FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Runtha reeled back, his head throbbing from this last blow. Alspur followed his attack up, knocking Runtha over with a kick to the chest. Thrusting his heavy wooden greatsword into the grass beside the otter's head, he looked at Runtha contemptuously.

"Yew better get good quick, riverdog. I'm not gonna practice with these toys forever, and when we switch over ya better be ready. They'll be dulled, but yew'll get some broken bones if yer not quick enough.

"Yes, yore Lordship." Said Runtha as he struggled to his feet, already beginning to wince from the bruise forming on his head, along with the scores of others he had acquired over the past few hours.

Alspur shoved him down again, placing a footpaw on the otter's chest to keep him down. Drawing a sword at his waist--his real one--he rested the tip lightly against Runtha's throat. "Lordship..." he mused. "No, the soldiers call me that, and you're a slave, even if you're my personal one." He thought for a moment more, watching with malicious pleasure as Runtha shifted uneasily underneath his footpaw, eyeing the blade. "You may call me master, but nothing else." He tickled Runtha's throat, "Understood?"

Runtha's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Yes, Master."

"Good." The Prince let him get up. "Now Barzkul, I think it's time for our mock battle. You may use Runtha as you wish, but I almost think he might be a hindrance."

"Very good, Lord. Slave, over here!" Runtha jogged over to the weapons master, eyeing him cautiously. Barzkul gestured impatiently, "Come on, I'm not going to beat you." Runtha came closer. "Yet." Barzkul muttered, annoyed that the prince had given him such incompetent help. Usually he selected a guard from his post at the gate, put now he had a useless slave. A rock would've been better; at least he could throw it. "This is what yer gonna do." He growled at Runtha. "You obviously can't handle a sword, so go to the armory and get a bow an' a quiver of practice arrows." He grabbed Runtha's shoulder as e turned to leave. "Mind they're ''practice'' arrows, riverdog. You wouldn't want to shoot tipped ones at his Lordship."

Runtha nodded and raced off. He wondered if this position was worth the pain, then the thought of the warm bread came back to him. Bruises were a small price to pay for such food, and he'd eventually learn to block his master's attacks so he wouldn't have as many of them.

Against the north wall of the palace was the armory. It wasn't the full armory--that was in the courtyard of the palace--it was the practice armory. Mostly used by the princes for their weapons training, it was adjacent to the practice field.

A guard stood at the door. He leered as Runtha approached. Even though the guard was a full two heads shorter than him, his armor and arrogant confidence made Runtha feel small in comparison.

"Git back to yer job." Snarled the rat as Runtha approached.

"I am doing my job." Runtha replied.

"Ha." The guard put a paw on his sword. "Slaves aren't allowed in the armory, or any weapon storage area for that matter."

Runtha glanced over his shoulder. He could see Alspur and Barzkul getting impatient. He turned back to the guard. "Weapons master Barzkul gave me permission."

The guard laughed. "Yer a stubborn one. Well get this into yet thick 'ead. ''Yew aren't gonna git in 'ere''. So you can leave now."

Runtha turned away. "I'll get my Master, the Prince, and the weapons master, I'm sure they'll be glad to change yore mind."

The rat started. "Yer the Prince's slave?" He hurridly opened the door. "Get what yew need, and that argument didn't 'appen, right?"

Runtha walked past him. "It may slip my mind, but ya never know." He selected a bow and a quiver of arrows, their tips swathed in cloth. As he passed out the door, the guard passed him a flagon, "Will that help you forget?"

Runtha tucked it inside his tunic. "It will."

"What took you so long?" demanded Alspur.

Runtha bowed his head. "Forgive me Master, I couldn't find the practice arrows."

Alspur rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Take up starting positons!"

As Barzkul faced the Prince, broadsword at ready, Runtha circled around behind him. At a signal from Alspur, they began. Runtha knocked an arrow, patiently waiting for them to separate so he could get a shot in. Only then did he notice that they had swapped out their wooden swords for real ones, albeit blunted. Barzkul locked hilts with Alspur, then pushed the Prince away, stepping back as he did so. Realizing that he wouldn't get a chance like this again very soon, Runtha drew hastily and let fly.

As soon as the arrow left the bow, Runtha could see that he was off target. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the arrow was too fast. It struck the weapons master in the chest, winding him. Alspur, seeing that his one adversary had been "killed" turned and rushed Runtha. The otter fumbled frantically with the next arrow, but he never got it knocked. Alspur bowled into him, knocking him back a full five feet and sending the bow flying, no easy feat as Runtha was heavy-built.

"It seems that I have set a new record for beating you, Barzkul." Said Alspur, leaning on his sword and watching Runtha roll over and push himself up. "Thanks to Runtha here."

Barzkul was furious. Not only had he lost, he had been expecting to, but he had been beaten by a slave. Ripping a whip from his belt, he stormed forward and slashed viciously across Runtha's back. The otter yelled, more in surprise than pain, and began to move away as fast a possible as Barzkul drew back for another blow.

Alspur was quicker though. He knocked Barzkul down and knelt on his chest, dagger drawn, toying with the fox's whiskers. "Have we forgotten already?" hissed the ferret. "The only beast allowed to damage my property is me. No matter what he does to yew, yew have no right to harm 'im. Only I may do that. Next time yew violate my right it will cost yew part of yer ear." He stood up. "Practice is over for today, time for dinner." He made his way towards the palace, Runtha following close behind, storing the memory safely away. That information would come in handy.

_ ~~***~~ _

Athuran surveyed his sons from where he stood, slightly behind the king's left paw. They looked well, but for Colan that wouldn't have been hard. In his eyes Athuran could see a wary nervousness, as if Colan was unwilling to trust himself. Runtha seemed more at ease, or at least resigned. I occurred to him that Runtha hadn't seemed startled when the guards swept into the hut last night. It was like he knew they were coming...he'd have to think on that.

The King drained his goblet, motioning to him after he set it down. Athuran stepped forward, filling the goblet with fresh, dark wine. Well, he thought as he stepped back, resuming his position, it'll do Azure good to see our children at mealtimes at least.

He glanced over his sons again. Runtha looked like he had already become accustomed to his position, his back straight and head up, but quickly transferring his gaze to the floor when any of the royal family looked at him. Colan seemed more unsure, sometimes meeting Prince Torrin's eyes, and at other times looking at the floor. Torrin finished his goblet and set it down, motioning for Colan, but the otter was busy surveying the table and didn't notice. Torrin made a pretext of looking down the side of the table to glance at Colan. Seeing the otter lost n wonder at the various dishes, he slid a paw below the rim of the table. A sharp snap sounded, and Colan looked at the prince, startled. The ferret motioned him forward and whispered something to him. Colan whispered back, and Torrin rolled his eyes. Turning, he pointed at a row of barrels against the wall, whispering something else. Colan nodded, took the goblet from the prince's paw, and filled it from one of the casks. After bringing it back to his master, he returned to his original position.

I really have to talk to him. Athuran thought, This job isn't any different from what he's been doing his whole life, obey your master.

Colan stared in wonder at the food. It wasn't so much the quantity that stunned him--it took a lot to feed the hundreds of slaves in the compound--it was the quality. Meats, pies, soups, stews, salads, rolls, turnovers, and baskets of various fruits and berries. None of the food was the least bit moldy or spoiled. Besides that, they ate on plates with forks. Colan had never seen a fork used before, none of the slaves owned any, the guards had said they could be used as weapons. And the plates they used...they were either made from gold or were gold-plated, along with the forks and other utensils and the goblets as well. They sat at a long table that could accommodate a score, but only the royal family was eating, with Colan's family attending. King Alcon sat at one end of the table, his wife occupying the other. The princes sat halfway down each side, Alspur on the King's right and Torrin on his left. Torrin had told him that this table was used for family-only dinners, and that they had a banquet hall for larger gatherings and such.

A snap startled him out of his amazement, and he started forward sheepishly as he saw Prince Torrin beckoning to him. Stepping forward he bent over to catch Torrin's whisper.

"Get me some cider, they're labeled. And pay attention or I'll have to have you whipped."

Colan hesitated, unsure if the prince meant that the whipping would be to keep up appearances or punish him for not paying attention. "I can't read." He whispered.

Torrin sighed and rolled his eyes. "Good thing my teacher is coming tomorrow." He muttered. Turning in his seat, he pointed to the row of barrels on the wall. "It's the second one down from the King's side of the table."

Colan nodded and completed his task. As he waited for the goblet to fill he took a look at the label. It looked like random scratches to him, but maybe somebeast who was very smart could teach him.

After the King had finished eating, he and his family retired to another room while their personal slaves ate their fill of the leftovers. Azure delayed their starting as she insisted on asking how they all were. Runtha brushed her off, groaning that he was hungry and she had just seen him that morning. Then they tucked in, indulging in food they had never tasted before, and quality that they had hardly dreamed of. After they had eaten their fill, Athuran drew Colan aside.

"Listen, Colan." He said. "They may go easy on us for the first few days, but don't expect it to last. They'll clamp down and they may be worse than anybeast we've had to deal with before. Y' never know."

Colan nodded as Torrin came in. "I'll remember, Father."

After dinner was finished, while they were walking back to their rooms, Colan asked. "Are your dinners always so quiet?"

"Sometimes." Torrin replied. "It is customary for the king to start the conversation, so if Father doesn't feel like talking, we don't talk."

"Oh." Said Colan, and nothing else was said through the rest of their walk.

As they entered the Prince's quarters, Torrin began speaking again, more to himself than Colan. "I usually read after dinner but that would leave you with nothing to do on your first evening." He paused as a though came to him. "Should I?" He muttered, clearly to himself. A second later, he shrugged. "Why not? You'll probably be included eventually. Come on." It took Colan a moment to realize that this last sentence was directed at him. Hurrying after Torrin, he followed the Prince to the armory.

Colan watched, mystified, as Torrin walked to the sword wall and took down the two sabers Torrin had shown him earlier. Drawing both of them, he swung them experimentally.

"I tried to learn to wield both of them, but not much luck." He admitted. "I think I'm one-of-a kind. My right paw is my writing paw, but I use my left for swordplay." He smiled, "Strange, isn't it?"

Colan shrugged "I dunno, I haven't talked to many swordbeasts." Torrin raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I speak to swordbeasts." Colan assured him. "But I don't talk. It's really just "yes sir" or "no sir." And that can't be called talking."

"Oh." Said Torrin as he sheathed his left-paw sword. Reversing his grip on the remaining blade, he held the hilt out to Colan.

Colan's gaze darted between the swordhilt and the ferret warily. Slowly he stretched out his paw and grasped the leather-bound hilt. Torrin released the blade, and the tip dipped momentarily as Colan adjusted to the weight. It was heavy, but balanced so expertly that the weight was more a joy than a burden. He looked from the blade to the prince, confused.

"Why are you giving me this?" He raised the blade and pointed it at the prince. "I could kill you, and though I would die, in the eyes of every slave I would die a martyr. I might even be able to bluff my way out of the palace, since you died in a room only you are allowed in. Tell me, why do you think that I won't take advantage of the situation and kill you?"

Torrin held his ground, his emerald eyes searching Colan's with their piercing gaze. "I don't think you'll kill me, he said slowly, "because you're not sure what to make of me. All your life you've been beaten, questions were forbidden, and your mind was not your own. Then you are plucked from the ranks and you land here. All of a sudden you have somebeast that is, by rule, your master, but asking you questions and letting you think with your own mind. And frankly," he leaned back against the wall, "you don't trust me. You've every right not to. Outside of woodlanders, nobeast has bothered to have an extended conversation with you."

Torrin sighed, "Truth is, I don't want another slave. I don't want somebeast whose life I can extinguish with a single word. What I want," he said suddenly, looking up, "is a friend, somebeast I can count on to tell me what they really think, not what I think."

Colan lowered the saber and turned away. "Bad things happen to my friends." He muttered. "First it was Derick, then it was Cetyl."

"What happened?" asked Torrin.

"They died." Said Colan flatly, obviously ending the subject.

"Oh..." Torrin looked out the window, he hadn't thought of that. It hadn't occurred to him that the slaves that were whipped were the friends of others. He knew slaves died, but he never really realized that the family and friends of the victim would feel something. Changing topics, he said, "It's getting late and I'm going bed. It's gonna be a tiring day tomorrow for you, 'cause I have sword practice with the weapons master and my teacher comes after that, but I'll postpone my own studies so we can teach you to read." He began walking towards his room. "You can keep the saber by your bed if you want, it's yours now."

Later, Colan lay on his cot and stared at the ceiling, thinking. It had been one of the most confusing days of his life, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was on the edge of something as great as one of the tales Sanem told late at night.

He only hoped that his story wouldn't end tragically.