Chapter the Eighth: Sojourn
#8 of A Stage of Destinies
_With my hair slicked back with Carrion Shellac;
With the blood from a pheasant and the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches of a roebuch stag
Left to wave in the timber like a buck-shot flag,
Go away you Rainsnout. Go blow your brains out,
Novemeber.
-Tom Waits, November
...And what will happen, will I dream?
I am too scared to close my eyes!
For one second please hold me...
For none can take from me these things that I believe,
But I don't know what happens now,
I am too scared to close my eyes!
-Ronan Harris, Legion (Janus)
Adrian's head pounded viciously in his skull, and he felt a pressure that he had never known. All around him was darkness, and his body felt numb in that way that only a drug can induce. Muffled sounds throbbed and resounded around him as he lay on a cold blanket, and he endeavored to make them out. Slowly but surely his twitching ears recognized the sound of drums, and odd wood-winds lilting ominously around him, and the chatter of strange tongues in strange language surrounded him on all sides. He experimented with moving his body and found it heavier than a pack-lizard with a full load, and small jolts of pain shot electrically through his limbs. There was strange taste in his mouth that slowly sunk into his awareness, and he recognized some strange alchemical mixture of herb and tea that he had not tasted for many years._
Adrian's head pounded viciously in his skull, and he felt a pressure that he had never known. All around him was darkness, and his body felt numb in that way that only a drug can induce. Muffled sounds throbbed and resounded around him as he lay on a cold blanket, and he endeavored to make them out. Slowly but surely his twitching ears recognized the sound of drums, and odd wood-winds lilting ominously around him, and the chatter of strange tongues in strange language surrounded him on all sides. He experimented with moving his body and found it heavier than a pack-lizard with a full load, and small jolts of pain shot electrically through his limbs. There was strange taste in his mouth that slowly sunk into his awareness, and he recognized some strange alchemical mixture of herb and tea that he had not tasted for many years.
Some yards away a little girl scampered away from the fox to warn an older rabbit of his movement. Messages passed quickly through the camp till they came to the long ears of their queen. She smiled, and waved the messenger off as she stroked to hair of the young kit who napped in her lap.
"That is Adrian" she said quietly, "Always surviving. His god must love him as much as he says." She smiled at the child in her lap, and patted him gently on the cheek until he roused.
Derek groaned slightly, and slapped at whatever offended his sleep as he lazily opened his eyes. His head was awash in the cup of strong liquor that had accompanied his meal, and his full belly rebelled at his waking. He looked around at the fire, and the strange warriors that sat around it involved in their own celebrations as the music of their camp filled his ears.
_...Still no blade could touch him
And a thousand spears were shunted
From the warrior as his armor
Took the blows and bore their brunt
No one dared to raise a weapon
In defense of life or vengeance
But one warrior was willing
And he raised his reminiscence
Of the doom that was predestined
For his life to end in valor
So he dashed upon that weapon
On that grave, and bloody hour
There he died to save his brothers
And his sisters who were living
And the dead who fell to gifts
Of glorious death the beast had given
Now let no man laugh to hear
That still the demon was aroused
To lift his head from under death
And drink it like he was espoused
To bloody hell itself; like hell itself
He stepped from off the ground
But those warriors, great warriors,
Proud warriors backed not down.
True warriors, proud warriors,
Great warriors held their ground..._
The song continued, but Derek had found something else to occupy his mind. He was looking up into the face of a woman whom he did not know, and was in fact quite strange looking to him. The state of his mind grasped blindly for an explanation as to why he was here. For a moment he wondered where his mother was.
"Come little adder" the woman said to him in a strong, but kind voice, "You're father is rousing, and I would have you temper his humors with your presence." She smiled broadly, and rubbed his head with a strong hand. "I'll prefer not to talk to him till he has calmed, and I wager you can make it quicker! Come tiny man!"
With that she stood up, taking him with her as though he were weightless. Hard truths meanwhile had been slowly sinking into his addled mind. His mother was dead, his father wounded, and he a captive in a camp of strange, savage warriors. A captive, he thought? Maybe he was not exactly a captive. They had so far been quite pleasant to him. He was given food which he always appreciated even if it was exotically prepared and foreign to him, and even a cup of liquor. He was allowed to play with the children that they had brought with them, but was treated by the adults as though he were himself an adult. As he rested in her arms, he idly played with the strange talisman that hung about his neck, and thought about how he had acquired it. His stomach turned a little as he remember the sight, the sounds, and the smells surrounding the instant when he plunged a dagger deeply into a living man's gut and ultimately killing him. Tears rose in the child's eyes, and he rested his head against the Budakha's shoulder (which was far harder than he had expected it to be).
A bitter anger rose in the kit's heart as they approached his father. He was laid out of a straw mat, moaning and sweating in his sleep. His teeth gritted against each other as he considered that he had only just gotten his father back a few days ago after watching him languish in bed like that for weeks, and now these people had put him right back into it. Worst of all, they had done it only because they were not strong enough to kill him. His anger faded a bit, replaced by awe as he remembered the fight, earlier that day. He had never in his life seen any man fight like his father. There were times he had witnessed men get into brawls, and even weapon-drawn melees over disputes in taverns where his mother worked, but nothing (not even the blades of city-guard knights) moved like his sire. Derek was poor with numbers, but he was sure that Adrian had killed at least a score of their warriors before he was brought down. Budakha set the cub down, and affectionately rubbed his shoulders with a wide smile splitting her face.
"Ok" she said, "You stay with the ornery Beduinson, and I will stay back. He is less likely to break some of your important pieces, and more likely to be reasonable with you." She patted him once more, and stepped back.
Adrian groaned unpleasantly as his son stumbled toward him. The boy flopped down on his rump, and stared at his father. He had a bandage on his head, and several more all over his body covering the many cuts he had taken during the battle. He didn't look like he had from when he fought his mother, but he still looked very sick. A huge bruise peaked out from under the bandage on his head, and his nose occasionally bled for no reason.
Adrian was vaguely aware of something getting close to him. A relatively familiar smell stood out like a beacon in the darkness around him. He was having trouble smelling anything very far away, and what he could smell was corrupted by blood. He slowly forced his eyes open, and found that their piercing light of the fires was there only to make him throb worse. He loudly cursed anyone nearby, and damned their fires for his misery. Finally, the image of his son came into view, and he calmed. The warriors hand slowly reached out and placed itself on the boy's leg, and he smiled in spite of the swelling in his mouth.
"We lived, did we?" he said softly and cringed at the pain that it caused him. He tried to make it look like the pain was less than it was, but even with his Beduin resolve it was showing a great deal. No pity showed in his boy's eyes, however, and the fox was both proud and relieved.
"We did" the kit replied, "Queen Budakha spared us, and made us honored guests." Adrian's face fell serious for just a moment, and he looked his boy over. He was wearing the decoration of a Mumgatu warrior about his neck, and on his ears...
"Who did that to you?" he said in as close to a shout as he could. The kit was startled, not by the outrage in his voice, but by the weakness of his exclamation. He groaned softly as his teath grit and glared angrily trying to hide the pain in his body.
"I...they said" Derek stuttered trying to steel himself against his father's anger. He quickly found that while his own creed might have to be "Fear nothing but Gods...and my father. "The warriors did it. It is a sign of honor among them" he whimpered out at last, "they are decorations of war." Adrian angrily looked over the decorative rings in his son's ears, and sighed for a second.
"Not so among the Beduin" he said, "that is a custom for women. Take them out and let your ears heal. We're no Mumgatu, we, and there is no need for us to stomach their jests."
Derek felt his heart sink a little, and he reached slowly towards the calcite ornaments that Budakha had gifted him. He toyed with one lazily, and thought about how proud the rabbits had made them feel as they ran the tiny blades through his sensitive young cartilage. He felt a burning anger rising in him, and the pride of the Beduin warrior in his blood calling out for absolution.
"No" he said plainly, and watched his father as his little paw fell away from his ear, "I earned these marks, and they hurt to get. I like them, and I'll keep them. They are mine." Adrian felt his blood growing hot and, and wanted to spring from his bed and strike the child to put some sense in him. He felt warmed blood slipping into his bandages, and tried to calm himself.
"You'll kill me like that" he said, "I've too many holes to brook such insolence, you villainous boy." He relaxed a bit, and continued hatefully. "You would do anything I told you any other time, so what is special about today? Do you think that I'm too weak to punish you, and that I'll stay this way forever?"
Derek nodded his head 'no', and narrowed his features. He did everything to hide his fear, but it showed plainly to his father who was well trained at perceiving such things. In spite of his puffed out, proud little chest, and defiant expression, he feared the old fox with good reason.
"I like them" he said, "and I earned them. They are not mine by your giving, and you'll not take them away. That is the way of the Beduin Warrior." Adrian seethed for a moment simultaneously enraged and amused by the child's show. He considered getting up, but thought better of it and chose instead to continue berating him.
"Are you that simple?" he said in a growl, "I know you're only a child, but can't you see what they are doing? That isn't the apparel of a boy but rather the trappings of a warrior. They've adorned you like a woman to mock us! No child wears that among their kind!" Derek considered his words for a moment, and felt outrage swell in him. His thought was broken by the sound of one far angrier than even he. He turned his head towards a voice that barked out "Insults?!" in both a question, and exclamation.
From behind the kit approached Budakha, and the boy shied away from her. She stood in the full stance of a warrior as the light of the fires danced over her seemingly perfect body with bright reds, and saucy yellows in a show that frightened Derek on some primal level. Every inch of her spoke pride, and her face was stern, resolute and fierce. As she approached the boy wondered for a moment if some arabesque goddess had materialized to scold him for some unknown wrong. He backed away shyly as she approached.
"Insults!" she repeated somewhat more angrily and stopped over the wounded fox with a glare of outrage, and shock, "I give you your life when well I could have taken it, and you insult me? I spare your son when well I could have killed him and you insult me? I put my best healers to work mending you so that you might witness your boy's glory and you insult me! This is no manner for any warrior, Beduinson! I expect greatness from you!"
Adrian glared back at her. He did his best to capture her majesty as she stood swimming in a firework display of fire and moonlight, but there was simply too much hurt in him to truly shine his pride as she did.
"Mock you!?" she said, "How do I mock you? Are you saying I would hand out trophies of the proudest Mumgatu warrior-blood to a baby for no reason? What manner of whore do you take me for?"
Adrian slowly raised his ears, and softened his expression. It was finally occurring to him how seriously enraged she was. This was never the time to be defiant for a battle that one could not win, and the rabbitess stood on the verge of a killing fury. He sighed a bit.
"Adrian who is called Boruto, your son has earned those markings this day! While you slept in unrest laid low by my stone, your son stood to protect you with only a knife! In such zeal and devoted love, he slew my brother whose skill was known, and renowned among my people!" She gritted her teeth for a moment, and the fox noticed a hint of tear in her eye. "A noble death in combat was your blood's gift to my family, and so I have gifted him a warrior's name!" She reached out with a quickness that made the boy yelp, and seized him by the arm. He felt himself pulled by her great strength until he stood before his father again.
"This is Notrum, the Adder Hatchling!" she shouted, "and you will respect him, for he is a man of my people, and warrior who has loosed the blood of a great man, and proud fighter!"
The Beduin felt drops of hot saliva slap against his face as her tone rose to screaming, and his eyes widened at her news. He looked up into his son's face, and searched it for confusion, or some sign that she spoke untruth. His ability to judge character let him know that Budakha was no actress, and in fact possibly incapable of telling a lie without showing it all over, but he was still skeptical. Her brother to fall to a five-year-old would be some kind of miracle. Some horrible trick of fate, some curse, or hex would be needed to fulfill such a doom. He looked deeply into his son's eyes, and found his answers there in the child's dark latticed windows.
"I..." he said, and felt shame rise achingly through him. He suddenly felt more tired than he could remember in his life. "I didn't realize" he continued, and turned his green orbs to the tall warrior girl above him. "I apologize, Budakha, Mountain-Toppler. Of course I know you would never adorn a child in such trappings."
"I'm keeping them" Derek said with renewed confidence, and stared into his father's eyes. His tiny paws were shaking violently so he held them tightly into little balls so that he could better hide his worry. Dread crept through him as though a snake slithered and poked around his belly in search of his heart like some little prey animal. Adrian simply looked at his son.
"Yes" he said, and felt his chest warming with pride, and love, "Yes, you keep them. I've no right to take a trophy from a warrior. This one time you don't listen to what I said." His lip almost quivered in the heat of his emotion, but he held himself in check. "You don't never let this get into you, however" he continued, "Because it may be the only case you when ever your father might be wrong.
"I accept your apology, Beduinson" she said in a low tone, "But don't ever insult me like that again. I forgive this once." She took a few steps back from him, and breathed deeply. "I will go now, before my temper takes my head" she continued, "You will give me three days of silence in exchange for your life, and we will have peace that day after. Three days before you talk to me again, fox, that is my price." She turned quickly, and stomped away leaving the man and his son alone. They both watched her go in awe of her pure energy, and power.
Derek turned his head back to his father, and saw that he motioned for him to approach him. He walked nervously over to his side, and sat by him. The large fox gently scooped him against his chest, and stared at the sky. The silvery-white orbs of the ever familiar heavens glowed achingly above them, and the Beduin lifted his paw to rub the top of his boy's head.
"So" he said, "It's true then? You killed a man with that little knife that I gave you?" He looked up into his son's eyes with a discerning expression on his face and a bit of dreaminess in his eyes.
"Yes, father" the boy replied, and the memory of the rabbit's life leaving his face flashed in his mind as a feeling of dread washed over him. His father saw this, and pulled him close.
"Good" he said, "no matter how it feels now, you've done a good thing, and I'm proud of you. I'll tell you a story to take your mind off of the fight." The child looked up at him and smiled. "I'm going to tell you about our village, and about tigers called the Sherftii."
"A long time ago, before we were born, the Beduin walked among the trees like fools with no clothes, or weapons, or honor. I know how hard that might be to believe, but it is true. Slowly, but surely, we learned how to tame lizards, and fire, and from them make weapons. We fought with sticks even simpler than these odd rabbits for ages, but over time we came to learn the secrets of iron. We made tools, and sweet Dalma, the Vixen of the Earth taught how to tame her sweet breast to grow from it the milk of our adulthood. We farmed, like people, but there were others. They watched us, and learned how to steal our lore so they could use it for themselves. This of course prompted them to learn our language, and ask for more secrets, but the gods had given them to us to keep, and we told them to go and ask their own gods for aid. This outraged them, and they sought to take what was given to us by right of our lords of the heavens, and the earth, and the streams, and the air. They murdered women and children, and took some into slavery, but we had another secret yet to learn.
"Clovis, the god of just battle came among the Beduin, and taught them the lore of steel-forging. He taught us to set aside our claws made of wood, and flesh, and bone, and to craft new claws of iron, and steel! He led us in glorious battle, and soon all the other creatures were driven from our lands. Of course these simple rabbits were not among them, for they already lived far away from us, and their own gods gave them their own curious lore to live by. Some could not make it among our kind, and left for their own lands that were less harsh. They came to be known as the dark-haired Kormag, and later various other nations. I hear there are brunette foxes as far south as Mariath. Your mother was born of them, the Kormag. I know not what to tell you of them.
"Clovis lived among us for a great deal of time, and bore on the Beduin women ten times fifty sons, and ten times fifty daughters. From them came the truth of our blood, and like him, all of his children, and their children after had a head of golden hair. That is how our people truly began, and to this day the favor of Clovis' blood continues on in our vein's which is partly why we are so great in war, and honor. This is the proper beginning to know, and the earlier days of idle animalistic behavior is to be counted amongst those of another race. They are only included because they are among our ancestors, and so that you know that all fox's share a common ancestry.
"Time passed, and the Beduin learned all the skill of the God of Valor, and he departed them. Still, they knew that he was only testing their resolve. Since then, we have worked tirelessly to uncover further secrets that he hid in front of us. Newer, better metals, more effective strategies, and training that makes us worthy of our names, and tails. However, we have not been alone in the land, as beautiful Dalma intended. There have always been others; Dogs of the Jaraga, lions of the Drugan, horses of the Moriath, and Kiampthee skunks. The skunks now live so far to the north that you will be lucky to ever see one, and the Jaraga and Moriath moved south to the lands of the Kormag, and Hilipti. One race, however would not learn their place, and keep to their own. They are the hated, the cursed, Defilers of Dalma and despised in the eyes of Clovis. The tigers of the Sherftii they are called and they would not accept that the Beduin lands belonged to Beduin Foxes.
"Wars broke out over years, and finally they were beaten back. Seasons later, they returned and drove us from our lands. However, we returned in similar time, and drove them back into their own lands. This persisted for generations until finally the Sherftii conceded our superiority, and turned on the lesser races to conquer. They enslaved the various felines of the eastern woods: the Drugan Lions, the Ahaptu cats, the Maphat lions, the Shria Lynx, the Akshira panthers, and the lions of Nerakto. All fell to them thanks to the war-lore they stole from the Beduin. Finally, after years of peace, they came back to try their hand at Beduin arms again. Once more, we drove them back. Some might say they weren't Sherftii, but rather bandits, but the Beduin know the truth. They were a forward vanguard sent to test the borders. Our chieftains were outraged, not only at the attack, but also at the ridiculous lie that they tried to use for an excuse to murder our people! Once again, we took up arms, and sacked a handful of villages along the border. We killed the men, and sent their women and children to their capitals to mourn, and glorify our victories. This should have been the end, but then came Kalafax...foe of our world.
"Kalafax would not accept that we had pillaged their towns out of restitution for their attacks on our own, and called us heathen monsters! He said that we were beasts, and we should be conquered! He called for an army to open old wounds, and prayed to dark gods for our extinction! He spoke of us like beasts in the field, he did. A thousand blasphemies against our gods and people fueled his soldiers, and they followed him out of loyalty, or slavery. One night, his men came into my village...our village, and burned it to the ground. Many were killed by Beduin sword, but in the end numbers and confusion won. They called it not restitution, or pillage, but rather cleansing. As if we somehow offended Dalma with our presence, if you can imagine such a notion! I was the only survivor as far as I know, and my mother, father, and best friend fell seeing me escape. For their sake I live to tell you this story so that you might understand why we are so important, my boy.
"I have a vision, and an oath. On the night my father died I swore to him that I would live until every tiger lay in his or her own blood at my feet. If they would kill us mercilessly, then I would do the same. I swore that no man or woman of Tiger Born would ever slay me, and I felt the smile of Mighty Clovis himself on me. Our god heard that little voice I had, and he moved on it. I am bound to this oath, and I will manage until I fulfill it. I'll bring you up to be a warrior, even finer than I am today. You see, we have a great deal of important work ahead of us. There are forty-seven scattered tribes of the Beduin. We are foxes all, but we have different lands, and leaders. I will unite all of our people under one flag, and unify them into one army. With those golden warriors behind me, I will crush the Sherftii, and any foolish slave that will stand beside them. Blood will turn their fields into mud, and their rivers into scarlet ribbons that will encircle our good Mother like a love-knot in a virgin vixen's braids. Their cities will burn in sacrifice, and tribute and not one will be left alive to return and kill more innocents again!
"The times of tolerating the tigers are over! We have suffered them far too long, and we are absolved of their murders by the gods, my son. I have learned of their war-lore, as they did ours. If they are not above attacking like cowards in the night, then we should give them no such quarter, because only the worthy are afforded Beduin respect, and remember always: a tiger is not a person. They may speak like we, or the Drugan, or the Moriath, but they are not worthy of life or consideration. They won't be made slaves, like they have done to the lesser races of our lands, but rather made food for the earth beneath us. What kind of slave can a stripe-back make, anyway? They are too stupid to understand that we are better than them anyway, so how are you supposed to even train them? Aside from that fact, slavery is not a Beduin Way. Slaves are a foolish waste, and only weaken those who keep them. No, ours will be the way of blood: Blood for blood, blood for glory, blood for piety, and blood for satiety. Worthless creatures..."
Adrian looked down at his son, and saw that the last of his day was leaving him. He was falling fast asleep, and it was time for his father to join him. He leaned forward and kissed the kit on the fore head before settling down to rest his own weary skull. He thought about how he had come to find the boy, and the events that led up to it. A memory played over in his mind of a pair of tigers that he had met on his way to Benuith, and how they had left him in a mood so foul that he could have pulled the eyes from an infant. A feeling of sorrow swept over him as he followed day to night and the image of his most beloved bleeding out over him danced mockingly in his mind's eye. He sighed and wondered what might have happened if those tigers had not put him in so foul a mood. Would he have reacted better to her arrival? Maybe he could have made everything right, and he could have found that simple happiness in love once again. He concluded that of course he could, and if those Sherftii hadn't filled his heart with killing hate, he could have made everything better for both his wife, and his beautiful son. "Damned tigers" his said quietly to himself as he drifted into slumber, "is there nothing they can't ruin?"
"So it is simple" said Couric, "I will speak to her, Brodry will stand proudly at my side, and nod occasionally." He looked over the train of people that followed him, small as they might be.
"Well then" the older fox said quizzically, "What shall then I do?" Couric turned and looked him over for a second as he hid his feelings of disgust for the guild master.
"You" he said, "Will keep your eyes down, and look defeated as you are so well adjusted to. You be quiet, and leave the talking to me." A look of defiance settled on the one-eyed fox, and he crossed his arms annoyed.
"Why should I be used thus?" he said indignantly, "I shouldn't be made to stand to the side like some servant, or slave of yours, little tiger. I'll have you know that I have trained since childhood in the art of diplomacy, and I am well versed in theory both rhetorical, and Machiavellian." The tiger narrowed his eyes as he spoke his pet name, and crossed his own arms angrily.
"I had no idea you were so willing to have your head shrunk and used as a door knocker" he said. "These are no silk spoiled waifs, or wine-sopped businessmen. These are warriors, born and bred, and educated in only the fashion of survival. They won't care for your big words, and fancy terms of treaty or industry. They may in fact find them disrespectful. You keep your mouth shut, fop, and let me handle this or we may all die."
Chalmer pouted but said nothing. Couric simply looked forward with renewed resolve, and feeling rather pleased with himself for his successful berating of the noble. The small wagon moved on through the bright grass of the Benuith hillsides as the camp-lights of their enemy burned hell-fire orange in the distant hills. The sun shone happily over the valley as though it had no concept of the bloodshed to come, and a young tiger swallowed a lump that had been slowly forming in his throat. He had heard tales of the strange rabbits to the south in his youth, and he rather feared them as demon worshippers, head hunters, witches, and thieves. He had, however never seen one before, and there was an entire army camped in the tranquil woods, and hillcrests ahead. Fear tickled at the back of his neck, causing his hackles to rise as the wagon hit a bump and startled him.
The day wore on, and the outer camps of the jungle nation came into view in better detail. Men and women were standing all around watching the wagon as though they had seen it coming from the city. Warriors were approaching the wagon from the sides, and front and Chalmer decided that now was the virtuous time for one to abscond to the interior of the carriage. Couric watched them thoughtfully, and Brodry looked at his leader in the hopes of finding some plan in him.
"Ho there" on yelled in the language of Mariath, but heavily accented, "You belong us now! You get off wagon, get on ground! You might live eh?" Couric smiled broadly as his eyes widened with delight at the greeting and he leapt from the wagon over the distance that separated the two. In the same motion, he smashed the skull of the rabbit, causing his body to fall in spasms and a fine, red mist to linger in front of him. The smell of blood filled the warrior's nostrils and he welcomed it warmly. The other warriors took a step back in surprise at his speed and prowess, and looked the tiger over. He stood up and eyed them. His shirt bore a diagonal line of crimson ornament, and porcelain white fragment and he took a deep breath. The air left his lungs in a long sound of satisfaction prompting a few of the men to look back and forth between each other. An instant later, they were charging him with a battle cry.
Brodry watched with wide delighted eyes as Couric cleared out the first four rabbits who challenged him. None of them lasted more than one strong blow from his powerful mace, and within seconds, the lot of them lay on the ground dead, or convulsing in their shattered death throes. He adjusted himself in his seat as he had grown rather uncomfortable watching the powerful tiger fight, and took a deep breath to calm himself. More rabbits were coming as shouts rang through the camp, and Couric was busying himself pulling necklaces and loincloths from the fallen men. He wiped his fur and mace clean with their clothing and held the five war pouches aloft as the others approached.
"A gift" he shouted, causing them to pause, "For your queen in the hopes that she will speak with me!" A slender woman walked forward from among them and nodded.
"I will speak with you, tiger!" she said loudly, and stretched out her hand to grab the trophies from his hand. She smiled for a moment, but her eyes soon widened as the tiger spun around and slammed his mace into her arm. She whipped once in a circle and her shattered arm waved pitifully in the air around her before she collapsed on her side. Her good paw gripped her elbow, and her mouth opened as if to scream, but all that came out was a pitiful squeak as she tried to weakly force air through her tightened esophagus. The other warriors looked at her in horror then lifted their eyes to Couric as her throat opened and she screamed, and screamed and screamed.
"I am the King of the Sherftii nation!" he bellowed, "Don't send me some lackey! The queen of the Mumgatu would never fall to such a clumsy attack, nor speak to me without addressing an underling to handle my trophies! You think I know nothing of your ways?" Hate radiated from the eyes of the men and women before him as a few rushed to help the screaming girl whose arm lay limp, and twisted on the ground beside her. Her screams became sobbing shrieks as they tied her elbow to stop the blood, and carried her off for a shaman to amputate. One of them stood and reached out to him.
"I will take" he said, "And speak queen Budakha. She will see. You talk." Couric allowed the man to take his hand full of necklaces, and turned to walk back to the carriage. Brodry smiled broadly at him with a mixture of worship and lust in his eyes, and he smiled proudly back at him. From deep in the carriage, Chalmer spied on him with wide, astonished eyes. A completely different feeling coursed through him, and he felt as though he might wet himself. Fear constricted his heart for a moment, and his chest burned as his organ of vivacity struggled in his breast. He took a few deep breaths, and ordered one of his boy-servants to give him wine, and drank thirstily from the bottle. He flopped down against the side of the carriage, and quaked slightly at what he had just seen. He planned to manipulate Couric thinking him a simple fellow with grand schemes, but now he had seen a bit of what he can do, and he wasn't sure if it was worth the risk.
"Hey now" a strong voice said from his right, and the fox looked up with a start. Couric was looking back at him, and the fox swallowed hard as he lay transfixed by the steely gaze of his feline eyes. "Don't look so pale" he said, "was there a ghost about? Your boys don't...well they do, but for a different reason." He leaned back further and set his lips against the fox's ear. "Just think" he said quietly, "that was only a portion of my skill. Those rabbits fought like children to me." With that he turned back around and looked forward as Brodry fawned over him near to swooning.
Couric sat on a small pillow made of soft leather, and eyed the Mumgatu queen. She sat on a wooden couch of sorts with several pillows under her haphazardly. She stared back at him with strong, defiant eyes, and shifted her weight silently. She looked as if she was waiting for him to speak, but he remained silent. She was a strange sight for the tigers. Her body seemed perfectly formed, with soft curves, and immaculate symmetry that seemed highly feminine, but her muscles showed from under her soft looking flesh when she moved. Her breasts were firm, healthy, high, and allowed to hang openly for them to see. Her lower body was covered with a long ornate skirt that was ornamented with many brightly colored stones he had not seen before, and a finely crafted spear lay propped beside her. A strange tickle aroused in Couric, and he wondered at it. This woman was unlike any he had seen in his life, and he hoped that the Sherftii girls were as impressive. It was the warrior in her that attracted him, and he could imagine it being at least tolerable to father an heir on such a creature. He found himself wishing silently that she was a feline. The thought rested heavily in his mind, and he found himself rather disgusted. Heavy rests the head that wears the crown indeed, he thought
"So" she said after nearly a half of an hour of silence, "You are the king of Sherftii, and you bring gifts to see Budakha? Well here Budakha is, and what with Budakha now?" She watched him closely for any sign of weakness. His body was nearly as perfect as hers, and she had long appraised that. His large muscles tightly formed over his bones and rippled when he moved. His eyes were fiery but calm, and in total control, and his manner was proud, and forceful. However, a strong body does not a leader make. His mettle had been tested by the forward guards, and he had slain them without a nick, but could he handle himself to her lofty appraisal?
"I come to speak of alliances" he said, and bowed slightly, "One between your people, and mine." He straightened himself out, and gazed intensely into her eyes. He found himself relatively impressed that her gaze did not waver even slightly. Usually when faced with a tiger people of other races fluttered at least a little.
"So speak" she replied, "What of alliances? What of treaties? Do you come to beg that Budakha spares your little town of walls and stone?" She sat upright, and drew her long legs under her as her paws rested on her knees.
"No" he said firmly. "This is not my home, and these are not my people. I don't care what becomes of them. I am Sherftii, and my kingdom is far to the north.
"Far north?" she said, and lifted an eyebrow. "My lands are far, far to the south. With such a distance, what could our nations have to offer each other?"
"I have gold" he said, "In abundance. We also have fat animals, rich fields, and many, many slaves. All of that and more."
"But what would you have of me?" she said, "Would you simply give these things to me? I don't understand you." She smirked a little and leaned back against her chair as she crossed her arms. "Please tell me. You have intrigued me, and will live. Your tongue is your own, Sherftii."
Couric smiled, and stood up. "I offer you more in that I will give you glory. I will teach your smiths how to make better weapons. I can see from this distance that your blades are not properly treated, and folded. I can impress upon your warriors the skill to make the blade stronger, and sharper, and longer lasting." He walked in a small pace back and forth in front of her. It caught her attention further, and made her smile, though it was nothing more than a habit common among tigers. "As I told you before, I promise glory as well. I am the rightful king of the Sherftii, but my uncle has taken my throne. I would hire your people to bolster my troops to take back my land."
"Why should we, if you were dethroned" she said "you do not deserve to be king. Answer me this tiger, and if you can not, leave."
"My father died in glorious battle" he said, "when I was just a boy. My uncle stole the seat from me with wicked politics, and smiling lies." He paused a moment to spit as though his words left a taste in his mouth. "Now, I return to reclaim what is mine by birthright, and to restore the kingship to a warrior who has earned it."
Budakha nodded, and opened her eyes. "Why then, Sherftiison" she said, "have you waited so long to return? Why did you not go against your uncle at an earlier age?"
"Because" he said sharply, "I have communed with our gods, and they have told me that there is a time and a place. The time is fast approaching, and I must raise an army. They have given me little preparation to ensure that I am worthy." She nodded again, apparently satisfied with this as well.
"Then tell me" she said, "What is this glory? Is it the glory of saving your kingdom? We will not have any interest in that."
"No" he said as he turned to face her, and his face split into a grin, "It is the second part of my quest that interests you. I will give you the glory of facing some of the most powerful warriors in the world. Our enemies to the west who have plagued our people, and displeased our goddess with blasphemies and wickedness are ripe for conquest, and the gods will it so. Follow me to reclaim my kingdom, and my army, and I will keep the entirety of your people until such time as the portents are right to march. Would you cross swords with the Beduin?"
Budakha's eyes moved just the slightest bit, and Couric's narrowed in triumph. He had what he sought in her, and his way would be made. Already he could see that she was impressed on this, and though he had no clue why, he could read on her face that she wanted this badly.
The rabbit warrior rolled his words around and around in her head. She had only met one Beduin in her life, and he had been a magnificent man. It had been years since she saw him, and shared her bed with him, but she would never forget the fox that saved her life. His actions on their battlefield had spared her to live for just an instant, and she had used it to earn her name. There was little chance that he was still alive, or that she would find him in her homeland, but if his peers were half as skilled as he then perhaps on of them could give her a death that would be sung about for generations. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
"Very good" she said at last, "We will talk about gold. We of course have little use for it except for jewelry, and gold is only awarded for great tasks, so we need very little of it. What will you have to pay us then?"
"Simple" he said as he crossed his arms, "I will see to it that the gates of that little gem behind us open to your warriors so that your siege lasts hours instead of weeks."
Budakha smiled, and nodded. "Come with me to my tent" she said as she rose to her feet, "And we will discuss this there."