Authors: Curtis Jobling
‘This cannot be true,’ said
Tigara, his voice a husky whisper.
‘You know it to be,’ said Opal.
‘I don’t lie, Your Grace. I’m only sorry it’s taken the Wolf to
provoke such honesty.’
‘Don’t listen to her,’
shouted High Lord Oba. ‘She’s allied herself with the Lyssians, brought the
Wolflord, our enemy, into our highest council chamber.’
‘You made me your enemy, Oba,’
snarled Drew. ‘When your brethren invaded Lyssia in Wergar’s time, stealing
Westland from my father, you drew the battle lines.’
‘Listen, Tigara,’ growled Oba,
ignoring the Wolf in his ear and the blade at his back. ‘You and I have known one
another for many years, old friend. Have we ever had a cross word? Has there ever been a
moment of contention between us?’
‘I sent my own grandchild away,
Oba,’ said Tigara in disbelief, looking across at the Panther. ‘I allowed
her to be banished, handed over to the Lizards of Scoria. All for a crime she
didn’t commit?’
‘She was
guilty
,
Tigara!’ bellowed High Lord Leon, stepping forward from his own throne, his loyal
vassals and Redcloaks around him. ‘You witnessed her temper first-hand like the
rest of us. She put a Lion’s rage to shame!’
‘Being wild didn’t make her a
monster!’ said Drew, turning towards the approaching Lionlord, the Panther still
at sword point before him. ‘I met Taboo on Scoria. It’s true, she has a fury
like no other, but she’s a loyal, honest soul. I’d trust her with my
life.’
‘She yet lives?’
‘She does indeed,’ replied Drew,
‘and I’m proud to call her a friend.’
‘You make my point for me,
Wolf.’ Leon snorted, pointing a gnarled finger at the lycanthrope.
‘Regardless of whether Taboo lives or not, this beast from Lyssia would trust
her – a
known enemy
to the Catlords of Bast – just as he
trusts this traitorous Panther, Opal.’
‘He was my son.’
The words were quiet, but somehow cut through
the din and raised voices. The high lords, Drew, Whitley and Opal all looked across,
every head in the forum turning to watch the Catlord as he stepped forward.
‘Chang was a good soul, with his whole
life before him,’ said Lord Chollo, Cheetahlord of the Teeth. While the other
felinthropes had been shifting, he had remained in human form, his olive skin smooth and
flawless. He looked fragile to Drew.
‘And he was taken from us by
Taboo,’ said Oba, Leon nodding his agreement.
‘No!’ snarled Opal. ‘The
Tiger was innocent. Onyx killed your son, Lord Chollo, just as he conspired to have
Taboo sent to Scoria. And, may the forefathers forgive me, I helped him cover up his
crimes. I was complicit, as were they.’
Opal pointed at her father and then towards
the Werelion. High Lord Leon actually staggered back, as if the Beauty of Bast’s
damning finger might physically harm him.
‘She lies!’ cried the old Lion
as Oba’s eyes blazed with fury.
‘I wouldn’t be so quick to
defend the Panthers if I were you, Leon,’ said Opal, ‘after what happened in
Highcliff!’
‘What do you mean, girl?’ gasped
the elder, his chest now rippling as the mane bloomed around his throat.
‘Want to know how Leopold really died?
Then ask my father. Onyx commanded Lucas to kill him. There you have it: your grandchild
murdered your son.’
Strong as he was in Werewolf form, Drew felt
that his arm might be torn from its socket as the Pantherlord suddenly exploded.
Oba’s torso expanded, his back hunching so that
his rapidly
shifting spine cracked Drew across the muzzle. Oba leapt at his daughter, but Opal was
already moving, tumbling and coming up transformed; the two enormous Werepanthers faced
one another.
Drew looked up, face to face with an
advancing mob of Bastian Werelords, red-cloaked and golden-breasted soldiers among them.
He lashed out with Moonbrand, a warning that caused them to recoil as he sprang back on
to his heels. The men from the
Maelstrom
moved alongside him, some whipping the
restrictive helmets from their heads. Whitley was at Drew’s side, her ursine teeth
bared as she stared at the enemy, focused.
‘I always thought I’d die in
Brackenholme at a ripe old age. Find my way into Brenn’s arms from the comfort of
the Great Oak.’
‘There’s time yet,
Whitley,’ growled Drew before roaring to the pirates. ‘Stay with me,
lads!’
The enemy came on from two directions, the
Lion’s Redcloaks from one side, the Panther’s Goldhelms from the other.
Among them Drew caught sight of tusk, horn, claw and hoof as he and his allies were
caught between two waves. Two of his pirates were snatched from the group instantly, a
great fat Wereape catching one in each mighty hand. They were thrown over its broad
shoulders, screaming as they landed in the throng at its back. Whitley stamped forward,
lashing out with her paws, punching a Rhino across the jaw and sending him crashing into
a crowd of Redcloaks. Pirates and Bastians traded blows, steel and silver ringing as
enemies held nothing back.
Opal lashed out at her father, her foot
catching him in the
stomach, but the giant Pantherlord ignored the
blow. He snatched the ankle and twisted it. A crunch sounded as Opal screamed. Oba
raised his other clawed hand, ready to strike her, when he let loose a roar of his
own.
High Lord Leon had leapt upon him,
transformed, burying his teeth in the Panther’s forearm. Instantly Oba released
his daughter, bringing his fist around to punch the great Lion in the face, but the
beast wouldn’t relinquish his grip. The teeth ground down, bones splintering as
Leon worried his enormous head from side to side, his giant mane quivering. Oba’s
jaws came down now, teeth clamping over the Lion’s face and taking hold. The two
rolled, huge limbs thrashing and tearing, as they struggled to reach one another’s
throats.
Seeing the two high lords fighting
intensified the chaos within the forum. Those loyal to the Panthers and Lions now turned
on one another, making three factions warring within the room. Whitley found herself
separated from her group, the spears and shortswords of Goldhelms blocking her path
back. The horn from a Buffalo, loyal to Oba, suddenly caught her in the hip, lifting her
up into the air. Before she came back to the ground, the fat Apelords at the heart of
the melee had snapped the Buffalo’s neck and caught her by the leg. The breath was
gone from her chest, her head fogging as she was hauled over the sea of blades and claws
towards the Ape’s yawning maw. Her progress towards his mouth was cut short as
Moonbrand flashed down, cleaving the Wereape’s arm at the shoulder and allowing
the Werebear to tumble to the floor. Drew was among the mob, the Werewolf kicking out,
sword slashing, jaws snapping, clearing the foes from around his friend.
A roar mightier than the Panther’s and
Lion’s put together suddenly split the air in the forum, causing all to cease
battling. The High Lord of Felos’s jaws were open wide, spittle flying as he
unleashed his lungs at the duelling Catlords. Drew pulled Whitley up from the floor,
embracing the Werebear as he backed away, Moonbrand before him, edging towards the men
from the
Maelstrom
. Only a handful still stood, the forum’s polished
floor now slick with the gore of slain humans and therians, as they stared at the
Weretiger.
‘Fight no more, not here, not in the
Forum of Elders, not this day!’ Tigara shouted. ‘Anyone who spills another
drop of blood in Leos this day will face my wrath. I say this with a heart full of
vengeance, and a craving for the blood of Panthers and Lions. You shall each pay for
your duplicity, but not today.’
‘What? You’d command us to
leave?’ said Oba, his face already disfigured by Leon’s attack.
The Lion was likewise maimed, his skull
visible where the Panther’s teeth had shredded the skin. ‘This is my
city!’ Leon cried out, gurgling, his throat full of blood. ‘You don’t
order me!’
‘This is the Forum of Elders, Your
Grace,’ said Lord Chollo, showing incredible restraint at the enraged
Tiger’s side. ‘As such, we vote upon this. You’ll let the Panthers
depart, and you shall let High Lord Tigara leave for Felos. This armistice will last
until sunrise tomorrow. All in favour say “Aye” …’
A chorus of anxious approval went up around
the forum, the Werelords of Bast agreeing to the uneasy solution.
‘And what of the Bastian army that
fights in Lyssia?’ snarled
Oba, glowering at his daughter, who
slowly rose beside the Tigerlords. Chollo put his arm out and Opal took it.
Tigara shook his head. ‘All that we
worked towards, to achieve together, for the glory of Bast: it was built upon your lies,
Oba.’
‘You have the Panthers to thank for
the glory of Bast,’ said Oba, staggering upright, his fellow Werelords rushing to
his aid. He beat them back, standing by his own strength as he continued.
‘It was my vision that brought us
together, my vision that allowed us to conquer this continent.’ He spat a bloody
glob on to the floor in front of Tigara. ‘Our army in Lyssia is
my
doing.
It’s there because I will it.’ He glowered at Leon. ‘They fight for my
son, the Beast of Bast, not some child who plays at being king.’
‘We shall recall this army,’
said Tigara.
‘They will remain, and fight for my
grandson, King Lucas,’ spluttered the Werelion.
‘The boy who killed his father, you
mean?’ Oba sneered.
‘They will secure a Lion on the
throne,’ growled Leon. ‘Lyssia belongs to the Lions!’
Oba tore off his bloodied white robe and
tossed it on to the floor between the other high lords.
‘The union of the Catlords is
dissolved. Every felinthrope for himself. I’ll see you again soon enough, Tigara,
Leon.’
He bowed once before turning and walking
towards the exit, stepping over the bodies of the wounded, dead and dying. Many of the
Werelords who had earlier been by his side now stood apart, remaining in the council
chamber: a Rhino, a
Weremammoth, an Ibex, two Cranelords, all manner
of therianthropes from the jungle continent. Oba hissed at those who’d turned
against him as he stalked past. He paused only once before the young Werewolf, who stood
surrounded by his surviving men.
‘Bravo, Wolf, for your victory here
today. But this was just one fight. The war is yet to be won. Take your Bearlady and
humans, go to my daughter, seek comfort with your new friends the Tigers. But
don’t tarry. Lyssia’s going to need you.’
With that final threat, the High Lord of
Braga prowled away, his entourage of Panthers and Goldhelms following him. Drew shivered
as he watched him go. Gradually he allowed the wolf to recede, his human self returning,
as the men from the
Maelstrom
hugged and clapped one another on the back with
relief. Across the chamber, Leon was already gathering his loyal servants. Lions and
Redcloaks swarmed around him, magisters already tending to his wounds. Like Oba, the
wounded high lord still had many powerful allies. He kept glancing past them as he
watched Drew and his men walk across the abandoned forum towards Tigara’s
seat.
‘High Lord Tigara,’ said Drew,
nodding briefly as he interrupted the Tiger’s conversation with Chollo and
Opal.
‘Most folk – human
and
therian – bow when they address me, Wolflord,’ he
snarled. ‘And it’s “Your Grace”.’
‘All things considered,’ said
Drew, scratching his grizzled jaw, ‘if you’re so bothered by etiquette,
perhaps you can call me “Your Majesty”.’
Tigara snorted. ‘The Wolf is
amusing.’
‘He’s many things,’ said
Opal, her narrow eyes glaring at him.
‘You need to free those young
therianthropes you took as wards, Tigara,’ said Drew, the passion returned to his
voice. ‘Halt your tyranny and grant the Werelords of Bast their freedom once more.
The kidnapping of therian children is what’s brought you to this.’ He cast
his hand over the gore-slick floor of the forum.
‘You don’t understand,
Wolf,’ said Chollo. ‘The wards are all that keep the therian races of Bast
under control.’
‘Why do they need controlling?’
said Whitley, keen to add her voice to Drew’s. ‘Break the shackles now.
Better to have someone fight by your side out of choice than out of fear.’
‘And if they choose not to fight with
us, Bearlady?’ asked Tigara, looking the wounded Whitley up and down.
‘Then that’s their
decision,’ answered Drew. ‘But those who
do
take up arms by your
side will fight with ten times the passion and pride they’ve shown
before.’
Drew looked at the therian lords who
remained in the chamber, those who weren’t Catlords and had chosen not to side
with Oba or Leon. There were maybe twenty of them present, of all shapes and sizes. He
stepped up to the Rhino.
‘There’s one of your kin called
Krieg, is there not?’
‘My cousin, feared dead,’ said
the therianthrope.
‘He’s alive and well, fighting
in Omir for the good of the Lyssian people. And you,’ he said, patting the
shoulder of the Mammoth. ‘The Behemoth battles by Krieg’s side. I made a vow
to my friends who escaped Scoria that I would help them to free their people from
bondage in Bast. I’m here to make good that promise.’
He turned to Tigara and Chollo. ‘Your
granddaughter fights for the free people of the Seven Realms, Tigara. She battles
Onyx’s army and the Doglords of the desert, alongside Krieg and the
Behemoth.’
‘She truly lives? This isn’t
some Lyssian trick to turn Panther and Lion against one another?’
‘If so, it appears to have
worked,’ added Lord Chollo.
‘She’s the Wolf’s
ally,’ said Opal.
Drew smiled and held his hand out to the
Tigerlord. ‘More importantly, she’s my friend.’
Tigara took Drew’s wrist, each
clasping the other’s forearm. ‘They’re free, as the forefathers are my
witness,’ whispered the High Lord of Felos.