Rage of Lions

by Curtis Jobling

  Drew rolled his eyes – any element of surprise they’d had had just been lost. If there was someone round the bend by the fire, they’d be ready now. He gripped the sword, knuckles white.

  The narrow path widened, eventually opening into what appeared to be a sewer junction, where four tunnels met. A large, roughly paved area provided firmer footing along one wall, as wooden walkways criss-crossed the dark rivers, connecting each tunnel to the other. A low-burning fire had been lit on the stony platform, its embers glowing as its flames died. Behind, Drew could hear the huffing and puffing of Hector as his friend struggled to keep up, cursing occasionally. Drew rushed up to the fire.

  Rotting vegetable remnants and chewed bones were scattered across the flagstones. The platform was perhaps ten paces across, providing a modest – if cramped and filthy – living area. Torn pieces of paper littered the floor, too many to search through at that moment. Drew counted at least ten dirty blankets. Had that number of men been here? He looked up and about: three more tunnels headed in different directions. Which one to take? Where had they gone?

  The sound of booted footsteps coming down one of the tunnels caught Drew by surprise. They came fast, making no effort to hide their passage. Drew had to think quickly. He took his longsword and, laying it flat on the flags he pushed the remains of the fire into the water. The embers hissed and spat as they hit the gurgling sewage, plunging him into greater darkness. Directly above the tunnel junction was a drain-cover grille that let the sun’s rays cast dim blocks of daylight over the area. Drew shuffled towards the intersecting wooden walkways and stayed low to the ground, his longsword trailing behind him.

  ‘Burn the papers,’ said one voice, deep and gravelly. ‘You should have done that before we set off, fool!’

  ‘I thought you’d done it, captain’ replied another, lighter voice. ‘Let’s get a move on. Place gives me the creeps, what with his pets still down here. Want to catch up with the others. Lucky he didn’t slit us for this.’

  ‘Damn sight darker than when we left,’ said the gruff voice. ‘That’s all we need, the fire to have gone out. How do we burn these papers without a fire?’

  ‘That woman had better be worth this. If the Bear’s men find us we’ll be for the gallows.’

  The two men emerged from the tunnel opposite the one Drew had entered by. One was larger than the other, broad shouldered and hulking. The other was of a slighter build, a head shorter than his companion and half as wide. They were both clad in dirty black cloaks, providing them with near total camouflage in the sewers. But Drew was waiting for them, searching for their movement in the shadows. He didn’t want them dead – they had taken Gretchen. For that reason alone he kept the beast in check, kept the Wolf locked away. He knew what he was capable of, what strength he possessed when he was transformed. There would be no reasoning with these men if he faced them as the Werewolf – it would be kill or be killed, and that wouldn’t do. He needed these men alive, to question them. They were almost upon him before he jumped up from where he crouched.

  Drew’s fist flew straight into the chin of the smaller man, sending him crashing back on his heels, colliding with his companion who tottered into the guide rail that ran the length of the walkway. The rail splintered, cracking in two, as the big man struggled to steady himself. The wooden bridge rocked, unstable under the weight of the three combatants. Drew could feel the boards and planks groaning beneath him. He grabbed the smaller man by his cloak and tugged him back towards him, striking his face with his sword pommel. The crunching sound of his nose breaking was followed swiftly by a scream as Drew hurled him on to the stone platform and faced the big man alone.

  More splashes caught Drew’s attention. What was that? Was there someone in the water? A quick look over his shoulder through the dim light showed him the smaller man slumped on the ground, semi-conscious, as Hector appeared round the corner. He returned his attention to the bigger man who had now regained his balance.

  The man whipped a broadsword out from inside his cloak, launching himself towards Drew in a savage attack. Drew brought his longsword up, parrying three vicious blows in quick succession. Each time the thug raised his blade high over his head and threw all his weight behind the blow. Drew’s arms hummed with each clash of ringing steel as he was driven back.

  Drew allowed him to advance, drawing him on to the stone platform. The man followed, pressing home what he thought was his advantage. They passed the man’s companion who was slowly stumbling to his feet, his face dark with blood. Behind him Drew could make out Hector crashing about, trying to steer clear of the melee. In the dim light he could also see a shape clambering out of the water and on to the platform’s edge. He had to speed this fight to its end. He backed further towards the wall.

  ‘Who’s your friend?’ spat the man. ‘I’ll kill him next.’

  Drew let him talk, staring up at the ceiling as the man advanced. Sparks flew as the broadsword hit the low roof, the blade flying from the man’s grasp and clattering to the floor. Drew sprang forward, his sword slashing down across the man’s right leg. He went down hard, crunching into the ground with a wail of agony. Drew hurdled over the hamstrung villain, now out of action. He could see the smaller man staggering across the walkway.

  ‘Drew!’ screamed Hector.

  ‘He can’t harm you now,’ shouted Drew, closing on the smaller rogue.

  ‘Not him,’ yelled Hector. ‘That!’

  Drew looked back, his eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom. The large shape that had hauled itself out of the water was advancing towards Hector. It was around four feet long, hump-backed and stayed low to the ground. He could make out dark black hair covering it and a long tail trailed behind.

  ‘Protect yourself, Hector. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

  The smaller of the two black-cloaked men had unsheathed his own weapon now, a longsword, which he brought down repeatedly on the wooden bridge. Boards splintered as the sword hammered, the man backing away all the while, cutting off the route Drew might follow. The walkway was collapsing, tumbling into the brown, brackish water. More shapes moved within the sewage as the rotten timbers showered down, black creatures like the beast on the platform. Drew ran and leapt off the edge of the crumbling walkway towards him.

  The man was ready, bringing his sword around to deflect Drew and send him hurtling past. Drew’s momentum brought him crashing into the wall on the opposite bank of the platform, lights flashing before his eyes as he struggled to avoid falling into the river.

  ‘Sorin!’ shouted the big brute, clutching his leg. ‘Don’t leave me, you swine!’ But the cry fell on deaf ears. The smaller man was already moving, running while Drew was stunned. Drew caught sight of the fleeing Sorin being swallowed by the darkness, the sound of his footsteps soon fading.

  Drew straightened himself, ready to follow him before he got too far away. Hector’s scream stopped him dead. He looked across the tunnel.

  Three black shapes were now on the stone platform, two more of the creatures having joined the one that had advanced on the Boarlord. Hector had drawn his dagger, a jewel encrusted but impractical thing that he’d bought from a visiting eastern trader. Semi precious stones studded the handle, and he could feel each of those cheap jewels digging into his sweaty palm. Two of the creatures broke off, their heads low to the ground, and advanced on the big man where he lay bleeding. They snapped at one another, snarling and squealing as they closed in.

  ‘Get back, you monsters!’ screamed the man, clutching his injured leg with one hand while kicking out with the other. One of the creatures bit the boot of the wounded leg, tugging hard at it. The man yelled as its teeth bit down into his foot. Drew wavered, caught between chasing Sorin and aiding his friend. Another shout from Hector helped him make up his mind.

  The walkway was in fragments so Drew had to stand and jump towards the platform from the opposite bank. He bent his knees and launched himself, diving forward through the darkness as far as he co
uld. He hit sewage a few yards short of the flagged landing, the awful brown waters erupting around him. He struggled to surface, his sword lost with the impact. His legs struggled through the sewage, slurry churning up as he kicked for the surface. He gasped for air, choking as he dragged himself through the awful water, limbs colliding with foul floating objects. He felt something brush his leg as he got to the bank, where metal rungs rose up the platform wall. Pulling himself up he felt another movement beneath the surface as claws raked his legs. They dug in, gaining purchase and trying to drag him back under. Screaming with fury Drew continued to rise, the claws tearing furrows into his thigh as he dragged himself clear.

  Drew rolled on to the platform as one of the beasts surfaced in the sewage where he’d been seconds earlier. Large incisors like splintered yellow bones gnashed as it tried to follow him. Spluttering, Drew struggled to his feet. At the back of the alcove he could see Hector losing his battle with the beast on top of him, long tail whipping about as its jaws snapped at his face. Drew leapt over, his hands grabbing the beast’s back and throwing it off his friend. The animal bounced along the flags before rolling and coming up on to its feet once more.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Drew, as Hector backed against the wall. His friend’s face was scratched and bleeding, but the wounds looked superficial. The gaudy dagger was still in his hand, slick with dark blood.

  ‘I am now,’ his friend smiled bravely. ‘Behind you!’

  Drew turned quickly, guarding the stricken young magister and meeting the beast head on as it charged. It caught him in the chest with its full weight, sending him crashing to the ground. Up close he was left in no doubt about what he faced.

  The rat was the size of a mastiff, the kind northmen used to hunt bears and wolves. Its rheumy pink eyes glistened, and it seemed maddened as it bit and clawed. Drew held it round the throat, keeping its jaws from his face as it snarled and spat. The rat’s forelimbs clawed at his arms, tearing the flesh and causing him to cry out in pain. The beast brought its rear limbs up towards Drew’s belly, kicking and raking at his exposed stomach. His hopes of capturing either of the men alive were fading fast, especially with the odds stacked against him as they were. No, thought Drew. This wasn’t a fair fight at all.

  The Wolf needed no prompting. As his body was battered by the rat he let the beast in, his eyes fluttering as his body began to change. His arms remained locked, holding the rat at bay, but he felt the limbs bulging and contorting, his hands elongating into claws. The rat began to find the youth’s stomach impregnable, as his torso was transformed into the muscular body of the Werewolf. Drew could feel the bones beneath his skin growing and morphing, his jaws cracking and dislocating as they became a canine muzzle. The pain wasn’t nearly as great as it used to be. Manfred’s lessons had taught him not just to channel his lycanthropy but to speed it along painlessly. In moments he was transformed.

  The rat had continued to fight and attack, seemingly oblivious to the shape-shifting until it was too late. It began to struggle to break free, Drew no longer holding it back by the throat but squeezing it. It yelped as Drew roared, tightening his fists. The rat’s squeal was cut short as Drew closed its throat in his grasp, shaking it until the light went out of its eyes.

  Tossing it aside, Drew found he was now facing two more of the beasts. The one that had attacked him in the sewer river was now on the platform, shaking the slurry from its coat as a dog might dry itself. One of the rats that had advanced on the injured thug had turned its attention to Drew, intrigued by the arrival of the Werewolf. Both were larger than the rat that had attacked Hector. Once more he could hear splashing in the sewage – more of the monsters?

  This was the work of Vankaskan, without a shadow of doubt. These were the pets the two villains had mentioned, the Wererat’s guard dogs. He could see that the silhouette of the big man on the floor had stopped struggling. A rat sat on top of his body, gnawing and tearing at him, its face obscured by shadow as it buried its head in his chest. Smaller rats gathered, scuttling out of the shadows to see what scraps they could get. The other two giant rats hissed at one another, poised to leap at Drew. He had to stay alert, give them his full attention. Things could get messy very quickly.

  ‘Hector,’ he growled. ‘Get out. Quick.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Hector, starting to edge towards the pathway out of the sewer.

  ‘Holding them back,’ barked Drew. Hector was great at many things, but shape-shifting wasn’t one of them. As long as he remained in the sewer he was in mortal danger. ‘Buying you time. Go!’

  One of the rats leapt. Drew backhanded it with his forearm, cracking it across the face. It bounced into the wall as its brother darted in, jaws snapping round Drew’s ankle. He clawed at it, its oily fur slipping through his grasp. It wriggled one way and the other, twisting Drew around and almost dragging him to the ground. He felt a powerful blow to his back as the other rat landed on him, its jaws clamping on to his shoulder blade. He let out a howl of pain, raising one hand to try to grab the beast. With one on his back and one tearing at his leg, Drew was outnumbered and losing the fight.

  Hector was gone, retreating swiftly along the tunnel ledge towards the ladders. Another shape surfaced from the water. Drew had to finish this before he was overwhelmed. Rushing backwards he drove his shoulders into the wall, grinding back against the brickwork, trapping the rat behind him. It released its jaws from his neck and shoulders, wailing as its bones shattered with the impact. When he felt its head fall limp he staggered forward, reaching down to the one on his leg. As it tried to manoeuvre away from his grasp, he brought his free knee down, pinning it in one place. He moved his hands fast, grabbing it by its jaws and prising them apart. Its jaws full of filthy teeth, sharp as daggers, slashed from side to side, but Drew was stronger. With a mighty heave he pulled his arms in opposite directions, breaking the jaws of the rat and it dropped, lifeless.

  He could hear shouting now from where he’d entered. Torchlight began to flicker along the tunnel walls. Drew could hear men calling his name; the City Watch were coming. Hearing the commotion the rats began to disperse. The giant rat in the water went under once more, disappearing from view. One monster remained, crouching over the dead man’s body, snarling, guarding its prize. Drew advanced a couple of steps, towering over it and growling back. The rat backed off, recognizing a deadly opponent. Shuffling over the platform it splashed into the sewer, its tail scything through the water behind it as it swam away.

  ‘My lord,’ came the cries as the men neared, the clanging of swords and armour echoing down the tunnel. An exhausted Drew dropped to his knees beside the disfigured body of the dead kidnapper, letting the Wolf slip away and the young man come back to the fore. By the time the soldiers had begun to gather round him he was back to his normal self, albeit torn and tattered. He stared at the dead man, his face lit by torchlight, recognizing the black beard streaked with grey.

  ‘Brutus.’

  Captain Brutus had been a member of the Lionguard, one of King Leopold’s most trusted soldiers. It was Brutus who had stormed into Redmire, slaughtering Hector’s father. The captain had also taken great delight in torturing Drew when he’d first arrived in Highcliff; the scars on his back from the silver whip were testament to that.

  Drew leafed through the few remaining pieces of paper, the majority of them were lost forever in the water. There was nothing here. Then remembering the City Watch he pointed ahead.

  ‘That way,’ he managed, chest heaving. ‘Make haste: they can’t have gone far.’

  The men set off, struggling along, the broken walkways slowing their progress dramatically. One soldier remained with Drew, helping him to his feet. Drew couldn’t get the vision of the murdered Manfred and Kohl out of his head. He’d been the duke’s shadow for the last four weeks, Manfred constantly at his side throughout each day, as a teacher and a friend.

  ‘Oh Manfred, my dear friend,’ he said to himself mournfully. ‘Please don’t
let Gretchen face your fate.’

  ‘The duke?’ said the soldier. ‘I’m sorry, my lord, but you mentioned the Staglord?’

  ‘Yes. He lies dead and there was nothing I could do.’

  ‘My lord, that’s not the case,’ said the soldier. ‘Duke Manfred lives!’

  4

  The Staglord’s Vengeance

  Earl Mikkel’s fist pounded the table, almost splitting the top in two. Drew remained silent, watching as the Wolf’s Council dissected the day’s events.

  ‘I’m going after them!’ Mikkel shouted furiously. ‘I’ll gore that Rat in two!’

  Drew could see the Staglord’s features twisting as he tried to keep the beast in check. The beginnings of his antlers had emerged from his hairline, brown spikes transforming him into a horned demon. His face was drawn, veins pulsing and eyes bulging as his broad nose snorted with disgust.

  ‘Please, Mikkel, calm yourself,’ implored Duke Bergan.

  ‘We should be searching for them!’

  ‘The scouts are searching for them, but the sewers are a labyrinth. They could be anywhere, within or outside the city. At least three of those old sewers come out in Highcliff. We’ll have them blocked up by tomorrow, ensuring they’re impassable.’

  Count Vega, serious for once, nodded in approval.

  ‘No sign of them in the harbour,’ said the Sealord. ‘My agents are aware who they’re looking for. There hasn’t been a sniff of a sighting.’

  ‘I should be helping,’ grumbled Mikkel, grinding his knuckles.

  ‘You are helping,’ said Lord Broghan, who stood beside his father. ‘Your presence here is essential as we decide what to do.’

  ‘And what are we going to do exactly? My uncle, Magister Kohl, lies dead while my brother fights for his life. By rights I should take an army and march on Vermire. That’s where he’s taken her, mark my words!’

  Drew had heard enough about Vermire to know that he never wanted to visit it. A city port of murderers and pirates, it had enjoyed great business during Leopold’s reign, the ships that sailed from the city stealing on the Lion’s behalf. But if Vankaskan had taken Gretchen there then that was where Drew was heading.