War of the Werelords (3 page)

“Of ours,” repeated Conrad, pointing at the girl as her fur receded. “The Bears of Brackenholme have suffered more than anyone in this war, yet still they fight on. I witnessed her brother slain at the hands of King Lucas and saw many of her people butchered on the street in Cape Gala. We owe them our freedom, Your Grace. Don't treat her this way. The Wolf is our ally.”

“Yours, perhaps,” said the Bull, shifting slowly back to human form, as more plaster crumbled free from the bricks at his back. “But not mine. You remember my son, girl?”

Whitley shook her head, unable to recall if she had ever met him. “I cannot say I do.”

“He was a ward to Baron Ewan, the Ramlord of Haggard. Just a lad, my dear, sweet Dorn. And then he met your friend the Wolf. Death followed swiftly, Bearlady. He took up arms alongside Drew Ferran and died for his troubles. I can never forgive the Wolf for what happened to my son.”

Whitley cast her mind back, the memories now returning, but cloudy and distorted. The grim events of Lord Dorn's death had been lost among the hundreds of others she had witnessed in the intervening time. But Brand spoke the truth. The young Bull had aided Drew in freeing the prisoners of the Goatlord Kesslar in Haggard. Dorn was murdered for his troubles, little more than a boy, the same age as Drew.

“Go with her if you must, Horselord,” muttered Brand miserably, remaining in the alcove's shadows. “Take your brother Stallions with you. But count me out. I owe the Wolf nothing.”

K
ILLER
C
HARM

DREW FERRAN STARED
at the tarnished mirror fixed to the wall, the swinging lanterns and jangling ephemera providing a grating chorus around him as the ship gently rocked. Oddities from every corner of the Seven Realms had been collected down the years by the
Maelstrom
's
skipper, finding their way onto the ceiling of the captain's cabin. Discolored and clouded though the mirror's surface was, there was no mistaking the young man who glowered back. His thick mop of black hair had grown down to his shoulders, in desperate need of a good cut, while his jaw was peppered with the dark stubble of a beard. His skin was tanned dark, thanks to months on the road and at sea, crossing oceans and continents, exposed to the elements.

Had it really been almost two years since his journey had begun? Drew closed his eyes, thinking back to the farmhouse where he had grown up, the night of the storm and the beast that had followed. He shook his head and grimaced, the memory of his murdered foster mother flashing through his mind, her throat torn by the Ratlord Vanmorten. Drew had changed so much, and he was not alone. What had become of his old friend Hector, the Boarlord of Redmire? He had left his bookish friend behind in Highcliff, thinking he would be safe. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Hector's path had been a dark one as he dabbled in necromancy, ultimately taking him north to Icegarden. Was he still there? Could he truly have become the monster people said he was?

When Drew opened his eyes he was no longer alone. The grinning visage of Count Vega had appeared in the mirror at his back.

“By Sosha, we could be related!” the Sharklord declared, laughing and tousling his friend's hair. He wasn't wrong, Drew had to agree: they shared the same dark looks.

“My father?” Drew teased.

“I was thinking of a more charming, handsome, slightly older brother.” He clapped the youth's back. “Come. They're waiting for you on deck.”

The heat was instant and punishing as they went up top, the
Maelstrom
's decks bleached of moisture and color. There were few places to shelter from the sun's fierce rays, and Drew instantly wrapped his kash around his face. Few aboard the pirate ship had gone without the Omiri headgear since they had sailed into the Sabre Sea, the kashes providing protection against the terrible heat, especially during the midday sun. But there was another reason why the young Wolflord wore the kash: the
Maelstrom
was anchored in the deeper waters of Denghi harbor, in view of the neighboring ships within the Bloody Bay. To be spotted by anyone sympathetic to the Lion could mean the end of the impending battle before it had begun.

Drew was not the only one disguised. The
Maelstrom
had received a makeover: her pristine sails were replaced by tattered, patchwork affairs, her decks and hull cluttered with nets and lobster pots. The gun decks had been hidden away, her many shuttered windows dressed with planks and tarpaulins. For all intents and purposes she no longer looked like the dread vessel of the Pirate Prince of the Cluster Isles; she was a battered, oceangoing fishing ship, unremarkable in every way. Three more ships remained anchored around the headland, each wearing a similar nautical mask. Fully two hundred warriors from the Bastian port of Felos had been distributed among the vessels, the cuirass-wearing Furies hidden belowdecks, waiting patiently for their moment. Waiting for the bloodshed.

A rowboat was being winched aboard, the seawater painting the deck wet as the boards thirstily soaked it up. Opal, the Pantherlady of Bast, stood with her back to the quarter mast, her dark form shrouded in robes and harsh shadow. Her bright eyes shone from within the slit of her kash, fixed upon Denghi, narrow and appraising, as she studied the Omiri port. She and Figgis, the
Maelstrom
's first mate, were returning from a brief visit to the harbor's bars and drinking dens. As Figgis spoke animatedly to Opal and jabbed a bony finger in the city's direction, Florimo stood nearby, watching. The old navigator looked quite at home in the colorful Omiri attire, his now customary enormous pink feather drooping from his bandanna, befitting a Ternlord. The ship's youngest crewmember, Casper, crouched at his bare feet, studying coastal maps under Florimo's watchful eye. The cabin boy had only recently discovered he was a Werehawk, the son of Vega and a Hawklady, though the boy did not know the full story of his conception or who his mother was. The elderly Ternlord provided invaluable guidance for the boy as he slowly came to terms with his fearful avian abilities—guidance Casper's father, the Sharklord, was ill-equipped to offer.

“What did you discover in Denghi?” asked Drew as he joined Opal in the shade. “Is it as bad as it looks?”

“Worse,” she said, her voice rich as honey. “Denghi is no longer neutral. Hayfa, the Hyena of Ro-Shan, claims the city as her own.”

“The road to Azra is hers, my lord,” added Figgis. “Doglords are welcome enough, but I doubt you'll encounter a Jackal in Denghi.”

The fabled city of Azra was home to King Faisal, the Werejackal of Omir. The true prize of the Desert Realm, this was the jewel Lady Hayfa had long desired. Not content with the coastal city of Ro-Shan, the Werehyena would stop at nothing until she had seized Azra. With Hayfa's ally Lord Canan and his terrible Doglords controlling the lands as far north as the Bana Gap, Faisal's hold on his homeland was looking increasingly fragile. If the road to Azra was controlled by the Hyena, her stranglehold on the city was almost complete.

“Seems Hayfa and Lord Canan are carving Omir up between them,” continued Figgis, “looking to oust the Jackals from Azra and all their lands.”

“The only blessing is there's no sign of my Bastian brethren,” said Opal. “Field Marshal Tiaz must be keeping his men occupied farther north, routing the Jackals at the Bana Gap.”

At the northernmost edge of Omir, where the Barebones rose from the sand, a narrow avenue wound its way through the mountains. Many years ago, the land here had been claimed by Faisal's forefathers, the last refuge for travelers on their way into the Desert Realm. As time went by, the city of Bana had grown from this settlement, carved into the rock face and overlooking the gap below. As the Doglords had joined forces with the Catlords of Bast, the first city to suffer had been Bana. The Tigerlord, Field Marshal Tiaz, had been dispatched to claim the Gap for Lord Onyx, while Lord Canan wanted every Jackal within the city put to the sword. It had been besieged since the beginning of the war.

“Nothing's ever easy,” Drew sighed, scratching his bristly jaw. “What news did you gather regarding the city of Azra itself? When I left it on the eve of winter, the Hawklords had flown to the Jackals' aid. I thought they could handle whatever the Catlords threw at them.”

“It appears not,” said Opal, a hint of pride evident in the Panther's voice. “Azra is besieged by Hayfa's forces, while Tiaz and Canan have drawn your Hawklords away from Faisal's side. It appears the Jackal believed the walls of Azra to be impenetrable. Confident of his own safety, he wasted no time charging your avianthrope allies with rescuing his brethren in the north. The Hawklords flew to the Bana Gap, carrying many of the Omiri king's greatest warriors in their talons. Maybe they suspected they would free the trapped Jackals easily. Perhaps they thought they were flying to victory, to quell a few rowdy Doglords who pawed at Bana's gates. What they encountered was Field Marshal Tiaz and the full might of his Bastian army.”

“I have to believe that my friends who flew north yet live,” said Drew. “I made a promise to them all that I would return.”

“I saw the weapons Tiaz had at his disposal when he departed Sturmland along the Great West Road. Your allies were winging their way to their deaths.”

“What weapons?” snapped Vega, tired as always of the Panther's penchant for drama.

“The Gypsian Vultures for one,” replied Opal haughtily.

Drew watched the two of them speak, no love lost between them. The Sharklord had blackmailed Opal while she was prisoner aboard his ship. True to his word, he had gone straight to her homeland of Braga while the Pantherlady escorted Drew to Leos, the Catlord seat of power. Drew's task was to sow division among the Forum of Elders, while Vega abducted the infant children of Opal, guaranteeing her cooperation. Both missions were successful: the Bastians were now at war with one another and Opal's children were under the watchful eye of the Tigers in Felos. Safe though her children were, thanks to the Sharklord's actions, there was no disguising the hate she felt for her unlikely ally.

“Gypsian Vultures?” said Drew, trying to take the sting out of their dialog.

“From the Gypsian Plateau at the heart of Bast,” said Opal. “It towers over the jungle, fully a thousand leagues across. Barren, inhospitable, and miserable. The Vulturelords call it home.”

“And these Vultures are a match for the Hawklords?”

“More than a match, when one considers their superior numbers. If you thought having the Hawks of the Barebones fighting your quarter in the sky would win you this war, I'm afraid you're in for a rude awakening, Wolflord.”

“It's Drew, Opal,” he replied with a stiff smile. “Wolflord sounds so impersonal.”

“I'll stick with ‘Wolflord' until our work is concluded.”

Vega's laugh was as dry as the air around them. “You make it sound like a business deal.”

“This is business,” she said to Vega with a snarl. “I would never have sided with Lyssians out of choice. You forced my hand when you threatened my children. But what's done is done. We fight together against the Lions and my own family, the Panthers. Until the dust has settled and the blood has dried, we are allies. When that concludes . . .”

She left the comment hanging menacingly. Drew gulped, his throat parched.

“Get off your high horse, Opal,” said Vega. “You wrote the rule book on how war is waged in Bast. The Catlords have spent the past sixty years kidnapping children from across the jungle continent, forcing the therian lords into submission. I'd imagine it's an unpleasant sensation, having the tables turned upon you. Count yourself fortunate that your children are alive and well.”

Opal snarled as Vega turned to Figgis.

“Any other news, mate?”

“More whispers, Captain, about Bastian fleets sailing to Lyssia. I don't doubt our own ships are part of the cause of these rumors, but you have to consider they're referring to High Lord Oba and High Lord Leon as well: the Panther and Lion have each set sail for Lyssia, as well we know.”

“They've probably headed straight to Highcliff,” said Drew.

“Both of them?” said Vega. “Unlikely. The Panthers and Lions are at war with one another now. If they haven't stopped to fight with one another in the White Sea, then they'll have found different ports to sail into. Highcliff isn't big enough for the armies of two warring Catlords. With no sign of my old friend Baron Bosa in these waters, one has to hope he's making a nuisance of himself with Oba and Leon. Which brings us to our own quandary: where do we go ashore?”

He turned to the Ternlord.

“My dear Florimo, did you discover anything of interest? A likely place, beyond Ro-Pasha, where we may strike land for the Gap?”

The navigator wasn't long returned from his own scouting mission, having scoured the shore for safe passage into Omir. For two nights he had been absent, moving under starlight, out of sight of the people of the Desert Realm and anyone who sailed the Sabre Sea.

“I'm afraid you won't find a welcome north of Ro-Pasha, Count Vega. The survivors of Sea Marshal Scorpio's fleet have made the Red Coast their home. His remaining ships are dotted throughout the shallows, housing those still loyal to Bast.”

“Bosa really worked Scorpio over in Calico Bay,” said Drew. “He's no doubt still licking his wounds after the beating the Whale dished out.”

“So there's no safe place to find land?” said Vega.

“Not in Omir, my lord,” replied Florimo. “Discounting Scorpio's remaining ships, there's simply too much enemy activity, with Doglord encampments all along the coastal road from Ro-Pasha to Bana.”

“There must be a way in,” said Drew. “Some point unguarded by the Doglords and Bastians.”

“If there is, then I missed it,” said Florimo with a smile and a sigh. That spoke volumes. There wasn't a keener eye in Lyssia than that of the navigator.

“We must keep looking,” said Drew regardless. “I'd wager one of those Bastian captains could help us. Perhaps if we lure one of these wounded vessels out into deeper water, we'll get all the answers we need.”

“You'd propose an attack on one of Scorpio's ships?” said Vega.

“It may not come down to a fight,” said Florimo.

“A shame if it didn't,” interrupted Vega mischievously as the Tern continued.