FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Shayde left the room, taking the empty bowl with him, completely cleaned of stew, and descended the stairs to the common room of the inn, stopping only to leave the bowl by the kitchen, and to re-adjust his katana on his hip, safe in its scabbard. As he entered the main room, silence fell from the few occupants still there, all of whom were staring at him. Shayde sighed internally. This was one reason why he didn't want to cause a problem; now everyone was way too wary of him. Looking around, he saw that the wolf was gone: a number of bloody paw-prints dragged from the middle of the room to the door. There was still a sizable pool of blood on the floor, meaning the wolf must have bled out a bit before coming around.

He approached the blood and untied his bandana, using the treated material to soak up the blood, and wrung the scarlet fluid out of the window, leaving the floor blood-free, and considerably cleaner than the rest of the floor. As he was cleaning up his mess, he heard many murmurings behind raised paws as the remaining patrons whispered about him.

'I think I've 'eard of 'im,' came a whispered statement to his left, ''e's that bounty 'unter, trackin' down that thief 'oo stole that gem in the big smoke.'

'Nah. More like 'e's the thief 'imself, jus' tryin' to make a bigger name for 'imself.' snorted someone else.

''E's gonna get it when Slate finds 'im again!' chuckled another.

Someone else snorted audibly, 'Not likely! 'E sliced 'is hands too bad. Slate'll have to see a healer jus' to pick up a spoon!'

Great, though Shayde. Even in the middle of nowhere, his opponents could get up and see a healer, ready to fight him again. Healing was a dicey art as it was, but with recent advances in chemical compounding, it wasn't as risky as it had been. However, the advances had been helpful, allowing mundane material to be treated to perform various tasks, like his bandana, and (he recalled with a growl) the thief's cloak. Making a mental note to keep an eye out for the wolf, or Slate, as it appears his name was, he re-tied his bandana and left the inn, ready to begin his search for the thief.

As he walked down the main street, he saw that news of the thief had indeed reached out here. Plastered on walls was the only image of the thief, which Shayde himself had drawn from memory. It showed the black-cloaked figure, wielding the blade-capped staff. Below was the name the authorities had given her; the Shadow. A huge reward was on offer for her, enough to bring even novice bounty-hunters out of the woodwork, even if they knew they were no match for her. Shayde was suffering from the aftermath of the fight, having suffered a humiliating defeat at The Shadow's hands. Needless to say, all the headlines were running 'Shadow outshine's Shayde' or other such-like slogans, so Shayde had left the city in pursuit of the thief, following the only thing he had; the small scrap of The Shadow's cloak, torn off while she taunted him from the roof-tops. While the scent had been growing faint, it had led him to this village, where it was strongest, indicating she was hiding here.

It seemed he'd chosen a very popular time to be out. It was early afternoon, and it seemed the entire village was out and about, adding to the general chaos of the place. A vast number of furs were milling around, doing various tasks or just loitering. As he walked down the main 'street' he saw blacksmiths, carpenters, refuse collectors, bookmakers, couriers, and a great many more. The noise was incredible; whinnies, barks, growls, mews, twitters, every imaginable sound. It was enough to send Shayde mad. Fortunately, the smell from earlier was gone, pounded out by the sheer mass of life.

Shayde pulled the cloak-scrap from his pocket and examined it. The oil-like swirls of the cloaking chemical was almost completely gone, but it was still acting like a sort of compass, swirling more in the direction of its main part.

He was so absorbed in following the swirls that he didn't notice he'd stepped into the path of another fur, slamming into them.

'Hey! Watch where you're going!' cried the other. A teetering pile of boxed carried by the figure wavered and fell to the dusty ground with a dull thump and a slight squelch.

'Oh, NO!' cried the figure, clad in a dusty apron. They fell on the boxes and ripped the lid off. Inside were the remains of a once-beautiful cake, all white frosting and spun sugar. The other boxes contained other such ruined masterpieces. The figure stared at the damaged confections, sniffed once, then glared at Shayde, pointing a fore-finger at him in an accusatory fashion.

'You OAF! I needed those! They were for a very important customer!' Through the coating of flour and other substances, Shayde made out that the figure was a husky, a female, judging by her slim figure. Her snapping amber eyes burned with fury. Her thick pelt was red and white, though covered with a liberal amount of flour, so she looked more orange than red. She had some bandages around her arms, possibly from burns, and an ornate neck chain. Shayde took in all this in an instant, and then returned to the main problem.

'I'm so sorry,' he said, 'I wasn't paying attention.'

'Well, THAT much was apparent!' snapped the husky. She directed her pointing finger to the boxes, now oozing thick icing. 'What am I going to do with these?! You're apology won't fix them!'

Shayde looked at the boxes. The cakes were obviously the works of a master chef, one who probably wouldn't like his hard work dropped by a passer-by. Just as he was about to apologise again, he noticed one box was still un-flattened.

'Hey, that one looks alright.' He pointed to the box. The husky flew onto the box, picked it up gingerly, and opened it. Inside was a beautiful cake, miraculously intact. The husky exhaled noisily. 'Phew! If one cake could be saved, at least it was this one. This is going to the mayor.' She placed the box to one side, and knelt to pick up the remaining messes. Shayde knelt down to help her, feeling that he owed her that much at least. As he was scooping some of the cake, he knocked into her bandaged arm, causing her to recoil and cry out in pain, clutching the arm to her chest.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' he said. The husky glared at him again. He pointed to her arms. 'What happened to you?' he asked.

'I burnt them.' she said shortly. 'Ovens are hot, you know. I was rushing to get these cakes out on time. Fat lot of good that was.'

Shayde decided to shut up. She wasn't going to forgive him any time soon, so the less he said, the better for him. He picked up the undamaged cake, keeping it out of the way of other passing furs, and examined it.

'This is very nice,' he said. He wasn't lying. The cake was very well made, covered in a liberal layer of icing sugar. The only thing stopping him from salivating over it (apart from the husky's anger) was the thick coating of chocolate ganache. Chocolate was the only thing he wouldn't eat, being a dog and all.

'Thanks,' said the husky gruffly. 'I worked hard on it.' Shayde looked up, astonished. 'You made this?' The husky nodded, pointing over at the adjacent building, Xani's Bakery. 'The best bakery for a good few miles.' she said, somewhat proudly.

'You're Xani, then? My name's Shayde.' he offered his hand to shake, but she didn't move to shake it.

'I know you,' she said. 'You're that bounty hunter from the city, the one who got beaten up by this Shadow person, right?'

Shayde grimaced and looked down. 'It wasn't a fair fight. She cheated.'

'She?' Xani looked delighted. 'You were beaten by a girl? Hah! The big bad bounty-hunter got beaten by a girl!'

'Yes, I know. Big laugh.' sighed Shayde.

Xani continued to laugh at him. Suddenly, someone knocked into Shayde. Looking around, he saw a figure disappear around a corner. A figure wearing a long, black cloak...

Shayde was after the figure at once, hurrying after the fleeing figure.

'Hey! Wait! You've still got the box!' Xani called, but Shayde wasn't listening. Finally, he'd found her. He put the box down on a passing rail and unsheathed his blade, ready for a fight.

He hurried around the corner and followed the figure from a distance. The Shadow turned to look at him, and then vanished down an alleyway. Shayde followed cautiously. The last time he'd followed her into an alleyway, an innocent Retriever had died. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He peered around the corner of the alleyway, seeking out any other people. It was deserted, so he cautiously stepped around. Holding his blade in front of him, he padded into the middle of the alley, looking everywhere for the cloaked figure.

'So. You fell for my trap, pup.' Shayde's ears flicked back. He remembered that voice. He turned on the spot, to find a cloaked figure behind him, emerging from the deep shadows. The figure pulled back the hood, revealing the scarred face of Slate, the wolf who had groped and attacked him that morning. The cuts Shayde had made to his face still shone with freshly healed flesh, and he had a whiff of healing chemicals about him. Shayde had no doubt his arms and legs were equally healthy. As if to prove this point, Slate withdrew his two daggers from under the cloak.

'Yep,' he said. 'Been to see a healer, I have. Ya should've killed me when ya had the chance. Now I owe you a gash or two.' His voice was a bit more gravelly than before, probably owing to the fact Shayde had cut his throat that morning, not enough to kill, but certainly enough to damage his vocal cords.

'Didn't you get the message before?' asked Shayde angrily. 'I told you to go away and leave me the hell alone.'

Slate ginned a predatory grin. 'Must have missed that. You'll have to tell it to me again. If you can beat me!'

With that, he launched himself forward, blades at the ready. Shayde raised his blade and block the cut, quickly reversing his katana to block the other dagger. Slate broke out of the block, spinning around to cut at the air where Shayde's head had been.

It was clear Slate was quite competent with his daggers, and he lost that morning due to his drunken state of mind and body. Now that he was sober, his reflexes were much faster. Shayde had to treat this opponent like a completely different person, and not the same as before. He cut low with his blade, and pulled up high when Slate blocked, his blade whistling within an inch of Slate's scarred snout. Slate cut up with his dagger, scoring a slight scratch on Shayde's arm. Shayde ignored the cut; he'd suffered much worse than that. He spun around and cut at Slate's chest, sheering through the black fabric of his cloak, which, Shayde noticed, was not anything like The Shadow's cloak. He sliced out again, aiming for Slate's face. Slate's daggers caught under his blade, locking them together.

'You couldn't resist coming after someone in a cloak, could ya pup!' Slate snarled his face a few inches from Shayde's. 'I heard about your beating. Knew you'd be on the look-out for this Shadow guy.' Shayde decided not to inform the wolf his foe was female. He pulled his blade up and down quickly, breaking out of the hold and slicing a line down Slate's face above his eye. If he hadn't closed his eye instinctively, Slate would now be blind in that eye. As it was, the pain was enough to make him back off, clutching his face.

Shayde stepped back, watching Slate closely. The wolf was holding his face where Shayde had cut him, his lips peeling back in fury. His knuckles tightened on the handles of his daggers, and a growl emerged from his throat.

'That's the LAST TIME you get a hit, pup!' he growled. With a howl of rage, he leapt forward in a flurry of slashes. Shayde blocked as best he could, but the wild attacks left his sandy body peppered with multiple shallow cuts. He needed to get one of the daggers off Slate before he could do some serious damage. Once he had the upper hand, he could go on the offensive again.

Shayde ducked low under a wild swing, and cut out at Slate's legs, scoring a deep bite into his leg. Slate responded by kicking out, sending Shayde reeling back, slightly out of breath. Slate took this moment to lock blades again, and pulled up hard, wrenching Shayde's katana from his hands, sending the blade skittering down the alley. Shayde watched the blade's movement down the alley, knowing he was pretty much defenceless now. The blade came to a rest by the alley's mouth, right in front of a dark cloak. One that was missing a scrap on the bottom, and which swirled with an oily film.

Dread swept through Shayde. It was The Shadow, Had she been waiting for him all along? Had she hired Slate to trick him into this alley, so she could finally finish him off? He didn't know. All he knew was that his two opponents were present at his defeat.

The Shadow looked at him, and then at the blade at her feet. Slowly, she bent and picked up the blade, holding it out in front of her. Slate looked up and saw her. He stared at her for a moment, and then began laughing.

'So, you're the one who beat this kid before?' Slate called out. 'Beat, but not finish off? Well, guess what, Shadow? I'm gonna do what you didn't have the guts to do!'

The Shadow walked forward slowly and silently, approaching the wolf and the Labrador. Slate kept laughing, not seeing her as a threat. She stopped about three feet away from the two males, still holding the katana out in front of her. Slate stood up and walked a little way away from her, turning his back on her. Shayde took the opportunity to get up, wincing as his bruised chest moved. 'Give me my blade! Once I'm done with him, I'll deal with you! I haven't forgotten about the museum.' Shayde reached out to take the blade from her. Suddenly, pain exploded in his shoulder, bone-deep and blinding. He looked down through the haze and saw the handle of a dagger sprouting from his shoulder. He looked up and saw Slate's triumphant face.

'Gotcha pup.'

Shayde collapsed to the ground, clutching his shoulder, unable to do anything. While not a fatal wound, it was enough to cause severe enough pain for him to black out. All he could hear was Slate's deep chuckle as he approached his next victim. For a few moments, all Shayde could hear was a fuzzy buzzing noise. He groped with his one good arm for his bandana, and untied it from his neck. With that done, he gripped the handle of Slate's dagger and pulled it from his shoulder, almost passing out again from the pain. He quickly tied the bandana around the wound, hoping it would do for now.

He became aware of more sounds. The clash of metal on metal reached his ears, along with Slate's snarls of rage. He looked up and saw The Shadow duelling with Slate, her staff whipping out to whack and slice at Slate, the wolf not being able to get past the long shaft of the staff to attack her. Her shifting cloak was causing Slate's aim to be off, also adding to his fury. He was losing control of his anger, and his attacks were getting wilder and wilder. Many more cuts adorned his face, testament to The Shadow's quick strikes.

Shayde stood up shakily, holding his injured arm. As he did so, Slate made another wild move, cutting at The Shadow's chest, then pulling back and punching to her face. She blocked the cut with her staff, but the punch landed on her arm. She cried out in pain; Shayde remembered cutting deep into her arms during their duel. Evidently, her wounds were not yet healed. Slate growled in delight and cut out, slicing into her belly and arms. The Shadow dropped, clutching her twice-wounded arm. Slate moved forward and reached under the hood of the cloak, gripping the thief's neck. A choking noise issued from the hood; Slate was strangling her. Shayde was torn; one foe versus another. Which did he support? The Shadow had beaten him through trickery, so he felt he needed to fight her honourably. Slate was a powerful foe, but it was coming to light that he was a psychopath, and a danger to all he met. His decision was made. Slate had to go.

He looked around, having noticed his katana wasn't with The Shadow. He saw it, lying on the ground a few inches from where he lay. It may have been his pain-addled mind, but was it possible The Shadow had carried the blade to him? Either way, he picked up the blade with both hands, wincing in pain from his wounded shoulder. He'd need both arms for this.

He stood up and moved forward, so he was close enough to Slate to strike. To attack a foe from behind was not how he worked, so he called out to Slate for the last time.

'Hey, scar-face!' Not the most hurtful insults he could have issued, he knew, but it did the trick. Slate turned to face him, a look of psychotic anger on his face.

'You! How are you still alive! What do I have to do to kill you?!'

Shayde didn't answer. He simply thrust forward with the katana with all the strength he could muster in his injured arm. The silvery blade bit deep into Slate's back, sliding past his collarbone as it progressed through flesh, veins and arteries, before emerging from the other end. Slate's fury died in his eyes as he stared at the blade transfixing him. He followed the length of the blade up the handle, then up the black hands and arms, to the black face looking at him, blue eyes burning with cold fury, just like before.

Shayde leaned in and whispered to the dying wolf.

'Go away. And leave me the hell alone.' He twisted the blade and pulled it free. Slate gasped his last breath, and fell to the ground in a pool of blood.

Shayde was breathing heavily, looking at the wolf's corpse, his katana dripping with blood. He noticed a small bottle poking out of Slate's cloak. Shayde pulled it out, discovering it to be a bottle of healing chemical. He grinned through his pain and cut the top off the plastic bottle with a swipe of his blade. The thick blue ointment inside swirled around, indicating its freshness. Shayde unwound the rough bandage from his arm, almost fainting when he saw the deep wound. He poured a measure of the chemical on the wound, and gasped as the stuff hissed. Before his eyes, the wound healed, flesh regrowing as he watched. In seconds, the wound was healed, and he could move his arm without passing out with pain.

Looking around, he saw the still form of The Shadow, lying on the ground just past Slate's body. He saw a slight rise and fall in the chest region, indicating she was still alive. Shayde staggered over to the cloaked figure, holding his katana out, wary for a trick. He kicked the blade-topped staff out of The Shadow's reach, and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out a length of chemical-treated rope. This rope wouldn't break, no matter how much strain was put on it. If he wanted to, he could have tied an elephant to one end and pushed it off a cliff, and the rope would snap. He swiftly tied The Shadow's arms together, noticing that she was starting to move again, obviously coming around from her near-strangulation.

'What, what happened?' came the voice from the hood. 'What have you done to me?' The figure under the cloak coughed roughly, and brought her bound arms up to try and massage her throat.

Shayde glared at the hood. 'I saved you. Not that I wanted to. Slate needed to die.'

When The Shadow didn't say anything, he reached forward and grasped the lip of the hood.

'The last time I did this, I murdered an innocent by-stander. Not this time, though. This time, I learn who you are.'

'NO! Don't! Please.' The voice was panicking, but Shayde didn't listen. He grasped the hood and pulled it back, even though the figure struggled violently. As the face was revealed, Shayde's eyes widened and he pulled back.

For, beneath the hood was the last face he would expect. Looking with scared horror at him, through snapping amber eyes, was the still-floury face of the 'best baker for miles'

Xani was The Shadow.