Storm of Sharks (28 page)

Prisoners rushed past now, dashing for the
stairs, keen to be out of the structure before it finally collapsed. Dust fell from the
ceiling in clouds, dispersing through the smoke as the Kraken struck out at the Whale.
Bosa batted a tentacle away with a club-like fist.

‘The scum that adorned my walls were a
warning to you
all!’ screamed the Kraken. ‘A warning for
you to stay away, lest you face the same punishment!’

‘A warning?’ the Whale scoffed,
smacking another tentacle aside. ‘You idiot Squid. It was a sure-fire way of
attracting my attention. Well,’ he said, his laughter vanishing. He raised his
trident. ‘You have it now, Ghul.’

‘All of you!’ cried the Kraken,
raising Casper in the air and shaking him. ‘Stand down, or Sosha help me, you get
your boy back in pieces!’ The monster held Casper by his arms, a tentacle wrapped
around each of them. The lad let out a cry of pain as the Squidlord’s limbs
tightened, threatening to tear him apart.

The mob hesitated, wary of what the enraged
Kraken might do next. Moonbrand came down with a flash as Drew bounded at the monster,
the blade slicing through a tentacle. The strength of Ghul’s hold lessened
instantly as the severed limb released Casper, the stump of the chopped tentacle
spitting inky black blood into the air. The Kraken howled with rage and flicked his
tentacles, releasing Casper as it thrashed and flailed. The boy sailed over the mob, out
of the open balcony, swallowed swiftly by the billowing black smoke.

Drew could see Vega suddenly coming to life.
He raised his hands, which had now become clawed, grey talons, shifting as he took hold
of the tentacle that pinned him to the ceiling. Blood flowed from his wrists where the
manacles were fixed, but Vega paid the wounds no heed. His fingers disappeared into the
Kraken’s flesh alongside his mouth, his jaws transforming enough to allow the
Shark’s teeth to come to his aid. The
Kraken’s violet limb
parted, torn in two by the count’s sudden, determined and potentially suicidal
attack.

Vega
landed, rolling into a tumble,
snatching the silver sabre from where it stood buried in the floorboards. The Kraken
turned its attention to the pirate captain now, away from the Wolf, but only in time to
see the count’s blade flash down diagonally across its body, from the uppermost
side of its mantle on one side to the lowermost edge on the other. The wound opened
instantly, threatening to separate the Kraken’s wobbling body, but Vega
hadn’t finished.

Drew staggered clear as the sabre sang,
ribbons of Squid flesh fluttering through the air, bloody black ink erupting from the
beast. The Kraken was no longer fighting; it had become a mess of blubbery flesh and
twitching, suckered arms that trembled in their death throes.

‘Vega!’ cried Drew, trying to
pull the Sharklord out of his vengeful reverie. Slowly the count turned to look at the
young Wolf, and Drew stared into the depths of the man’s sorrow, his black eyes
emotionless and wet with tears. The sabre clattered to the ground as the count wavered
where he stood.

Drew jumped forward, catching Vega before he
fell.

‘We need to get out of here, my
lad,’ boomed Bosa as another thunderous explosion shook the tower. The Whalelord
raised a giant hand to the ceiling above, bracing the timbers lest the roof should
collapse, the smoke now beginning to overwhelm them.

‘I know,’ replied Drew, as
Whitley placed a trembling hand on his shoulder and they looked down upon the distraught
Vega.

‘My boy,’ whispered the master of
the
Maelstrom
. ‘My poor Casper.’

‘Captain!’ shouted Florimo, the
old sailor hopping deliriously from one foot to another as he pointed towards the
balcony. All in the war room followed the line of his finger out into the black sky
beyond. As the smoke swirled and eddied, a shape rose from its depths. Casper hovered in
the air unsteadily, his body held aloft by two beautiful hawk wings that rose and fell
from his slender back.

‘Casper!’ repeated Vega, the deathly black shade
of the Shark vanishing in a blink from his eyes, his voice joyful now.

Standing on the enormous balcony of Redmire
Hall, Gretchen looked down upon the flotilla that crossed the Redwine. The grounds of
the Boarlord mansion were alive with activity, civilians crowding the gardens, yards and
wharf below. In happier times, Gretchen had summered here with her cousins Hector and
Vincent. The Werelords of the Dalelands had always been especially close, and Huth had
looked after the young Foxlady as one of his own. These gardens had once been hers.
Presently they belonged to the people of Redmire.

The crowds had gathered with all their
worldly goods – chests, sacks and trunks – piled around them,
waiting for transport across the surging river. The constant din of livestock
accompanied the anxious chatter of the people as, family by family, they waited their
turn. A steady stream of vessels traversed the Redwine, ferrying the townsfolk from
shore to
shore. The famed river barges, so often loaded with the fresh
produce of the Garden of Lyssia, were now weighed down with the people they’d once
served. Already a gaggle of Romari tents had appeared on the opposite bank, a temporary
halfway house for the horde of Dalelanders who had chosen the Dyrewood as the safest
destination in these troubled times. The nomads worked alongside Greencloaks, helping
the people of Redmire alight on the other side. Gretchen gripped the banister. She
couldn’t help but wish she were with them, crossing the river, disappearing back
into the haunted forest and heading for Brackenholme.

She glanced around the balcony, letting her
mind wander back to her first encounter with Drew. He’d arrived here half naked
and nearly starved after escaping the Lionguard with Hector. She’d taken an
immediate dislike to him, as had he to her, the two of them worlds apart in ideology and
outlook. This was the balcony where he’d taken her hostage, his claws at her
throat. So had begun their grand adventure, with Hector in tow, as they’d
travelled the rivers, woods and terrible seas of Lyssia, arriving eventually at
Highcliff, where he’d faced down the Lion to claim his crown. Only that bauble had
never found its way on to Drew’s head. Before any coronation had taken place,
those worlds – once so different but now so close – had been turned
on their heads, as Wolf and Fox were torn apart. What might have happened if
they’d remained together?

An awkward cough clumsily alerted her to the
fact that she was no longer alone. Turning, she found Trent standing at the doors that
led out of the mansion. His newly acquired grey
cloak hung below his
knees, the hood down across his broad shoulders revealing the thick mop of blond hair.
One gloved hand rested on the pommel of his Wolfshead blade, sitting proud in its
scabbard, while the other was folded neatly behind his back. He bowed. Inexplicably,
Gretchen blushed, immediately looking back to the river.

‘Since when did you cough to attract
my attention, Trent?’ she asked, Drew’s face still fresh in her troubled
mind. ‘And why the need to bow, all of a sudden?’

‘You have visitors, my lady,’
said the Ferran boy, standing to one side as a man and woman joined him on the
balcony.

‘My lady,’ they said in unison,
each bowing low as Gretchen turned and smiled, composing herself.

‘Captain Gerard,’ she said to
the first, stepping up to embrace him. ‘It’s so splendid to see you fully
recovered after your ordeal.’

‘I’ve never felt better,’
replied the old soldier with a smile. ‘All thanks to your brave Harriers. I did
not expect a reprieve before the executioner’s block.’

‘And Captain Quist,’ said
Gretchen, hugging the tall green-cloaked ranger. ‘I can’t tell you how good
it is to see your face again. That it should be you who reaches out to us from the
Dyrewood truly gladdens my heart, for I feared I’d never see anyone from
Brackenholme again.’

The woman smiled. ‘Nor we you, my
lady. When you disappeared from Brackenholme during Vala’s attack, many assumed
you had been killed. We have dear Stirga to thank for passing news to us that you had
survived, Brenn bless his soul.’

‘Stirga, dead?’ Gretchen gasped.
She glanced at Trent, whose face instantly darkened.

‘The last we saw of him was when we
fled the city during the Wyldermen attack,’ said the young Greycloak.

‘He died before the battle for
Brackenholme, alas,’ replied Quist. ‘Though not in vain, I might add. It was
the sword-swallower, on his deathbed, who urged Drew Ferran to come to the city’s
aid. Stirga was the bravest fellow, and played a large part in ensuring that the Romari
now patrol the roads of the Dyrewood, alongside the Woodland Watch. The ancient forest
isn’t a place the Lion will dare enter in a hurry.’

Gretchen kept her eyes on Quist, aware that
Trent was intently watching her.

‘And what of Drew? How is the
Wolflord? That he lives comes as joyous news to all of us.’

‘Lord Drew remained with us in
Brackenholme briefly, overseeing the initial rebuilding of the city, but he departed
many weeks ago, searching for help in the struggle against the Catlords.’

‘Searching for help?’ said
Trent. ‘Where did he go looking?’

Quist squinted at Trent momentarily.
‘You’d be the Wolf’s brother – Trent Ferran, isn’t it?
I’ve heard much about you. You must be very proud of Drew.’

Trent managed an awkward smile as Quist
continued. ‘He headed to the White Sea. Seemed the only place where anyone was
giving the Lion a run for his money was on the water. Drew went looking for Baron Bosa,
the Whale of Moga. He reckoned the baron’s force could help turn the tide of
war.’

‘Have you heard anything of his
success?’ asked Gretchen.
She couldn’t hide the note of
hopefulness in her voice. ‘Did he find the Whale?’

‘I’ve no idea, my lady.
Word’s been trickling in to the Dyrewood that Bosa’s strength wanes, that
the Kraken’s found some way of defeating the Whale. One can only pray that Drew is
all right – and Lady Whitley, for that matter.’

‘Whitley went with him?’
exclaimed Gretchen. ‘Surely she should have remained in Brackenholme. She
would’ve been safer there, and her people need her! Who let her accompany Drew on
his journey?’

‘Let her?’ said Quist, shaking
her head. ‘Believe me, Lord Drew tried to prevent her, but she wouldn’t have
it.’

‘She’ll get herself
killed,’ said Gretchen, angrily. Where the anger had come from, she couldn’t
tell, but for some reason the fact that Whitley and Drew were out there together irked
her.

‘My lady, I’ve worked alongside
Whitley in the Woodland Watch. She’s every bit as capable as any scout who’s
ever taken the Green. She’s left the city in the hands of her uncle, Baron
Redfearn, while Duchess Rainier convalesces. General Harker’s there also.
Brackenholme’s in safe hands.’

‘Let us indeed pray they’re both
safe,’ Gretchen concluded. ‘While you’re here with your people,
overseeing the evacuation, please treat Redmire as your home, Captain.’

Quist nodded as Gretchen turned back to
Gerard.

‘Any sign of the Lionguard?’

‘None,’ said the captain.
‘Seems they turned tail and ran once Vorhaas was killed. Quite an unexpected
victory for the people of Redmire.’

‘It’s just a shame that victory
comes at such cost,’ said Gretchen, and the others muttered their agreement.

Thrilling though it had been for the people
to chase the Redcloaks out of the Boarlord town, they knew the Catlords surely
wouldn’t stand by and let an uprising go unpunished. King Lucas was bound to send
troops once news of Vorhaas’s defeat reached his ears. In light of this, the
decision to abandon Redmire had been quickly, and reluctantly, made.

‘We’ve no choice but to leave
the town, my lady,’ said Gerard. ‘It’s with a heavy heart I
leave – I was born here – but to stay would be suicide. This is the
first place Lucas will come looking for revenge.’

‘Will you not come with me to
Brackenholme, my lady?’ asked Quist. ‘Surely the safest place for you to be
is with your friends in the forest.’

‘Believe me, Captain, I have
considered it.’

The Greencloaks had appeared at first light,
news having reached them of the uprising in Redmire. Two branches of the Woodland Watch
had crossed the river by boat, quickly informing the Dalelanders of the sanctuary that
awaited them within the Dyrewood, and promising them safe passage along the Dymling
Road.

‘Where will you go, then?’ said
Quist, following Gretchen as the Werefox headed back to the rail, looking out over the
busy river.

‘As enticing as it would be to run to
the Dyrewood, I cannot leave the people of my realm to the Catlords. Lucas will strike
out in retaliation for what we’ve done to his army in Redmire. When he does, the
Harriers and I need to be in the Dalelands,
waiting for him. If he
thinks we’re scared of his Redcloaks, he’s got another think
coming.’