Rage of Lions

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘Stay out of this, sister,’ snapped the young Bearlord. ‘Do you not know right from wrong? You’re as irresponsible as Drew, assisting him on this foolish errand. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how disappointed Father is in you.’

  At this, Whitley rose to her feet. Captain Harker, who had remained silent throughout the heated discussion, stood respectfully as the Werelady rose.

  ‘I’m sure our father is very proud of you, Broghan,’ she shot back. ‘Loud, argumentative, opinionated; you sound more and more like him each day.’

  With that, she stormed away from the campfire. Broghan sat there, his face turning purple. Harker sat down again, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire so as not to further enrage his liege lord. Drew simply stared at the Bearlord.

  ‘Nothing is ever black and white, Broghan,’ said Drew, standing and stretching with a sigh. ‘You need to start seeing all the shades of grey.’

  With that he walked after Whitley, leaving the Lord of Brackenholme to glower into the flames.

  He found her perched on a low outcrop of rock to the east of the encampment, overlooking the vast Longridings ahead of them. Small fires twinkled in the grasslands, as other travellers settled down for the night. To the north they could just make out the dark expanse of the Dyrewood as far as the eye could see. Somewhere to the south lay Cape Gala, the city of the Horselords. They’d be there tomorrow. Drew still hoped they’d find Gretchen there, but was all too aware that their chances were slim.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  Whitley smiled, pulling her knees up to her chest and folding her arms over them.

  ‘You grew tired of the conversation with my brother, too?’

  Drew sat beside her, his legs hanging over the rock ledge.

  ‘He’s unrelenting when he gets a thought in his head. He just won’t let it go, will he?’ said Drew.

  He pointed towards the fires in the dark.

  ‘Horselords?’

  ‘I doubt it. The Horselords tend to live in the cities and towns of the Longridings now. There was a time when they lived in the fields with their people, but that was long ago. It’s more likely they’re peasant camps. Possibly even Romari.’

  ‘Romari?’

  ‘Oh, you’d like the Romari, Drew. They’re always on the move. Like you,’ she added, digging him in the ribs.

  He smiled.

  ‘On the move?’

  ‘They’re a travelling people, an ancient culture. They passed through Brackenholme occasionally, trading their goods, never staying long. That’s not the half of it, though.’ She leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially.

  ‘They worship the Wolf!’

  Drew was taken aback.

  ‘There’s a whole society of people out there who worship me?’

  Whitley laughed.

  ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, farm boy. The Wolf is a holy symbol to them; they hold the beast in high regard. It’s a leap to believe that they’d treat you like some kind of living god!’

  ‘Just as well,’ sighed Drew comically. ‘I’ve enough on my plate without worrying about being worshipped.’

  The two were silent as they watched the night sky, the moon slipping in and out of the clouds above them.

  ‘He’s right though, isn’t he?’ said Whitley suddenly.

  ‘Who’s right?’

  ‘Broghan. What we did was thoughtless.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It was foolish to run after Gretchen the way we did. We were ill prepared for what lay ahead. Horses, trail rations and riding cloaks; that’s all we took with us. That and a noble cause.’

  ‘So a noble cause is a bad thing, all of a sudden?’

  ‘Not a bad thing, but a folly if it gets us killed, Drew, and it nearly did. The encounter with that Lionguard corpse, the bad business in Haggard; if the dice had landed any other way we might both be dead. We’re lucky to be here, both of us.’

  ‘I believe we make our own luck, Whitley. I knew it was going to be dangerous, and I warned you about that. You didn’t need to accompany me all this way. You could have turned back any time you liked.’

  ‘You’d have got lost.’

  ‘I’d have stayed on the Talstaff Road. I’d have been fine.’

  Whitley looked annoyed.

  ‘So you’re saying I should have stayed in Highcliff? That I’ve been a hindrance?’

  ‘Brenn, no!’ gasped Drew, uncomfortable with the conversation’s change of direction. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. If you hadn’t freed me from that jail beneath Haggard I’d be on Kesslar’s slave ship by now.’

  Whitley sighed long and hard, lowering her chin on to her knees.

  ‘Yes, but if I hadn’t been injured in the first place, we wouldn’t have ended up in Haggard at all.’

  Drew put an arm round her.

  ‘But we were able to free all those poor people. Look at the good we did in Haggard – don’t you think it was worth it?’

  ‘But it further delayed our pursuit of Gretchen and her kidnappers.’

  Drew shook his head and gave a bitter laugh.

  ‘We could sit here all night, contemplating the “what ifs” and “ maybes”. No good crying over spilled milk; that’s what my ma used to say. We have to deal with each new day as we find it, Whitley, and not worry about the last.’

  She leaned in to him, letting her head fall against his chest. Drew didn’t move, keeping his arm round her shoulder.

  ‘You’re a good friend, Drew. I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘Miss me?’

  ‘You’re not coming back, are you?’

  Drew was shocked into silence, thinking about how he could reply. He floundered for an answer.

  ‘I knew it,’ she whispered. ‘You’re a lousy liar, Drew of the Dyrewood.’

  ‘I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. All I’m concentrating on is Gretchen and getting her back from Lucas and his men. Beyond that, if we succeed, who knows? But Highcliff – they don’t really need me, Whitley. Your father would be better as king. Even Broghan, for that matter.’

  ‘By right the throne of Westland is yours. You should take the crown.’

  ‘It would never sit easy on this farm boy’s head. Please, Whitley; tell Broghan nothing of my intentions.’

  ‘You can’t keep running, Drew,’ she said. ‘You can’t escape what you are. No matter how far you run, your destiny will catch up with you.’

  The two fell silent. Perhaps Whitley is right, thought Drew. Perhaps this is our last night together. They’d be in Cape Gala tomorrow. One way or another, the chase was over for them. It was clear that Broghan intended to escort Drew back to Highcliff once their business in the city of the Horselords was concluded. Drew didn’t intend to give him the opportunity, and Whitley knew that. The only decision Drew had to make was whether he’d be jumping on a ship and sailing to Bast to rescue Gretchen, if indeed that was where Lucas had taken her, or disappear once again into the wilds of Lyssia.

  As if sensing what he was thinking, Whitley stirred against his chest, sitting upright. He looked into her eyes. He’d first met her in the Dyrewood months ago, mistaking her for a boy as she’d scouted for a monster with her master, Hogan. Drew had been the monster. They’d come a long way since then, as a whole world of friends and enemies, Werelords and royal conspiracies had opened up for Drew. Whitley had been there at the beginning of his new life. Now he might be leaving her, forever. Is this the last I’ll see of her?

  ‘Be careful, Drew, whichever path you choose.’

  Drew’s stomach knotted. He couldn’t be sure whether it was a trick of the light, the night casting shadows over her face, but her eyes had never looked deeper, darker. How did I ever mistake her for a boy?

  Whitley leaned in suddenly, about to rise, but Drew misread the movement. He dipped his head, heart racing, and kissed her on the lips. She pulled back immediately, eyes wider than ever, shock writ large across her face
.

  ‘I’m sorry …’ he spluttered, suddenly aware of his blunder. His cheeks shot crimson instantly, and he felt a sickness rise like a tidal wave. Fool!

  Whitley backed away, tugging her cloak round her as she struggled to her feet, legs unsteady. Her face was pale, her eyes looking anywhere but at Drew. He began to get up, but she raised a hand to halt him.

  ‘No, please. Please. Stay there. It’s best …’ she said. She seemed to consider saying something else before changing her mind, drawing her hood about her face and turning quickly to head back to camp. Drew sat there watching her go, feeling his friendship with Lady Whitley crumbling to ashes around him. She was just getting up, not wanting to steal a kiss! What have you done?

  He looked up at the moon, almost full, overhead. He felt a growl in the pit of his chest, a reminder of what simmered beneath the surface. He glanced over his shoulder at his departing friend. He wanted to call out but only a whisper escaped.

  ‘Goodbye.’

  2

  Cape Gala

  Drew stared down the Talstaff Road, the ancient lane winding through the Longridings to Cape Gala ahead. The scale of the merchant city took his breath away. Piers and wharves thrust into the sea, homes, towers and warehouses occupying them. Some stretched hundreds of yards into the shimmering water, with smaller walkways and jetties running off them. The city appeared built upon stilts thanks to traders and sea captains who jostled for the best positions along the waterfront, pushing it further into the Lyssian Straits. At the city’s centre, beyond its looping palisade wall, Drew could see a gaggle of taller buildings, including High Stable, the citadel which he’d been informed was the seat of power for the Longridings.

  Although the road ahead appeared empty, the same could not be said of the road behind. Drew looked back towards his travelling companions. A line of Greencloaks trailed, accompanied by a handful of soldiers from Haggard. Baron Ewan rode alongside Lord Broghan, deep in conversation, while Whitley rode directly behind them on Chancer, her eyes fixed on the horse’s mane.

  Not a word had passed between the two friends since their encounter the previous evening. Any hope Drew held that they might be able to act as if nothing had happened soon vanished, as Whitley did her best to avoid him while the party breakfasted. Since they’d been on the road she’d ensured that she travelled behind her brother, putting as much distance between herself and Drew as possible. She looked up suddenly, catching sight of him. Drew looked back to the road, too embarrassed to hold the girl’s gaze.

  The Longridings were quiet. Cape Gala, though splendid at first glance, looked sombre to Drew, as if storm clouds rolled in from the sea. The seasons were turning, summer giving way to autumn already, the tall grasses now yellow and dry. Was it really autumn again? Had it been a year since he’d fled the Ferran farmstead? He felt the stubble on his jaw. He was a boy no more.

  A rider trotted up alongside him. It was his old friend Captain Harker, commander of the Woodland Watch and Duke Bergan’s most trusted soldier.

  ‘He’s worried,’ said the soldier as he pulled alongside Drew.

  ‘Broghan? So would I be, turning up unannounced with a small army.’

  ‘We’re hardly an army. We’re rangers first and foremost, guardians of the forest and the road.’

  ‘Well armed and expertly trained fighters, though.’

  Harker looked surprised.

  ‘Not shy about speaking your mind any more, are you Drew? I remember the wild lad we encountered on the Dymling Road not so many moons ago.’

  Harker was one of the first people Drew had met, along with Whitley and Hogan, after living wild in the Dyrewood. There was a connection between them that went beyond their social standing.

  ‘As you say, that was a long time ago, and I’m only stating the facts. You turn up in Cape Gala with a small force like this and you’ll put noses out of joint, as I understand the Longridings haven’t said one way or the other whether they approve of Leopold being deposed, or a Wolf taking the throne. We could be walking into trouble.’

  ‘Chances are Lucas has already fled to Bast, taking Lady Gretchen with him. I know you’ve come all this way to rescue her, but sometimes the best intentions count for nought. The most I hope for is that the Horselords can tell us when they left and which port in Bast they sailed to.’

  ‘You really think they’ve gone?’

  The captain shrugged, sympathetically.

  ‘They must be a week ahead of you with all your diversions and distractions.’

  ‘Still, I’ve a bad feeling in my bones. Why haven’t they sent anyone out to escort us? That’s what they do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Drew. Broghan knows what he’s doing. I’d follow him into the heart of Omir; he’s not daft.’

  ‘I never said he was daft. Overconfident though, that’s another thing. This feels like walking into a trap.’

  ‘You worry too much,’ said Harker, patting Drew’s shoulder. ‘Try to relax. The Horselords are a welcoming bunch. I promise.’

  Drew hunkered down in his saddle, his nerves on edge. By the time he’d caught sight of the first ramshackle huts that surrounded the city, it was too late to turn back; the Horselords knew they were coming.

  The citadel of High Stable was the tallest building in Cape Gala. Most of the city’s buildings were of wooden construction, whereas this stocky tower was built on firmer footing – stone transported from the Barebones centuries ago. Its colour alone made it stand out from all the rest, cold and grey against the weatherworn timber surrounding it. Merchants’ towers crowded round it, brazen in their show of wealth. Gold and bronze, the colours and currency of the Longridings, were on show for all to see, a world away from the makeshift homes that huddled outside the city walls.

  Drew had counted hundreds of huts beyond the palisade, where the homeless of the Longridings had set up house. The gate guards had demanded they wait while an escort from High Stable rode them in. By the time the escort arrived the Greencloaks had been surrounded by a mob of hungry peasants. Drew had given the remains of his provisions to the crowd and was instantly scolded by the guards for almost inciting a riot.

  It was late afternoon when they dismounted in the gravelled courtyard that circled the citadel, their mounts led away by the Horselords’ staff. If a horse required care, Cape Gala was the place to be. The party handed over their arms, each man passing his bow, sword and dagger to bronze-armoured soldiers. Drew was the last to hand over his Wolfshead blade, taking a moment to wrap the pommel in rags before relinquishing it. Four guards transported the weapons in chests to an exterior building, where they would be kept until leaving High Stable.

  Satisfied their rides and weapons were in safe hands, Broghan nodded to a handful of them: Ewan, Drew, Whitley, Harker and a couple of Greencloaks. The seven continued on, unarmed, into the citadel, while the rest gathered outside. Drew kept his left hand, which bore Wergar’s ring, hidden within his cloak. He remained at the rear, head bowed and hood half-raised. Whitley did likewise, the two of them remaining anonymous like regular scouts of the Woodland Watch. She wore her hair tied up and braided, just as she had when the two had first met in the Dyrewood. The group strode up a sweeping set of stone steps towards an open portcullis. Tall white wooden doors stood open on either side, guards standing to attention between them. Drew couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. He watched the bronze-plated guards as they walked by, full helms obscuring most of their faces, although their eyes watched the visitors intently. Drew recognized the look: fear.

  A series of staircases carried them up four or five floors of the grey tower to the court itself. Staff stopped to stare, similar looks of concern gracing their faces as the party entered the most sacred chamber of the Horselords.

  The courtroom was a sprawling affair, a mixture of rising and sinking steps on many levels interspersed with cold columns of rock. Twenty nobles stood or sat around the circular hall, the chamber built for debate, no point more
prominent than another. All were supposedly equal in the court of High Stable.

  ‘Welcome to our court,’ boomed a rumbling voice, ‘Broghan, son of Bergan and Ewan, son of Edwin.’

  A tall, long-faced man stepped forward, other nobles joining him at his side. His thick grey hair tumbled down his back in tightly bound golden hoops. The others wore theirs in a similar fashion although none wore as many trinkets as the speaker. In their long, cream robes, they reminded Drew of priests. Broghan bowed, dropping to his knee, while Ewan tilted his head respectfully. The nod that passed between the Ram and the speaker told Drew they were acquainted.

  ‘Duke Lorimer,’ said Broghan, rising. ‘I bring greetings from my father in the north.’

  ‘From Brackenholme?’ asked Lorimer, arching an eyebrow as he teased an answer from the Bearlord.

  ‘Not directly. He currently resides in Highcliff, Your Grace.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lorimer, clicking his fingers. ‘That’s right. I’d heard of this; something about your father seizing Westland?’

  Drew felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. He didn’t like the sound of this, and judging by the awkward look on Broghan’s face, neither did the young Bearlord.

  ‘That’s not the case, Your Grace. My father’s taken the role of Lord Protector, providing counsel to the young Wolf before he takes the throne. He speaks on behalf of his fellow Werelords, I assure you, and makes no move for Westland. His heart lies forever in Brackenholme, but he cannot ignore the plight of his neighbours.’

  ‘As I understood, it was hardly neighbourly kindness that took him to Highcliff,’ countered Lorimer as his companions nodded. ‘News travels fast, Bearlord. Let us not confuse the situation; it sounds like a clear case of the Bear seizing power from the Lion.’

  ‘With respect,’ said Broghan, through gritted teeth. ‘The Wolf’s Council act as guardians of the northern realms in the Wolf’s name.’

  The Lord of the Longridings laughed haughtily. One of his companions stepped forward, stooped with long thinning hair.