Rise of the Wolf

by Curtis Jobling

  1

  The Boar Takes the Reins

  The farmer raised his scythe high in the air, about to strike a blow, and paused. The spring sun was high overhead, its refreshing rays beaming down on to the back of his neck and sweat-drenched shirt. He looked out over his crop of barley. An empty cart came trundling down the nearby Little Lane, pulled by a great grey mare that had seen better days. He and his son had been working the field since an hour before sunrise, and this was the first soul they’d seen all day. The boy stood up from where he was bagging the grain to follow his father’s gaze. Was it someone they knew? Both father and son waved in the direction of the driver, a stranger, who returned their gesture in an instant. Smiling, the farmer raised the curving blade once more before slicing it down through the crops.

  Hector glanced back as he passed the two workers in the field. His passage along the road in Westland had raised no suspicion, so he was still hopeful that the king had raised no hue and cry. If he had, Hector figured, it hadn’t reached Merrydale. He gave the reins a quick crack in his hands and Esther, the old nag, picked up her pace.

  He’d managed to buy the horse and accompanying cart from a farmer on the edge of the Bott Marshes. The man had treated him with a large degree of mistrust, which was understandable. It wasn’t every day that some fancy-talking boy with a purse of gold sovereigns turned up at your door asking if he could buy a horse. Untrusting as the farmer had been, he’d taken a shine to the colour of the Boarlord’s currency, and for the rather extortionate fee of two gold coins had happily parted with his dearly beloved Esther. Hector had steered the old grey mare along the farmer’s track, meeting back up with Gretchen and Drew where he’d left them on Little Lane.

  There had been no option but to leave the two of them hidden in the reed beds at the side of the road. He was relieved to find that no predators or scavengers had found their bodies; at a glance, both appeared to be dead. Hefting them into the back of the cart, he’d checked their vital signs, wrapped them tightly in their cloaks and then pulled a rough oilskin over them that he’d additionally persuaded the opportunistic farmer to part with.

  Little Lane ran all the way from the farmlands on the edge of the Bott Marshes through the heart of Westland. It spanned the wild countryside of the Kinmoors, winding its way through Merrydale before crossing the Tallstaff Road on its way to the sea. The part of the road they were currently on, following the streams and brooks that became the Barleymow River as they meandered through Merrydale, wasn’t a well-travelled route. It was really only used by farmers and traders who needed to visit the small huddles of villages that populated the area. It didn’t lead anywhere inland, just petering out as it stumbled into the marshes and Wyrmwood beyond. If you wanted to get to the Dyrewood, you picked another route. You certainly didn’t take a shortcut through Wyrmwood.

  It had been almost a week since the trio had escaped the forest, and in that time Hector had only Esther for companionship. The horse was mild-tempered enough, at her happiest when eating, but she wasn’t the liveliest conversationalist for the Boarlord. His thoughts revolved around four things: his friends’ health, their current predicament, what had happened to his father, and the encounter with the shaman and Vala. He’d craved someone to speak with, someone to listen to him, but he had to make do with his wandering monologues and an uninterested equine until his friends regained consciousness.

  If Hector and, more importantly, his satchel had not been present when Gretchen and Drew escaped the haunted forest, they would both have been dead by now. Not only was Hector aware of how to treat poisons, he had the medicines and anti-venoms with him, and was able to start administering treatment straight away. There were a few additional herbs he was missing, but he was able to forage for those once they’d got beyond the marshes. Being a Boarlord he was adept at searching for anything that grew in the ground; his father had referred to it as ‘truffling’, but Hector couldn’t help but find that term a little demeaning. Mixing his herbs and anti-venom together, he’d concocted the drugs the two had needed. Applying poultices to the bite wound on Gretchen’s neck had been relatively easy, and they had drawn the poisons out while speeding up the healing of the savage wound, working alongside her body’s superhuman ability to repair itself. Being a Werelord had a great many benefits.

  With Drew it had been more complicated; the Werewolf had ingested some of Vala’s poisonous blood, and there was no drawing the toxin from his system. All Hector could do was pour his potions down Drew’s throat and keep him warm while he rode out the fever, and hope he’d pull through. He was then able to use some of his ointments on his own left hand, where the small wound from the black wax was still stubbornly refusing to heal. But it appeared he didn’t have the right remedies for this particular burn.

  The incident with the shaman’s corpse still weighed heavily on his mind. His feelings of pride and achievement had quickly evaporated when the monster had leapt back to life. What had gone wrong? He’d read the books, memorized the manuscripts and followed all the cantrips. The act of summoning the dead shaman had been smooth and problem-free. It was the release of the monster that had been botched. If he hadn’t run his foot through the brimstone and broken the warding symbol, it could have been prevented. He was determined to learn from it, though, and didn’t plan on making the same mistake again.

  In the last day Gretchen’s condition had improved rapidly, and now she was dozing next to Drew in the back of the cart. She’d been on her feet that morning, and had even helped Hector tidy the camp away before they’d set off. Though still sickly, she was through the worst of it, which was more than could be said for Drew. Hector looked back to the Werefox – she was curled up next to Drew, her head on his chest. Whether she knew it or not, her body warmth was aiding Drew’s recovery, keeping his temperature steady as his body raged with the fever.

  As the afternoon sun slowly disappeared beyond the hills and ocean in the distance, Hector guided the old horse from the lane, pulling up beside an abandoned barn that overlooked the Barleymow. Unhitching the cart, he let Esther wander down to the banks of the river to drink, and graze upon the tall grass that flourished there. Gretchen stirred in the back of the wagon, and Hector watched her opening her eyes to see Drew’s face next to hers, his eyes closed in a deep sleep. She didn’t immediately jump up in horror; in the past, she might have done. Instead, she took the oilskin and tucked it in around him where she had been lying, before sliding off the back of the cart.

  ‘Morning,’ said Hector, as he set off into the hedgerow, pulling loose branches, twigs and dried dead grass from where they’d gathered around its base.

  ‘Morning indeed,’ replied Gretchen, stretching with a great yawn. ‘How long have I slept?’

  ‘Since mid-morning. You went straight through lunch. I say lunch – it was just a couple of big fat reds that I pulled from a generous apple tree. You’ll find one on the front seat if you’re hungry.’

  The Werefox found the apple and tucked into it heartily as Hector continued to collect the makings of a fire. Returning to the front of the barn, he set about assembling it, trying to remember how Drew had done it. Six nights now he’d tried to light a fire, and six nights he’d failed. Whether it was because the wood was too damp or the tinderbox still wet from their time in the marshes, he wasn’t sure. He tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded like his father: ‘A poor workman always blames his tools.’ He’d tried to improve his chances today by leaving the tinderbox open beside him on the driver’s seat of the cart, drying out in the afternoon sun.

  ‘How are you feeling, Hector?’ asked Gretchen, finishing the last of the apple. She came over to kneel by his side as he started to arrange the wood.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, cousin, fine,’ he replied, keeping himself busy.

  ‘Do you need to talk about anything?’ she asked. ‘Your father? There’s no need to bottle anything up like those lifesaving potions in your satchel. You can talk to me.�
��

  Hector was done talking about his father. He’d talked himself silly over the last few days, recounting out loud what had happened at Redmire. He couldn’t hide from the fact that his own twin brother had betrayed him. His dear, beloved father had been murdered, and his killer was still out there. Hector wanted revenge. No, he’d discussed what happened at Redmire until he was blue in the face. Admittedly, he’d been talking to himself, and had feared he was going slightly mad, but he had nothing more to say on the subject to Gretchen, regardless of the offer and her good intentions.

  ‘No,’ he said, patting her arm. ‘I’m fine, really. I think I’ve got things straight up here.’ He tapped his forehead. Taking the tinderbox he started trying to light the fire, striking the flint with the steel.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Light the fire, of course,’ he replied, smiling.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I mean about the future. Where shall you go? I know what was going on back in Redmire. You were planning to head north, weren’t you? To Icegarden?’

  Hector’s cheeks flushed with colour. For her to acknowledge that he was a fugitive alarmed him. He was acutely aware that she was marrying into the king’s family. If she wasn’t to be trusted, anything he said might put his safety in jeopardy. He kept his eyes on the tinderbox in his fumbling grasp.

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ he replied, and he was telling the truth. He hadn’t figured out where he’d head to now that his and Drew’s plans had gone up in smoke like his father’s hall. At the inn at Oakley the two youths had briefly discussed the idea of boarding a ship from All Hallows Bay, but beyond that they had no solid idea.

  ‘I just wanted you to know, Hector,’ she said, squeezing his hand to reassure him, ‘whatever you do, wherever you go, please don’t worry. I shan’t tell him. You have my word.’

  It went without saying that she meant the king. Gretchen had never lied to him in the past, and he didn’t think she was about to start now. He squeezed her hand back in return, a silent thank you.

  ‘You were very brave, Hector, coming after me like that.’

  ‘Brave?’ he asked, shaking his head. ‘No, I just followed Drew. He’s the one who bounded after you; it was all I could do to keep up with him. He’s the one who saved you. Not me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care what you say, Hector,’ she said, leaning forward to plant a full-lipped kiss on to his cheek. ‘You’re my hero, and you saved our lives. If you hadn’t known how to heal us, we’d be worm food of a different variety by now.’

  He blushed. ‘Oh, well, I’ll gladly accept plaudits there. You’re quite right – you’d be face down in the Bott Marshes if I hadn’t come along for the ride with my bag of fun,’ he said, smiling as he jangled his satchel. She clapped him on the back before sitting back once more, drawing her knees up to her chin and looking at him pensively.

  ‘You do realize the king will be searching for us, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Prince Lucas won’t rest until he has me safely in Highcliff, and I suspect they’re looking for the two of you as well.’

  ‘I know,’ said Hector, fear rising in his voice. ‘But what can we do? We have to keep running and just stay alert. I’ve decided that once we get to the coast at All Hallows Bay we can find passage on a ship and leave you there in safety.’

  ‘You could make things easier by letting me go now,’ said Gretchen. ‘They’ll be looking for three of us, two young men and a woman. With a reward on top for information, it’s only a matter of time before someone reasons who we are. How long have we been travelling now? Seven days?’

  ‘But we can’t let you go. It’s too dangerous out here and we’re too far from anywhere that would be safe to leave you. We need to stick to these quiet roads and not draw attention to ourselves. Please, Gretchen, just wait until we get to All Hallows Bay. The authorities there will have you whisked off to Highcliff in no time at all.’

  At the mention of her wedding she fell quiet, staring at Hector’s hands as he repeatedly struck flint against steel pathetically.

  He noticed her subdued look. ‘You know,’ he went on, ‘you could always come with us. That is, if you’re having second thoughts about marriage?’

  ‘No,’ she said, a little too quickly. ‘My place is in Highcliff. I’m betrothed to Prince Lucas and I must not break that oath.’

  ‘But you know how cruel he is, Gretchen. You’ve heard what he did to Drew.’

  ‘But can we really believe that, Hector?’

  ‘It’s the truth!’

  Gretchen was silent for a moment, considering what Prince Lucas was capable of.

  ‘I know you consider Drew your friend, but what do you really know about him? I’ll grant you he can shape-shift, but he might just be a half-blood, a mongrel. Can you really trust this stranger over a Werelord, one of our own? He could be lying. This is the Crown Prince we’re talking about for Brenn’s sake!’

  ‘You forget, Gretchen. I travelled with the prince. As much as I hate to admit it, every word Drew has said is true. The man is a villain, a cruel and wretched fellow. What life are you going to have with him?’

  ‘I shall be queen,’ she said, a glimmer of petulance rising in her voice. ‘Once I am queen I can set about righting any wrongs that have been done by Lucas and his father. He’ll listen to me. I’m going to be his wife, his partner.’

  ‘You really think that?’ Hector shrugged. ‘That’s fanciful to say the least. He may have feelings for you, but his father wants you to marry his son because of the great wealth Hedgemoor has at its disposal. The fortune your father accrued, which sits in the vaults of your palace, will be frittered away by King Leopold in no time at all.’

  ‘I resent that slur on my ability to protect what my father worked for, Hector,’ she snapped. ‘Regardless,’ she said, ‘my place is in the court of Highcliff, not running from one flea-ridden village to the next with a mongrel Werelord in tow.’

  He looked at her hard. ‘See. There you go again,’ he said. ‘After all Drew has done for us.’

  ‘What has he done?’ she exclaimed, in all seriousness. ‘My life was peaceful and pleasant until he turned up at your father’s house half naked.’

  ‘He’s opened our eyes,’ replied Hector. ‘Well, certainly mine.’ He turned back to his task at hand while Gretchen watched on.

  ‘I’m thankful that he saved me from the Wereserpent, you understand, but if he hadn’t abducted me in the first place I’d never have been in a situation where I needed saving.’

  ‘He did what he had to do. It was impulsive, possibly rash. It was certainly a gamble and it paid off for him. If he hadn’t grabbed you, it wouldn’t have just been him that was killed – it would have been me too. I’m sorry, Gretchen, but I can’t agree with you on this. Drew has saved my life on more than one occasion already in the brief time I’ve known him.’

  ‘I just find it hard to trust him, Hector,’ she said. ‘There’s something about him that makes me nervous. Perhaps it’s the Wolf in him.’

  ‘Duke Bergan has no trouble trusting him,’ replied Hector. ‘Would you say he is a poor judge of character?’

  ‘What circumstances could possibly lead Bergan to trust him?’ Gretchen asked.

  ‘You won’t have heard,’ Hector went on, pleased, ‘but Drew even saved Duke Bergan’s daughter’s life. She might have died in the Dyrewood if he hadn’t been there.’

  ‘Whitley?’ said Gretchen. The surprise was clear in her voice. ‘What was she doing in the woods?’

  Hector waved his hand dismissively. ‘She’s training to be a scout, a ranger. It’s not what her father wanted, but it’s all she wants to do. Bergan’s men are doing their best to keep it quiet, to protect her from any of his enemies who may see an opportunity.’

  ‘She always was peculiar,’ sighed Gretchen.

  ‘She’s strong-willed is all, an individual. I thought you’d recognize that attribute in her. Nevertheless,’ Hector went on, ‘Dre
w saved her life out there, and her master too. Got the two of them safely to Brackenholme when they were being hunted by Wyldermen.’

  ‘It just seems he causes chaos wherever he goes,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe out of the chaos he will bring order. There are prophecies that say as much, you know?’

  ‘Prophecies about Drew?’ exclaimed Gretchen, incredulous.

  ‘I’ve not mentioned it to him, but some of the old predictions speak of a Champion of Light, a force for good. He’ll come to the Seven Realms when all the usual portentous stuff supposedly happens – the realms broken, the dead walking the earth, brothers against brothers – you know the kind of thing. Now whether you believe all the prophecies or not, there are some that the magisters all agree on. A champion will come, Gretchen. And it might be Drew.’

  ‘It might be you, Hector, for all you know. I wouldn’t hold too much faith in the ramblings of a bunch of long-dead elders.’

  Hector shifted uncomfortably as the Werefox blasphemed. Perhaps she was right after all. Perhaps even he was placing too much hope in the old scriptures. He went on.

  ‘He has the potential to make such a difference. If more folk knew of his existence it could really change things in the Seven Realms. Imagine if people knew there was an alternative to Leopold? But how can I explain that to Drew? He isn’t ready for that, and it’d be unfair of me to heap that pressure on to his shoulders. I don’t think he really understands how big a deal it is – not just his being a Werewolf, but being the son of Wergar. It’d be enough to drive any mortal crazy to discover they were a Werelord. But the rightful heir to the throne? That’d send anyone over the edge. Maybe his appearance out of nowhere into our world will be the catalyst we need for change.’ The Boarlord shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but he’s a good man, be he the last son of Wergar or a simple shepherd boy.’