Storm of Sharks (27 page)

As the two fell to the floor in a wrestle,
Onyx’s claws raked down Henrik’s left arm, catching at the point where the
deadly White Fist, the cause of so much damage, sat snug on the Bear’s limb. He
gripped the steel and yanked hard, tearing the gauntlet loose so it flew through the air
to land at Bergan’s feet. The Lord of Brackenholme snatched it up, looking for a
way to pass it back to his cousin. Henrik drove his head in, smashing his broad skull
against the Panther’s and sending him
stunned to his knees. Onyx
lunged forward, jaws open, trying to launch a desperate attack on his foe, but the White
Bear was leaping clear, swinging his now gauntlet-free left paw across Onyx’s
torso as he did so.

Onyx crouched on all fours, quickly moving a
clawed hand up to his stomach. He pushed himself upright, breathing hard, woozy and
nauseous. His clawed hand held the flesh of his belly together, the cuts from the
Bearlord’s paw grievous. He smiled through bloody teeth as he looked up at Henrik.
The White Bear stood wearily over him, his white fur stained red. He raised both paws
into the air once more, enormous claws ready to strike.

‘Well fought, Bearlord,’
whispered the Beast of Bast, finally accepting defeat. He relaxed and prepared for the
killing blow.

It never came. The Sturmlanders cried out,
even the Goldhelms joining them, as Lucas leapt forward. Onyx opened his mouth to
scream, to shout
no
, to call the king back, but the greatsword of the Werelions
was already connecting with the exhausted Werebear’s neck. The first blow hacked
the flesh, sending Henrik to his knees beside Onyx. The Bearlord’s eyes were open,
staring incredulously at the Panther until the second chop took off his head.

Before the Sturmish could even think about
jumping to their lord’s defence, the Wyld Wolves poured forth out of the night,
swarming towards them out of the fog. The freakish lycanthropes bounded, springing,
taking the knights from their whinnying horses. Some of the monsters leapt on to
Henrik’s corpse, tearing into the slain Werelord with ghoulish enthusiasm while
the Werelion watched.

‘Betrayers!’ roared a
transformed Duke Bergan as two
Sturmlanders tried to drag him away.
‘Brenn curse you all!’ He retreated into the fog, surrounded by the terrible
Wyld Wolves as they scattered his party.

‘No!’ shouted the Beast of Bast
as he knelt in the snow, claws in his guts, his words lost on the transformed Wyldermen.
‘There’s no honour in this, Lucas! Call off your Wolfmen!’

The Lion looked down at Onyx and snarled.
‘You forget yourself again, uncle; it’s
King
Lucas.’ He
crouched beside the injured Werepanther as the butchery continued behind him. ‘And
I’ll do what I please.’

As the fires raged in the harbour, choking
the sky with black clouds, the tower of the Kraken was beginning to fall. Some said that
magicks had gone into the citadel’s construction, as powerful as those in Sturmish
steel. True or not, though, no enchantment could help the sea tower now. A feat of
engineering born from the Squidlord’s ambitious mind, Ghul’s floating
fortress was failing. Mighty cracks shot through its walls, fractures that raced from
base to summit. Supporting beams that had been carefully considered and perfectly placed
began to grind and groan, torquing and twisting beneath the strain of the palace’s
burning bulk.

Hooking the stump of his left arm over the
rail, Drew launched himself on to the balcony, landing with a thump on the trembling
decking. A quick glance into the chamber ahead revealed little, the air thick with
smoke. Reaching back, he
took hold of the weary Vega’s hand,
straining to haul the Sharklord up. Below the count, Florimo and other freed prisoners
clung to one another, the walkways buckling beneath their feet. The exterior walls were
alive with activity as pirates and sailors were released from shackles and gibbets, the
fires spreading quickly over the structure’s frame. Vega dropped to his knees as
Drew bent over the banister to grab Florimo.

‘Keep moving, Vega,’ gasped
Drew. ‘There has to be a way down through the tower.’

Vega stumbled on into the chamber, squinting
into the gloom. The odd torch guttered in its bracket, its light failing to penetrate
the darkness. The shrieks of combat echoed from the tower’s depths, warning the
count of what lay ahead. He shifted Skerrett’s silver sabre in his hand nervously,
manacles and severed chains dangling from each bloody wrist. The captain of the
Maelstrom
did not feel himself. His ordeal on the walls of the sea
fortress, starved and tormented by the Kraken, had left him a shell of the pirate prince
he had once been. His only desire was to be away from the terrible tower, as soon as
possible.

‘Come now, old friend,’ came a
voice from the darkness, causing the Sharklord to stutter to a halt. ‘You were
going to leave without saying goodbye?’

Vega saw a shape appear now, materializing
through the smoke. Many Werelords of Lyssia could change to allow aspects of the beast
to the fore, to varying degrees; few could shape-shift entirely into the creature that
Brenn’s blessing had married them to. The old Serpent of the Wyrmwood, Vala, was
one such therian who held complete control over the
beast. Ghul, the
Squidlord of the Cluster Isles, was another.

Covering the distance in quick time, three
tentacles lashed out at the Sharklord. The first struck him hard, knocking him to the
floor. The second swept him up, tossing him through the air, away from the balcony. The
third caught him, pinning him to the war room wall with such force that the timbers
splintered at his back. The silver sabre quivered in the floorboards a few yards
away.

‘This is too easy,’ the
Kraken’s voice rumbled as its huge mantle bobbed into view, the wobbling flesh
undulating with shades of indigo and violet. Any human features were gone, banished by
the change. Head and torso had merged into the tall, bloated body of the Weresquid,
eight monstrous limbs rippling out from beneath its swaying frame.

A tentacle drove Vega up the wall, grating
the squirming count until his head hit the ceiling, the thick limb choking him.

‘Put him down,’ snarled Drew, as
he stepped forward from the balcony. Moonbrand glowed in his grey furred hand,
penetrating the pall of smoke that had filled the chamber from below.

‘I don’t think so,’ came a
voice from behind the Kraken. A lithe figure jumped over the Squidlord’s
tentacles, a boy struggling in her arms. Her skin was as black as night, shining purple
and blue where Moonbrand’s light caught it. Her right arm was locked around
Casper’s throat, her clawed left hand open, ready to strike the child.

‘Drew Ferran, the Wolf of
Westland,’ she said, cocking her bald head, looking him up and down. ‘This
floating bonfire was the last place I expected we’d meet.’

‘Opal,’ Drew said, with a snarl of
recognition. The Panther was the second female felinthrope he’d met, and she bore
a striking similarity to the first. The Weretiger Taboo had been battle-hardened in the
gladiatorial arena on the volcanic isle of Scoria, years spent fighting for survival
having broken down her trust in everyone. In time, Drew had managed to repair that, to
the point that Taboo had considered him her friend. Every move Opal made was poised and
deliberate, as if she might strike out at any moment. Taboo had been just the same, her
wary nature easily misconstrued as constant, simmering aggression. Opal seemed every bit
as deadly. A handful of Krakenguard stood behind her, silver shortswords raised before
them.

‘You’re feeling foolish now,
Wolf, aren’t you?’ said the woman as Casper squirmed in her grasp.
‘Drop your sword and turn yourself in. You’re coming with me to Highcliff,
you
and
the Shark. King Lucas wants to speak with you.’

‘And the boy?’

Vega grunted where he was pinned high
against the wall, his heels kicking out at the Kraken’s tentacle, but Ghul simply
pushed harder, forcing the fight from him.

‘This one?’ asked Opal, turning
to look at Casper. She kissed his forehead tenderly. ‘He’s precious to you
too? I understand he’s the count’s boy from the
Maelstrom.
I
promise you nothing, Wolf. The longer you delay dropping the sword, the greater the
chance I may just kill him.’

Drew wavered, the weightless Moonbrand
suddenly heavy in his grip. He felt the wolf retreating, withdrawing beneath his skin,
his heart growing cold. It was bad enough that Ghul had Vega, but he couldn’t risk
Casper’s life as well.

‘Hold that sword, my lord,’ came a
voice from behind. ‘Don’t be thinking about dropping it.’

Drew turned to find that Florimo had joined
him, the severed chain from his manacles taut in his gnarled hands. At his back, more
figures began to appear over the balcony, a steady stream of freed prisoners from the
fortress walls. Chains and lengths of wood were the weapons of the humans, while those
therians among them who had shaken off their shackles began to shift. Another Shark, a
Wereray, a Lobsterlord: all manner of marvellous Werelords of the Sea materialized.
Drew’s heart raced. Suddenly the advantage was theirs.

‘About those demands,’ said
Drew, snarling as he let the wolf back in. ‘I think we need to
renegotiate.’

‘I still have the boy,
remember?’ said Opal, twisting Casper roughly in her arms. ‘And the Kraken
has the Shark!’

Drew ignored her, pacing forward, the
Panther’s comrades looking doubtfully at one another. More allies continued to
clamber and crawl into the war room, adding weight to the Wolf’s cause. The tower
lurched again, another mighty groan sounding from its base.

‘You hand them to me, you leave with
your life, Opal. You harm a hair on their heads, you die, here, tonight. I give you my
word.’

‘Over my dead body it is, then!’
said the Beauty of Bast, her voice lacking confidence.

The Werewolf turned his attention to the
Krakenguard. ‘That goes for you too, gentlemen: drop your weapons. Leave now, and
we spare you. I make this offer only once. Refuse, and we all die together in an
inferno!’

That was enough for most of them. Weapons
clattered to the floor, as those who’d served the Kraken marked an end to that
association. While some dashed for freedom, a handful turned their blades towards Ghul
and Opal, taking an even greater step away from their former masters. Only a single
Krakenguard remained loyal, standing beside Opal.

The mob backed away from the Kraken as it
flung its tentacles out indiscriminately, striking anyone it could reach.

‘Let Vega go, Ghul!’ roared
Drew, refusing to stand down. As the tentacles struck out at him, the young Wolf ducked,
jumped, sidestepped and parried the blows.

Opal had seen enough, now retreating towards
the doorway. Florimo lashed out with his chain, catching her guard in the head. The
links snared around his helm; with a tug, the soldier was thrown into the mob of freed
prisoners, falling beneath their blows.

Drew spied Opal making her getaway. He was
forced to choose between Vega and Casper. The decision was easy.

The Werewolf bounded away from the Kraken,
low to the ground, Moonbrand trailing behind him. One more leap and he’d be across
to the arched portal that led to the staircase; she’d be trapped. The Werepanther
hissed, her back arching as the lycanthrope tried to cut her off. Lifting Casper over
her head, she threw him towards Ghul, the boy snatched from the air by one of the
Kraken’s lashing tentacles. With that, she turned and ran through the war
room’s grand entrance.

The punch that hit Opal in the face was
delivered with righteous fury. The attack came out of the darkness at the top
of the spiral staircase, the heavy ursine fist catching her face dead
centre, leaving the felinthrope in a broken heap.

A familiar-looking gang dashed in through
the archway, a partially transformed Werebear leading them, the woodland green cloak
instantly marking her out as Whitley. At her side came Figgis, first mate from the
Maelstrom
, dagger in one hand, shortsword in another. The wooden frame
buckled as a huge figure squeezed through the arched entrance, filling the portal.

‘Release them, Ghul!’ bellowed
the Whale of Moga, his feet threatening to splinter the floor beneath him.

Baron Bosa was unmistakable. At sixteen feet
tall, his vast body was cross-hatched with old war wounds, the white skin stretched taut
over brawn and blubber. Head and torso had merged into one; he was a mountain of muscle
and menace. His mouth was a chasm, lined by rows of hard, stubby teeth that could crush
rocks. In one giant hand he held a trident that glistened black in the torchlight.

‘You fat fool, Bosa!’ screeched
the Kraken. ‘You come to my fortress and think you can command me?’

‘Let them go,’ said Bosa,
striding towards the Weresquid as Drew slunk through the smoke, his eyes never leaving
the boy who was suspended in Ghul’s grasp.