War of the Werelords

by Curtis Jobling

  A hand clapped upon his shoulder, causing him to start.

  “You’ve the look of a lemming there, lad,” said Krieg. “Don’t be jumping now, after all we’ve been through!”

  Drew smiled at the Rhino, his old friend from the arena on Scoria. “Until I grow a pair of wings I can’t see that happening.”

  Behind Krieg stood the other gladiators from the Furnace, Taboo and the Behemoth. To find they had survived the siege of Bana had pleased Drew beyond words. Along with the Hawklords, the three had traveled to the city in the mountains to help free the imprisoned Jackals, instead finding themselves locked within the rock alongside them, their foes gathering beyond the gates. Their willingness to fight for someone else’s freedom, a world away from their homelands, was a credit to the trio’s bond with the Wolf, forged out of pain and suffering.

  “Come,” said Krieg. “You’re missed at the table.”

  The victorious lords and commanders remained in the hall within the mountain, enjoying a victory feast. Omiri, Sturmish, and Bastians shared food and drink, picking the night’s battle to pieces and plotting what their next step might be.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay out here a while longer,” said Drew. “It’s a fine morning.”

  “Can’t say I blame you,” replied the Rhino, taking a great breath. “After being cooped up in this black rock for months, this air tastes mighty fine!”

  “Besides,” added the Behemoth, his voice a low rumble, “there’s only so much food and drink a fellow can stomach.”

  “You jest, my elephantine friend,” said Krieg. “Your guts are cavernous enough to eat an army’s rations and still have room for pudding.”

  Drew noticed Taboo’s reluctance to join her friends’ banter. The Tigerlady stood apart from them on the balcony, resting her elbows on the stone balustrade. Her face had a look of thunder, as if she might explode at any moment. Drew gulped, always wary of her temper. One had to choose words carefully when speaking with Taboo.

  “You’re not in the mood for company, Taboo?”

  The woman growled. “Breaking bread with turncoats and traitors doesn’t come easy to me.”

  Drew flinched, knowing full well whom she spoke of. “There’s nothing simple about the world we live in and the war we fight.”

  The list of those Taboo considered enemies was extensive. She had enjoyed putting the Lizardlords of Scoria to the sword, but it was the Catlords who fed the flames of her wrath. It was the conspiring felinthropes of her homeland—her own kind—who had delivered her to the Lizards in the first place. They had plotted and schemed, condemning her for the death of the man she had loved when it had been Onyx, the Beast of Bast, who had done the deed. So deep ran their manipulations that even she had believed in her guilt until the truth had been revealed. Drew had set her straight, as gently as was possible, explaining how she wasn’t alone in being deceived. Her own father, Tiaz, had been duped by the Lions and Panthers. She had lived her life thinking she was insane, a danger to those she loved, but now she knew better.

  “Two who sit in there are responsible for what I’ve become.”

  “What you’ve become?” said Krieg. “You’ve become a strong, loyal, and redoubtable friend. I can think of few others, bar the Behemoth, whom I’d rather have at my side in a tight fix.”

  “I’ve become a killer,” growled Taboo. “I would’ve been a lady of Bast. I could’ve had a future back home, until they discarded me, tossing me to the Lizards and the arena. That’s all I can do now. I’m a weapon, nothing else. Perhaps I should thank Opal and Tiaz the only way I know how?”

  Drew saw her claws leave furrows in the stone balcony as orange hair bristled over her hands.

  “Taboo,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “He’s your father.”

  “Was my father,” she corrected him. “He lost all right to call himself that when he turned against me in my hour of need.”

  “You called him Father down there, in the Gap, and he listened.”

  “I do what’s asked of me if the need’s great enough,” she said with a shrug. “Plucking at his heartstrings seemed to do the trick, don’t you think?”

  She wasn’t wrong. Her words had made the difference, persuading Tiaz to side with them and finally driving a wedge into the Catlord forces. The hope that Tiaz might be able to repair his relationship with his wronged daughter had been what had driven him on.

  “You mean to say he can never find a place in your affections again?”

  “He’s no longer welcome to my affections.”

  “Regardless, I doubt that’ll stop him from trying to find his way back there,” sighed Drew. “He’s your father. He loves you. He was a victim of your enemies’ trickery also, remember?”

  Taboo bristled with annoyance. “Tiaz was duped by the Lions and Panthers. He’s an idiot to have believed their words above those of his daughter, but the other one in there—Opal—she knew full well what she was doing. She helped her brother frame me for Chang’s murder. She set it up so that I paid for Onyx’s crime. I’ll have my revenge against her.”

  Drew groaned. Here we go again.

  “You’d best get in line,” he said. “There are a few who’d have vengeance upon the Beauty of Bast, not least my friend Whitley, whose brother was killed at her command. But you’ll need to go through me first.”

  She turned her head to face him, green eyes wide. Drew lifted his jaw, staring her down. Her surprise turned to a glare, two thin emerald slits of distrust fixed upon the Wolflord.

  “You’d side with her against me, after all I’ve done in your name?”

  “That we were able to come to your aid is thanks to Opal. She broke the Forum of Elders apart, exposing the lies that had been committed by the High Lords against one another. Chang’s murder, your wrongful banishment, Leopold’s being killed by Onyx’s command—every dark and dirty deed carried out by the Lions and Panthers was brought to light by her. The Furies of Felos—your warriors—fight by our side as a result of Opal’s actions.”

  “She’s a monster.”

  “She’s our monster,” replied the Behemoth. “Save your fight with her until after this war’s won, Taboo.”

  Taboo snarled at the Weremammoth, but he paid her no heed, staring past her placidly as others joined them on the balcony. King Faisal led the way, the Eagle Count Carsten at his side. The Hawklord’s bandaged face was grave, his loss one of the greatest of all. Brave Baron Baum had died in the Gap, torn apart by Urok. The Apelord had subsequently died at Carsten’s hand, but there was no bringing the count’s brother back. Emaciated though he was, he could not yet bring himself to eat, his hunger a dull pang compared to the heartache of a slaughtered sibling.

  “Let us not fight among ourselves,” said the Eagle. “Leave that for the Cats and Dogs. We must stay strong, stay together. This was but a small victory. One realm has been taken back from the Bastians, but there is more work to be yet done.”

  “My friend’s words are sage,” added Faisal. “We must put aside our differences in the face of the greater good. If it’s any consolation, Lady Taboo, Opal has proved herself time and again since she set foot in the sand. It was she who led the attack upon Hayfa, turning her out of Azra and putting the Jewel of Omir—and the Hyena’s many cannons—into our hands. She also led the charge into the Doglord lines down there, surrounded by your brave Furies of Felos. Just like Djogo, she has righted past wrongs. Don’t question her allegiance. She fights for the Wolf. She fights with us.”

  Drew looked for Djogo, the former slaver, among the crowd at Faisal’s back but couldn’t spy him. Drew and Djogo hadn’t found time to properly catch up yet. No doubt the soldier would want to speak with Shah, the Hawklady. Drew knew well enough the feelings Djogo had for the woman. She was presently in the House of Healing, with Miloqi, the White Wolf of Shadowhaven, looking after Vega. The Shark
lord had picked up his fair share of wounds in the Battle of the Bana Gap. Miloqi was an able enough healer to coax him back to health in quick time.

  “So,” said Faisal, content that Taboo’s complaints had ceased. “Azra is safe, our enemies’ war machines now trained out from the walls and onto anyone who dares approach. The Doglords have scarpered, tails between their rotten legs. And the Redcloaks and Goldhelms are on the run along the Great West Road. What next, Lord Drew?”

  All eyes landed upon the young Wolf, the weight of expectation as crushing as always. When will their demands cease? Will I ever have anything that resembles a normal life again? He longed for a simple existence, away from the trials of kingship. The Dyrewood: that’s where he wanted to be, away from the world and its worries. Again, he found himself wondering about Whitley’s whereabouts. So many reunions with old friends, but the one he really wanted back in his arms was the girl from Brackenholme, the scout’s apprentice. Does she even live? Drew cleared his throat, suddenly choked by the emotion of the thought.

  “Where’s Florimo?” he asked, looking past the group and back into the hall. The crowd parted as the Ternlord made his way through, his usually elegant gait a little worse for wear after indulging in the Redwine claret.

  “My lord,” he said, bowing clumsily. “Do you have another service you’d like me to undertake? Say the word and my wings are yours, dear chap.”

  Drew found his smile. Florimo never ceased to amuse, and since he had delivered word the previous night to the prisoners within Bana, he had reveled in the adulation that followed. Despite the fact that he had played no part in the actual battle, the old navigator was still a key player in its outcome. Without that brave, frantic flight into the city, arrows and Vultures at his back, those within would never have opened the gates to attack the enemy. He had even heard a cousin of Faisal’s refer to the Tern as the Hero of Bana, something Florimo would surely enjoy writing into his next bawdy song.

  “I need you to look at the stars again, my friend.”

  The elderly sailor looked confused for a moment.

  “The stars, Florimo,” he said again.

  The navigator suddenly clapped his hands, tapping his beaky nose and winking. “I hear you, my lord. Of course, of course.”

  Inwardly, Drew sighed. He and Florimo had an understanding, born out of long nights in one another’s company aboard the Maelstrom, talking about the moon and its cycle. From these conversations the two had devised a plan that could have a huge bearing upon the outcome of the war. It could be terrible, it might fail in dramatic, deadly fashion, but it appeared to be the last throw of the dice for the young lycanthrope, when facing a monster like Onyx, the Beast of Bast. It seemed that the red wine had addled the Ternlord’s mind, forcing Drew to be a touch more direct with him than he would have wanted. It was too early to reveal their intentions to the others.

  “I hardly see how stargazing will help us defeat my brother,” said Opal, slinking out of the shadows, Tiaz close by. Drew didn’t enjoy seeing the two of them together. That they had sworn allegiance to him was one thing, but these were two of the lords of Bast who had sailed to Lyssia to aid the Lion. Not so long ago the pair had been his mortal enemies, and now they were working together?

  “We need to march at the soonest,” added Tiaz, his voice subdued as he addressed the throng. He clearly appreciated the fact that he was the newcomer, the proverbial cat among the pigeons. It would take time before Drew’s friends finally accepted him as one of their own, if ever. His eyes lingered upon Taboo as he continued.

  “Those Redcloaks and Goldhelms who broke rank will be scurrying back to Onyx as we speak. We shouldn’t be wasting time eating and drinking. We should catch them on the run.”

  Count Carsten turned and glowered at the Tigerlord, his haggard face barely visible beneath the bandage. “In case you didn’t notice, some of us have been starved to the point of death over recent weeks within this city. Your army saw to that. Many of us have lost those closest to us, loved ones and family. If it’s all the same to you, Tiaz, we’ll take a moment. We’ll eat. We’ll drink. We’ll prepare our dead for the long sleep. Then we’ll march west.”

  Tiaz growled. “Now isn’t the time for sentiment or blame.”

  “It’s the perfect time for sentiment,” retorted Carsten, taking a step toward the hulking Tiger. Faisal placed a hand on the Hawk’s shoulder while Opal moved between the two therian lords.

  “Each of you makes fair comment,” said Drew. “Let’s not fight over this. We’ll work as quickly as we can to organize our departure, but we don’t scrimp on ritual with our dead. In the meantime, those who are able-bodied should prepare for the road. Send word to every commander down there to ready their troops for the journey into the west. Duke Bergan and the people of Icegarden were sighted heading toward Robben, according to Mikotaj and Miloqi. That’s where we’re going, because you can bet your life Onyx will be hot on their heels. Count Carsten: this isn’t a question I relish asking, but how soon will your brothers be ready to take to the air?”

  “Some are already out there, Drew, having gone after the Vulturelords. A handful remain here, less than ten of them. But we can be ready to fly tonight. A bit of shut-eye this afternoon, prayers for our fallen, and we’ll be good to go.”

  “Good,” said Drew, seizing the count’s forearm as the two shook hands. “I hate to burden you again, but we’ll be needing you to carry a handful of us. Demeaning, I know, but needs must.”

  “Consider it our honor,” replied the grizzled Eagle.

  Drew set off into the hall where they had banqueted, the crowd falling in behind him. The enormous table that they had sat at still had the remains of the feast littering it. The hulking Mikotaj, barbarian White Wolf of the frozen north, had his pack open, emptying slabs of half-eaten meat and whole poultry into it. He looked up as they entered, giving them an unapologetic shrug.

  “Well, nobody was eating. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  9

  THE SHARK AND THE HAWK

  “YOU KNOW, YOU could be gentler with me.”

  Count Vega winced as Shah yanked his arms high in the air. Miloqi, the white-haired seer from Shadowhaven, passed the bandage about the Sharklord’s chest, binding it tight around his torso. The handful of medics in the House of Healing were down below in the Bana Gap, working their way through the many wounded survivors of the battle. As Vega’s injuries were not life threatening, it had been left to Miloqi to stitch him back together.

  “I could be a lot of things with you, Vega, but most of them would put you closer to death’s door,” snipped the Hawklady. “Quit your whining and keep still.”

  “Don’t confuse my words for misery, my dear,” said the count, his smile briefly transforming into a wince before those perfect teeth flashed once more. “Rough though your touch is, I’d still brave every demon of the sea in order to feel it upon my flesh once more.”

  “He has a way with words, doesn’t he?” muttered Miloqi as she worked the dressing into a knot below his breast.

  “Oh, he’s all charm.” Shah nodded, glowering at the smiling Pirate Prince of the Cluster Isles.

  “I never mentioned charm,” said the seer, coaxing a chuckle from the Hawklady.

  Faced by the twin scorn of the therian ladies, Vega’s smile slipped. “Ganging up on a defenseless old sailor? Hardly fair.”

  “Calling yourself old, now?” said Shah. “Are your misspent years catching up with you? Regretting your past?”

  “I regret some things, certainly,” said Vega, the humor gone from his voice now. He placed a hand on Miloqi’s wrist as she finished up on his bandage. “Lady, could you perhaps give us a moment alone?”

  “You rest up—while you can—and don’t do anything strenuous,” said Miloqi. “I’m no magister, but I know herbs and medicines like few others. Who needs magicks when Mother N
ature blesses us with her rich bounty? The dressing stays on for at least a day—you can thank Brenn that you heal quicker than most.”

  She stepped away from the two, leaving them alone in the darkened room. A candle sat in a pool of wax on the bedside table, the flame flickering and sending shadows dancing over the Hawklady’s face. Vega lay back upon the cot, looking up at Shah as she stood over him, arms crossed.

  She was every bit as beautiful as he recalled. Her long black hair was braided, piled atop her head, great gray eyes trained upon the convalescing count. Slender though she was, that gentle frame hid the fiery strength of the Werehawk. Her late father, Baron Griffyn, had been the heir to the city of Windfell, home of the Hawklords of the Barebones. Yet here was his daughter, playing nurse to the Shark. He couldn’t resist teasing her.

  “You know, you could always fluff my pillows,” muttered the Sharklord, shifting awkwardly as he settled. “It’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  “It most certainly is too much to ask,” said Shah. “I’m not even sure why I’m here making sure you’re all right.”

  “I get under the skin, don’t I? Even after all these years you still love me, don’t you? It’s fine, I get that. You’re only therian.”