As the last of the Lionguard disappeared into the castle, the portcullis slowly lowered, groaning as a team of eight men worked the giant mechanism, easing the huge wheels round as they manoeuvred it into place. When its teeth hit the ground the earth seemed to shake through Drew’s feet, reverberating up his legs until it took hold of his heart. He wished for a swift death.
A circular courtyard opened up before them, and the soldiers proceeded up a flight of stone steps to two enormous doors. One of the doors groaned as it swung open, the guards within standing to one side to let them enter. The prison party walked in, but not before Brutus gave Drew a final taste of his whip at the top of the steps.
An entrance hall greeted them, thick red carpets lining the stone-paved floor, directing them towards a further pair of ornate wooden doors. A woodland scene was depicted upon them, revealing all the animals of the forest leaping and chasing one another between the trees. Drew noticed an image of a wolf at the heart of the scene, although its face had been hacked and disfigured by the blows of a sword.
The doors opened and they were ushered through.
Three tall stained-glass windows cast an ethereal light over the great hall within, and six towering marble pillars held a curving roof high above their heads. Gathered between the pillars on either side of the hall were the great and the powerful of Lyssia. Lords and ladies in their finery stood shoulder to shoulder, watching on intently as the prisoner arrived. They were all shapes and sizes, and Drew could only wonder what creatures hid behind their faces. None gave anything away; they looked on with vacant expressions, occasionally glancing up to the throne end of the huge chamber as if to show their approval.
At the head of the hall stood a large stone dais, upon which three thrones were positioned. The left chair was empty, while on the right sat Prince Lucas, whose eyes flashed with delight as the captive Werewolf was paraded forward. Standing to the side of the prince’s throne was Gretchen, dressed in a beautiful lilac gown that trailed about her feet. She wore a crown of holly, and her ladies-in-waiting were once more at hand, closing ranks about their mistress. Men of the Lionguard flanked her, standing to attention. The look she gave Drew was one of heartbreaking sadness, and it was all the young lycanthrope could do to hold his nerve, his raw emotions threatening to spring forth at any moment.
The king’s throne in the centre was instantly recognizable to Drew, an awesome carved stone seat with images in relief of serpents riding along its arms and up its sides, clashing in a crescendo of teeth and tongues at its height. Within the maws of the serpents’ death embrace above sat a ruby the size of Drew’s head. He couldn’t put a price on such a jewel; it was surely the envy of every king and emperor across the world. Behind the throne stood a figure in a black robe, a wide and heavy cowl hanging over the face, obscuring the features within.
And in the seat, a great beaming smile playing across his broad chiselled face, was King Leopold, Lord of Lyssia and Defender of the Seven Realms. The king looked every inch the lion in his lair, lounging upon his throne like a great cat might bask in the sun. Not an inch of the man was wasted, his shoulders bursting with honed muscles beneath his fur-trimmed red robe. He wore an iron crown, a crude trinket compared to the other opulent shows of wealth that littered the hall. An enormous two-handed sword leaned against the side of his throne, its blade shining bright and silver in the midday light.
Drew was dragged unceremoniously to the stone steps of the dais, two of the Lionguard crossing their longswords before him. The king rose from the throne as the whole chamber waited in apprehensive silence to see what he was going to do. Leopold was well over six feet tall, bigger than Bergan and more imposing, hard as that was for Drew to believe. All eyes were on King Leopold as he slowly stepped forward and lazily descended the stone steps to stand before Drew. He raised his arms, almost as if to hug the boy, then brought them together with one clap. A pause and then another. Slowly the handclapping built as he showed his pleasure at the sight before him. Quickly the assembled noble guests followed suit, joining their king. The clapping became a deafening din to Drew, a mocking salute to his dire circumstances. The king looked about, smiling and nodding, even laughing as some of his more eager supporters cheered. He raised his right hand high, and the clapping quickly stopped.
‘So,’ he said, in a deep growling voice that reverberated throughout the hall, ‘you’re the thorn that’s been stuck in my paw, then?’ Drew opened his mouth to speak but the king quietened him immediately. ‘You needn’t answer, boy. I know full well who and what you are, and if you feel the need to grace my ears with your voice then I’ll proceed to have your tongue cut out. Nod if you understand.’
Drew nodded, his face pale and his eyes wide.
‘And who else do we have here?’ Leopold asked, striding past Drew towards Hector, who stood some yards away. He clapped the Boarlord on the shoulders. ‘Look at you, Hector! You’re wasting away to nothing. I’m sure this vile hound has been thoroughly foul to you while he’s had you under his spell. Dragging one of my most loyal servants around the Seven Realms, from pillar to post. You have my condolences for the atrocities he committed upon your father and the noble house of Redmire. The nerve of the beast!’ He glowered in Drew’s direction, but the young Werewolf simply kept his head down, staring at the bottom step of the dais. Curses were called out by some of the guests, aimed at Drew and whatever deeds he’d done to Hector. Leopold turned back to the Boarlord. ‘My poor boy, you need a hearty meal in your belly, get some of that Boar fat back, eh?’
Drew glanced up from beneath his fringe. The audience laughed all around them as Hector stood completely still, obviously terrified at what the king might do next. Drew was shocked when the king pulled the Boarlord to his chest in an embrace. The crowd cheered, overjoyed to see such forgiveness from their monarch. However, through a gritted smile he managed to whisper something in Hector’s ear, spittle foaming on his lips. Drew could clearly see Hector blanch and for a moment feared his friend might collapse to the floor. Whatever the king had said was clearly intended to strike fear in the young man’s heart. It had done its job. Leopold withdrew quickly, kissing the Boarlord’s tear-stained cheeks before waving for silence once more.
The great doors at the end of the hall opened suddenly, and all heads spun round to see who had arrived. Even Drew was able to crane about in his yoke to catch a glimpse of Duke Bergan entering Highcliff Hall, marching up the red carpet towards the throne.
2
Lord of Mercy
The Bearlord of Brackenholme wore a thick green cloak that was lined with a golden thread, highlighting a pattern of vines and leaves that decorated its edging. A horn bounced from his hip with each heavy stride, the head of his axe looming menacingly across the top of his broad shoulders. His travelling companions, all dressed in woodland green cloaks, remained at the open threshold to the hall. When Bergan got within twenty feet of the throne, he dropped to one knee, bowing low and remaining there for a moment while he addressed his king.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the Bearlord, ‘I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, but we were caught unawares by your decision to bring the wedding forward. We have been on the road for three days in order to be at your side. I hope I may still be of assistance to you at this most marvellous time.’
Drew looked up to Gretchen. By her astonished reaction it seemed they had forgotten to inform her of this change in plan.
‘Arise, Duke Bergan,’ said the king, smiling. ‘My brother Bear! It is so good to see you again, and I am delighted you’ve arrived safely.’
The Bearlord rose from his knee back to his full height, towering behind Drew. Not once did he glance his way.
‘I have to say I was surprised to hear you had moved the date of the royal wedding, Your Majesty. My people are preparing a great celebration for next week and have had to busily rearrange their blessings and offerings. Was there a particular need to rush this through?’
‘Rush this through?�
� rasped a deep voice from the front of the hall. The figure that had stood behind the king’s throne stepped forward now, resting a hand on the head of a stone serpent. The black cowl still covered his face, but Drew could just about make out his mouth.
‘Indeed, when word reached us that Prince Lucas’s future wife had been saved from the Wolf, we saw no need to delay the glorious day any further. It seems with villains like this,’ he gestured to Drew, ‘wandering our realms, there might be any number of miscreants who might want to stop this marriage. By ensuring that the royal wedding happens tomorrow we can see to it that no more … mishaps … befall this blessed union. Surely you don’t doubt our king’s judgement, Bergan of Brackenholme?’ The king turned at this to look at the Bearlord, throwing him a challenging glare.
Bergan glowered at the man in black, irked by the way he’d been addressed. The build of the hooded figure reminded Drew of Vankaskan, the prince’s merciless companion on that terrible journey through the Dyrewood. Indeed a heavy chain of office hung to his chest, bearing the silver skull of a rat on it.
‘Not at all, Lord Chancellor,’ replied Bergan. ‘I only worry that rushing such a historic event might tarnish the occasion for posterity.’
‘Don’t concern yourself about such details,’ said the lord chancellor, sarcasm heavy in his voice as he retreated into the shadows. ‘Let me worry about that.’
Duke Bergan bowed once more and took his place among the other Werelords, nodding acknowledgements as he joined a group of proud-looking men in grey winter cloaks. He glanced back down the hall to the rest of his travelling party. They bowed their heads briefly in the Bearlord’s direction before disappearing from the doorway.
King Leopold walked back up to his throne, stopping at the top of the dais to turn and address his court. ‘Friends and brethren, you are my honoured guests for the duration of your stay in Highcliff. Treat my castle as yours, and enjoy all the hospitality my people have to offer. These are times for celebration, times for joy and good cheer, as we gather to bless our two most eligible cousins tomorrow. There shall be a great feast tonight as you toast your future royal couple, and I promise you festivities the like of which you have never seen in any corner of Lyssia.
‘In addition,’ he went on, revelling in their attention, ‘we also thank Old Brenn himself for delivering unto us this most foul, wicked and treacherous individual.’ At this he raised a damning finger towards Drew, letting it waver while a murmur rushed around the hall. ‘This illegitimate child of Wergar the Wolf, this conniving offspring of a vile and corrupt king. He comes here, into my realm, to usurp the very throne that you good people bore me to. He has already planted the foul seed of rebellion in some of the more unruly quarters of our lands, where ignorant peasants speak of him as some kind of saviour. Saviour!’ he laughed. ‘Saviour of what?
‘He has crawled out of the Dyrewood with murder on his mind, killing indiscriminately as he prowls through our lands, feeding off our innocents, heading to Highcliff and raising hysteria in his wake. As a blessing to my son and his future wife, and as Old Brenn is my witness, I shall personally see this monster, the last in the line of the wicked wolves, put to the sword on the morrow!’
With these words there was a clamour of activity in the great hall, as gasps were drawn, voices were raised, cheers were unleashed and naysayers cried out. This revelation came as no surprise to Drew; he’d known the king’s intentions ever since he was bundled into the wagon back in Brackenholme. That seemed a world away now. The king raised his hand, calling for the noise to quieten, but it didn’t. Still the guests argued among one another, jostling and jeering, cheering and questioning such a judgement.
Duke Bergan stepped forward, joined by one of the men in the grey cloaks.
‘Your Majesty,’ he cried, ‘do not kill the boy. He is no danger to you, to any of us. Hand him over to me and I shall guarantee that he remains in chains for the rest of his life, imprisoned in my woodland fortress, unable to harm others. We need not spill his blood on a day of peace and prosperity!’
The man by his side, a tall, long-faced fellow with grey hair that gathered at the top of his cloak, almost blending into the winter furs, added his support.
‘Your Majesty,’ he called, ‘this goes against the teaching of our kind, against all that separates us from the beast. One Werelord shall not kill another, except upon the field of battle. That is our oldest and most ancient law, and this action would fly in the face of that. I implore you to reconsider!’
The king stared down his opposition, raising his hands in a show of negotiation, but still the broad smile remained there, indicating he was steadfast in his plans.
‘Bergan of Brackenholme and Manfred of Stormdale, I hear your objections and truly I sympathize. But you do not see the wider picture. This monster brings the whisperings of rebellion to our prosperous realms, and fear into the hearts of our people. What’s more, by challenging me as he has in his desire to win my throne from me – murdering his way across my kingdom, killing Baron Huth and Brenn knows who else – surely these are acts of treason?’ At this Lady Gretchen made a move to step forward, to correct the king, wanting to cry out that it was a lie, but the Lionguard at her side took a firm grip of her arms, holding her back. Vankaskan had appeared out of nowhere, joined by one of his black-robed cohorts as he squared up against Bergan and Manfred of Stormdale.
‘By challenging me,’ continued Leopold, ‘he has declared war upon the people of the Seven Realms. That, my friends, is the battlefield, and that is why I am justified in having him executed.’
Still the crowd shouted, scuffles threatening to break out between supporters of the king and those who sought a peaceful solution.
‘Silence!’ cried the lord chancellor from behind the throne, as the king sat down, satisfied that he’d said his piece. ‘Our king has spoken! No bickering and bantering will make a jot of difference now! Or do you also challenge our king? Do you align yourself with the Wolf?’ At this the room fell silent as each and every Werelord remembered his and her place, biting their lips and fighting with their thoughts as they quietened. One voice broke the silence. It was Count Vega.
‘Your Majesty,’ he said, stepping forward from where he stood behind Hector, ‘if I may?’
The king waved a hand to allow him to approach, looking at the Pirate Prince with cold, calculating eyes.
‘Count Vega,’ he said. ‘Yes. I almost forgot about you. What an unexpected pleasure for us all to see you in the Court of Highcliff.’
Drew held his breath. Was there something the count might be able to do, some kind of deal he could strike that would save his life? Drew had shown a disregard for his own life by jumping to the aid of the count and his men on the Maelstrom; maybe this had counted for something. Perhaps his conscience had been pricked. He listened on with a glimmer of hope in his heart.
‘Although I have been outcast from this court for more years than I care to remember, I have come to you a man reborn. I am, and always have been, your most loyal and loving subject, and hope that the recovery of Lady Gretchen and the delivery of Drew of the Dyrewood go some way to restoring any lost faith you had in me. By reclaiming my rightful position as Lord of the Cluster Isles, I shall be your obedient servant of the ocean. I shall marshal the White Sea for you like no other man alive, ensuring all who sail it know the great and glorious deeds and kindness of our one and only true king.’
Drew’s glimmer of hope flitted out of existence. Bergan growled from the sides, unable to hide his contempt for the Pirate Prince. The king stroked his jaw, considering the Wereshark’s words.
‘In safely bringing me my future daughter you have indeed repaired your tarnished reputation, Vega,’ he said. ‘Imagine turning against the old king as you did. The shame!’ Some in the audience laughed at this. ‘Furthermore your gift of this wretch has not gone unnoticed.’
Count Vega stood still, the shark smile spreading expectantly across his face.
‘Howeve
r, you remain untrustworthy, Prince of Pirates. I cannot have you in my company, worrying when the rapier might strike into my back. You may join the other guests for the feast and the wedding tomorrow, but must return to the Maelstrom by nightfall. Finish delivering your cargo of Spyr Oil and other gifts first, by all means. I do enjoy it when you produce such treats for my castle! Show me your loyalty by bringing more bounty to our people; take from the thieves of the sea and deliver their ill-gotten loot to Highcliff, so it may be better distributed among my faithful subjects. Then I may know of this love in your heart that you speak of. Then I may consider granting you your little islands once more.’
Drew could see that Vega was crestfallen, but the captain of the Maelstrom tried to hide it. From the buzz that went around, everyone in the room recognized the smack in the face the Wereshark had just taken. He smiled, bowing low, before retreating into the crowd.
‘Now,’ said the king, ‘I shall retire to spend some time with my family ahead of tonight’s meal. Consider this the Greatest of All Feasts, my loyal Werelords and their noble households gathered here as they are. Tonight, my friends, we dine together, at one table, to one purpose, all equal, all faithful.’
He rose to a chorus of obedient cheers from the court, descending the steps to walk down the great hall, the cloaked lord chancellor on one side and Prince Lucas on the other. Gretchen looked despairingly to Drew as the guards who stood by her side, their hands still on her arms, escorted her away after the king.
Another whip crack sounded and Drew felt the skin over his spine tear. He staggered forward into the stone stairs, cracking his head as he fell to the floor. Stars fluttered in front of his eyes as he saw the faces of Hector and Bergan looking down, concern etched on their desperate faces. The Boarlord scratched at the palm of his left hand furiously, a mess of fear and nerves. Count Vega loomed into view beside him, chewing his nails as he stared down at the boy. Drew’s final vision before he blacked out was of Captain Brutus’s booted foot as it was brought down in a kick to his temple.
Rise of the Wolf Page 25