Storm of Sharks by Curtis Jobling

Author:Curtis Jobling
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780141345024
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

2

Wolf Blood

Leaning against the towering stone, Lord Onyx watched the unfolding ritual with keen interest. He didn’t share his comrades’ superstitions. While his fellow Bastian lords stood a healthy distance away, fearful of whatever Wyrm Magicks the shaman was conjuring, the Pantherlord remained within the ring of standing stones, intruding upon the holy site. Although the forests were now the sole domain of Lyssia’s Wyldermen, there had been a time when their tribes had been scattered across the Seven Realms. The humpbacked hill in the Badlands that the crowd now gathered on was one such site, the stone circle once at the heart of the wild men’s worship.

While the one called Darkheart danced and hollered before a roaring fire, his brethren formed a circle around him. Their arms were interlinked, bodies swaying from side to side, an ebbing tide of chalk and woad markings, bones and feathers. Their chant remained constant, beating out a rhythm beneath Darkheart’s keening. The shaman wore a ram’s skull over his own, crowned by rattling capercaillie feathers, his body daubed with black clay. He leapt and spun, pirouetting and prancing, his movements balletic as he circuited a crude stone table. His eyes were rolled back in their sockets, the glistening white orbs mirroring the full moon above.

A fully armoured King Lucas stood behind the ring of Wyldermen, within the stone circle but apart from the ritual. His youthful face was illuminated by the bonfire, smiling as he watched Darkheart’s dance. His mouth worked as he tried to follow the incantation, a foreigner unversed in the tongue. His eyes followed the shaman’s every movement, the young Lion captivated by the ceremony. He held something round and white against his shining golden breastplate, partly obscured by the draping sleeves of his regal red robes. To his side, Vanmorten stood, black cowl around his face. The hood turned as the Ratlord glanced toward Onyx, the Panther glaring back. That’s right, Lord Chancellor, his eyes seemed to say, I’m watching you.

‘You should put a stop to this,’ muttered General Gorgo at Onyx’s shoulder. The Hippolord remained hidden in the shadows of the monolith.

‘Why?’ replied the Beast of Bast. ‘The king’s happy. Let the child play.’

‘We waste time. The moon is full – we should be making the most of her light. I say we leave this sorry spectacle behind and march on the Sturmish now, as discussed.’

‘You know the king’s orders as well as I,’ said Onyx. ‘We march on the Sturmish tonight, but after this ritual.’

‘I don’t like it. Vanmorten said the Wyldermen would summon demons to fight for the Lion. Demons! They’re dancing with darkness, as bad as anything that wretched Blackhand is involved in!’

Onyx stifled a laugh.

‘I witnessed first-hand what Baron Hector was capable of. I can assure you, whatever “demons” this Wylderman and his brothers conjure will pale in comparison. Despite his frail form and feeble bloodline, the Boarlord’s an enemy we must all respect.’

‘You fear Blackhand?’

‘You misheard me,’ said Onyx, returning his gaze to the wild men as they sang and swayed before the flames.

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