not to let her see him grin.

  Once the boat was clear of the shore and ditched within a heavy nest of reeds, the boys grabbed the backpack, swords and satchel and the three of them set out into the marshes.

  It was arduous going, the stinging and biting insects worrying them all the way, and the sound of feet squelching in mud and the constant buzzing and slapping of skin disturbing even more mosquitoes from their hideaways. They were grateful for the moon’s light to illuminate their immediate surroundings; however, it was impossible to get any bearings beyond that. Both Drew and Hector half-expected Gretchen to begin a fresh round of complaining but, to her due, she kept her own counsel. After an hour’s trudging, wading, falling and struggling, they found the land seemed to toughen up underfoot,
the mud pools getting fewer and further in between.

  Ahead they could make out the faint lights of what appeared to be a village. Before moving closer, Hector inspected his map book by moonlight. They reasoned that it was the small town of Oakley, right on the edges of the Bott Marshes. Drew noticed that the Wyrmwood was, according to the map, safely away to the south of them.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Drew. ‘Can we try to get a roof over our heads for the night?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Hector. ‘There’s no way word of our misadventure will have got to a backwater village like Oakley yet. Let’s just keep our heads down, find a room and get moving early in the morning. We want to remain unnoticed,’ he said, ‘so let me do the talking, all right?’

  Drew nodded in agreement, while Gretchen finished looking at the map book before handing it back to Hector. The three of them marched on into the marsh town. A low dyke circled the settlement, acting as a defence against hostiles as well as the floodwaters. A single guard stood inside the shelter of a timber-constructed watchtower, a burning brazier within keeping him warm. He looked down as they passed, not responding to the friendly wave Hector threw his way.

  There were maybe forty or fifty houses in Oakley that the travellers could see, which Hector said actually made it quite large as small towns went in this part of the Seven Realms. An inn sat square centre of the town, the muddy thoroughfare outside lit up with pallid yellow lights that shone from within dirty windows. A sign over the doorway read the mermaid inn, and a poorly illustrated picture of a buxom mistress of the sea adorned the timber below it. A wooden staircase ran up the eastern wall of the building, heading up to what they could see were rooms on the next floor.

  Stepping up on to a covered porch that ran the length of the building, the three of them were about to walk in when Hector stopped Gretchen, insisting she wear his cloak. Dressed as she was in her royal finery, it was a wise idea if they were to avoid drawing attention to themselves. She took the cloak appreciatively, affording Drew a dark glower in the process. Drew rolled his eyes as he followed the other two inside.