‘Drew Ferran, the Wolf of Westland,’ she said, cocking her bald head, looking him up and down. ‘This floating bonfire was the last place I expected we’d meet.’
‘Opal,’ Drew said, with a snarl of recognition. The Panther was the second female felinthrope he’d met, and she bore a striking similarity to the first. The Weretiger Taboo had been battle-hardened in the gladiatorial arena on the volcanic isle of Scoria, years spent fighting for survival having broken down her trust in everyone. In time, Drew had managed to repair that, to the point that Taboo had considered him her friend. Every move Opal made was poised and deliberate, as if she might strike out at any moment. Taboo had been just the same, her wary nature easily misconstrued as constant, simmering aggression. Opal seemed every bit as deadly. A handful of Krakenguard stood behind her, silver shortswords raised before them.
‘You’re feeling foolish now, Wolf, aren’t you?’ said the woman as Casper squirmed in her grasp. ‘Drop your sword and turn yourself in. You’re coming with me to Highcliff, you and the Shark. King Lucas wants to speak with you.’
‘And the boy?’
Vega grunted where he was pinned high against the wall, his heels kicking out at the Kraken’s tentacle, but Ghul simply pushed harder, forcing the fight from him.
‘This one?’ asked Opal, turning to look at Casper. She kissed his forehead tenderly. ‘He’s precious to you too? I understand he’s the count’s boy from the Maelstrom. I promise you nothing, Wolf. The longer you delay dropping the sword, the greater the chance I may just kill him.’
Drew wavered, the weightless Moonbrand suddenly heavy in his grip. He felt the wolf retreating, withdrawing beneath his skin, his heart growing cold. It was bad enough that Ghul had Vega, but he couldn’t risk Casper’s life as well.
‘Hold that sword, my lord,’ came a voice from behind. ‘Don’t be thinking about dropping it.’
Drew turned to find that Florimo had joined him, the severed chain from his manacles taut in his gnarled hands. At his back, more figures began to appear over the balcony, a steady stream of freed prisoners from the fortress walls. Chains and lengths of wood were the weapons of the humans, while those therians among them who had shaken off their shackles began to shift. Another Shark, a Wereray, a Lobsterlord: all manner of marvellous Werelords of the Sea materialized. Drew’s heart raced. Suddenly the advantage was theirs.
‘About those demands,’ said Drew, snarling as he let the wolf back in. ‘I think we need to renegotiate.’
‘I still have the boy, remember?’ said Opal, twisting Casper roughly in her arms. ‘And the Kraken has the Shark!’
Drew ignored her, pacing forward, the Panther’s comrades looking doubtfully at one another. More allies continued to clamber and crawl into the war room, adding weight to the Wolf’s cause. The tower lurched again, another mighty groan sounding from its base.
‘You hand them to me, you leave with your life, Opal. You harm a hair on their heads, you die, here, tonight. I give you my word.’
‘Over my dead body it is, then!’ said the Beauty of Bast, her voice lacking confidence.
The Werewolf turned his attention to the Krakenguard. ‘That goes for you too, gentlemen: drop your weapons. Leave now, and we spare you. I make this offer only once. Refuse, and we all die together in an inferno!’
That was enough for most of them. Weapons clattered to the floor, as those who’d served the Kraken marked an end to that association. While some dashed for freedom, a handful turned their blades towards Ghul and Opal, taking an even greater step away from their former masters. Only a single Krakenguard remained loyal, standing beside Opal.
The mob backed away from the Kraken as it flung its tentacles out indiscriminately, striking anyone it could reach.
‘Let Vega go, Ghul!’ roared Drew, refusing to stand down. As the tentacles struck out at him, the young Wolf ducked, jumped, sidestepped and parried the blows.
Opal had seen enough, now retreating towards the doorway. Florimo lashed out with his chain, catching her guard in the head. The links snared around his helm; with a tug, the soldier was thrown into the mob of freed prisoners, falling beneath their blows.
Drew spied Opal making her getaway. He was forced to choose between Vega and Casper. The decision was easy.
The Werewolf bounded away from the Kraken, low to the ground, Moonbrand trailing behind him. One more leap and he’d be across to the arched portal that led to the staircase; she’d be trapped. The Werepanther hissed, her back arching as the lycanthrope tried to cut her off. Lifting Casper over her head, she threw him towards Ghul, the boy snatched from the air by one of the Kraken’s lashing tentacles. With that, she turned and ran through the war room’s grand entrance.
The punch that hit Opal in the face was delivered with righteous fury. The attack came out of the darkness at the top of the spiral staircase, the heavy ursine fist catching her face dead centre, leaving the felinthrope in a broken heap.
A familiar-looking gang dashed in through the archway, a partially transformed Werebear leading them, the woodland green cloak instantly marking her out as Whitley. At her side came Figgis, first mate from the Maelstrom, dagger in one hand, shortsword in another. The wooden frame buckled as a huge figure squeezed through the arched entrance, filling the portal.
‘Release them, Ghul!’ bellowed the Whale of Moga, his feet threatening to splinter the floor beneath him.
Baron Bosa was unmistakable. At sixteen feet tall, his vast body was cross-hatched with old war wounds, the white skin stretched taut over brawn and blubber. Head and torso had merged into one; he was a mountain of muscle and menace. His mouth was a chasm, lined by rows of hard, stubby teeth that could crush rocks. In one giant hand he held a trident that glistened black in the torchlight.
‘You fat fool, Bosa!’ screeched the Kraken. ‘You come to my fortress and think you can command me?’
‘Let them go,’ said Bosa, striding towards the Weresquid as Drew slunk through the smoke, his eyes never leaving the boy who was suspended in Ghul’s grasp.
Prisoners rushed past now, dashing for the stairs, keen to be out of the structure before it finally collapsed. Dust fell from the ceiling in clouds, dispersing through the smoke as the Kraken struck out at the Whale. Bosa batted a tentacle away with a club-like fist.
‘The scum that adorned my walls were a warning to you all!’ screamed the Kraken. ‘A warning for you to stay away, lest you face the same punishment!’
‘A warning?’ the Whale scoffed, smacking another tentacle aside. ‘You idiot Squid. It was a sure-fire way of attracting my attention. Well,’ he said, his laughter vanishing. He raised his trident. ‘You have it now, Ghul.’
‘All of you!’ cried the Kraken, raising Casper in the air and shaking him. ‘Stand down, or Sosha help me, you get your boy back in pieces!’ The monster held Casper by his arms, a tentacle wrapped around each of them. The lad let out a cry of pain as the Squidlord’s limbs tightened, threatening to tear him apart.
The mob hesitated, wary of what the enraged Kraken might do next. Moonbrand came down with a flash as Drew bounded at the monster, the blade slicing through a tentacle. The strength of Ghul’s hold lessened instantly as the severed limb released Casper, the stump of the chopped tentacle spitting inky black blood into the air. The Kraken howled with rage and flicked his tentacles, releasing Casper as it thrashed and flailed. The boy sailed over the mob, out of the open balcony, swallowed swiftly by the billowing black smoke.
Drew could see Vega suddenly coming to life. He raised his hands, which had now become clawed, grey talons, shifting as he took hold of the tentacle that pinned him to the ceiling. Blood flowed from his wrists where the
manacles were fixed, but Vega paid the wounds no heed. His fingers disappeared into the Kraken’s flesh alongside his mouth, his jaws transforming enough to allow the Shark’s teeth to come to his aid. The Kraken’s violet limb parted, torn in two by the count’s sudden, determined and potentially suicidal attack.
Vega landed, rolling into a tumble, snatching the silver sabre from where it stood buried in the floorboards. The Kraken turned its attention to the pirate captain now, away from the Wolf, but only in time to see the count’s blade flash down diagonally across its body, from the uppermost side of its mantle on one side to the lowermost edge on the other. The wound opened instantly, threatening to separate the Kraken’s wobbling body, but Vega hadn’t finished.
Drew staggered clear as the sabre sang, ribbons of Squid flesh fluttering through the air, bloody black ink erupting from the beast. The Kraken was no longer fighting; it had become a mess of blubbery flesh and twitching, suckered arms that trembled in their death throes.
‘Vega!’ cried Drew, trying to pull the Sharklord out of his vengeful reverie. Slowly the count turned to look at the young Wolf, and Drew stared into the depths of the man’s sorrow, his black eyes emotionless and wet with tears. The sabre clattered to the ground as the count wavered where he stood.
Drew jumped forward, catching Vega before he fell.
‘We need to get out of here, my lad,’ boomed Bosa as another thunderous explosion shook the tower. The Whalelord raised a giant hand to the ceiling above, bracing the timbers lest the roof should collapse, the smoke now beginning to overwhelm them.
‘I know,’ replied Drew, as Whitley placed a trembling hand on his shoulder and they looked down upon the distraught Vega.
‘My boy,’ whispered the master of the Maelstrom. ‘My poor Casper.’
‘Captain!’ shouted Florimo, the old sailor hopping deliriously from one foot to another as he pointed towards the balcony. All in the war room followed the line of his finger out into the black sky beyond. As the smoke swirled and eddied, a shape rose from its depths. Casper hovered in the air unsteadily, his body held aloft by two beautiful hawk wings that rose and fell from his slender back.
‘Casper!’ repeated Vega, the deathly black shade of the Shark vanishing in a blink from his eyes, his voice joyful now.
6
Crossing the Redwine
Standing on the enormous balcony of Redmire Hall, Gretchen looked down upon the flotilla that crossed the Redwine. The grounds of the Boarlord mansion were alive with activity, civilians crowding the gardens, yards and wharf below. In happier times, Gretchen had summered here with her cousins Hector and Vincent. The Werelords of the Dalelands had always been especially close, and Huth had looked after the young Foxlady as one of his own. These gardens had once been hers. Presently they belonged to the people of Redmire.
The crowds had gathered with all their worldly goods – chests, sacks and trunks – piled around them, waiting for transport across the surging river. The constant din of livestock accompanied the anxious chatter of the people as, family by family, they waited their turn. A steady stream of vessels traversed the Redwine, ferrying the townsfolk from shore to shore. The famed river barges, so often loaded with the fresh produce of the Garden of Lyssia, were now weighed down with the people they’d once served. Already a gaggle of Romari tents had appeared on the opposite bank, a temporary halfway house for the horde of Dalelanders who had chosen the Dyrewood as the safest destination in these troubled times. The nomads worked alongside Greencloaks, helping the people of Redmire alight on the other side. Gretchen gripped the banister. She couldn’t help but wish she were with them, crossing the river, disappearing back into the haunted forest and heading for Brackenholme.
She glanced around the balcony, letting her mind wander back to her first encounter with Drew. He’d arrived here half naked and nearly starved after escaping the Lionguard with Hector. She’d taken an immediate dislike to him, as had he to her, the two of them worlds apart in ideology and outlook. This was the balcony where he’d taken her hostage, his claws at her throat. So had begun their grand adventure, with Hector in tow, as they’d travelled the rivers, woods and terrible seas of Lyssia, arriving eventually at Highcliff, where he’d faced down the Lion to claim his crown. Only that bauble had never found its way on to Drew’s head. Before any coronation had taken place, those worlds – once so different but now so close – had been turned on their heads, as Wolf and Fox were torn apart. What might have happened if they’d remained together?
An awkward cough clumsily alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. Turning, she found Trent standing at the doors that led out of the mansion. His newly acquired grey cloak hung below his knees, the hood down across his broad shoulders revealing the thick mop of blond hair. One gloved hand rested on the pommel of his Wolfshead blade, sitting proud in its scabbard, while the other was folded neatly behind his back. He bowed. Inexplicably, Gretchen blushed, immediately looking back to the river.
‘Since when did you cough to attract my attention, Trent?’ she asked, Drew’s face still fresh in her troubled mind. ‘And why the need to bow, all of a sudden?’
‘You have visitors, my lady,’ said the Ferran boy, standing to one side as a man and woman joined him on the balcony.
‘My lady,’ they said in unison, each bowing low as Gretchen turned and smiled, composing herself.
‘Captain Gerard,’ she said to the first, stepping up to embrace him. ‘It’s so splendid to see you fully recovered after your ordeal.’
‘I’ve never felt better,’ replied the old soldier with a smile. ‘All thanks to your brave Harriers. I did not expect a reprieve before the executioner’s block.’
‘And Captain Quist,’ said Gretchen, hugging the tall green-cloaked ranger. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see your face again. That it should be you who reaches out to us from the Dyrewood truly gladdens my heart, for I feared I’d never see anyone from Brackenholme again.’
The woman smiled. ‘Nor we you, my lady. When you disappeared from Brackenholme during Vala’s attack, many assumed you had been killed. We have dear Stirga to thank for passing news to us that you had survived, Brenn bless his soul.’
‘Stirga, dead?’ Gretchen gasped. She glanced at Trent, whose face instantly darkened.
‘The last we saw of him was when we fled the city during the Wyldermen attack,’ said the young Greycloak.
‘He died before the battle for Brackenholme, alas,’ replied Quist. ‘Though not in vain, I might add. It was the sword-swallower, on his deathbed, who urged Drew Ferran to come to the city’s aid. Stirga was the bravest fellow, and played a large part in ensuring that the Romari now patrol the roads of the Dyrewood, alongside the Woodland Watch. The ancient forest isn’t a place the Lion will dare enter in a hurry.’
Gretchen kept her eyes on Quist, aware that Trent was intently watching her.
‘And what of Drew? How is the Wolflord? That he lives comes as joyous news to all of us.’
‘Lord Drew remained with us in Brackenholme briefly, overseeing the initial rebuilding of the city, but he departed many weeks ago, searching for help in the struggle against the Catlords.’
‘Searching for help?’ said Trent. ‘Where did he go looking?’
Quist squinted at Trent momentarily. ‘You’d be the Wolf’s brother – Trent Ferran, isn’t it? I’ve heard much about you. You must be very proud of Drew.’
Trent managed an awkward smile as Quist continued. ‘He headed to the White Sea. Seemed the only place where anyone was giving the Lion a run for his money was on the water. Drew went looking for Baron Bosa, the Whale of Moga. He reckoned the baron’s force could h
elp turn the tide of war.’
‘Have you heard anything of his success?’ asked Gretchen. She couldn’t hide the note of hopefulness in her voice. ‘Did he find the Whale?’
‘I’ve no idea, my lady. Word’s been trickling in to the Dyrewood that Bosa’s strength wanes, that the Kraken’s found some way of defeating the Whale. One can only pray that Drew is all right – and Lady Whitley, for that matter.’
‘Whitley went with him?’ exclaimed Gretchen. ‘Surely she should have remained in Brackenholme. She would’ve been safer there, and her people need her! Who let her accompany Drew on his journey?’
‘Let her?’ said Quist, shaking her head. ‘Believe me, Lord Drew tried to prevent her, but she wouldn’t have it.’
‘She’ll get herself killed,’ said Gretchen, angrily. Where the anger had come from, she couldn’t tell, but for some reason the fact that Whitley and Drew were out there together irked her.
‘My lady, I’ve worked alongside Whitley in the Woodland Watch. She’s every bit as capable as any scout who’s ever taken the Green. She’s left the city in the hands of her uncle, Baron Redfearn, while Duchess Rainier convalesces. General Harker’s there also. Brackenholme’s in safe hands.’
‘Let us indeed pray they’re both safe,’ Gretchen concluded. ‘While you’re here with your people, overseeing the evacuation, please treat Redmire as your home, Captain.’
Quist nodded as Gretchen turned back to Gerard.
‘Any sign of the Lionguard?’
‘None,’ said the captain. ‘Seems they turned tail and ran once Vorhaas was killed. Quite an unexpected victory for the people of Redmire.’
‘It’s just a shame that victory comes at such cost,’ said Gretchen, and the others muttered their agreement.
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