Rage of Lions

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘That’s right,’ called Vincent, the rattling laughter of Ringlin and Ibal chasing Hector out into the night. ‘Run along, little lordling. You’ve lots to do! Busy work this abdication business!’

  4

  By Royal Command

  Despite the gloom of the caravan’s interior, the dark stain on the floorboard was still visible. Lucas’s men had made no attempt to clean up the murder scene, leaving the blood there as a chilling reminder of what they were capable of. A bunkbed was the only comfort, every inch of space having once been packed with goods for market. These now lay in some ditch off the Talstaff Road, alongside the bodies of the merchant and his guards. It was sickening to imagine the boggy trench as the last resting place of those poor souls, whose only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stripped bare, the caravan was little more than a mobile jail cell, its prisoner the Fox of Hedgemoor.

  Gretchen grimaced, looking away from the grisly stain and peering through the window grille in the rear door. She could see the road, the horizon bouncing as the caravan sped along. It was growing lighter now, their journey through the night surely ending soon. She could hear the morning chorus over the sound of the horses and wheels, birds chirping as they announced their passing. Occasionally the groans of the injured soldier on top of the caravan could be heard, but they fell on deaf ears – his companions showed no sympathy. Gretchen was finding the whole grim experience disorientating. To be abducted and imprisoned was one thing, but sleeping in the day and travelling at night was a world away from what she was used to. She hadn’t wasted today, though. Far from it; she’d been busy.

  The nails on her hand were still cracked and broken, but the slashed fingertips were well on their way to healing. She thanked her therian powers of recuperation. In the past she’d have quit anything that caused her pain. In the last two months, though, she’d discovered a resolve she’d never realized she had. Drew had inspired this. She smiled, thinking of the young Werewolf. Where was he? Did he know she lived?

  Vankaskan had procured the caravan earlier in the night, not long after setting off, when he came across a campsite the poor merchant had set up. He and his two men-at-arms had welcomed the Werelords’ party, but regretted it immediately. The merchant’s guards had tumbled to the floor with crossbow bolts skewering their bodies, while the Wererat had gone after the merchant as he’d scrambled into his caravan. The poor fellow had managed to fire a crossbow at one of the prince’s men, injuring him gravely, but it hadn’t prevented his slaughter at the hands of the Rat. The soldiers had stripped the wagon, dumping the bodies in the ditch and killing the campfire. By the time they’d departed any passers-by would have been unaware of the horrific events.

  She felt inside the rim of her boot. Her sore fingers brushed against the head of the six-inch rusty spike. It had been jutting out of the wall, worked proud when the van was ransacked. The broad head with its sharp edges had been the point of purchase for Gretchen to seize it by. Once left alone she’d spent the night coaxing it free, working at it with tattered fingers. Finally the spike slid free into her bloody palm, a grim reward for her night’s work. Only one question remained. Was she prepared to use it?

  ‘Good morning, my angel!’

  She spun about. Prince Lucas’s head hung upside down from a hatch in the roof. He was smiling broadly, blond locks tumbling around his face. He manoeuvred round the opening, grabbing its edge and falling head first, graceful as an acrobat, into the caravan. He steadied himself upon landing.

  Lucas sat down upon the bunk, patting the mattress, gesturing her to join him.

  ‘If it’s all right I’d rather stand.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ laughed Lucas. His gaze hardened. ‘Sit down, I insist.’

  Reluctantly she joined him, smoothing her dress over her lap. She’d been using her red cloak as a blanket, but now she wrapped it about her body modestly. She was still wearing the low-cut white summer dress from Highcliff and she didn’t want to encourage the young Lion. When all was said and done she was a girl in the company of killers. Although she wanted to keep Lucas at arm’s length, her safety also depended upon him.

  ‘Your mood seems pleasant.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ he said, placing an arm round her. She shivered at his touch as he continued.

  ‘Reunited with my intended and heading towards freedom. Why shouldn’t I be happy?’

  ‘Does the fact that innocent men lie dead, at both your hand and command, not concern you?’

  ‘I don’t know about innocent! That fool Kohl worked for those pigs in Traitors’ House, an apt name if ever there was one. I’ll lose no sleep over his demise.’

  ‘He was an old man!’

  ‘He was an old traitor. He sided with the Wolf, that makes him an enemy to us all – to you, to me, to my father the king.’

  ‘And the others?’ she said, struggling to keep her composure. ‘The merchant? Your Rat killed him and his men, Lucas.’ She pointed at the floor. ‘That’s where he died. See how his blood still marks the wood?’

  Lucas wouldn’t look, instead taking her trembling hand in his.

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that. I didn’t witness the poor fellow’s death – I was keeping you company on the road if you remember? I can only imagine that the hapless chap did something foolish to provoke my loyal Lionguard. The last person one would want to enrage is my old friend Vankaskan, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Lucas didn’t lie. He’d been on the horse beside her when the camp was attacked, while Vankaskan led the assault. But the notion that three men might make a stand against ten was preposterous. She thought better of telling him so, choosing silence instead. She had to pick her battles with the prince.

  ‘You seem anxious, my love,’ he said, stroking her hand. Her skin crawled, but she didn’t pull away. Offending Lucas was not something she wanted to do.

  ‘Don’t worry, my sweet,’ he went on. ‘No harm shall come your way. You have to understand, these men would give their lives for you and me. They are loyal soldiers of the Lionguard, forever oath-bound to my father. Trust me. Once we’re south we’ll have nothing more to worry about.’

  He kissed her cheek, his lips lingering for a moment too long. She felt his breath against her skin as he inhaled, taking in her scent. She shuddered, her body unable to suppress her fear.

  ‘I see you need your rest, Gretchen,’ he said. ‘We’ll stop soon, and then perhaps we can stretch our legs, away from the men. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

  She looked hard at him. He smiled at her earnestly. Lovingly. She couldn’t quite fathom how damaged he was and could hold her tongue no longer.

  ‘After all that’s gone on, you continue this courtship as if it were the most normal thing in the world, surrounded by cut-throats! These “loyal king’s men” you speak of – each one is a villain! And you trust them? You’re as mad as they are!’

  The back of his hand struck her across the cheek. She crumpled against the mattress, the blow taking her by surprise. She’d never been hit before. He stood, his balance assured as the caravan bounced, his hand curled into a fist. She whipped out the spike of metal, raising it before her defensively.

  ‘How dare you!’ he roared, face red and eyes bulging. ‘You dare question my sanity? I’m the only sane one in this world of cowards and turncoats! And what do you intend to do with that scrap of metal? I hope it’s silver, for your sake!’

  ‘There are other ways in which a Werelord can be harmed, Lucas!’

  She snarled, baring her teeth as her face took on the aspects of the Fox. Her cheekbones hollowed as her features sharpened, her mouth, jaw and ears beginning to shift and stretch, the pain unbearable. Still she let the beast in, feeling strong now, energized.

  Lucas staggered back as the Werefox transformed. This was new to him, something he hadn’t expected from Gretchen. He looked shocked and shaken by her change. Could she actually fight him, transformed?

  Lucas began to grow, his
shoulders broadening and straining under his shirt. His head filled out, blond hair beginning to break through the skin of his jutting jaw. His breathing changed, sounding like there were suddenly too many teeth in his mouth, heavy and sharp, grating against one another.

  The Werefox let out a sharp bark, a reminder to the Werelion that she had a bite of her own. He bellowed back, the air thick with spittle as he unleashed a mighty roar in her face. She cried out, her morale broken, fear hitting her like an avalanche as the Fox swiftly faded. She dropped the spike on the floor where it clattered at Lucas’s feet.

  ‘Silence!’ he shouted. He pointed a clawed finger at her. ‘Never question me again! I’ll let that go just this once. Know your place, Gretchen; by my side.’

  He shrank, and as quickly as the Lion had come it departed. He ran his now human hand through his hair as he calmed himself. Suddenly he was the precocious young prince again. He bent and picked up the spike.

  A noise at the hatch made them both look up. A dark shape appeared, dropping in and crunching into the wall as the caravan bounced along. Vankaskan’s wretched face appeared from within his cowled cloak.

  ‘Apologies for the intrusion, but I heard screaming,’ said the Ratlord. ‘It would be most ignoble of me not to investigate. Is everything all right?’

  Gretchen turned away. She found the man revolting. His greasy black hair hung in unwashed ringlets about his face, further emphasizing the white of his skull-like face. She especially disliked the way he always looked at her, as if she were a tasty piece of meat he might take a bite out of.

  ‘It was nothing,’ said Lucas, still glowering at Gretchen. He handed the spike to the Wererat. ‘Gretchen chose some inappropriate words. All is well now,’ he said, smiling as if they’d had a lovers’ tiff.

  ‘You know,’ said the Wererat, making no attempt to quieten his voice. ‘If the lady is unwell I have medicines I’d be happy to prescribe to make her more … comfortable.’

  Gretchen turned quickly.

  ‘Lay a hand on me and I’ll tear out your throat with my bare hands!’

  Vankaskan laughed, a sinister noise that ended in a coughing fit. His eyes bulged, as if her words were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

  ‘My dear lady, I’m nothing if not your humble servant. Please, accept my apology if my words offended you. Know I’m here, if you need me.’

  Vankaskan patted Lucas on the shoulder.

  ‘Your Highness,’ he said. ‘I’ll head up top if you have everything in hand. If you’d like to join me, that would be splendid. I would talk with you.’

  Lucas nodded as the Rat climbed back out of the hatch. Gretchen’s heart thundered like a galloping horse, her throat sore from screaming.

  ‘Let’s stay civil for the remainder of our journey, my love,’ Lucas said. ‘Remain calm, or we’ll end with worse than tears.’ He stroked her face, brushing a tear away. ‘Yes?’

  She nodded, flinching at his touch. The prince hauled himself out of the caravan, leaving the Fox of Hedgemoor alone on her bunk.

  Slamming the hatch, Lucas slid the spear through the handle, locking it shut. Staying low he clambered over the roof, past the injured soldier, Bussnell, towards the driver’s seat. The soldier banged his bald head on the caravan, cursing through his bloodied throat. Lucas ignored him, rejoining his friends at the front.

  Captain Colbard, a hulking northman with a colourful past, sat at the reins. A Badlands bandit in his youth, he’d taken the king’s coin instead of a walk to the gallows, making a name for himself on the battlefield. When Vankaskan recruited Lucas’s personal guard, Colbard had been the first appointment. There was little the brute couldn’t bring down with his axe. Since Captain Brutus was now dead, Colbard was his natural replacement. The northman glanced briefly at his prince before looking back to the road.

  Vankaskan was seated beside the captain, moving up as Lucas joined him. The prince tossed the Wererat the rusty spike before collapsing into the seat. He rubbed the back of his hand where he’d struck Gretchen.

  ‘She’s got claws, that one,’ said the Ratlord, playing with the piece of metal in his hand.

  ‘That’s exactly why she must be my bride,’ muttered Lucas. ‘I need a strong woman to raise my heirs, not some shrinking mouse. Spirit like hers is rare among Wereladies. She’s perfect.’

  ‘Perfect or not, be careful. Don’t let your guard down with her.’

  ‘She wouldn’t dare disobey me. I am still the son of the king, and she has been raised to respect her betters.’

  ‘I’m just saying,’ said Vankaskan. ‘I have my medical case.’ He patted the black leather bag at his feet.

  ‘Medical case?’ laughed Lucas. ‘It holds your tools, does it not? I thought the fat pigboy took your medicines?’

  Vankaskan sneered, spitting into the wind in disgust. The phlegm spun back, spattering Colbard’s shoulder. The captain didn’t react.

  ‘I’ll enjoy gutting that wretch when the time comes,’ Vankaskan snarled. ‘No, it’s a medical case. Any good surgeon needs drugs as well as tools. I’ve all kinds of medicines in this box of tricks.’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that,’ said Lucas, as the injured Bussnell moaned behind them. ‘Isn’t there anything you can give him?’

  ‘That one’s a clot,’ said Vankaskan, clearly in earshot of the wounded soldier. ‘I’m not wasting anything on him. He’s more hindrance than help.’

  Bussnell was one of the more hapless soldiers of Lucas’s Lionguard, injuries frequently finding him. He had taken the merchant’s crossbow bolt in the throat, and the group had endured his wails throughout the night as they travelled. He was in a bad way.

  Lucas cast his eyes over the soldiers who galloped along on either side of the caravan.

  ‘Is Sorin back? He’s done well to catch us up.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to discuss,’ said Vankaskan. ‘He waited for a few hours as ordered, and it appears I was correct. He counted two riders coming south, down the road. They wore the Greencloaks of Brackenholme; scouts without a doubt. They even found our campsite. I imagine a larger force follows behind.’

  ‘Then it’s fortuitous that we found this caravan. Gretchen was dragging her heels – if we’d continued letting her dictate our speed of travel they might have caught us by now. Good work, Vankaskan.’

  The Ratlord smiled, staring down the Talstaff Road, deep in thought.

  ‘Sorin must be ravenous if he rode all night to catch up. Give him extra rations when we stop to camp,’ said Lucas.

  ‘He’s earned it,’ said Vankaskan. ‘Perhaps we should leave something for the Bear’s scouts to stumble across. A reminder of who they hunt.’

  Lucas looked puzzled as Vankaskan climbed back on to the roof of the caravan. He heard Bussnell cry out for the Wererat’s help as the Lord of Vermire crawled over him. When Lucas spied Vankaskan raising the rusty spike over his head, he turned his eyes back to the road. The Prince of Westland concentrated on the clattering hooves of the horses, allowing them to drown out the cries of the dying man.

  ‘I’m glad he likes me,’ muttered Colbard, cracking the reins.

  Lucas shivered, and nodded.

  5

  Shelter from the Storm

  The storm pursued the two riders as they travelled along the Talstaff Road. A cloudburst had struck as they packed up camp that morning, prompting them to set off more quickly than they’d planned. They were moving while it was still dark, but Drew was relieved to be back on the road. Now, a few hours later, Whitley drew them off the road, having seen something that caused alarm. One crow taking flight from a ditch might have gone unnoticed, but when a dozen took to the air it caught the scout’s attention.

  The crows were feasting on three fresh corpses. One of them lay on his back, his face already stripped by the carrion birds. His companions lay face down in the stagnant water. The back of one had been pierced by crossbow bolts while the torso of the third was covered in savage cuts. He wore the c
lothes of a merchant, now daubed with mud and blood. Further inspection of the camp revealed abandoned goods crates, while caravan wheels had rutted the earth leading back to the road, heading south. It took Drew little time to determine what had happened.

  ‘This is Lucas and Vankaskan’s doing.’

  ‘How can you know that?’ asked Whitley, gagging at the sight of the fresh corpses.

  ‘No self-respecting bandits would leave behind the spoils of their attack like that. Whoever attacked these men wanted the wagon, by the look of things. And they didn’t mind killing to get it.’

  Whitley nodded in agreement, turning Chancer away from the bodies as Drew’s horse followed.

  ‘Let’s keep moving,’ she said, ‘before these cursed rain clouds wash away all trace of their passing.’

  The downpour was unrelenting, the weather keeping most travellers off the road. The horses picked up their pace, both riders pushing their mounts as they tried to close on their quarry. Lucas and Vankaskan might have a wagon, but nothing could compete with the speed of a light horse on the open road. They stopped briefly in the afternoon where the Talstaff Road was intersected by a flooded ford, the fresh water from the Kinmoors refreshing their thirsty mounts. Drew and Whitley crouched to fill their waterskins, the rain still hammering down on to the hoods of their green riding cloaks.

  ‘It might have been easier to chase them by boat,’ muttered Drew. ‘I’ve never seen so much rain.’

  ‘I’ll try to get a fire going tonight,’ said Whitley. ‘See if we can dry our clothes off.’

  ‘I wasn’t complaining. I’ll happily take all the rain, floods and bad weather Lyssia can throw at me if it means getting out of the city.’