Rise of the Wolf

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘Pardon, Your Highness?’

  ‘Willem,’ she repeated. ‘That was the name I gave you, although Drew sounds nice too. Tilly knew a good, strong name, didn’t she?’ Her smile started to fade. ‘I’m so sorry, Drew, for all that life has put you through.’

  ‘Your Highness,’ mumbled Drew, his cheeks hot and flushed. ‘Please don’t apologize.’

  ‘You have to start by not calling me that,’ she said. ‘I know I’m not the lady who brought you up, who raised you or looked after you, and I wouldn’t begin to try to replace that poor, kind soul. I knew your mother, Drew; she was a friend to me beyond class and position. A loyalty that is made even clearer to me now. I wish I could thank her.’ Tears welled in her sad brown eyes. ‘I would, however, like the chance to try to start anew with you,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent the last fifteen years mourning the death of all my children, all my babies, only to discover that one of them still lives.’

  ‘Your High– er … Queen Amelie?’ Drew said. She brushed her hands at his choice of words dismissively, but nodded for him to speak. ‘You have another son, Prince Lucas. You raised him, didn’t you?’

  ‘I brought him into this world,’ she said, ‘out of duty to his father, and I love him in my way. It pains me that he is growing into the image of Leopold, a man who has kept me in a drugged despair for too many years. This is the man who convinced me that my children died in a fire. And now I hear … now I discover …’ She sobbed, bringing her hands to her face. ‘My dear Drew, I can allow nothing to happen to you now, do you understand? You are your father reborn before my very eyes!’

  ‘I’m not my father, though,’ he said, taking her hands in his own battered grasp. ‘And this is not a world where I feel comfortable. You ask me to be with you, which I would love more than anything in Lyssia, but this life doesn’t suit me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m a shepherd boy, not the son of a king. I like to be outdoors, with the seasons on my face. Responsibility does not sit easily with me.’

  ‘Duke Bergan,’ the queen said. ‘Please speak with him. Tell him.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ asked Drew, looking to all four of them.

  ‘The life you knew before, Drew, you can’t go back to it,’ said the Bearlord. ‘The Seven Realms are in pieces. Leopold remains within Highcliff Keep, a prisoner within his own castle. The forces of Brackenholme and Stormdale lay siege to the Lion, and the people of this great city are thankful. However, there is a storm on the horizon. Word of what has happened here will soon reach every corner of the continent and beyond. Armies will march to the city in the coming weeks, as claims to the throne are made and allegiances are offered. There is a vacuum, Drew, and you need to fill it.’

  ‘No,’ said Drew firmly. ‘I know nothing of politics or people and I can’t be a pawn in some Werelord power play. Let me disappear, Duke Bergan. You take the throne, you rule the Seven Realms. I’ll find a boat, cross the White Sea, head south, anywhere. But don’t make me stay. I would only disappoint you.’

  ‘You would not, Drew,’ said the queen. ‘When the people see that the Wolf is here, only the foolhardy would make a challenge, and if they did you would not be alone. You will have Lords Bergan and Manfred, and others to call upon. Their allies are your allies. You have Lord Hector, here, and I’m sure I speak for Lady Gretchen when I say that the Foxes of Hedgemoor will support you.’ The Werefox nodded in total agreement. ‘And you have me, my son,’ she said. ‘I would die for you.’ She held his hands and squeezed them gently beneath her thin fingers.

  ‘Don’t you see, Drew?’ said Gretchen, her green eyes blazing with a passionate fire. ‘This is your moment, now. This is where we can start to make things right.’

  Drew looked out of the porthole again, into the night. He sighed.

  ‘Please,’ he said to them. ‘May I take some air? It is stifling down here and I need to clear my head.’ It was no word of a lie – the news they brought him was graver than he could have expected. When he had woken in the bed, he had thought he would be able to drift off into the shadows, fall away from the intrigue that had dogged his life since his time in Brackenholme. Leopold had been defeated and the likes of Duke Bergan could set the world straight again. And even if he were to aid them in some small, inconspicuous way, at the back of his mind he had hoped for an opportunity where he might be able to escape, slip away from all these dramas. But his heart now told a different story. Could he really let the people in this cabin down? Or indeed the people in the city and beyond, if they really believed in him as the queen said?

  Duke Bergan bent to lift him up, raising Drew’s left arm over his shoulder before carrying the young man through the door. The Bearlord walked up on to the deck, and the others followed behind. The Maelstrom was alive with activity, illuminated by scores of lanterns that hung from the railings. Not only were sailors busy with their own duties, but nobles, captains of the guard and other notables milled about, deep in negotiations, forming plans of action and then arguing over the details. Drew couldn’t see the ship’s captain. Count Vega was no doubt back in the port enjoying his newly restored celebrity status after his noble actions earlier that day. The sound of the bells in the city was louder now, joyous and celebratory as they echoed around Highcliff and its harbour. Drew caught sight of hundreds of people lining the piers, jetties and promenade of the town, lanterns and torches held aloft as music played and the city folk revelled.

  Hector joined him at his side. ‘Marvellous, isn’t it, Drew?’ said Hector. ‘My father said this day would come, when the people would rise up against the Lion.’

  ‘It would have happened with or without me, though,’ replied Drew.

  The small figure of the lookout boy, Casper, wound his way carefully between the crowds on the Maelstrom before spying Drew suddenly. Immediately the boy dropped to his knee in a clumsy bow. Those around him noticed the young boy’s actions and saw in turn that Drew had been brought up on deck. Like dominoes they toppled over into swift bows, passing over the ship in a wave of formality. Even though the queen’s presence had been noted too, this was clearly aimed at Drew. He was about to tell them to get up, to stop the charade, when he heard a splash and a wet thump, as something hauled itself out of the water on to the decking.

  It was Count Vega. He was bare-chested and wore nothing but his leather breeches. Some of the noble ladies looked away, a little flustered. Even Gretchen and Queen Amelie averted their gazes, so striking did the Pirate Prince look. He winked at Whitley, and Drew felt Bergan’s grip tighten round him with irritation.

  Vega held a long stick wrapped in trails of green and brown seaweed in his hand. He strode up to Drew and gave him the briefest of courteous nods – they were aboard the Wereshark’s ship, and he clearly didn’t feel the need to pay his respects to anybody when he was at sea. He offered the seaweed-wrapped stick to Drew.

  ‘It’s taken longer than I thought,’ he said, breathing heavily and shaking his hair like a wet dog. Showers of salt water sprayed over all of them. ‘You should be more careful in future, my lord.’

  Drew, still cradled in Bergan’s arms, took the stick from Vega in his free hand and was surprised by its weight, though he quickly recognized it. He held it at one end, tipping it so that the watery plants all tumbled away into a coiled heap on the deck. The Wolfshead blade gleamed in the moonlight.

  A great cheer went up from along the harbour front. The people were suddenly waving furiously, throwing hats and flowers in the air.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Drew asked Bergan.

  ‘Can’t you see?’ said the Bearlord. ‘Can’t you hear?’

  ‘Put me down for a moment,’ said Drew.

  Hector stepped up to warn against this, but Gretchen took him by the forearm, holding him back. If anyone knew what Drew’s remarkable body was capable of, it was the Wolf himself. Delicately, Duke Bergan let the young man place his bare feet on to the cold planks. Drew wobbled for a moment where he stood, feeling as if his ankles were made of
twigs and not bone. With the splints keeping his legs straight he hobbled over to the long rail that ran along the side of the Maelstrom, collapsing against it for support.

  Hector and Gretchen joined him on either side, putting their arms round him. Duke Bergan stepped up behind the friends, taking Whitley’s pale hand in his own. He smiled at his daughter, and she returned it with pride. He placed his other hand on Drew’s shoulder; the youth felt the weight of the Bearlord’s pawlike grip, ever so gently giving him a reassuring squeeze. Alongside them Queen Amelie smiled proudly, a genuine display of happiness that hadn’t been witnessed by her people in many years.

  The city was bustling. Drew didn’t know what time of night it was, but judging by the position of the full moon in the night’s sky it was the early hours of the morning. Elevated over the city, Drew could make out the lit arena of High Square and the troops assembled there, laying siege to the castle. And way up on the fortress walls the battlements still smoked, flames leaping occasionally from the scene of his escape. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he heard the sound of roaring, deep within its walls.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Drew. ‘What are they chanting?’

  ‘It’s your name, Drew,’ said Hector to his left.

  Indeed they were; Drew picked it out clear enough, but they were shouting something else as well.

  ‘They’re calling for the Wolf,’ said Whitley.

  He turned to look at her. She nodded.

  As he turned back to Highcliff he felt Gretchen’s lips brush against his ear, her breath warm on his skin, as she whispered, ‘They’re chanting for their king.’