Rise of the Wolf

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘You really like him, don’t you?’ Gretchen said, not in a mocking tone but a thoughtful one. She’d seen how steadfastly he’d defended his friend, when it might have been easier to pander to her words and thoughts. She wasn’t used to being challenged, and would have been more abrasive with anyone other than Hector.

  ‘You know I do,’ he said smartly. ‘He’s been like a breath of fresh air. A life on the road with Drew as a companion has got to be better than a life of servitude to King Leopold and his court. The company of that vile creature Vankaskan is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.’

  ‘Perhaps …’ she said, searching for the right words. ‘Perhaps he and I got off on the wrong foot.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a second,’ replied Hector, animated now. It was encouraging to hear her speak of his friend in a tone that wasn’t angry. ‘If you could just give him a chance, I’m sure you’d see him for what he is. Remember, Drew hasn’t spent his life with the privileges we have. What you and I take for granted is all foreign to him. He wasn’t even aware of his lycanthropy until very recently. You both have such strong personalities,’ he finished, unsure of what else to say. He knew that statement must have been very difficult for her. The nobility of Lyssia weren’t used to apologizing.

  ‘I know I can sometimes be … difficult,’ she said.

  Hector opened his mouth to object but she raised a hand to silence him. ‘Thanks, cousin, but you don’t need to keep walking on eggshells around me. I know I have a temper, and I realize I’m used to getting my own way. It isn’t something I’m proud of.’

  Her head dropped and Hector found he was feeling sorry again.

  ‘The idea of being a princess seems to come easy to you, Gretchen,’ he whispered, rubbing her back with sympathy. She smiled, wearily.

  ‘It’s my duty,’ she sighed. ‘I won’t lie. I can tell you that a great deal of the time it’s fun and exciting. But occasionally I long for the freedom that our friend there has had in his life.’ She gestured in the direction of Drew.

  ‘See,’ Hector said, giving her a playful dig in the ribs with an elbow. ‘You’re calling him your friend as well now!’ He chortled as he carried on trying to get to grips with the tinderbox. Gretchen chewed her lip, deep in thought.

  ‘How are you getting on with that?’ she asked, after watching him struggle a while with the flint and steel. Try as he might, he could not conjure a spark.

  ‘Not terribly well,’ he grumbled. ‘There must be a knack to it.’

  ‘Let me try,’ came a voice over their shoulders. Drew was sitting upright at the end of the cart. How long had he been listening to their conversation? Sliding out of the wagon, he landed gingerly on the floor, his weakened legs buckling as he clutched a wheel for support. Hector rose instantly and dashed to his side. Gretchen remained where she was, watching on.

  Hector helped Drew as he wobbled over to the unlit fire like a newborn fawn. After gently lowering himself to the ground, Drew picked up the flint and steel in his trembling grip and started to strike them. On the third attempt a clutch of sparks flew through the air and landed on the dried grass that Hector had gathered together at the fire’s base. He silently leaned low to cup his hands round the smoking embers, shielding the breeze from it while he directed puffs of his own breath on to the fuel. Slowly it took the heat, the grass starting to smoke before a bright orange flame suddenly sprang into life. The other two watched on as Drew effortlessly repositioned the bundle of dried grass beneath the kindling. Hector wasted no time in getting the pan from Drew’s backpack and dashing off to the banks of the Barleymow to fill it with water. It had been over a week since he’d had a cup of tea, and he wasn’t going to miss this opportunity now.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Gretchen asked Drew.

  ‘Like death,’ he replied, sitting back exhausted. ‘What happened? The last thing I remember was getting out of the Wyrmwood and then … nothing.’

  ‘You’d ingested Vala’s venom. Without Hector and his medicines we would both be dead.’

  ‘I owe him my life, then,’ said Drew, watching the Boarlord as he bounced along the riverbank looking for a place to crouch and fill his pot.

  ‘And I appear to owe you both mine,’ said Gretchen stiffly. Drew was taken aback, quite unprepared to hear such gratitude from the Werefox. ‘It was very good of you to come after me, Drew of the Dyrewood. Thank you.’

  Sick as Drew still was, the unmistakable hot blush that rushed into his cheeks couldn’t be denied. He rubbed his neck awkwardly, dipping his head low as he poked the flames with a stick. It had taken a lot of courage to afford him such a response, given their relationship – she his hostage, he her kidnapper. The least he could do was reply to her.

  He nodded his appreciation. ‘And I could do nothing less, having jeopardized your life in the first place, for which I apologize,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m sure you’re keen to get to Highcliff and out of our company,’ he added.

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she said brusquely, folding her arms.

  ‘You’ll want to get to the Court? For the wedding? Remember?’ said Drew, unsteady with the tone of her response. His head still swam.

  ‘Oh, the wedding! How could I forget? Because I couldn’t possibly want to spend another minute in the company of a couple of outlaws, could I?’ she exclaimed. ‘All I could possibly be interested in is Highcliff, isn’t that right? I’m just a spoiled little girl, aren’t I?’

  She rose to her feet and stormed away from him, kicking up dust in her wake that settled about him, making him cough and cover his mouth. As Hector reappeared with his pot of water, he looked down at Drew incredulously.

  ‘What have you said now?’ he asked, exasperated. ‘I thought you were making a fresh start!’ He watched her go.

  ‘Nothing!’ said Drew, startled by the change in Gretchen’s mood. ‘Nothing at all. I simply said she’d want to be rid of us as soon as she could.’

  ‘You know,’ said Hector, ‘I despair with you two, I really do …’

  Hector placed the pot of water on the fire and shuffled through his satchel to find some tea leaves. Drew craned his head around to see where Gretchen had gone. The girl was impossible. She’d clambered into the cart and settled down sulkily.

  The night drew in and Gretchen wouldn’t move again until Hector took her a mug of steaming hot tea. Following that she wouldn’t say another word to Drew for a further two days. It was a long road to the coast.

  2

  The Drowning Man

  Clinging to the edges of the turbulent White Sea lay the bustling port of All Hallows Bay. Hector saw four great long piers running out into the choppy waters like wooden fingers, grasping for purchase in the frothing foam as the sea surged against them. Boats and ships of all shapes and sizes jostled for room and, at the docks, sailors and fishermen milled about, eager to attend to their business. The town itself crowded around the sickle-shaped bay; ramshackle timber buildings that huddled against one another flanked the Tallstaff Road. Smoke billowed from chimneystacks, casting a cloud over the port like a grey halo.

  The cobbled streets were lined with stalls and carts as farmers, tradesmen and locals sold their wares to visiting merchants destined for foreign lands. There was a lively mood in the town that was infectious – laughter pealed from inside taverns and music carried out of inn windows into the streets below. All the shades and colours of the world could be found in All Hallows Bay, and it was no secret that, for the right price, a ship’s captain could take a person anywhere.

  Hector pulled back on Esther’s reins, trying to slow her progress as she made the steep descent down the cobbled Tallstaff Road. Her early steps had been steady enough, but the further they had travelled down the winding road the more treacherous the passage got underfoot. Esther was used to the rural roads of Merrydale, not the bumpy, slippery stone roads of a seaport. She’d stumbled and the cart had veered, but by sheer luck they hadn’t overturned. Still, Hector wa
nted them to be off the road at the earliest opportunity.

  They passed a number of soldiers who wore the red cloaks of the Lionguard. Patrolling in squads of four or five men, they stuck to the main avenues of All Hallows Bay, staring down everyone who passed, be it on foot or on cart. These weren’t fit to call themselves protectors of the people; intimidation was a tactic for thugs. Drew felt his anger rising. Keeping their heads down inside their hoods, Drew and Hector piloted their wagon past without attracting attention. Begrudgingly, Gretchen had conceded to the boys’ request to stow her away under the oilskin, thereby reducing their visible party by one. To the soldiers the two must have simply looked like a couple of farmers on a visit to town. Judging by the manner in which the men of the Lionguard strolled through the crowded streets and people quickened their step to give them a wide berth, it seemed the soldiers could act with impunity here. They weren’t actively searching for the trio, it appeared. Perhaps the hunt was still concentrated along the banks of the Redwine after all.

  Drew had asked a street seller where they might find a likely bar in which to negotiate passage across the White Sea. A few names had been suggested, but the heartiest recommendation had been the grisly named The Drowning Man. Just off the main promenade, it was the largest tavern the town had to offer, and was the first port of call for captains looking to pick up crew, commissions and passengers. Navigating the bottom of Tallstaff Road between a mountain of crates and barrels, Hector steered the horse on to the wide boulevard and followed the directions they’d received.

  Though the darkening evening sky cast shadows over the town, The Drowning Man was unmissable. Four storeys high it was easily the tallest building in the town, and each floor jutted out even further into the street above its heavy, squat base. A huge irregular slate roof hung down from above like a witch’s peaked hat. Hector guided Esther up to a corner of the building, jumping down to fasten her reins to a hitching post. Drew craned his head into the back, tapping the oilskin and the shape that was hidden beneath it.

  ‘We’re here,’ he whispered, loud enough for Gretchen to hear.

  ‘Thank Brenn,’ she said from under her shroud. ‘Can I get out?’

  Drew looked about to see if anyone had been paying them special notice, but the nearest onlookers, a trio of fishermen repairing their trawling nets, paid them no heed. ‘Yes,’ he replied, pulling the cover out of the way.

  Gretchen slid out of the wagon, the hood of Hector’s cloak firmly up around her head, her striking red hair tied back and out of sight. Her clothes were torn and tattered beneath the unremarkable cloak, as were all of their garments.

  Above their heads a large painted sign swung noisily from its iron ring brackets. The illustration depicted a hand reaching out of a stormy sea, the owner destined for a watery grave. Briefly checking one another over, the three of them entered the tavern.

  Two bars faced them upon entering the inn. Drew chewed his lip. To their left was a sedate affair that was the retiring room of any patrons who had secured one of the tavern’s few rooms for the night. Through the warped glass panels of the door Drew could see serious-looking men sitting around tables, discussing trade routes and inventories while they downed ale by the trayful. To their right was the much rowdier public bar, with alcoves dotted about the wide walls of the room. A long counter filled the furthermost wall, lined with hardy-looking men throwing drinks down their necks. A huge open fireplace filled the middle of the room, where a great copper-canopied chimney hung down, catching the fire’s smoke and whisking it away.

  Drew silently nodded right to his friend. Hector opened the door, and the three of them entered unnoticed.

  A middle-aged woman wearing a white apron and bonnet bustled past the trio with a tray of foaming mugs held high over her head.

  ‘Scuse me, duckies,’ she said, edging past before delivering the beverages to a table full of sailors. She turned back towards the bar, and Drew stepped forward to cut her off.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, as politely as he could. The woman looked him up and down for a moment, smiling.

  ‘Bit young for in ’ere, ain’t ya?’ she said merrily. ‘How can I help you, petal?’

  ‘Do you have any lodging?’ he asked. The three of them had agreed that acquiring a room was probably the priority upon getting into town, as they weren’t sure how long it would take to obtain the services of a ship.

  ‘For the three of you?’ she asked. ‘Certainly have, though you’ll have to share. Nine bronze pieces that’ll be,’ she said, holding her hand out. Taken by surprise, Hector rummaged along his belt, dipping into his money pouch and withdrawing two bronze coins.

  ‘Hopefully this will secure any further assistance we may need during the night, good lady?’ he said. Drew rolled his eyes, all too aware of how noble the Boarlord sounded.

  The woman smiled and threw him a wink. ‘I’ll look after you, your lordship,’ she said jokily, clearly unaware she was speaking to a genuine Werelord. ‘Take yourselves a seat and I’ll get you yer key.’

  As the woman disappeared behind the bar, the three travellers sat down around a table.

  ‘Nice going, Hector,’ whispered Gretchen. ‘Very inconspicuous!’

  ‘Actually I think she was just mocking him,’ chimed in Drew. He gave the blushing Boarlord a dig in the ribs with his elbow.

  Hector sat at the table, gripping his left hand in his right, his thumb scratching circles into the middle of his palm.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Drew. ‘Why are you so anxious? We made it here at last. This is a cause for celebration.’

  ‘I’m not worried really, Drew,’ said his friend. ‘It’s this burn,’ he said, revealing the small black mark in the palm of his hand, no bigger than an acorn. ‘It’s not healed since our business with the shaman.’

  ‘Well, don’t pick at it,’ said Gretchen, slapping his hands apart like a fussy mother. Drew couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Have you nothing in your satchel that could take care of it?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably,’ said Hector, blushing. ‘I just haven’t found the right cure yet; I’ve been too busy tending to you two. I’ll be sure to get it sorted, don’t worry.’

  The others smiled but it was true enough. His own welfare was secondary to him; that was the measure of his friend, thought Drew.

  Within the hour the three of them had enjoyed a hearty meal of roasted sea bass with mashed potatoes, as well as a pile of stewed green vegetables of indeterminable origin. After their nourishing feast Gretchen excused herself and rose to make for the bedroom.

  ‘So soon to bed?’ asked Drew, pulling a mock sad face.

  ‘I’d love to stay up and listen to more of your stories, Drew, really I would,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘Alas, I fear another tale about big sheep, small sheep and whatever other woolly creatures you kept on your farm might result in me falling asleep where I sit.’

  Gretchen smiled meekly and Drew played the part of the hurt suitor.

  ‘Is my life story really so hard for you to endure?’

  Hector leaned in close.

  ‘To be fair to Gretchen, Drew, when you’ve heard one lost lamb story, you’ve heard them all …’

  The three of them burst into a chorus of laughter. There’d been a change in Drew’s relationship with the Werefox in the last few days. Hostilities had visibly thawed. Of course she was still a kidnap victim – not the best footing for any friendship – but as they neared All Hallows Bay and with an end to her ordeal in sight she’d grown more relaxed and less combative. Drew was almost growing fond of her company.

  ‘Admit it,’ Drew said, smiling at her.

  ‘Admit what?’ she queried, straightening.

  He leaned closer, keeping his voice low. ‘There’s a part of you that’s going to miss this, isn’t there? The excitement, the drama, the open road. Held hostage by a handsome rogue Werewolf and his cunning Boarlord accomplice. Admit it. You’ll miss me.’ He grinned as Hector ch
uckled at his side.

  She bent close to him, whispering in his ear. ‘There’s more chance of me missing your fleas, hound!’

  Hector snorted, unable to stifle his laughter.

  ‘Do we need to send anyone up to make sure you don’t make a break for it again?’ asked Drew. ‘Will we be rescuing you from the clutches of a kraken in a few hours’ time?’

  Gretchen smiled icily at him, eyes narrowed, before planting a soft kiss on Hector’s cheek. With that she turned and made her exit from the room. Drew watched her go, noticing that Hector was beaming with pleasure. He shook his head. She had so much spirit. It felt good that they’d be parting on better terms than when they’d met.

  Now, so close to being spirited away on the next available ship, Drew found he was questioning his involvement in the grand scheme of things again. A small part of him felt like he was running away, abandoning his people … Ridiculous really. He might have accepted that he was the rightful king of Westland by birth, but it wasn’t a role he could have ever taken to. He was a commoner, a farm boy – who would ever accept him as the man worthy to contest Leopold’s position on the throne? Once in exile, he would simply fade into the background again, far from the drama of the Werelords and their courts.

  Still, looking about at all he’d seen in the last year – the hardships the normal people of the Seven Realms were struggling with, the brutality with which Leopold and his Lionguard ruled – he couldn’t help but feel he was betraying the people of Lyssia. He hoped that someone might make a stand, might speak out against the tyranny; someone stronger and more suited than a shepherd boy from the Cold Coast.

  Drew stretched where he sat, flexing his feet in front of the hearth and letting the heat soak through the leather to his toes. With their table in such close proximity to the roaring fire, Drew could feel the lids of his eyes weighing heavy, and within moments he was enjoying a very brief nap.