Rage of Lions

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘Pick your words carefully, cub,’ said the old Horselord. ‘The Wolves are gone. Whoever you’ve pushed on to the throne, he’s certainly no Wolf. Just a puppet to dance to your tune.’

  Broghan’s face coloured with anger. He turned to Drew, about to point him out.

  Drew’s eyes widened. No, Broghan, say nothing! Ewan stepped in before the Bearlord could speak.

  ‘Viscount Colt,’ said the Ramlord, raising his palms outwards towards the old Horselord in a sign of peace. ‘You misunderstand what my friend tells you. Whatever news you’ve heard, I assure you it’s incorrect. Dukes Bergan and Manfred work alongside the only surviving son of Wergar. A grey Wolf still lives. Of that there’s no doubt, and he is an ally to all honourable and loyal men of Lyssia.’

  Drew was relieved to see that Ewan appreciated the need to keep his identity secret, at least until they knew where they stood. Lorimer lifted his hand, signalling his intention to speak.

  ‘How is it you’ve allied yourself with this …. this would-be Wolf, Ewan?’

  ‘He’s a friend of Haggard. My cousin, Kesslar, made an enemy of him after the Wolf protected my people against him, at great risk to his life. We all know what kind of beast Kesslar is. This Wolf – Drew is his name – stood up to him. He faced the Goatlord, as man and beast. He’s the Wolf returned.’

  ‘I don’t trust this talk,’ muttered Viscount Colt, turning to Lorimer. ‘And you’d do well to steer clear of this business, nephew. You knew Wergar, but he’s gone. And you’ve known Leopold all these years, too, through feast and famine.’

  ‘Aye,’ called another Horselord, a blond-maned youth, barely older than Drew. ‘We’ve been held down long enough, first by the Wolf and now by the Lion. If they fight in the north, let them fight I say. This is our chance to break free of their reign.’

  Drew’s eyes flitted around the room as the crowd cheered. Colt pointed at the young Horselord who’d just spoken, nodding with approval.

  ‘Lord Conrad speaks with wisdom beyond his years. We have an opportunity. Let us follow the example of Duke Henrik in Sturmland; cut away from the Union. We should ride out alone, lose our greedy neighbours. What’s left of our crops? The Lion has taken everything from the Longridings. If we’re to recover then we must do so alone. Now is the time for the Kingdom of the Longridings!’

  There was an enormous cheer, as the Horselords snorted and stamped their boots in approval. The noise was deafening as their feet clattered the stone floor. It sounded like a cavalry charge, as if the Werestallions’ hooves were hammering across a battlefield.

  ‘The Longridings!’ they cheered.

  ‘King Lorimer!’ they roared.

  Drew wasn’t scared – the atmosphere felt volatile, but not dangerous – but he was worried by the separatist talk; the Horselords seemed to think that Duke Henrik, the White Bear of the North, had already split from the Union of Realms. As his gaze swept the chamber, Drew spied bronze-armoured guards moving round the courtroom’s edges. One man, certainly not a guard, was dressed less formally in a battered brown jerkin with a longsword at his hip. His nose was badly broken, and he seemed to watch with great interest from the back of the chamber. Why is he armed when we aren’t? Drew couldn’t decide if he recognized the fellow.

  ‘But the Lion’s dethroned now!’ shouted Ewan. ‘Don’t you see? The Lion stripped your land bare, but Drew is different. He understands the people!’

  ‘If he’s truly a Wolf,’ said Lorimer, the crowd quietening instantly. ‘That makes him Wergar’s cub. You and I knew Wergar, old friend. We fought alongside him. You remember what he was capable of. Are you honestly trying to tell me this boy could be different?

  ‘You’ll be my friend until I ride over the last meadow, Ewan, but don’t challenge me on this. I do this for the Longridings. You’ve seen the shanty towns. It’s time to reclaim our land and look after our own. I’d suggest you do the same in Haggard, cousin.’

  ‘So that’s it?’ asked Ewan. ‘The Longridings is an independent realm now? How long will you survive alone, Lorimer? Who will you trade with?’

  Colt put a bony knuckled hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

  ‘Anything is better than servitude to a fat king in Westland.’

  Broghan shook his head wearily, curling his fists with frustration. He glanced at his disguised sister and Drew before looking back to Lorimer.

  ‘Leopold’s son,’ said the Bearlord, struggling to hold back his anger. ‘What of him?’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ said Lorimer.

  ‘We aren’t here to beg you to remain in the Union. We’re hunting Prince Lucas and his cohorts. They came to Cape Gala.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘It is so,’ snipped Broghan angrily. Ewan turned to him, throwing a cautionary glare.

  Keep it in check, Broghan, thought Drew. Don’t do anything foolish.

  Broghan continued, controlling his breathing.

  ‘Lady Gretchen of Hedgemoor, daughter of the late Earl Gaston, was abducted by Lucas and Vankaskan, the Wererat. We’ve been charged with tracking them down and retrieving Lady Gretchen. We believe they’re heading to Bast. Please tell me they haven’t set sail yet?’

  Broghan spoke earnestly. His single-mindedness in his mission was unshakable. Drew found himself watching the young blond Horselord while the others stared at Duke Lorimer. The blond therian looked to the ground, anger on his face as Lorimer spoke.

  Odd, thought Drew.

  ‘I’m afraid if Prince Lucas has been through Cape Gala, then he’s done so unnoticed. We’re a vast city, Lord Broghan, with many ways in and out. The shanty town covers every entrance, keeping my guards occupied day and night, making access on the road relatively easy. Especially if one flashes the bronze.’

  ‘So you’re saying he’s been and gone?’

  ‘What I’m saying, young Bear, is that I wouldn’t know. Thousands pass through this city every week. Three people could easily move quickly through Cape Gala, from foot to boat.’

  Drew looked for the broken-nosed man but couldn’t see him. Why do I know that face?

  ‘Then this was a wasted expedition,’ snapped Broghan.

  ‘Not entirely wasted,’ Viscount Colt chimed. ‘When you return to Westland you can pass on our secession from the Union to your father.’

  Ewan put a hand on Broghan’s forearm. The young Werelord seemed to shimmer where he stood, threatening to channel the Bear at any moment. The Horselords recoiled, the guards beginning to step forward. Even Harker and Drew moved to put their hands on the therian, trying to calm him. He knocked their hands clear, taking one heavy step towards the elderly viscount. Colt looked scared, as the sound of swords being drawn from their sheaths hissed around the hall. Spittle foamed at Broghan’s lips as his teeth sharpened.

  The gentle hand of Whitley on his wrist froze him where he stood.

  ‘No, brother,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t.’

  That was all it took. The Bear retreated, the beast back in its cage as Broghan staggered back, exhausted with unspent anger. Ewan checked he was all right before turning back to the Horselords. Swords returned to their scabbards as the tension subsided.

  ‘Apologies on behalf of our northern friend,’ said Ewan. ‘It has been a taxing time on the road as he has chased these villains down. Alas, it appears to have been to no avail. May the men of Brackenholme and Haggard lodge with you this evening?’

  ‘I insist you stay in High Stable, Lord Broghan,’ said Lorimer. ‘You are our guests so long as you are here.’

  ‘There are barracks for the Greencloaks,’ rasped Colt quickly.

  You want to keep us where you can see us, thought Drew. He looked once more for the familiar broken-nosed man but to no avail.

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine you’ll want to be staying too long,’ said Colt. ‘The road north is long and I’m sure your Lord Protector is keen to hear the news of our separation.’

  Others joined Colt as he chuckled, keeping it low after Bro
ghan’s outburst. Drew noticed that Lorimer and the blond Horselord, Conrad, didn’t laugh.

  Drew followed Broghan, Whitley and Harker out of the chamber, the two Greencloaks supporting the exhausted Bearlord. Broghan looked shattered, the act of keeping his therian side in check having exhausted him twice as much as a full transformation. Drew glanced back, noticing the Horselords dispersing. Conrad had joined Lorimer, who was already deep in conversation with Ewan about the events in Haggard. If there was any way he might influence Lorimer, now was the time. The younger Horselord stared back, watching him leave. Before Drew turned he spied Colt at the back of the chamber, talking to a figure behind a pillar. The man in the brown jerkin had reappeared; why did he hide?

  The doors closed as the six northerners gathered under the watchful eye of the bronze-plated Horseguard. Harker whispered under his breath, taking Broghan’s weight from his men.

  ‘As far as they know you are just a scout, Drew. Keep it that way. Stay with the men until we can get word out of here. Whitley?’

  ‘I’ll stay as well,’ she said to Harker, aware they were being observed. ‘Keep an eye on my brother, captain. We’ll see what we can find out on the street regarding Gretchen and Lucas. We just need to lose our escort first. Someone’s bound to have heard something.’

  Harker nodded.

  ‘Drew, you’re in charge of my men now, at least until I send word in the morning.’

  Drew was astonished. He was used to working alone, or at the most with a couple of friends. But thirty-odd men under his command?

  ‘I can’t. I’m not cut out for this!’

  Harker leaned in, smiling at the bronze-armoured guards as he spoke through clenched teeth.

  ‘Drew, you are the future king of Westland. Tell these men what to do. They’ll follow.’

  With that Harker set off with the Horseguard, supporting the weary Broghan across their shoulders as he hobbled along. Drew, Whitley and the two rangers from Brackenholme watched them depart. Slowly they made their way down the grand staircases before leaving the citadel through the open portcullis, joining their fellow Greencloaks in the gathering dusk.

  3

  The Bows of Saddlers Row

  Drew felt all eyes on him as he strode down High Stable’s steps. He nodded to the assembled rangers of Brackenholme. The Greencloaks looked calm, awaiting orders, as a Horseguard rode up on a white steed. Five more guards waited at the gate.

  ‘This way, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We’ll escort you to your lodging. You’re down Saddlers Row, near the docks.’ He turned his horse, about to make off.

  ‘A moment,’ said Drew, quickly checking his companions’ weapon belts. ‘We were told we’d get our weapons back when we left High Stable.’

  ‘My captain had them sent on to your barracks, along with your horses. You’ll find them waiting there for you.’

  Drew looked to Godric, one of Harker’s more senior men. The old ranger tipped his head and shrugged.

  ‘Can’t say I’m happy about going anywhere without my sword and bow, sir, but if that’s what they’ve done …’

  Whitley looked displeased. Clearly the idea of going anywhere without Chancer was unpalatable for her. Drew rubbed his chin, fighting the urge to run indoors and fetch Harker. He’d know what to do. He turned back to the Horseguard.

  ‘Lead on,’ said Drew, shaking his head. He saw little point in arguing. What was done was done; the weapons and horses had been sent ahead. But if anything’s gone missing they’ll see my anger all right.

  The Horseguard joined his companions at the gate. The Greencloaks stared at Drew, waiting for the word.

  ‘You heard the man,’ Drew said awkwardly, clapping his hands. ‘Saddlers Row. Near the docks.’ As one the six branches of the Woodland Watch turned, following the riders across the courtyard. Before long they were marching down a lane that skirted the waterfront, traders on one side of the road and the harbour on the other. The procession cut quite a dash, a string of brilliant green capes and cloaks fluttering in the evening breeze. Locals stopped what they were doing to watch the rangers stride past. Drew felt great pride as he made his way up the line.

  He wondered where Gretchen might be. Had Lucas gone straight to Bast? The prince was so angry – Drew had witnessed it first hand – and his stomach lurched at the notion of him laying a finger on Gretchen. And Vankaskan – was he still whispering words of poison into the young Lion’s ear?

  Two of the Horseguard rode at the front of the group while four fell back to the rear, keeping the rangers moving along. Drew noticed that the streets were growing quiet, as the hour was late. They saw fewer locals as they walked away from the trading and residential streets and into a warehouse district. He noticed a wooden post swinging from a street corner; Saddlers Row. The barracks had to be close by.

  Drew looked at Whitley who was walking between him and Godric. She kept her head bowed, looking down at the cobbles. Was she aware he was trying to catch her eye? He wanted to speak to her about the other night, wanted to say something, anything, by way of explanation for his actions. It had been a terrible mistake, that’s all – a misunderstanding.

  ‘You tired?’

  Whitley nodded wearily. The tension between them was palpable. It had been a very long day.

  ‘We’ll be there shortly.’ He looked at the grizzled ranger. ‘What say we give our friend first choice of bed, Godric?’

  ‘Drew, you don’t have to …’ said Whitley.

  ‘Let’s not argue about this,’ he began, before Godric expertly interrupted.

  ‘Sounds like an excellent idea, sir,’ smiled the ranger, tapping the tip of his green hood with a scarred hand. ‘I’m ready for a bunk myself. Weeks on the road aren’t good for old bones.’

  Drew noticed there were very few lights along this stretch of Saddlers Row. There was no sign of life and certainly no evidence of the barracks yet. One of the rangers stumbled in the twilight, a raised cobble tripping him. Drew was about to call to the riders up front when he noticed they’d pulled some distance away. He looked over the heads of his men towards the rear, searching for the four riders who’d followed. There was no sign of them.

  ‘This isn’t right,’ muttered Drew. Godric quickly picked up on Drew’s feeling of unease. The two lead riders suddenly galloped, hooves clattering as they disappeared down the road.

  Sensing an ambush, Godric was about to alert his men, but the words never left his lips. The first volley of arrows had already filled the air, one of them finding a home in the old ranger’s throat. He was dead before he hit the cobbles at Drew’s feet.

  ‘Take cover!’ screamed Drew as he snatched Whitley by the wrist. The unarmed Greencloaks were already running to find shelter, but the road was wide and the ground treacherous in the dark. They ran for the nearest buildings and alleys, unaware that they were running directly towards their ambushers. More arrows flew, too many finding their targets.

  Drew and a branch of rangers dashed towards the waterfront, sprinting blindly, weaving as they ran. One of the men spun, an arrow appearing with a wet snap through his breastplate, its feathers flush to his back. Drew kept Whitley close, pushing her before him and putting himself in the way of the arrows as they neared the wooden jetties. Another man tumbled, an arrow splintering through his leg. Drew ran on as he heard the man scream. He could see the launches and piers now that criss-crossed their way along the docks, reaching out into the harbour. A fine mist had rolled over Saddlers Row. Cursing, Drew skidded to a halt, passing Whitley to a Greencloak.

  ‘Run quickly, find a boat! Keep Whitley safe!’

  ‘Drew, no!’ cried the Lady of Brackenholme as the man struggled with her towards the jetties.

  ‘I’ll find you,’ he yelled before running back.

  He’d run twenty yards through the fog when he saw the wounded ranger, trying to drag himself towards the waterfront. Drew caught sight of armed men through the mist, walking through the dead and dying Greencloaks. Of the Horseg
uard he saw no sign. These men looked like brigands, acting with ruthless precision. They carried melee weapons – swords, knives, axes and cudgels. Their deadly tools came down, silencing the cries of those men of the Woodland Watch who had survived the ambush. One by one the injured were dispatched.

  Drew crouched low, dragging the stricken man towards the sea front. The ranger let out a cry as the arrowhead through his calf caught on the ground. Three of the killers looked up at the sound, one of them pointing Drew and the man out through the mist. They closed on them fast.

  Drew kept moving, pulling the wounded ranger back. At the last moment he yanked him clear and stepped forward, chest heaving as he faced the three men. He measured up his opposition.

  On his left was a short fat one; out of shape. He was a hired heavy judging by the cudgel in his stubby hands, hardly a weapon of choice for a trained fighter. The other two, however, demanded Drew’s attention. The one in the middle was a hulking northman, the kind you avoided eye contact with. His grey beard was shorn close to his face, his bald head shining with sweat. He had a crescent moon axe in his hands, dark with the blood of Brackenholme. To his right was the mystery man from High Stable. Where do I know you from? Drew gritted his teeth with frustration and fear. The broken-nosed man held a longsword in his hands, its tip suddenly rising to point at Drew.

  ‘It’s you!’ he rasped, and in an instant Drew remembered. He was back in the sewers beneath Highcliff, fighting two villains in the dark. This was the fellow who’d survived and escaped.

  ‘Sorin, he called you,’ said Drew. He could make out the Greencloak still crawling, edging closer to the water’s edge. They were maybe ten feet from the first wooden pier. ‘Your friend, remember? He’s dead now, in case it interests you.’

  Drew could feel the Wolf’s blood coursing through his body, filling him with a furious fire. He allowed it to build, keeping the transformation back until the last moment so it would be sudden and explosive. Already hairs sprouted over his body, muscles expanding, teeth sharpening, but in the half-light of mist and dusk it was impossible for his enemies to see this.