FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Mature for violent and dark themes.

Preview is prologue and first chapter of the published novel.

Cover art by human on FurAffinity, AKA John Fell III

*Find the full story here if you like it! *

https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0CP882K6L

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PROLOGUE: TO THE BREAKING OF ALL SHACKLES

The bodies that lay strewn about the village were all that remained to tell Devaki of what had transpired there. Her amber eyes scanned the fallen, seeing the scattered placements of the wounds on the bodies of the panthers who had fought to protect their kin, their improvised weapons - farming tools or inexpensive wrought-iron armaments alike, lay broken beside each of them. They'd had no chance...

She picked up a knife, examining its edge. The tip was broken clean, and the edge bore the marks of a recent sharpening, only to be dulled again as poor-quality blade was chipped away, failing its wielder in its task. She turned to the male panther she suspected had wielded the knife, examining the wounds on his body. There were multiple stab wounds in his chest, any one of which could have killed him eventually, but she suspected the one in the center of his torso was the one that had ultimately ended his life, the shape of the wound showing clear the double-edged blade that had done the deed.

She lowered her fingers to the panther's pooling blood. Most of it had been absorbed by the soil barely concealed by the dry grass. She pinched the soil between her forefinger and thumb, raising it to her eye and studying it as she rubbed her thumb over, watching it flake. A rivulet escaped the soil and trailed down her finger, and her eyes narrowed.

"A Prodavian Slaver Corp, less than two hours ahead of us," she determined as she retrieved her bow from the ground beside her, rising to her feet and turning to address the collection of armed females behind her. "We march in pursuit, Spear Sisters."

The mixed group that stood behind her lifted their spears high in salute. Panthers like herself yowled in agreement. Equines whinnied with anticipation. Reptilians snarled with eagerness. Among them, a lone lioness was the only one to stay quiet, her own spear lain across her shoulder. She stepped forward and addressed Devaki directly.

"They are growing bolder, striking so close to Kutiienda like this," said Herminia, "They risked a retaliatory strike by the city militia, had any of these poor farmers slipped away in the fighting."

"They will still have their retaliation, Herminia," Devaki promised, taking the lead as her warriors formed a column behind the two. "But it shall be us to carry it out, and in good time. The smell of blood follows their wake; see the spots that dot the road? They have wounded among them, and their slave cart is heavy. We will overtake them easily."

"What is your plan when we catch them?" Herminia asked.

"They march to the golden sands of Natchez," replied Devaki, "They are, without a doubt, heading to the encampment at the eastern end of the mesas, where they meet the sea. We can easily catch them before they reach the river."

Herminia nodded and grinned. "I presume you shall be seeing us in the morning, then?" She asked.

"I trust you will catch up?" Devaki asked, almost in challenge to the lioness.

Herminia lifted her head and let out a laugh. "You will see us before the sun crests the eastern horizon. I ask only you be certain you are there to greet us when we arrive," she ended her words by laying a paw upon Devaki's shoulder, grasping it firmly.

Devaki nodded, lifting her paw to Hermina's shoulder in response, matching the firmness of her grasp. "I shall," she promised.

With that, they withdrew their hands, and Devaki broke into a brisk jog. Behind her, she could hear Herminia commanding their Spear Sisters to form up, and the warrior females fell quickly behind her. Devaki continued running, her crimson sash trailing in the wind behind her waist...

Of all the places that had been transformed by the Spellstorm, few could boast as egregious a transformation as Natchez, the land of the golden sands that covered the southernmost reaches of Baruun. By day, it was a rugged land with sparse, eternally scorched by the blazing sun overhead. By night, it was terror incarnate, for when the sun fell over the western horizon and vanished beneath the sea, _they_prowled.

Black shapes emerged from the ground, appearing as if sent forth from the underworld, hissing and singing their dark song. As invisible in the darkness as the wind in the air, they ruled the night. To the salamander folk who lived in the boglands, they were known as the Ekiá, abominations that had appeared after the calamitous Spellstorm - an event the Salamanders knew as the Night of Lights.

The Ekiá resembled a dark, twisted version of the residents of Natchez. Their skin and scales were the colour of night, their empty eyes as black as the void. Their faces were eternally contorted into tortured grimaces, their forms bony and skeletal like a victim of starvation. Where they went, they sang in the choir, their voices united in a high cadence as they closed in on their prey. The more of them there were in a group, the louder their voices sang until they were near to deafening their soon-to-be victims. Only when they struck did their singing fade.

Perhaps most frightening of all, is that one could never be sure what variety awaited them as the singing predators closed in. Three distinct species called Natchez home, and none were spared from the transformation. The elusive, snake-like Naga, the war-loving Komodo, and the reclusive amphibian salamanders. All of them had counterparts among the Ekía, each with their hunting tactics but all sang a similar choir making them impossible to identify in the dark. By the time anyone knew what they were fighting, it was often too late to plan a counter-attack. Unless one could see in the dark, as Devaki could.

The swarm that descended on the Prodavian slaver caravan as Devaki watched bore the elongated forms of the Naga. These beings traveled in the smallest groups among the dark reptilian look-alikes, rarely found in groups larger than five. The slaver convoy had over two dozen guards, easily outnumbering the coming attackers, but their preparation had been sloppy. The only consistency among the Ekiá in all forms was their fear of light - a burning torch, an oil lantern, a spell of light - it did not matter. Light cowed and frightened them, chasing them back into the darkness again. Anyone familiar with Natchez's dangers would know never to cross it without such light sources, but the inexperienced slaver corps had waited too long to light their own and by the time they began to set their torches, the Ekiá were already upon them.

The haunting song of the dark ones ended as a scream shattered the stillness of the night. From atop the dune from which she watched, Devaki's eyes enhanced the minimal light offered by the waxing moon and stars above, casting the world in a hue of green and making the dark forms of the Ekiá easy to spot.

She watched with mild sickness in her stomach as one of the slavers was engulfed in the black coils of the predator, squeezing the life from him even as it sank its curved teeth into the outstretched, flailing arm that he had managed to keep free. Another was taken from behind as he ran to help his comrade, grabbing a coil around his neck in a futile attempt to free himself even as he was spun into the creature's deadly embrace. She hated the Prodavians, it was true, but what she watched she would not wish on anyone - not even them.

By the time the torches had finally been lit, five of the simian Prodavians had already been torn into by the dark ones. The creatures hissed in agony as the fire's lights found their empty eyes and they unwound themselves from their prey to flee into the safety of the night. One of the slavers brandished his sword and lunged after the nearest creature, slashing at it. He missed, and its tail vanished out of the ring of light offered by his torch.

Devaki watched as the _Ekiá_fled, wary of one that was passing near her. She slowly retrieved an arrow from the quiver behind her waist, extracting it and putting it to the string of her bow, never taking her eyes off the hissing shadow creature. It stopped below the dune on which she rested, turning and facing the Prodavian camp again, watching it quietly as its song came out as a hum from its throat. Their empty eyes were turned only to the simian slavers in camp, not one looking her way.

'They never leave,' she thought, grimly, 'when they have found their prey, they will remain until the dawn.'

The Prodavians collected those who had been attacked, determining the severity of their wounds. There, Devaki saw a Prodavian that stood out to her. The slaver corps was identified by the black plumes of their helmets, as opposed to the crimson of a regular Legionary. Devaki was colorblind when her eyes were adjusted to the night, not allowing her to see the colour of this Prodavian's helmet but she could see that it was not black. Slavers were also given older equipment, using straight-edged Gladius that Legionnaires had discarded in favour of more leaf-shaped blades, but this one carried neither of those. In his hand was a Spatha, a blade similar in design to the older straight-edged Gladius the slavers used, but longer, narrower, and familiar to the panthress.

A spellsword. 'So, the magic-wielding warrior division of the Prodavian military has stepped in,' Devaki thought with a pang of concern.

The first time Devaki had encountered a Spellsword, she had barely survived the battle. Spellswords fought using a small but potent array of spellcraft and had the same martial training as any Legionary. They wore the same segmented armour as a Legionnaire but did not carry a shield, to keep their offhand free to wield magic. It made them seem more vulnerable to an opponent, but this was a ruse; their spell work might have been limited but they were a deadly opponent in a direct confrontation.

'Somehow I have to remove that one from the battle,' she thought, and pondered her next move carefully.

She had her bow, but a shot from her current distance was too great a gamble; she had confidence in her marksmanship, but she was not infallible. Her paw drifted to her dagger; she would have to get in close. But she was a huntress, and with her black fur as invisible in the moonless night as any of the Ekia.

With her mind made up, she waited for the right moment to act...

Hours passed. The moment to act fell upon her as the sun began to crest the eastern horizon. Devaki lifted herself from the dune and made a sprint toward the Prodavian camp, taking advantage of the precious moments of limited light that remained as she saw the _Ekiá_departing. Where the dark ones went when the sun was up, she did not know. They simply disappeared into the night, leaving no trace they ever existed.

Her approach to the camp went unnoticed, and when she was close enough, she dropped to her belly and fixed her gaze upon her two targets. The first was the Prodavian Spellsword, and the second and her overall objective was the slave wagon. It sat behind the Spellsword's tent, which she knew from watching the camp through the night. Staying low and just beyond the light of the campfires, Devaki waited for her chance, keeping her eyes mostly closed so as not to catch the firelight and forcing her tail not to sway despite her anticipation for the kill to come.

Soon, there was a roar. A terrifying sound split the silence of the desert with its volume. A roar that only one of Lion-kind could make and it was one that Devaki knew well. The roar was followed by the yowls, neighs and snarls of the varied races as her sisters charged, their forms barely visible in the distorted light, but their direction of approach was clear.

Devaki watched as the Spellsword captain practically exploded from his tent and began shouting orders to the slaver troops, calling them to arms. Prodavian Slavers were often picked from the Auxiliary Corps of the aspiring empire, knowing the basics of soldiering and discipline to be match enough for armed peasants and militia corps that might stand in their way. But they were not true soldiers, and they were sloppy against a surprise attack.

With their attention drawn, Devaki made her move, sprinting with all haste toward the slave wagon, and its reinforced door. She lifted the locking bolt and opened it to let the light in before standing in the doorway, revealing herself to the mixed throng of Baruunites inside the dark wagon.

"Fear not, sisters and brothers of the chains. Your freedom has come," she announced with as gentle a tone as she could muster, speaking the common tongue - and hoping at least a few of them knew what she was saying.

To her relief, she saw more than one face light up with clear understanding. Those that did stood up to stare in reverence at the panthress. "The Sisterhood of the Broken Shackle?" One asked, speaking common, though heavily accented with the tongue of the Melangkahns - the Equines. Even the females had fairly deep voices compared to the fair halves of other species.

Devaki nodded to the Melangkahn female, a black-furred mare, speaking on behalf of the captives. "Yes," she replied. "Quickly now, while the Prodavians are distracted. Make for the dune to the east and await us there. Those of you willing to fight, find a weapon, and join me as we take them from behind."

Three males among the captives rose to her call and joined her as she stepped out of the wagon, while the others followed her directions and started for the dune. She directed the males to a wagon that she knew from her observations was the arms wagon for the slavers. There, they armed themselves with spears and turned their wrathful glares upon the slavers, who were so engaged by the Spear Sisters who had charged them, they remained oblivious to what was happening at their back.

Among the surprised slavers was the Spellsword. Thunder split the air as he summoned a bolt of lightning, launching it over the shield wall arranged before him. A Spear Sister fell, blackened and lifeless; Herminia, from her place at the head of the charging column, kept the Spear Sisters moving forward, her teeth bared and her mighty pole axe raised to strike.

The sword-bearing mage never uttered another spell, for as he raised his hand and began to chant his next, pain exploded from his back as Devaki's magical dagger effortlessly pierced his armour and buried itself into his spine. He fell limp to the ground; a slaver heard him fall, and screamed in horror when he saw the panthress and three of their captives behind them; the momentary distraction was their final nail in the coffin, for at that second the Spear Sisters reached them.

The slavers, disorganized and in chaos, did not stand a chance. The Spear Sisters broke their line, and the simian slavers were slaughtered. Devaki herself struck down one more, and spared another; one of the slavers managed to escape, and she ordered her sisters to stand down.

"Let him carry the tale back to his superiors - if he can escape the Ekia," she instructed as she watched the cowardly slaver flee into the distance.

Devaki invited the freed slaves to partake in the food supplies of their former captors as the Spear Sisters looted the battle site. The slaver's bodies were stripped of their weapons and armour, piled around the slave wagon wrapped in their bed rolls, and the clothes they had worn beneath their armour. The tents were forcibly pressed into the wagon and soaked with the lard used for torches. Devaki allowed the former captives, those willing, to take up a torch and set fire to the wagon and bodies in a final act of revenge against their former captors. Of the company of slavers, only their armament wagon was spared, loaded with the Sisterhood's booty and readied to depart.

Herminia stood beside Devaki to watch the aftermath of the battle, wearing a look of satisfaction for their triumph. "Another fine day's work, Devaki," the lioness stated as she came to stand beside the panthress, who was watching the flames of the burning wagon.

The fires reflected in her eyes, causing her amber irises to shine with a light that some might have found demonic.

Devaki turned to face the lioness and lifted her arm to her. Bent at the elbow, and palm open. "To the breaking of all shackles, sister," she said, banishing the stoicism to smile at the lioness.

Herminia matched the motion, and her fingers locked with Devaki's, squeezing firmly before embracing the panthress with her other arm. "To the end of oppression, sister." She replied, with a tone that matched her resolve.

CHAPTER 1: Volpe

Dawn was approaching when Devaki reached a small community by the roadside. A gathering of impermanent shelters - tents made of animal hides and canvas, arranged in a trio of rings around multiple firepits. At the pit closest to the road, she sighted one of her spotted kinfolks. A Cheetah male, armed with a spear, watched her approach, laying the weapon across both his hands while his expression remained impassive.

The male was quite large for one of his species, though that said very little. He stood only a few hairs taller than Devaki. He was bare-chested, revealing a body of tightly packed muscles, and wore only a wrap to cover his lower body - Cheetahs typically only wore light clothes, even in battle.

Devaki cleared her throat as she approached and offered a traditional Cheetah greeting to the male - one that Jacinta had taught her for such encounters. "Mendchilgee, spotted brother," she said with a bow, "Fear not, for I am a friend."

He seemed to relax, taking her in studiously. His eyes lingered on the dagger at her hip - the only weapon she had brought with her, having left her bow with the sisters to travel light. It was not concealed, as she saw no need to hide it. After a moment, he nodded to her, turning his weapon upright and tapping the butt-end of the shaft against the ground.

"Welcome, shirengen oin süüdriin egchee," he replied. "How might the Salji'ut be of help?"

She was thankful that he spoke common - her grasp of the nomad's tongue was grossly lacking. She did know the words he used to greet her were roughly translated to 'sister of jungle shadow' - an honorific the Cheetahs gave their Panther cousins, referring to their black fur and talent for hunting. She didn't know what 'Salji'ut' - apparently their tribal name - stood for, but she didn't press the matter.

"I seek only a safe place to rest. I have left the sands of Natchez and journeyed through the night," Devaki explained, "Are there any open plots I might occupy for a few hours? I need only a few blankets, and then before the midday light I will be on my way."

"I will inquire with the leader," he offered. "Wait here."

He turned from her then and ducked into one of the closest of the tents. Behind the flap, Devaki heard a conversation brewing, with a second male voice added. She waited patiently, letting her tail sweep the travel-worn road below.

A moment later, the cheetah male emerged. "The chieftain expresses his welcome," he explained. "He recognizes you as a Sister of the Broken Shackle."

Devaki's ears twitched. "How does he know?" She asked, warily.

The male pointed to her waist - particularly the crimson sash she wore over her belt. "He saw you. He recognized that colour," he explained, "Some here in the tribe owe their freedom to your clan. You are friends therefore you are welcome."

Devaki allowed herself a light smile. "I thank him, and you for your hospitality," she said.

"This way," he bid, leading Devaki into the camp.

They passed between two rows of tents before the male cheetah brought her to a vacant tent. He held the flap open for her and bid her a good rest as she ducked inside. She heard him walking back to his past as she settled in, taking in her accommodations. The tent was small, likely intended more for storage than accommodation but there was a bed - a mound of hay with two layers of hide and fur.

She could smell the hide as she laid on top of it - a fresh skinning, she thought, as a hunter herself. The smell reminded her of the tannery at the Haven - a tannery where her beloved Kashvi was the master of craft, making armour for the Sisterhood. Devaki absently caressed her cuirass, reminded of her beloved who had made the armour. Hardened, boiled leather made from the hide of a giant ground sloth, stitched by Kashvi's own hands and given to Devaki as a gift.

It was stiff but strong - it had saved her from many grievous wounds. A sword's edge could not hack through it, and arrows from afar could not pierce it. Indeed, it held multiple marks of such weapons, carried by slavers and raiders alike, yet still the panthress lived on while those bearing those weapons had been met by dagger or arrow. To Devaki, this life-saving armour was as if Kashvi herself was always there to protect her. A comfort, in a life of conflict...

The melancholic thoughts eventually set Devaki to sleep. She didn't know how long she had rested, until she stepped outside and noted the position of the sun, which told her it was the early afternoon. The camp was quiet, she noticed, seeing no others about, except for the same male who had shown her in before, still standing at his post where she had originally met him.

He looked over as Devaki approached. "Did you rest well, egchee?" He asked.

Devaki nodded. "I did, spotted brother," she said, holding her arms out to her sides and giving a respectful bow, "My thanks again to you, and your chieftain for your hospitality."

"The Sisterhood is always welcome here," the male said, returning the gesture. Then, as he straightened, he said, "Our hunters are currently tracking some local game for tonight's meal. Would you like to join us?"

"Would that I could," replied Devaki, shaking her head. Truly she would have loved to run with the Cheetahs for a hunt. "Regrettably, I have an appointment to keep in Mihijan, and if I am to keep it I must be on my way."

The Cheetah nodded in understanding, "May your journey be safe, shadow sister."

"May your hunts be prosperous, spotted brother," Devaki returned.

With that, Devaki crossed the grass to the road, and slowly rose into a brisk jog. She took long, careful strides to minimize the expense of energy as she ran. To her left, she saw the river that she knew ran parallel to Mihijan - a more telling landmark than the travel-worn path upon which she ran. She continued, intent on reaching the city before the sun was to set, when she was due to meet her contact...

Ever since the fall of the Rãjas in the north, when the Panther lands had truly fallen to the Prodavians, refugees had flocked to Mihijan to escape from the simian war machine. Indeed, only two cities remained in control of the Rãjas, with Mihijan being the more fortified of the two. High walls, and a well-disciplined and well-equipped defense that could stand a siege against any army. The other was the coastal city of Kutiienda, far the east.

Mihijan was an imposing sight, even at a distance. Its walls stood tall and thick, built of solid granite taken from the stoney peaks of the Avesia Mountains that lined the northern horizon, cutting a swath across the land and marking the boundary between the civilized northern Dásos, and the largely undeveloped south. The city maintained bountiful mines of precious metals and stones at the mountains, and the flowing Lionlane River that ran by the city provided fresh water for the inhabitants, and irrigation for the numerous rice and feed crop farms that lined either side.

Once, Mihijan had been a symbol of commerce and prosperity, and guarded the southern flank of their Lion allies; in the north, beyond the mountains, the Pride King and Obas maintained a powerful defensive line in the great jungle that made a west-moving assault a costly commitment. Bypassing that line required moving up from the south, circumnavigating the Avesian mountains, but any force attempting to do so would face the walls of Mihijan first. So far, no such campaign had occurred, but the Lionfolk could rest easy knowing their southern flank was guarded by their Panther allies.

Yet to visit the once marvelous city today, outside of its walls was the most miserable sight. As the city did not have the capacity to contain so many, the refugees from the north, fleeing the Prodavian war machine and slaver corps, had been confined to an impromptu suburb; a miserable shanty town of tents, shacks and lean-tos - whatever sparse accommodations the inhabitants could make for themselves. It was a sad sight, and it was not the first time Devaki had seen it, yet it never failed to make her heart ache for her people.

Fighting against the feelings of remorse that threatened to overwhelm her, Devaki passed the shantytown by and headed for the city gates. She had to stay focused, but she wondered if there might be something the Sisterhood could do for the refugees... That thought was passing, though. The Sisterhood of the Broken Shackle did not have the resources to spare, and she suspected Jacinta would tell her much the same if she were there.

She was allowed into the city without issue. The guards at the front gate watched her carefully, and only questioned her briefly. They seemed only to care whether she was a refugee, which she assured them she was not, and afforded her no more than a cursory glance before ushering her through. She made for her meeting place at the nearest Tavern where she was due to meet her contact.

Entering the tavern, she was immediately assailed by the smell of stale beer and cooking food. Passing through the door had taken her to the common area, where she saw a central bar, square-shaped and ringed by seats filled by patrons. Behind the counter, well-dressed tenders served drinks and food to the paying customers, and at the surrounding tables, waitresses did the same.

The common area was packed with customers - mostly pantherfolk like herself, with a few other races present - except for Prodavians. But there was one who stood apart; a single jet black equine male who stood by the stairs that led up to the private lobby on the second floor of the tavern. The equine was not her contact, but he stood out too much to not be significant, and he was watching her as she came in. She let their eyes meet for a moment before walking over to the black stallion, suspecting he had words for her.

As if to confirm her suspicions, "Are you Lady Devaki?" He asked, speaking in common dialect

"I am," she replied, before adding in her native tongue, "Where is he?"

"He is waiting for you. He rented the second-floor lounge for your meeting," the equine replied, still speaking in common.

Devaki grimaced at that. This was not her first meeting with this contact, and she suspected she already knew what awaited her in that lounge. Thanking the equine, she ascended the stairs, cresting the top to be greeted with a sight that was an obvious flaunt of wealth in an already high-end establishment. The furniture was of expensive make, with two chaise couches facing one another, with bright red upholstery and between them on an ornate table, decorated with copper trimming and topped with a bowl of imported fruit, a silver pitcher of bright red liquid - wine, she supposed by the smell, and two empty cups.

As she took in the frivolous scene before her, she felt the lightest touch came at her side. Devaki's arm snapped back, catching the wrist of the paw that was reaching out to caress her. "Hands to yourself, Volpe," she stated, looking over her shoulder coldly into the golden eyes of the vulpine standing behind her.

She did well to hide her astonishment as to how the Tobitan thief had seemed to come out of nowhere. It was not the first time he had made such a sudden appearance, though she still didn't know how he did it. He was hard to miss, with his rust-orange fur, white undertones and dressed in a simple, yet somehow too clean brown tunic, matching trousers and a loose hanging cloak over his shoulders, which barely hid the knife on his hip - a knife with a very thin, almost needle-like blade, a gold-plated crossguard and an onyx stone inlaid in the pommel.

"My apologies, lady Devaki," Volpe returned, though his apology did not sound genuine. Nor did he attempt to withdraw his paw. "I was not going for your purse, of course."

"I carry no purse," she retorted as she turned on him then, twisting his paw with the turn of her body as she faced him, causing him to grunt with pain and pull his paw back when she let go. "Is it your custom to caress a female without her consent?"

"Only the ones that fascinate me," replied Volpe, never losing his smile even as he rubbed his wrist.

"Unfortunately for you, you chase the wrong tail," retorted Devaki, crossing her arms, "I long ago vowed no man, of any race, would ever touch me again."

"More's the pity," said Volpe, lowering his hands to his sides, "But, as you wish. Shall we get on with our business?"

"We shall," replied Devaki, stepping aside to let him sit down first, not wanting to turn her back on him. She did not suspect that he might plant a blade in her back - the knife he carried would need to be well-aimed to do such a thing. She just didn't want to give him the chance to watch her while she was not looking.

Volpe proceeded to his seat, shifting his cloak before lowering himself onto the chaise and watching Devaki as she did the same. The chairs were designed for lounging, intended for an occupant to lay on their side, and it was especially common for model women to lay in such a way when posing for a portrait. He seemed disappointed when she chose to sit upright, but he said nothing of it as he reached for the wine pitcher and cups, pouring the contents of the pitcher into each cup before placing one of them in Devaki's reach.

"Avesian sweet wine," he said, "Not so easy to find any more since the Avian's kingdom fell, made from the fermented cherries that grow at the high altitudes they called home."

"Am I to find you have drugged this drink?" Devaki asked, flatly.

Volpe chuckled. "If I have," he said before taking a long sip, turning his head to make sure she saw the wine trickle into his muzzle, so that there could be no mistaking he did drink. Taking the wine from his lips, he turned back to her, still wearing that smile, "Then we shall share in the effects of the poison."

Convinced that it was safe, Devaki took a slow sip of the wine herself. It had a strong taste at first, but the aftertaste was indeed sweet as its name suggested. The smell of the wine was undoubtedly of cherries, with a sourness that wasn't unpleasant. She rather liked the taste, and saw no shame in admitting it.

"Delicious," she said.

"It is my hope that if the Avians ever manage to rebuild their kingdom we shall enjoy it again," said Volpe, looking longingly at his glass, "Regrettably, it is in short supply."

"As much as I appreciate the gift, Volpe," said Devaki, setting down her glass, "I believe we have business to discuss?"

Volpe set down his glass, and lifted his arm to expose the many pockets within his cloak. It seemed more like the kind of cape a mage would want with the many pockets carrying spell components they could use for their magic. She couldn't see what was in any of them, until Volpe reached into one and lifted out a wooden chute, passing it to Devaki.

"Perfectly preserved for my journey here," he said, "Merely remove the wax at the top to retrieve the contents."

Devaki did just that, removing the wax on the top of the shoot and turning it over to let the contents slide out into her open pall. Inside were two sheets of rolled paper, both of them with thoroughly detailed schematics drawn upon them. The first of them was of a Prodavian siege weapon known as a scorpion; stationary, tripod mounted machine similar to a ballista, but much smaller and intended for anti-personel usage. It could punch through even the hardest armour at a distance, and the Prodavians were notorious for using the weapon to great effect, holding positions against enemy forces. No armour made today could withstand a projectile fired from it, and its design allowed it to be picked up and moved as needed.

On the second piece of paper was a cruel-looking invention, of a six-pointed metal abomination. Devaki had first become interested in the horrid devices when she'd learned of them from Ardelo, known as a Caltrop. Small and made of wrought-iron, they had been developed by the Prodavians for use against the Melangkahns, designed so that they always landed with at least one of their six points facing upward for an unwary soldier to step on.

Devaki took in the two plans with satisfaction. She did not have the knowledge to know if the plans were correct, but Volpe had so far proven his worth in their past dealings. He was an effective thief and broker of information, and very secretive in his dealings - Devaki had reason to believe Volpe was not his true name as Jacinta had pointed out once that 'Volpe' was just another word for 'fox' among the Tobitans.

"You have done well, Volpe," said Devaki.

"I aim to please, my lady," he returned, "I trust they are worth my fee?"

"I will know after I return to my Haven and have my people examine them," replied Devaki, "But until then, yes, I would say this has more than earned the payment up front. You retrieved exactly what I asked for." She rolled up the papers and returned them to the chute. "The rest of the payment will be in the usual dead drop location. This concludes our business."

"Until the next time at least," Volpe replied with his usual, confident smile. His tone suggested that he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that there would be a next time, and Devaki could not dispute the fact. The vulpine was too useful for the Sisterhood, with his skills in skullduggery and espionage.

Having a thought and sensing an opportunity to use Volpe's service further, she spoke up. "Perchance, have your contacts anything to say about the reduced activity from the slaver corps in this region and that of Natchez?" Then, she added. "I suppose this question will also cost me."

"Normally, yes," replied Volpe, "But, my answer is something you could also learn just by listening to the yammering downstairs - charging you for it would be meaningless." He shrugged.

Devaki's expression betrayed her surprise. "I did not think you would ever be one to pass up a chance for easy coin, Volpe."

"If something is easy to achieve, Lady Devaki, it probably isn't worth much to those involved," the vulpine returned, "Simply allow me the pleasure of your company a little longer - at least until the wine has run out, and I will tell you all that I know."

Devaki narrowed her eyes suspiciously, wondering if Volpe was hoping for more than simple conversation. She decided then to be slow with her wine consumption and bid him to continue as she made herself more comfortable on the chaise, giving him her full attention.

"Word is, that the Prodavians - in an effort to minimize expense, have begun withdrawing their Slaver Corps from this region, having grown wary of the cost of continuing operations for the rather poor yields they have given them over the past two years. I suspect your Sisterhood has a large part in that," Volpe remarked, still smiling his smile, "Just how many have you destroyed, that the aspiring empire would give up entirely?"

"I don't keep count," Devaki returned, "It is enough knowing I worry the Prodavians with my interference."

"To the breaking of all shackles, yes?" Volpe quoted, smirking.

"Indeed."

Volpe cleared his throat, taking another sip of wine before he continued. "But, I suspect it is more than minimizing expense," he said, "For the aspiring Empire may not have need for more slaves at this time, as they no longer face any opposition in the north, beyond Komodo's Maw."

Devaki's ears twitched and her eyes widened. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"I mean they have stamped out all resistance from your people and that of the nomadic tribes," replied Volpe, "They have enslaved all who did not make it through the Maw to the protection of the southern Rãjas and eliminated the ones who opposed their conquest. The Prodavian Legion has fallen back to a defensive posture, retaining control of the north end of the Maw to repel any attempts to recapture your ancestral homelands by the cities here in the south lands."

"Surely they leave themselves open to action from the Pride King and the Shogun with such action," said Devaki, "They cannot see only my people as a threat?"

This time, it was Volpe's turn to look curious, his ears flicking up as her words reached him. Then, slowly, his face fell, as if what he were going to say next was not something he wished to speak of. "...Forgive me, my lady. I thought you knew," he said.

"Knew what?" She asked impatiently.

"I am sorry that you have to hear this from me," the vulpine said, though his tone was too neutral for her to know if he meant what he was saying or if it was only a mask. "The Pride King, High Oba Barasa, has declared a dissolution of the Coalition. He has withdrawn all support to your people and closed his borders, diverting all refugees fleeing to the Lionlands here to Mihijan - you saw them yourself, and more come every day, displaced by the Pride King and his Obas. Without passage through his land, the Tiger State - even if they were inclined to help you, cannot send you aid without running directly into the Prodavians, by land or sea. They are completely cut off from you. As it stands, the Panthers have been reduced to only two single kingdoms, and they stand alone."

Devaki could not mask the crestfallen look on her face. At that moment, she did not care if Volpe saw it, doubting he could sympathize with the plight she now understood was upon her people. The Panthers, and the Cheetahs who now continued their nomadic traditions across the southern plains in lands that, technically, belonged to the Panthers, were on their own.

"I see this news distresses you," Volpe remarked, with only a slight tone of remorse.

"I asked you a question - it does not mean I have to like the answer," Devaki returned in a gentle tone, regaining her composure. She downed the rest of her wine glass, clenching her eyes as it burned down her throat and managing not to cough as she stood up from her seat, tucking the chute carrying the plans under her arm. "I must be going."

"Will you not stay? There's still wine left in the pitcher," Volpe offered.

"My sisters must know of what you have told me," she replied truthfully, "We have operated these past years under the belief that we only needed to be concerned about the Prodavians in this region and that the North would be reclaimed by the Coalition armies."

"But the balance of power has shifted," added Volpe, "The Coalition is no more."

Devaki nodded, and said, "which means my Sisters and I must rethink our future plans."

Volpe let out a disappointed sigh. "Unfortunate," he said, "I really would rather you stay, but I understand. I shall not keep you, Devaki, though I am loathe to enjoy this wine all by myself, though it is a pity-"

He trailed off, realizing that Devaki was already heading down the stairs. He huffed, and refilled his wine glass again, picking it up and sipping the sweet liquid slowly to savour it...

Devaki's journey back to the Haven was somber, her mind wandering - or rather, reeling at what she had learned from Volpe. The Coalition, dissolved? Even though Devaki and her Sisterhood had renounced all ties of allegiance to the Panther kingdoms, and by extension, the Coalition, the old alliance had always seemed like the best chance to stop the Prodavians from spreading their conquest across Dásos, to ensure that sooner or later the aspiring empire would be brought to a halt.

But no sooner had most of the Rãjas fallen, the alliance had come apart. The Pride King of the lions had decided to abandon his long-time friends, and with his withdrawal, the Tigers were likewise cut off from rendering any assistance - if they were even willing to offer any. All that remained now of the Coalition powers were two kingdoms - Mihijan, and the coastal city of Kutiienda. Two kingdoms, two Rãjas; the last remains of Pantherkin rule, alone against an entire military superpower bent on becoming an Empire...

Coward, she seethed. The Pride King was a coward. His entire race was supposed to represent the values of courage in the face of dire odds. Now, his true colours had been revealed. Like all the kings who had destroyed their world, he cared only for himself... She could already imagine he was consolidating all his military power to defend his own borders. Or, she wondered, maybe he was preparing to kiss the feet of the simians and beg them not to destroy his nation.

She did not actually believe that, but the thought still came to mind nonetheless.

Devaki knew that her Sisterhood couldn't stay out of this conflict anymore. Not for long, at least. If the Prodavians managed to push through the Komodo's Maw, or made landfall on the eastern coast, outside the range of Kutiienda, eventually they'd spread all across the lands.

They could no longer continue as they had been, and she knew it. The Sisterhood was far from achieving the power to stand up to Prodavus; their partisan tactics had served them well against the Slaver Corps who were of little threat, but if the true Prodavian military came to the south, they would need to rethink their tactics.

Fortunately, she had the three days walk home to consider it...