War of the Werelords by Curtis Jobling Page B

being decommissioned. Waste of a good fighting ship if that were the case, reasoned Scorpio. The patchwork, multicolored sails were a nice touch, suggesting that the captain was a flamboyant fellow who was happy to improvise with repairs when needed. He could hear the red flags clapping now, proudly proclaiming the Omiri’s business. Fools. Oddly, the masts and yards were in fine shape, showing no wear and tear whatsoever. Strange that a captain might keep his timber in such fine condition, yet scrimp on sails.
    She was sitting low in the water, lower than one might expect for a Spyr Oil trader. That nagged at the sea marshal’s mind. He noticed the hoardings that were fixed to the trader’s hull, running the ship’s entire length. They rattled and clattered in their fixtures, right over the lower decks where one might expect portholes. Or gun ports.
    By the time he screamed his warning, it was too late. The hoardings had fallen away, the cannons had fired, and the belly of the
Bastian Empress
was riddled with holes.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Drew and Vega were already in the water before the
Maelstrom
had unleashed her surprise attack. Both were transformed, the Shark’s powerful body propelling the Wolf through the waves, heading straight for the predatory dreadnought. The murky twilight and turbulent sea gave the two Werelords plenty of cover as they approached the flagship. Drew gripped the Wereshark’s mighty dorsal fin, his clawed fingers digging into the tough, gray flesh for dear life. His sword, Moonbrand, trailed in his wake, safely ensconced in its scabbard, the enchanted blade’s weightlessness providing no hindrance to their passage. Vega was swimming at a rate unlike anything Drew had imagined. The Werewolf gasped for air as they powered on, snatching lungfuls before being once again submerged. Suddenly, they were alongside the barnacle-encrusted hull of the floating fortress.
    Deafened though Drew was by the waves and the warship’s thundering progress, the unmistakable booms from the
Maelstrom
’s
cannons filled his ears. The curving wall of timber exploded beside them,
the dreadnought’s vast flank ripped open by the smaller ship’s surprise salvo. The crew’s screams instantly filled the air as timber and iron tumbled inward and out, the Bastian ship’s innards exposed to the elements. An awful groaning sounded from within as the
Bastian Empress
suddenly lurched to starboard, the sea instantly finding a way into her gaping belly.
    As the waves rushed in, the mighty Sharklord turned toward a yawning hole in the vessel’s hull, already half-submerged, the tilting deck within alive with the frantic activity of panicked sailors. A mariner was barking orders at the men, trying to turn them back as they rushed for the top decks, but the crew were having none of it. He was quickly barged from his perch, tumbling into the inrushing waves with a splash, just as Wolf and Shark clambered out of the foaming, surging water.
    None of the mariners were in a fighting mood. Some wailed at the sight of the dripping wet therian lords as they made for the staircase, while others leapt to one side to allow them to pass. Moonbrand was in Drew’s hand, but the sailors parted before the Wolf and Shark like wheat before the scythe.
    On the pitching topside of the dreadnought
,
the chaos only intensified. The
Maelstrom
rode the waves beside her now, the count’s crew cheering as their captain emerged onto the enemy ship’s decks. The Bastians were working the ropes in teams, launching lifeboats over the rails. Drew spied two officers nearby fighting over the command of a gang of men, one set upon abandoning the stricken vessel, the other keen to see them remain at their posts. He saw the flash of a dagger and the stubborn mate went down onto his knees before the deserter, clutching his bloodied stomach as the men continued to release the rowboat from its