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Jherik's Tale

By Kyell Gold

**Part 1

This is part 1 of a story that takes place in the world of my novel "[Volle](%5C)" and the associated story "The Prisoner's Release." If you are familiar with "Volle," you will recognize a few details (a certain notable author makes an appearance). If you are not familiar with "[Volle](%5C)"--well, he'd like to get familiar with you. ;) If you like this story, you'll like his story, too. Stop by the Sofawolf Press table at the next convention or check them out [online](%5C). In the meantime, you can read this story without fear of spoilers.

Jherik's tail twitched when he was bored. It twitched when he was angry, and it twitched when he was excited. Lately, his life had been a cycle of those three moods. When he was bored, his thoughts inevitably turned to the last meeting his father had held with him and his brother, and then he got angry, and when he got angry he stalked down to the practice area to work off his anger in sparring with whatever soldiers happened to be working out there. When he'd beaten them all, the excitement of battle would wear off, and he slowly grew bored again.

Marhik, by contrast, was the very model of a cougar noble. When sitting in their father's study, his posture was impeccable, ears canted at just the proper angle to show respect for his father and the pride of his own heritage. His paws rested easily on the arms of the chair, and no matter what their father said, he never ever accidentally scored the wood with his claws. And his tail remained perfectly curled around his knees as he sat, motionless.

By his nineteenth birthday, Jherik had given up on the idea that he would grow into his brother's demeanor. His brother had always been that way, as long as he could remember, and he'd always been the one with his fur askew, claws prone to extending at the slightest provocation, disrespectful ears, and uncontrollable tail. Six would-be instructors had despaired of ever making a proper noble out of him, and the last had told his father that it didn't matter anyway; as the second son, he would be either a soldier or a priest.

Never a priest, Jherik knew. He could barely keep his attention on the cantor every Gaiaday when they sat in services. There, as everywhere else, his brother put him to shame with his perfect posture and his focus that never strayed from the speaker. He could have been in services as they waited for their father to explain why he had called them to his study; his eyes never left the older cougar behind the desk. Jherik couldn't keep himself from looking all around the study, from the large wooden desk that was weathered with the marks of a dozen Barons (a gift from the neighboring barony in the fourth year of the reign of King Xarric) to the bookshelves that had been built in the time of Jherik's grandfather, who'd tried to encourage the printing shops in the local town to expand their line and had still only been able to fill half his shelves.

When his father spoke, he looked at Marhik. "You heard about the messenger from Caril." Marhik nodded, a small nod. Exactly the right nod, Jherik thought. "The Crown Prince has been murdered."

He gave them a moment to assimilate that. Jherik's tail froze and then started lashing behind him. The Crown Prince? They were second cousins to the royal family, though he'd never actually met them nose-to-nose. The closest they'd come had been at a royal celebration for the birth of the king and queen's third child, ten years ago. Jherik vaguely remembered the crown prince, a stocky cougar just starting to grow into his adolescent frame. Marhik, closer to his age, had talked to him, and Jherik turned to his brother to see how he would be affected by the tragedy.

"Who did it?" Marhik's tones were clipped and precise. His ears and tail didn't appear to have moved an inch.

"I don't have that information." Their father sighed and rubbed at his muzzle. "All I know is...we may be at war."

"I'll have to take some troops to Caril."

"Yes." Their father nodded gravely. "I want you to pick the best fifty soldiers we have and bring them to Caril. It's not much, but we're a small barony."

"I know the soldiers better than Marhik does," Jherik burst out impulsively.

"Consult your brother if you want to," their father said, still to Marhik. "But have them ready to march tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir." Marhik nodded again while Jherik seethed.

"Jherik, I want you to recruit replacements. We may not be able to get fifty, but get as many as we can."

Jherik looked at his brother, then back at his father. The request didn't seem to make sense. "How can I recruit if I'm going to be marching to Caril tomorrow morning?"

His father and brother both looked at him as if he were a beloved house pet who couldn't understand basic commands. "You're not going to Caril," his father said.

Jherik laughed. "You think there are fifty soldiers in our army better than me?"

"You can't go," Marhik explained patiently. "Both of us can't go."

"Then you stay, and I'll lead the soldiers."

Their father shook his head. "Marhik has to lead them."

"Why don't you lead them, and I'll go along, and Marhik can stay here?" Jherik leaned forward, not even conscious of the marks his claws were making in the arms of his chair.

"Because," Marhik said patiently, Marhik who always understood everything and never complained, "I have to gain experience in leading the soldiers. I'm of age now. If Dad came along they would defer to him and I wouldn't gain their confidence and respect. And because it's not an actual war yet, Dad doesn't have to go himself."

"Cougar grant there may not be a war," their father said heavily.

"It's not fair!" Jherik said.

He didn't miss the glance that his father and brother exchanged, the one that said, no use talking to him when he gets like this. He sank back into his chair, all attempts at good posture gone, and lowered his ears sulkily.

"The Barony of Limorra is on the way to Caril," Marhik said. "Can we rest there?"

"Excellent idea. Taqarra may want to marry you to Viana before you go on to Caril. At least, we should not lose the chance to make that match sooner rather than later. The alliance will be a good one."

They talked about politics for another few minutes, while Jherik sank deeper into his sulk. When their father dismissed them, he stormed outside without a word, brushing aside his brother's attempts to talk to him, and headed right for the practice area.

Corrif, a large wolf who was one of the senior leaders of their little army, was training two younger soldiers, a bobcat and an otter. Jherik had to search for their names and could only remember that the bobcat was called Pexi. They were both about two thirds the size of the wolf, their heads coming up to the bottom of his chest, but Jherik knew that size didn't determine the skill of the fighter. He was larger than any of the soldiers in the army and he had been beaten once by a weasel half his size.

"Good, good, watch your paws, Trikka, don't get stuck in one place. I'm moving around to your left, so don't just turn your torso. Pexi, don't follow me; anticipate me. Both of you stay crouched down, that makes it harder for me to hit you. When you're attacking a larger opponent, you'll want to hit the knees and feet. Defend upward and strike low--yes, like that, good!" Pexi had swung the wooden practice sword and clipped the wolf on the knee, but the stroke left him open and Corrif flicked his practice sword expertly into the crease between the bobcat's head and shoulder. "But don't forget to defend. You're dead now, and your partner is all alone against a larger opponent, albeit a hobbled one."

He turned around Trikka, and caught sight of Jherik. He stepped back from the fight and lowered his practice sword. "All right, take a break."

The otter and bobcat saw Jherik then, too, and padded off to the side of the practice area, where they sat down, panting.

Corrif met Jherik by the sword rack. "Regular swords, m'lord?"

By way of answer, Jherik grabbed a narrow metal longsword from the rack. Corrif nodded and took a heavier weapon. He was about six inches shorter than the cougar, but just as well muscled, and there wasn't a weapon Jherik could handle that Corrif couldn't handle as well.

Jherik spent five minutes warming up; Corrif, already limber, donned a leather breastplate to replace the padded armor he'd been wearing and did some practice steps to get used to it. It left his arms and legs unprotected, and the sleek, tough curves of his arms and legs as he flexed and stretched would have been imposing to any other soldier.

Jherik, however, matched him curve for curve, and his shorter fur showed off his musculature more effectively. He was well aware of this, and even in a practice match, he took his time taking off his shirt, more for the benefit of Pexi and Trikka than Corrif himself. He knew the wolf would be mostly amused by the display, but for the day when he would be sparring against the bobcat or otter, he wanted them to remember and be intimidated.

He squared off against the wolf and they bowed, touched swords, and began.

Of all the soldiers, Corrif was Jherik's least favorite sparring partner. The wolf knew him well, having initially trained him, and their fighting styles were so similar that Jherik sometimes thought he was fighting himself. As a result, their sessions were often long and tiring and frequently ended in a draw.

He brought his sword down and around. Corrif parried and feinted to his right, but Jherik wasn't fooled. He parried the real attack, which came a moment later from the left, and slid his sword along Corrif's, trying for a quick touch. The move left him open to a quick return stroke, but he knew the heavier weapon would slow the wolf. Corrif stepped aside and pushed Jherik's sword away with his paws, then thrust forward, not even trying for the quick return.

So it went for several minutes. The bobcat and otter passed into and out of Jherik's field of vision several times as he and Corrif circled and sparred, but he barely noticed them. Only when he glanced up over the wolf's shoulder and noticed Marhik standing at the entrance, arms folded, did he lose his focus.

It was only a second's hesitation, but Corrif noticed and took advantage, swinging his sword in a short arc that buried the tip in Jherik's leather breastplate. "Match," he said, smiling.

Beaten. Not only beaten, but beaten in front of two young soldiers. Beaten in front of an impassive Marhik, who was just starting to let the corners of his muzzle turn up in a smirk. He brought the flat of his sword back hard, smacking into the back of Corrif's paw as the wolf was lowering his weapon.

With a yelp, Corrif dropped his sword and clutched his paw, doubling over. Jherik knew that what he'd done was unfair and unwarranted, but he wrapped his growing shame in a cocoon of anger, dropped his weapon, and stalked over to his brother.

"What do you want?"

Marhik looked at Corrif, who was just straightening up. "I suppose I'll be taking him with me. If you haven't crippled him, that is."

"What do you want here?" Jherik repeated, panting from the exertion. "You want to fight?"

The question was ludicrous. Though he was two years older, Marhik was shorter and lighter than his brother. He had a sleek runner's build, smooth muscles playing under his fur rather than pushing out of it as Jherik's did. Until Jherik had turned fifteen, they were able to wear the same armor, though they each had their own, but Jherik's constant sparring and working had broadened his chest to the point that Marhik's armor no longer fit him. Marhik had turned his energy to his political duties, a task that Jherik felt neither the obligation nor the inclination to share. He took great pleasure in working out while his brother sat in long sessions with his father and other nobles.

Marhik deflected the question with a smile. "You know, you shouldn't make the soldiers afraid to lose to you. Fear is not the proper motivator."

"Get to the point." Jherik felt his heart rate slow, but his tail was still actively lashing.

"I just wanted your recommendations for which soldiers should go to Caril. But maybe you should cool down first. Corrif, are you okay?"

Jherik turned. The wolf had straightened up and was massaging his paw, hiding it from the two wide-eyed soldiers sitting on the bench. He nodded slowly, a dignified gesture. "I'll see the healer about it, m'lord."

"Will you be ready to travel tomorrow?" Marhik said past Jherik.

"Tomorrow? Of course, m'lord." Corrif's ears tilted to one side, but he restrained his curiosity and turned back to the bobcat and otter. "Come on, you two. Clean up the swords here and then take the rest of the morning off."

"Yes, sir!" they chorused, and ran to pick up the dropped swords as Corrif walked by the two cougars, bowing his head as he passed.

Marhik and Jherik watched them, and when they'd left, Jherik said, "Fine. I'll have the list to you by tonight."

He made to leave, but Marhik stopped him with a paw to his chest. "Jherik. Listen, I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"I know."

"To fight."

"Maybe." Why did he have to keep bringing that up?

Marhik sighed. "I might not be coming back."

Jherik stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"It's war, Jherik. You know, fighting for real, not in the sparring room. People die."

Jherik snorted. "Not you."

"What do you mean?" Marhik's ears flicked; his muzzle tilted to one side.

"I mean...nothing." He started to walk past his brother again.

"Jherik, do you get what I'm saying? I might never see you again."

His brother's earnest love and worry perversely made him even angrier. "Oh, Cougar will protect you. She always does."

Marhik shook his head in confusion, and Jherik's rage and frustration boiled over. "Everything always goes your way! You get to lead the soldiers into battle. You get everything right and I can't even remember to address the mayor as 'his honor.' You get to marry Viana!"

"Cougar's teeth, Jherik," Marhik sighed. "You don't even like girls!"

There was a certain satisfaction in making his even-tempered brother swear. Jherik savored it only briefly. "It wouldn't matter if I did. You're the one that matters. You get to raise a family and be baron and ..."

"I thought you didn't want to be baron."

"I don't!"

"You pretty much gave up on the priesthood when you fell asleep during your own Lustration."

"That's all just hand-waving and words. Cougar doesn't care if we go to services or how we worship."

Marhik's ears flicked. "I know what you think of the services," he said quietly. "I was just pointing out that you haven't exactly gone out of your way to take the options open to you."

"There are no options open to me."

His brother sighed again. "Fine. I'll see you in the morning if you come to see us off. Then you'd better get busy recruiting. If you don't feel that's beneath you."

Marhik turned on his paws and walked away, and for once, his tail was lashing too.

Jherik had left that evening to go to the southernmost town in the barony, the one that was four hours' ride from their manor and not on the way to Caril. He took only his valet, a young raccoon named Yakua, with him. The following day, he visited the mayor of the town and explained the need for recruits, and rode back to the manor. Marhik and the fifty soldiers had left at first light. And, Jherik noted bitterly, Marhik hadn't even waited for his recommendation.

So began his cycle of boredom, anger, and excitement. He rode to visit the mayors of the other two major towns in the barony, helped examine the new recruits as they arrived, and assisted Master Winson, the old badger, as he got them ready to become soldiers. They got thirty-eight young males, which was more than Jherik had been expecting, and according to Winson, at least ten of them had the makings of good soldiers. The rest could be trained.

But the absence of the best soldiers meant that Jherik's sparring sessions were over quickly and did little to dissipate the tension and frustration he felt growing inside him every day. He snapped at his valet, avoided his father, sat alone at meals, and only with the greatest restraint managed to be polite to Winson. The badger had initiated him as a young cub and tolerated no rudeness, even from Jherik.

About a week after Marhik's departure, Jherik found himself in bed, unable to sleep. His thoughts were a turmoil of emotions, and the images of his brother, his father, and his former colleagues now on their way to Caril and glory would not go away. Fists clenched, he wished he had some way to relax, and then he remembered back to four or five years ago, and slowly got out of bed.

Yakua slept in the front room on a small cot. Jherik passed him by and stepped into the hall to light a candle from the torch, then went back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and locking it.

The small bookshelf in his room held books that he had borrowed from his grandfather's library about weapons, tactics, and battle techniques. But in the back of one of the drawers of his desk he had two other books, taken when he and Marhik had found a more private library of their grandfather's, some six years before. There had been no fighting over the books they found; Marhik took the well-used majority, all of which featured females in various states of undress, and Jherik, who had realized just a year before that females held no fascination for him, took the two that Marhik didn't want. One, titled "Bare Muscles," featured a large bear, muscled and shirtless, holding a smaller but just as muscled raccoon, both very obviously male. The other, titled "Lucky Three," showed a naked wolf with two naked otters obviously enjoying themselves, though all their privates were cleverly hidden. The books might have raised some questions about the cubs' grandfather except that they lay at the bottom of the pile, dusty, uncreased, and unblemished.

He'd never been able to explore his feelings, but he read "Bare Muscles" over and over again, sometimes switching to "Lucky Three" for variety. The styles were similar (both were authored by a "P. Zinsky"), but he found that reading about the strong, powerful bear excited him more than reading about the frolicking of the wolf and his two otter playmates. He read the books for a year, until he knew them so well that he didn't have to get them out any more. And when he didn't get them out, they faded from his life, becoming a guilty adolescent memory rather than a secret pleasure.

For the last few years, his self-gratification had been quick and almost mechanical. He'd lost his virginity to a soldier when he was seventeen, had slept with a couple of the others since then, but never more than once. His most constant companion was his own paw.

Now, he looked back on those adolescent days as a more halcyon time, when he'd taken at least some pleasure from life. Maybe it was kid stuff, but it had been fun kid stuff, and he was beyond caring if what he did was appropriate any more. Besides, no one would know.

He took "Bare Muscles" from the back of the drawer, set the candle on his bedside table, and opened the book. It fell open to a passage that was one of his favorites; he'd pressed the book open there many times as his paw worked. He traced a claw down his sheath, feeling it stir as he read.**

**_Muscles shifted under the fur, as if the rolling hills had come alive and were dancing under their arboreal blanket. Damien found himself lifted into the air as easily as a cub, massive arms barely straining as the paws under his hips settled him down again. He felt the amorous pressure under him and tightened his own muscles playfully before yielding gladly to the invasion.

Josef made a low ululation of pleasure, a basso profundo arrow that shot to Damien's chest and thrummed there. He pressed his paws against the bear's tight, hard chest and massaged there in time with the rhythm of their bodies. The heat of Josef's breath enveloped his muzzle with the tender caress of a paw, a deep warm fog in which Damien's whiskers could not navigate. Together they moved, together they were as one, brown fur blending with grey, hard and rippling, the motion like the rolling of clouds before a storm._**

**

Jherik responded quickly to the words and his own touch. He knew that some of his adolescent fantasies had involved Corrif, but he was no longer interested in the old wolf. Instead, his thoughts turned to Mishel, a very well built young coyote who had just signed up in the wave of recruiting. Jherik was sure he had noticed Mishel's eyes linger on him, and so now he imagined those eyes meeting his as he lowered the coyote's muscular legs into his lap, imagined that the strokes on his long shaft came not from his paw, but from the tight rear of Mishel, and imagined that his paw was closed around the coyote's hard member. He could see the tawny fur and the nicely shaped arms and chest in front of him, bucking up and down...**

**_The storm clouds built, Damien's breaths like the precursor wind, Josef's rumbles like the distant thunder that sends farmers scurrying for shelter. Damien felt his fur tingle as though the clouds were full of power, gods in their bodies gathering thunderbolts for one enormous flash of lightning. Looking into Josef's eyes, he saw the same sparks mirrored there, the gleam of light like that found in the depths of a precious gem, and like the gem, the bear was tough and hard: his chest, his stone-solid arm that supported the wolf's weight, his thighs like fur-covered rock under Damien, and of course the hardness the bear was sharing with him. Damien himself was taut and hard all over; he could watch his arms flex as they rubbed the bear's chest, but his eyes were fixed on Josef's.

_**

And when the lightning came, it seared them both, wrenching the high keening of the full force of the storm winds from Damien, while Josef voiced the loud roll of thunder. Damien felt the splash of passion's rain between his tight, heaving stomach and the bear's, and he wished the lightning would never fade.

**Jherik's paw ran faster up and down his length. He could feel the dampness on his fingers from his leaking tip, and his toes curled as pleasure rippled through them. He abandoned the book and leaned back on his bed, still picturing the coyote sitting astride him, naked, seeing the large curves of his chest and the tight flatness of his young stomach, the play of his leg muscles making his sandy-colored fur wave as he rode up and down Jherik's shaft, his tight rear squeezing and squeezing, just like that...

Jherik clenched his teeth together to keep his throaty roar of pleasure in as his body convulsed in its release. Spurts of his seed landed on his chest and stomach, then coursed down his paw. He kept stroking frantically, lubricated with his own juices, and stopped when he couldn't stand it any more, his paw coated in sticky white.

The vision of Mishel disappeared. He lay on the bed, panting heavily, staring at the reliefs in the plaster ceiling as the shadows from the candlelight played over them. His paw trailed lazily through the mess on his stomach. He felt good, but not exhausted, not spent. His tail lashed the bed for several minutes, and finally he got up, wrapped a robe loosely around himself, and slid noiselessly out of the room and down to where the water baths were.

At the family's baths, he paused. Servants kept them meticulously clean, and any mess he made would be seen and identified the next morning. Most likely his scent would linger, especially given the muskiness of what he'd be washing off. His gaze slid to the door and the soldiers' barracks outside the manor, where there was a more anonymous water bath. Soldiers wouldn't be up and about at this hour, not with the grueling schedule the recruits were being given. They would be cherishing every scrap of sleep they were allowed. And the ones who'd been left behind, he reasoned as he eased the manor door shut behind him and walked down to the complex of wooden buildings at the base of the hill, had been left behind because they were lazy and therefore they would be sleeping all night as well. Or else out in the town without permission.

His reasoning seemed to hold. The baths were empty, but a profusion of scents lingered. He felt sure that his wouldn't be detected.

At first, he welcomed the silence; after a few moments, he found it strangely unsettling. The scents were so fresh and strong that he kept expecting someone to walk in on him. He finished washing his front quickly, then splashed some water over the rest of himself as it occurred to him that he might run into someone on the way back, and while a night bath was odd, it could be explained less embarrassingly than a wet patch from chest to groin.

As soon as he'd done that, he regretted it. He could have just kept the robe closed and nobody would have known, he told himself. Now the robe would just keep his fur from drying. He growled softly. He'd have to walk around and let it dry before going up to the manor.

He paced around the baths for several minutes, then perked his ears. He thought he'd heard a faint sound through the wooden walls of the baths, a sound like a metal clang. Frustration forgotten, he draped the robe around himself and padded silently out, peering to the left and right before heading towards the armory. If one of the soldiers had taken a sword out for a night on the town, that was fairly serious indeed. Unapproved absences were usually overlooked, but soldiers weren't supposed to take weapons into town unless they were going to battle. That was one of the few items of the barony charter that Jherik did know; as a soldier, it had been drilled into him.

The armory was silent and empty, but as Jherik stood listening to the crackling torches over the night's silence, he heard panting from the practice room, next door. It stopped a moment later, followed by the swish of a blade cutting the air and a softly muffled grunt of exertion. Curious, he placed his paw on the door and eased it open.

He poked his head through the scant opening and saw a figure moving around. A moment later, he saw the flash of a blade. The torches in the practice room had been put out, so he couldn't see details, but the figure was smaller than him, and slighter.

"Hey," he said with mild interest, stepping into the room. "What are you doing here?"

The light coming through the door fell upon orange fur. Gleaming eyes stared at him, and the slender muzzle froze. The sword fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Look, it's okay, but if you wanted an extra practice session, you should've talked to--hey!"

The fox had darted past him and out the open door. Jherik turned, but by the time he got outside, the fox had vanished. He looked around the deserted and silent corridors, and eventually decided the fox must have gone into one of the ten dormitories, and he didn't feel like waking up all the soldiers just to find him.

He cinched the robe around himself, returned to the practice room, and shelved the fallen sword, sniffing the leather-wrapped handle as he did. Like the baths, it held a number of scents, but the strongest was unmistakably vulpine, and strangely familiar. For several minutes, he held the handle to his nose, but the scent remained elusive. Finally, he put the sword away and headed back to bed, where even the mystery could not keep him awake for another minute.**