War of the Werelords by Curtis Jobling Read Free Book Online

surrounded the building, swaying gently in the breeze, the bulrushes rising as high as eight feet in places. Small birds flitted between the fronds, chasing one another and trilling as they went. The steady croaking of frogs provided a constant backdrop, the little creatures out of sight in the depths of the marshland. But it was the sound of a child’s laughter that had drawn the girl from Hedgemoor from the cool confines of the hut and out into the sunlight. The mother crouched beside a burned out fire pit, tickling the baby boy’s belly as he rolled in the damp earth, naked as the day he had been born.
    â€œHow old is he?”
    The woman looked up suddenly, eyes wide with alarm. She snatched the child up into her arms, holding him to her chest as she backed away from the hut. Gretchen raised her free hand peaceably, the other still clutching the crutch.
    â€œPlease, don’t be afraid,” she said, mortified by the stranger’s reaction.
    Gretchen noticed the woman’s unusual build, like nothing she had ever seen before. She was short and squat, her wide head sunken into her broad shoulders. Her arms seemed more distended than those of most humans, her fingers long and splayed as they clutched the baby to her bosom. The clothes she wore were unlike those one might find in the Dales or Westland, an animal hide cloak draped over a leather smock. She had the look of the wilds about her, causing Gretchen’s own fear to rise. Now she recognized the telltale signs: the flint-headed spear lying on the floor by the fire, a hunting horn close by, the bone necklace around the mother’s throat.
Was this a Wylderman woman? Had she been taken to a camp of the wild men?
    Her eyes flitting around the edges of the camp, searching for movement in the reeds, Gretchen took a hobbling step toward the mother and child. She could use the crutch as a weapon if any of the savages returned, but her best chance was to transform into the Fox. She was malnourished and haggard, and the metamorphosis would no doubt exhaust whatever energy she still had, but at least she would go down fighting. Her feet slipped as she advanced on the woman. Despite the heat of the summer sun, the ground around the hut and clearing remained moist and muddy, a fine mist steaming around them.
    â€œI don’t mean to harm you,” said Gretchen, managing to smile and keep the beast in check—at least for the time being, anyway. She did not want to harm the woman, but if it meant the difference between further misfortune at the hands of the wild men and living to fight another day, she wouldn’t think twice. She had witnessed their vile acts, their cannibalism, their worship of the wicked Wyrm goddess, Vala. Long ago she had been kidnapped by the Wyldermen and would have been sacrificed to the Wereserpent, except for her friend Drew Ferran, who had to come to her rescue. Her torment at the hands of the wild men had not ended there, as they had hunted her and Drew’s brother, Trent, through the sinister Dyrewood, almost to the point of death. No, she was done fleeing the foul men of the forest: she would fight back, or die trying.
    Gretchen caught the woman’s glance toward the fire pit, her big eyes clearly catching sight of the spear that lay in the mud.
    â€œDon’t do it,” said Gretchen, shaking her head and waggling her finger, hoping that the woman understood the common tongue. If she did, she was paying the girl from Hedgemoor no heed. The mother edged nearer the weapon, shifting the baby against her chest and freeing a hand, ready to snatch up the shaft. Gretchen crouched, her open hand now flexing menacingly as russet-red hair appeared over its back. Claws tore from her fingertips while her teeth sharpened to needle-fine points.
    â€œThink of your baby, I beg you,” she growled, but the woman was already moving.
    Gretchen pounced.
    Girl and Wylderwoman arrived beside the fire pit at the same time,