CAST OF CHARACTERS

THE WOLF AND HIS ALLIES

Drew Ferran, last of the Gray Wolves, rightful king of Westland.

Werelords of the High Seas

Count Vega, Prince of Cluster Isles, sea marshal for the Wolf, former captain of the Maelstrom, member of the Wolf’s Council. Sharklord.

Baron Bosa, the Whale of Moga, captain of the Beluga, former pirate. Whalelord.

Figgis, first mate of the Maelstrom.

Florimo, navigator. Ternlord.

Casper, former cabin boy of the Maelstrom. The son of Vega and Shah. Hawklord.

Phibians of the Bott Marshes

Kholka, a phibian Marshman.

Shilmin, his wife.

Khilik, their child.

Shoma, another phibian Marshman.

Werelords of Azra

King Faisal of Azra, true king of Omir. Jackal-lord.

Vizier Barjin of Azra, Faisal’s closest adviser. Jackal-lord.

Lady Hayfa the Hyena, ruler of Ro-Shann and besieger of Azra. Werehyena.

Aldo, Hayfa’s right-hand man.

Lord Canan of Omir, ruler of Pasha, rebel king engaged in civil war against King Faisal. Doglord.

Kara, Faisal’s young daughter. Jackal-lady.

Bastian Allies of the Wolf

Lady Opal, the Beauty of Bast, sister of Onyx. Pantherlady.

Lord Chollo of the Teeth. Cheetahlord.

High Lord Tigara, Elder of Tigers, grandfather of Taboo. Tigerlord.

Taboo, granddaughter of Lord Tigara, gladiator in Scoria. Tigerlady.

Hawklords

Lady Shah, healer, heir to Windfell. Hawklady.

Count Carsten, leader of the Hawklords, brother of Baron Baum.

Baron Baum, leader of the Hawklords, brother of Count Carsten.

Bearlords of Brackenholme

Lady Whitley, daughter of Bergan, Greencloak scout.

Duke Bergan of Brackenholme, member of the Wolf’s Council.

Duchess Rainier, wife of Bergan. Foxlady.

Lord Broghan, son of Bergan, Greencloak commander, now deceased.

Baron Redfearn, Bergan’s brother.

White Bears of Icegarden

Duke Henrik, Lord of Icegarden, cousin of Duke Bergan.

Lady Greta, magister, sister of Henrik, under siege by Baron Hector.

Wildcats of Robben

Bethwyn, lady-in-waiting to Lady Greta.

Baron Mervin, ruler of Robben, Bethwyn’s father.

Staglords of Stormdale

Duke Manfred, member of the Wolf’s Council.

Lord Reinhardt, son of Manfred, acting leader of Stormdale.

Lord Milo, son of Manfred, younger brother of Reinhardt.

Magister Wilhelm, healer, Hector’s uncle. Boarlord.

White Wolves of Shadowhaven

Miloqi, a seer.

Mikotaj, Miloqi’s brother, known as the White Death.

Other Living Werelords

Lady Gretchen of Hedgemoor, former fiancée of Lucas, Drew’s friend. Werefox.

Lord Conrad of Cape Gala. Horselord.

Lord Eben of Haggard, young Ramlord.

Krieg, gladiator, survivor of the Furnace. Rhinolord.

The Behemoth, gladiator, survivor of the Furnace. Mammoth-lord.

Duke Brand of Calico. Bull-lord.

Deceased Werelords

Wergar the Wolf, former king of Westland, Drew’s father, deposed and killed by King Leopold.

Queen Amelie, White Wolf, dowager queen of Westland, widow of Wergar and Leopold, mother of Drew and Lucas. Killed by Hector.

Earl Mikkel, brother to Duke Manfred, slain by Doglords before the Battle of Highcliff. Staglord.

Baron Ewan of Haggard, father of Lord Eben, magister, slain by Count Kesslar. Ramlord.

Lord Dorn, son of Duke Brand, slain by Count Kesslar in Haggard. Bull-lord.

Red Rufus, killed in the Battle of Brackenholme. Hawklord.

Human Allies

Trent Ferran, Drew’s adoptive brother, former member of the Redcloaks, the Wolf Knight.

Djogo, former captain of Count Kesslar’s mercenaries and slaver, now Drew’s friend.

Captain Eric Ransome, former pirate captain of the Maelstrom.

Baba Soba, a wisewoman of the Romari.

Yuzhnik, Romari fire-eater and strongman.

General Harker, commander of the Watch in Brackenholme.

General Reuben Fry, archer from Sturmland.

Bo Carver, Lord of Thieves.

Pick, young girl thief.

Lars Steinhammer, Sturmish blacksmith.

Ibal, former member of Hector’s Boarguard, now allied with Bergan.

Mack Ferran, Drew’s adoptive father, father of Trent, killed by the Lionguard.

Tilly Ferran, Drew’s adoptive mother, mother of Trent, killed by Vanmorten.

THE CATLORDS AND THEIR ALLIES

The Lions of Leos

High Lord Leon, Elder of Lions, father of Leopold, grandfather of Lucas.

Leopold the Lion, late deposed king of Westland, father of Lucas. Slain by Lucas.

King Lucas, self-crowned king of Westland, son of Leopold and Queen Amelie, Drew’s half-brother.

Lord Luc, nephew of Leon, elite Lionguard.

Lord Lex, nephew of Leon, elite Lionguard, Luc’s brother.

Their Werelord Allies

Lord Ulik of World’s End, the Naked Ape. Apelord.

General Clavell, brother to General Skean. Cranelord.

The Panthers of Braga

High Lord Oba, Elder of Panthers, father of Lord Onyx and Lady Opal.

Lord Onyx, the Beast of Bast.

Their Werelord Allies

Lieutenant Ithacus, High Lord Oba’s messenger. Vulturelord.

Count Costa, member of Onyx’s war council. Vulturelord.

General Skean, member of Onyx’s war council. Cranelord.

General Gorgo, member of Onyx’s war council. Hippolord.

Baron Overmeir of the Blasted Plains, member of Onyx’s war council. Buffalo-lord.

Lady Giza, member of Onyx’s war council. Weregazelle.

Their Human Allies

Sheriff Muller, Bandit-lord of the Badlands. Member of Onyx’s war council.

Major Krupha, Redcloak commander. Member of Onyx’s war council.

The Tigers of Felos

Field Marshal Tiaz, leader of the Furies of Felos. Tigerlord.

Their Werelord Allies

General Primus, cousin to Onyx. Pantherlord.

Lord Urok, the Red Ape of World’s End. Apelord.

The Cheetahs of the Teeth

Lord Chang, son of Lord Chollo. Deceased.

The Rat King

Vanmorten, Lord Chancellor of Westland, most powerful member of the Rat King family.

Vankaskan, dark magister, Hector’s former master. Killed by Drew.

Vorjavik, war marshal, killed by Lord Reinhardt at the Battle of Stormdale.

Vorhaas, twin of Vorjavik, commander of the Lion’s army in the Dalelands. Killed by Trent Ferran.

Wyldermen and Their Goddess

Vala, evil wereserpent goddess worshipped by the Wyldermen. Killed by Drew.

Darkheart, leader of the Wyld Wolves.

Werelords of Scoria

Lord Ignus of Scoria, owner of the Furnace. Lizardlord.

Count Kesslar of Haggard, slaver. Goatlord. Killed by the Behemoth.

On the High Seas

Sea Marshal Scorpio, former commander of the Bastian Fleet and captain of the Bastian Empress. Fishlord.

THE BOARLORD AND HIS ALLIES

Baron Hector, dark magister known as Blackhand, ruler of Redmire, former member of the Wolf’s Council, ruler of Ugri. Boarlord.

Vincent-vile, the phantom of Hector’s dead twin brother.

Crowlords

Lord Flint, son of Count Croke, leader of the Crows of Riven. Killed by Hector.

Human Allies

Ringlin, captain of the Boarguard. Killed by Hector.

Two Axes, Ugri warrior.

PART I

THE WOLF RETURNS

I

THE BULL PEN

THE YOUNG WOMAN stopped in her tracks on the dockside, taking a moment to look back over the harbor while the steady stream of men-at-arms strode past. The fortress city of the Werebull Duke Brand had been liberated, the enemy fleet of Bastian warships decimated by the Wolf’s navy. Calico Bay was a fractured reef of blackened masts and half-sunk dreadnoughts, their twisted timbers reaching out of the waves like the fingers of drowning men. The occasional trawler weaved between the wrecks, hopeful fishermen slowly taking back their sea from the fallen invaders as they made for the deeper waters beyond. She watched as one small vessel bobbed past the Nemesis, a man-of-war that blotted the sun from the sky above. The fishermen saluted the men aboard the Nemesis, a mongrel crew from Bast and Lyssia who had sailed with the young woman in the name of the Wolf. The men waved and cheered back, hollering encouragement as the plucky boat headed for open water.

She admired the trawlermen’s optimism, the never-say-die attitude of a people who had been prisoners within their own city for so long, already reclaiming their livelihoods just days after the tyrant Sea Marshal Scorpio had been routed. She felt hope, a strange feeling to her, and one to which she would have to become reaccustomed.

Are you ready, my lady?

Whitley turned to Captain Ransome and saw the elderly pirate captain straightening his gray whiskers. He waited for her on the crowded drawbridge that linked the fortress city to the docks beyond its walls. More of the ships under her command remained anchored farther out to sea, their human cargo having alighted in the harbor. There was no sign of Baron Bosa’s fleet out there: Whitley had expected to find the victorious Werewhale of Moga waiting for them, but alas he had been drawn back out to sea, hunting down their enemies. She brought her attention back to the procession of exotic soldiers as they strode by. Whitley had witnessed the Goldhelms of the Werepanthers and the Redcloaks who served the Lion marching across Lyssian soil, but here was a different kind of Bastian: the Furies, twin-sword-wielding warriors of the Tigerlords. They numbered fewer than their cousins, but their reputation was equally frightful. As they traversed the giant timber drawbridge into the city, the men of Calico looked warily down from their walls at the leather-clad Furies crossing the threshold.

You think they’re happy to see more Bastians come ashore, Ransome? she asked, falling in beside him as they vanished into the shadows of the mighty gatehouse, the sandstone walls towering overhead.

If they feared us they wouldn’t open their gates, my lady, said the old sea captain. There may be Bastians among our number, but the men of Calico have witnessed our friend Baron Bosa annihilate Sea Marshal Scorpio’s fleet. They’re right to be cautious after what they’ve endured, but I’d still consider this a warm welcome. I doubt Duke Brand greeted the Werefish with such open arms.

• • •

I was expecting a king and they send me a girl?

Whitley marched through the hall known to all in Calico as the Bull Pen, as the assembled great and good parted excitedly to let her by. Captain Ransome remained at her shoulder, back straight and jaw jutting out sharp as a cliff, as they approached the duke’s table. Though old enough to be her grandfather, the former pirate had proved his worth time and again to the girl from Brackenholme, and had helped save her pelt from the jaws of the terrible Sharklord Deadeye. There was only one other soul she would rather have by her side, and he was now far away.

Girl I may be, but I speak on behalf of the Wolf and my father, the Lord of Brackenholme.

Her voice rose over the noise in the Bull Pen as all eyes turned back to the giant fellow who had spoken from behind the long table. He lifted his bald head and snorted at the young lady as she came to a halt before him. His neck was lost in a knot of enormous muscles piled across his shoulders. He wore a long black cloak held in place by a straining gold chain about his throat, and its ermine-lined edge trailed onto the ground at his feet. It was clear by the way his court looked to him that he commanded their utter obedience. Whether this was born out of respect or fear, Whitley had yet to decide.

Bergan’s child? said Duke Brand.

Lady Whitley, Your Grace, replied the girl with a respectful bow. Thank you for opening the gates of Calico to our men. Your hospitality is most welcome.

Good thing you sent word ahead, said Brand gruffly. Chances are, had you turned up unannounced, we’d have blown you out of the bay with that Bastian blasting powder.

The blasting powder that my friend Baron Bosa seized from Scorpio’s fleet, you mean?

The Bull prickled at this comment, but Whitley continued. You have nothing to fear from my force, Your Grace.

Who said I was afraid, little Bear?

The warriors you no doubt saw in my company are allied to the Wolf, sworn into his service in the name of High Lord Tigara, the Weretiger of Felos.

Strange that those you once considered enemies are now called friends, Lady Whitley, said the duke.

In the winds of war, alliances can shift like the grasses of your Longridings, Your Grace; often unpredictable, and occasionally fortuitous. The Catlord Forum of Elders is broken, the continent of Bast in turmoil. The Lions and Panthers fight with one another, while the Tigers of Felos are now loyal to Lord Drew. They are our allies, Your Grace.

Whitley wasn’t about to be intimidated by the old Werebull. She had done a lot of growing up since the war had begun, her days as a wide-eyed apprentice scout now a dim and distant memory. What she had experienced would have broken a lesser spirit. She saw nothing to fear in Brand.

Baron Bosa has moved on already, I hear? she continued.

Indeed, replied the duke. He said there were bigger fish to fry along the Cold Coast. There’s talk of even more Bastians making for our shores. I’m grateful to the Werewhale and his fleet for their timely incursion in Calico Bay. Had they not come to our assistance when they did, Brenn knows what fate would have awaited my people.

You mention Bosa’s fleet, Your Grace, but those were actually the Wolf’s ships. The baron is one of Drew’s men, having sworn fealty to the rightful king of Westland.

And why does this Wolf king not show his face to us? Do I not merit an appearance from the fabled son of Wergar, the lycanthrope at the heart of this sorry war?

Lord Drew is otherwise engaged, said Whitley, her own annoyance just about in check. She had not wanted to leave Drew’s side, but circumstances had dictated that their paths had to diverge. He has sailed on to the desert realm of Omir, while I headed straight for Calico and the newly liberated Lords of the Longridings. My path takes me north, Your Grace, to Sturmland where our enemies await.

Your enemies are your own business, my lady, said the Bull. I’ve had as much of this war as I can stomach. You may go north with my blessing.

Whitley stood agape. I didn’t come here to seek your blessing, Your Grace, she snapped. I came here seeking soldiers.

You’ve brought soldiers of your own, I see. No need for you to take any of mine.

"There is every need for the men and women of the Longridings to join us on the march north. As you yourself observed, my soldiers are Bastian warriors who now fight as brothers-in-arms against our common enemy."

More Bastians coming to fight in Lyssia? scoffed Brand. Well, isn’t that just what we need? I hardly see how the Tigerlord’s warriors are an answer to our worries. The Lion king Lucas’s Redcloak army and the Goldhelms of Lord Onyx still swamp the Seven Realms.

The Furies are but a small fraction of the solution to our problems, said Whitley, fists curled earnestly as she took another step forward to lean against the table.

Brand waved a mighty hand dismissively. March north, my lady, with your southern friends by your side. The Longridings never asked to be part of the Wolf’s war but somehow managed to get dragged into it.

This war was inevitable, with or without Drew’s emergence in Westland. King Leopold was only the beginning of the Bastian invasion.

And that invasion is in ruins now! You said it yourself, the Catlords are divided, their army in pieces! Let the Lion keep Westland—

Do you really think Lucas will be content with just a small portion of our continent? He wants the lot, Brand, as does Onyx. Our enemy may be divided, but they remain intent upon taking Lyssia for their own. They want everything.

Mind your manners, child, rumbled the duke. I doubt your father raised you to speak to your betters in such a charmless fashion.

Presently, Your Grace, she said, scouring the assembled court in the Bull Pen, I’ve yet to spy any betters.

Brand punched the table, enraged.

Insolent little wretch, he snorted. Come to my hall and disrespect me, will you? His brow split, horns sliding out of his temples like two monstrous spears. The audience of assembled nobles gasped, stepping backward, and even Ransome quickly staggered clear, as the Werebull shifted shape before them. Only Whitley remained motionless, feet locked firmly in place, her eyes fixed fiercely upon the duke while her heart quaked. Perhaps I should fear the Bull after all?

Brand grabbed the table and pulled it to one side, his temper exploding in the face of the contemptuous girl from Brackenholme. His powerful legs had transformed, great cloven hooves striking the flagged floor like steel against stone.

You seem to forget, Your Grace, she shouted, that you have Lord Drew to thank for your freedom! It was the Wolf’s fleet that sailed to your aid, scuttling Scorpio’s fleet. Tell me, how close to starvation were the people of Calico before Bosa sailed into the bay and liberated you from Scorpio’s siege? Before the Wolf was victorious on your behalf?

Whitley moved now as the Werebull snatched at her, ducking under his grasp and moving around him. Light on her feet, she kept him turning, making a mockery of his frustration before his cowed and trembling courtiers. Some of the noblemen and ladies cried out, panicked. Whitley was vaguely aware of shouting and a fresh commotion at the entrance to the Bull Pen, but her attention was focused solely on the duke and his terrible horns.

Is that how you win a war, Duke Brand? she called out. Hiding behind your giant walls while other men—better men—give their lives? She turned to the cowering crowd. What of the other Lords of the Longridings? The Bull of Calico grants you shelter, and you leave your backbones at the door? Will none of you help us?

Shut up, you wretched child, roared the Werebull, stamping the floor as he lowered his head, blinded by rage. Silence or so help me . . .

What? she growled back, rust-brown fur emerging from her skin. You’ll attack me? I suppose you can take me, Brand, since I’m just a girl. Perhaps you feel I’m not worthy opposition for the once powerful Lord of the Longridings? Well, I promise you this, she said, claws and teeth growing as she prepared for his charge, I’ll leave you with something to remember me by.

As the Werebull lunged at her, Whitley leapt high, seizing Brand’s monstrous head. The two wrestled across the chamber, the half-transformed Bearlady gripping the duke with all her might, while the onlookers watched on in wonder. She had Brand in a headlock, twisting and turning the duke as he tried to wrestle free. The duke’s cloven feet struck the ground, their clatter rattling off the Bull Pen’s walls as the two struggled for dominion. Finally tearing himself loose, the Bull collapsed through a darkened alcove, crashing into the wall, plasterwork crumbling with the impact. He struggled to his feet, bellowing at his guards.

Pass me an ax! he snorted. Now!

Before any soldier could comply, a blond-maned Horselord pushed through the throng, making his way toward the two combatants. He was partially transformed and more than prepared for a fight, his eyes fixed upon the Bull.

Have you taken leave of your senses, Duke Brand? asked Whitley’s champion, his nostrils flaring as his long face flushed with anger. I return to court to find you trying to kill our guest?

She’s no guest of mine, snorted Brand, glaring at the Werestallion, who positioned himself between the duke and the girl. Stand aside, Conrad.

Why? said the Horselord. So you may harm her?

So I may turn her out of my city! shouted the Bull.

Then you turn my brethren and me out, too, replied Conrad, gradually shifting back to human form as his temper subsided. Whitley is a friend to the people of the Longridings. She is an ally of ours.

Of yours, young Horselord.

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.

2

KILLER CHARM

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