Markus was annoyed.
“I can defeat Wallace MacGregor.”
Verasa was about to tell her son that no, he couldn’t, but bit back the words. If the fight had to go ahead, there was no point in destroying her son’s confidence.
“There’s no reason for this,” she said, instead. “Once the council votes for you the Baron’s rebellion will wither away.”
Markus, however, was resolute. He stared at his mother defiantly.
“You can’t stop it now.”
Verasa lit a cigarette. Unfortunately, Markus was right.
“Very well. If the single combat is to go ahead, it will go ahead in a dignified manner. Rainal, send for Eskandor. We’ll issue the challenge to Wallace through Baron MacGregor, as it should have been issued in the first place. The combatants will meet in front of the castle, in full view of the clans. I won’t have a combat involving my son carried out like some secret street brawl.”
Rainal was taken by surprise. The Mistress of the Werewolves was giving in. She was going to allow the fight to take place. No matter how much disgrace it would have brought on Markus to cancel it, Rainal had not expected her to let it proceed.
Realising that he’d won the point, Markus was pleased. He tried to reassure his mother, telling her that as the son of the Thane, and a MacRinnalch, he could overcome Wallace. Verasa was not reassured, but pretended to have confidence. If the single combat had to go ahead, it would be as well to send Markus out in as good a frame of mind as possible. Afterwards was another matter. If Markus managed to survive this affair, Verasa swore she’d rein him in, and never let such a situation arise again.
211
Moonglow trudged through the snow to the tube station beside the Oval Cricket Ground. Unlike Daniel, she’d never been inside the stadium. The sight of it annoyed her. Anything Daniel liked seemed aggravating just now. Moonglow was feeling hard done by. After all her efforts to help Daniel find some sort of social life, and to make sure he wasn’t left out, here she was, going to the gig on her own while Daniel rushed off early with Vex. Moonglow had been tempted to ask Alicia to accompany her. That would certainly teach Daniel, if she turned up with his second girlfriend. How had Daniel managed to secure two girlfriends? It seemed to go against the laws of nature.
It had taken Moonglow a long time to get ready. While making up her eyes she’d had a sudden powerful memory of Markus which had made her cry. While brushing her long black hair she’d felt suddenly annoyed at Daniel, and pulled so hard on the brush she yelped in pain. While putting on her favourite black lace-up spiked-heel boots she’d thought of Kalix, who would no doubt spend the entire evening wrapped around Gawain, completely ignoring Moonglow. The distraction made Moonglow miss an eyelet with a lace, and she had to start all over again. When Alicia phoned, looking for Daniel, and Moonglow was obliged to lie on his behalf, she could barely be civil.
At the end of it all, however, she was looking very fine. Black clad, with dark make-up, her favourite piece of Victorian lace draped over a shiny black corset, a long black skirt, rather tight, and her boots looking dangerously pointed. Moonglow was satisfied when she looked in the mirror.
‘I am the spurned woman from hell,’ she thought. ‘Possibly out for revenge.’
By the time she arrived in Camden the first band had already played, the twins were drunk, and Kalix was sitting on Gawain’s lap. Moonglow studied Gawain with interest and thought, as most young women would have, that he was certainly attractive, in a brooding sort of way. If you had to sit on someone’s lap, he wasn’t a bad choice. Gawain wasn’t as beautiful as Markus, but he was handsome, and charismatic.
Daniel and Vex were standing in front of the stage. Dominil was nearby but the white-haired werewolf was too busy to acknowledge her, even though only last week Moonglow had helped her translate some lines of Sumerian. Thrix was surrounded by a gaggle of young men. Moonglow stood on her own, and felt awkward. The second band were coming on. Moonglow watched for a while. She was standing behind a rather nondescript looking man, slightly older than most of the audience, who seemed completely absorbed by their music.
The man was not at all absorbed by the band’s music. He was far more interested in the werewolves in the room. It was Madrigal, Sarapen’s agent, here to spy. Madrigal was unusually excited, though no one could have guessed. Tonight he was to report to Sarapen. And then, Sarapen promised, he’d make him into a werewolf.
He wasn’t the only person in the audience more interested in werewolves than the band onstage. The Guild had two spies here. They were new members of the Guild, and neither of them had ever been close to a werewolf before. There was nothing in their auras or scent to connect them with werewolf hunting. Even the Enchantress, who was constantly checking the venue for signs of trouble, couldn’t pick them out as hunters.
Dominil went backstage to check on the twins. They were due onstage soon. With so many distractions in the bar downstairs, it had proved impossible to keep the sisters sober.
“How does this compare with their previous states?” she asked Pete.
“They can still walk. That’s better than last time.”
While Dominil tried to marshal the band, others nearby were marshalling their troops. Mr Carmichael waited with a group of well armed hunters in a small hotel in Kentish Town, just north of Camden. The hotel was owned by the Guild, and it had been purposely left empty for tonight. Mr Carmichael and his senior officers went round checking that every man’s gun was loaded with silver bullets. He made a short speech about how this day would go down in the history of the Avenaris Guild. They were about to kill some of the most highly ranked werewolves in the country.
Sarapen was secreted in a warehouse in King’s Cross, just ten minutes south of where the twins were playing. Decembrius was with him, and the Douglas-MacPhees. Sarapen had six personal bodyguards, and fourteen other werewolf warriors, all specially selected for their strength and their ability to transform without the full moon. Twenty-five werewolves in all. More than enough to deal with those who were at the gig.
The temperature in the warehouse rose slightly, and there was a hint of lavender in the air. Princess Kabachetka materialised at Sarapen’s side. The Princess wore a dark jacket and trousers, not unlike those of the werewolves who waited to mount their attack, but her hair had already been arrayed for the Sorceress Livia’s celebration. It tumbled down in a yellow stream over her shoulders, gleaming under the warehouse lights. Decembrius looked at her with more appreciation than did Sarapen. The Princess kissed Sarapen on the cheek, and smiled as he involuntarily drew back.
“Have you brought everything?” she asked.
Sarapen nodded, and motioned to Andris. The werewolf brought forward a small bundle of herbs, a phial of blood and a silver bowl, which he handled very carefully. The Princess nodded.
“Good. Everything for my sorcery. Will it be soon? I have a very pressing engagement.”
“It will be soon,” said Sarapen. “Very soon.”
212
The Mistress of the Werewolves draped the great green cloak with white fur trimming round her shoulders. It was one of the badges of her rank and though she didn’t much care for the garment there were times when it was appropriate. She placed a small golden tiara in her hair, an old piece of clan jewellery that usually resided in the castle museum. It had been given by Thane Durghaid MacRinnalch to his wife on the occasion of their marriage, in the year 1087. Then she took up the broadsword of Avreg MacRinnalch, the great Grey Wolf, Thane in the ninth century.
Rainal had often seen the Mistress of the Werewolves wearing the cloak and tiara, but he was surprised to see her with the broadsword. Avreg MacRinnalch’s sword was traditionally only carried by the Thane.
“I am acting Thane,” said Verasa, calmly. “I’m entitled to wear it.”
They walked together through the long stone corridor that led from Verasa’s chambers to the central courtyard.
“Did you ever think of being T
hane yourself?” asked Rainal.
“Yes,” admitted Verasa. “I considered it.”
Of the nineteen werewolves who had been Thane since Avreg, two had been female: Heather Ugraich MacRinnalch, and Eustacia MacBruce MacRinnalch. Both had taken the position after bloody strife against their rivals. In each case there had been no agreed automatic heir to the throne. That was not the case today. For Verasa to seek the position when there were two male children already born would have been a breach of tradition.
“I wouldn’t have minded the breach of tradition,” said Verasa. “But it’s far better for the post to go to someone young and vigorous. Markus will be an excellent Thane.”
Now that Verasa had re-issued the challenge in the proper manner, everyone knew of the affair. As night fell and the moon rose, the werewolves in the castle gathered on the walls to look out, and the massed forces of the Barons arrayed themselves in a huge semi circle in front of the castle gates. The atmosphere was one of keen anticipation. Although Verasa had made no agreement to give up the castle if Markus was defeated, just as the Barons had made no agreement to withdraw if Wallace was defeated, it was inevitable that the outcome of the war would be influenced by the result of the single combat.
Buvalis had been incarcerated, along with Kertal, and a new personal assistant, Erenx MacRinnalch, was waiting for Verasa. As the Mistress of the Werewolves reached the castle gates, a platoon of bodyguards fell in around her. When the gates swung open and the portcullis was raised, she strode without hesitation across the draw-bridge towards the massed ranks of her foes. Light snow was falling from the pitch black sky and the flakes hissed as they struck the burning torches carried by Verasa’s attendants. Baron MacGregor came towards her. Behind him was the young Baron MacAllister with his sister Morag at his side, and beside them was Euan, son of Baron MacPhee. Their attendants followed on.
The Mistress of the Werewolves greeted her enemies with a polite nod. Baron MacGregor, the senior Baron in attendance, hesitated, feeling that perhaps some discussion might be appropriate, but faced with Verasa’s calm air, he could think of nothing to say. They were here to oversee a fight, not to negotiate.
“Is Wallace ready?” asked Verasa.
“He is. Is Markus?”
“He is.”
From the look on Baron MacGregor’s face, Verasa guessed that he was no more keen to see his son Wallace risk his life than she was to see Markus in such peril. But it was done now, and there was no going back. Wallace emerged from the mass of his father’s attendants, towering over all of them. At the same time Markus walked swiftly from the castle to take his place at Verasa’s side.
Verasa signalled to her assistant Erenx, who stepped forward with a tray on which there were four goblets and a crystal decanter. Erenx poured whisky from the decanter into each of the goblets, and handed them to the Mistress of the Werewolves, Baron MacGregor, Markus MacRinnalch, and Wallace MacGregor. Each of them drank it down in a gulp, and replaced their goblets on the tray. The MacRinnalch whisky was usually a token of friendship; it could also be the sign that formalities were over, and it was time to fight.
Verasa stepped backwards. The Barons withdrew, leaving a clear space for Wallace and Markus. As the combatants neared each other they both took on their werewolf shape. At the same instant, Verasa transformed. So did the Barons, and every werewolf there who could. As a werewolf Wallace was massive. His jaws were huge and his teeth were like two rows of daggers. In front of him Markus suddenly looked very small.
213
Dominil was surprised to realise that she really wanted the twins to do well. It was not particularly rational. After all, it didn’t matter to her how they played. Her task had been to recruit musicians and find them a gig. She had succeeded in this, no matter what happened onstage. Her mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. Dominil was smiling to herself. She wouldn’t have thought that she’d ever care about the fortunes of two degenerate werewolves fronting a band called Yum Yum Sugary Snacks, yet here she was, willing them on. Dominil still hoped that Sarapen was going to arrive. But not until after the twins played.
As Beauty and Delicious stumbled on to the stage, the signs were not good. The young werewolves were nervous. The other musicians quickly made themselves ready but both Beauty and Delicious fumbled with their guitars and microphones. They took such a long time over it all that people in the audience became restless. Delicious wasn’t happy with her tuning, and wandered to the side of the stage to check it. Two young men in the audience, who probably knew the twins, shouted out some genial abuse. It wasn’t meant to be particularly hostile but Dominil noticed that Beauty stiffened up when she heard it. Delicious was taking an age to re-tune her guitar in the wings and Beauty looked like she might want to join her. There were a few more derisive calls from the audience, not so friendly this time.
Dominil frowned. At this rate the girls would never get started. She strode swiftly to the side of the stage to confront Beauty, who had now been joined by her sister. The audience was becoming restless. Something had to be done quickly. The werewolves were behind a speaker stack, hidden from the crowd. Dominil let her face flicker, the first stage of transformation into her werewolf shape, and bared her fangs.
“Get out there and play,” she snarled.
Beauty and Delicious stepped back sharply onto the stage. Dominil strode clear of the speaker and made a signal to Pete the guitarist. Understanding her meaning, he started up the first song, Yum Yum Cute Boys. The gig was finally underway.
214
Markus was quicker than Wallace, but if he was the more skilful fighter, he hadn’t yet been able to display it. After some initial weaving around, Wallace had managed to grab Markus and pull him towards him. He now held him in a bear hug. Markus’s feet were off the ground and the breath was being crushed from his body. The werewolves behind the Barons roared Wallace on as he squeezed the life from the pretender to the Thaneship.
Markus gasped, and tried to bring his jaws down to bite at Wallace’s face but Wallace buried his snout in Markus’s neck and squeezed harder. The Mistress of the Werewolves struggled to keep her composure as she watched her son suffering.
Markus forced himself to think clearly. His youthful struggles with Sarapen had given him experience of fighting a stronger opponent. He swung his right arm and used the inside of his paw to strike Wallace full on the ear and the force of the blow made Wallace loosen his grip. Markus was able to land a raking slash with his talons over Wallace’s face. Wallace roared in pain, and dropped Markus to the ground. Markus sprang to his feet, with snow on his coat, and leapt to attack his opponent. He managed to land a few more blows before his massive opponent’s strength re-asserted itself. Though Wallace could land only one strike to Markus’s three, he finally connected with a great swipe that almost took Markus’s head from his shoulders, and Markus crashed to the ground. He scrambled desperately to rise, knowing that if Wallace once got his jaws around his neck, and pinned him to the ground, the fight would be over. Markus was forced to retreat, and Wallace’s supporters roared him on as he advanced relentlessly.
Baron MacGregor did not join in with the cheering. He was still concerned over the welfare of his son, though his apprehension was fading. It was clear to every onlooker that it was only a matter of time before Wallace was the victor. Both werewolves had suffered injury but Wallace was obviously the stronger and Markus would eventually fall.
215
Malveria approached the upstairs room where the bands played. She found her entrance blocked by a young woman sitting at a table.
“I have come to the gig,” announced Malveria. “Gig is the correct term, I believe?”
The young woman looked at her blankly. Malveria frowned, and wondered who this dull servant was.
“Please tell your master I am here,” said the Fire Queen, civily.
“What?”
Malveria’s frown deepened. She deplored the practice of putting one’s less intelligent servants i
n positions where they may have to encounter guests. The Enchantress appeared from inside the room.
“Malveria! Are you coming in?”
“This servant is not at all welcoming.”
“You have to pay,” explained Thrix. Seeing her friend’s confusion - Malveria had never paid to enter anything before - Thrix took some money from her purse and handed it over, then escorted Malveria through the door. Once inside she discreetly caused a full glass of wine to appear in her hand.
“There’s really nothing worth having at the bar.”
Malveria told Thrix that though her carriage was now waiting for her outside her palace, she did not wish to make the journey to Livia’s quite yet.
“It would be rather unbecoming for the Queen of the Hiyasta to arrive early, like someone who is eager for a free meal. I shall make them wait a little longer. Incidentally, I had an interesting encounter outside this building.”
“Who with?”
“Werewolf hunters, I believe.”
“What?”
“Perhaps twenty or so. An unpleasant gathering of men, including several who really should take more care of their physiques. Even if one is dedicated to hunting werewolves, there is no excuse for letting oneself become flabby.”
“What happened?” asked Thrix, urgently.
“Nothing, really,” replied Malveria. She twitched one finger, creating a little bubble of quiet in which they could hear each other over the noise of the band.
“I sensed your spells of protection and bafflement outside the building. The hunters were confused, but I suspected there may have been one among them who had knowledge of sorcery. Probably rudimentary, but he may have guessed they were close to you. I added a little of my magic to yours and convinced them that the building they sought was some way south of here. They have now gone to hunt werewolves in another place.”
Lonely Werewolf Girl Page 59
