Chapter the Tenth: History
#10 of A Stage of Destinies
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live, and gladly die.
and laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
_Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea._
and the hunter home from the hill.
Requiem
_ -Robert Louis Stevenson _
Couric stood rigidly next to a tall tiger with broad shoulders as the king looked over the papers they had brought with them. His eyes took in the room and his mind wandered to happier times in his childhood before his life had been rudely stripped away. A flicker of hate welled in his heart, but quelled as he contemplated its origin: his uncle, or the foxes.
Razzar had made many changes to this room since he had taken over. The bulk of the ornamentation was done in blue which was odd for Sherftii decor. Blue was generally associated with the livery of the Beduin, and so it was oftentimes shunned by the tiger bred. Gold candlesticks, ash catchers, sepulchers and such were set about the room in strategic positions, and a pair of slave-guards stood on either side of the chieftain-king's throne. Couric eyed them over, and sized them up. They were a pair of relatively healthy lions who were probably schooled from birth in the ways of the weapons they held, and promised freedom if the king live long enough to grant it them. Possibly even ownership of their spouses or lovers and their children so that they might in turn free them. All in all it added up that here was not a place to challenge his uncle for the throne.
"You would dare bring this to me?" Razzar barked as he stood abruptly and tossed the commune down to the floor at the general's feet. "What would possess you to even think about doing something like this? You know how I feel about it!"
"Sir" General Orvir said calmly, "You surely will think of my loyalty, and my father on the council? I haven't sinned that greatly have I?"
"You impetuous man" the king shouted, "You villain! You should know better, and in fact you do!" He stooped suddenly and picked up the parchment with a rough hand. "To think that you would bring this to me!" he railed, "I've had it up to here with these myths of Couric returning! There has been one every other season for thirteen years! I don't care what the evidence is, or who is suspected of joining some secret rebellion against me under his command for I've had enough of this. My brother's son is long dead along with the lioness that birthed him. Simply execute everyone who claims to be him, and there will be no issue; now get out of my sight! I dismiss you from my chamber, and pray to Dalma that I don't dismiss you from your position."
Orvir's mighty frame dipped suddenly in a hasty bow, and he hurried out of the room. Couric stifled a smile, and a most extreme laughter that threatened to break his heart. He grinned at his companion as they passed beyond the sight of his uncle, and tipped his hat politely as he broke off into another passage that would lead him deeper into the castle.
Razzar fumed in his chair, and looked at the parchment which fully detailed Couric's plan before him in arabesque calligraphy of India black ink. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the plot. This one was different. It was too...perfect. He set the papers in his lap, and stared at his customized tapestries that hung here and there about the room as a sigh emanated from his chest. "Heavy indeed" he thought to himself as he looked back to the scroll.
"Perhaps I was too hasty with dismissing this?" he mused aloud as he flipped through the scrolls pages. Another low sigh rumbled through him, and he rolled the papers back up and tossed them into the fire. "Couric is gone, old man" he said to himself, "and so is the rest of his family. You've more to fear of their ghosts than you do of them." He leaned forward in his chair, and rubbed his eyes. He made it a point to never fall asleep outside of a locked chamber, and not even with his wives. There had been a few attempts on his life since he had all but dissolved the council of elders and rendered them little more than a puppet court. They were a symbol of the ancient ways and therefore worthy of preservation, but hardly worthy to have power over him. Regardless, danger sill lurked around every turn for the old tiger, and he was going to be sure he lived out his reign.
As the old tiger moved towards his chamber, a younger man in an officer's uniform interposed himself between his king and said king's destination. Razzar's eyes narrowed in contempt, and he glared at the young man who swallowed deeply and saluted.
"Why" he said solemnly, "have you come to me thusly? Why are you delaying your king's good rest? Answer me this quickly that I might enjoy the feel of a pillow against my weary head for I'm no child of youth as you are now. Be quick about you boy." He paused a moment to look the young man over. He is probably either an exceptional warrior or the son of a rich man to be created such a rank so young.
"My liege" he said nervously showing that if he was in fact an exceptional fighter, he was no speaker, "There...there is an army at the gate." Razzar's eyebrow lifted and he grit his teeth. There was no reason for this to be true, and he thought about striking the youth.
"An army" he said, "at my gate...right now?" The youth nodded, and swallowed deeply sensing the distaste in his master's voice. "Well then" he continued, "Who are they? From where do they come, and what are they here for? Has anyone thought to find these things out before they aggravate me with bad news?"
"Sir" the young man proclaimed, "They are rabbits, sir. We have never seen such a force before...they look like savages, and we have no idea from where they hail. All we know is their livery. They fly banners of Red, and white with a green box at the top-right corner." The officer cringed fearing that the king might strike him as he watched his expression change. Instead, the old tiger flew from the spot with impressive zeal for his age, and darted to the highest tower he could find. He looked out over the city, and beyond the walls. Sure enough there were camps of thousands and thousands of warriors a mile beyond. This he could tell, but his sight had grown too old, and failing to pick out their banners.
"How did they get so close and no one notice?" he shouted out of the window, and turned quickly to run down the stairs. He stopped abruptly in the chest of General Orvir. He looked up into the eyes of the great tiger, and sighed.
"Orvir!" he said, "There is an army at my gates! How has this happened? There are thousands and thousands of them...someone should have seen their movements!"
Orvir glared down at the old man, and shook his head. "I've no idea my king" he said, "from what I understand they moved in small packs from all over the south, not coalescing into a full force until the got here. That is suspicious, but it makes a sort of sense. Also, it is possible that this is the work of sabotage...perhaps someone hid their approach by silencing intelligence."
"Gather the finest warriors and arm every slave" Razzar interjected, "They're only rabbits, we'll dash them on the stones of our walls should they try something." He paused, and grimaced, "or perhaps simply for the colors they fly...I may choose to kill them to the last man for that insult."
Budakha bounded nimbly up the side of a tree, leaping expertly through the branches until they became too small to support her muscular frame. She peered out over the canopy, shielding her eyes from the blazing star that shone mid-sky over head and burned brightly in full summer splendor. At first she took a moment to look over the country side. Beneath her was a canopy of leaves that obscured the ground below from her sight. In every direction but miles of protean green that undulated with the ambient wind above the treetops. She took in a deep breath of summer leaves, and evergreen as her braided hair turned loops around her head in the zephyr before focusing on the city ahead of her.
High walls heavily fortified and crenellated loomed ominously before them. Castellated towers watched menacingly from atop the ramparts and proudly stood in fortified majesty. "A mighty dragon indeed" she whispered under her breath as she searched for any chink in the fortress cities armor, "Without your help, Tiger, we'll never penetrate it." She sighed deeply, and began to slide from branch to branch until she reached the ground.
"What did you see?" a young woman asked as she bowed and held the queen's weapon out for her. She nervously glanced up to catch a peek at the proud woman taking the weapon into her hand, and hero worship flooded her heart.
"A monster" Budakha replied plainly, "A towering beast with white stone scales that cover it all but from above. If we could but fly we could strike at it unarmored, but it seems to have busy men on its walls. I'll wager a thousand archers by sundown." The girls face went grim for a moment, and she slowly pulled her hands back from the gesture of offering.
"A thousand archers?" she said with a quiver in her voice, "How will we fight past a thousand archers...we'll all die before we even reach the wall."
The Mumgatu queen glared down at her for a moment then looked grimly ahead. An expression of deep thought played across her face as she watched her legions preparing for combat.
"Many will die" she said plainly, then paused. "Gloriously" she continued, "and their deaths will make our victory all the sweeter. Besides, if what our tiger says is true, he already plans an attack from within, and will open the gates to us like he did in the last town. Then all that is left to do is decide whether Budakha seats him on the throne, or her self. I am starting to fancy the notion of ruling a city of my own."
Brodry!" came a harsh cry from behind, and the young tiger whipped around to see the dour face of his father at his plow, "Get your head out of the clouds, and do your work!" He grimaced and stared disdainfully down at the boy as he ran back to pulling rocks from the path of the plow. Brodry's tiny muscles strained to pull the heavy rocks from the ground as the large reptilian beast of burden approached. "Hurry" his father shouted, "move your worthless little body!" Tears slipped slowly from his eyes as the skin tore off of his palms in strips from the effort against the stubborn stone. Finally, the beast stopped, and his father approached him, shaking his head.
"Would that I had a daughter" he said as he nudged his son with his toes, "Then I'd expect tears, and weakness. I wouldn't have to go home in shame every day." He reached down, and pulled the rock effortlessly from the hard ground and tossed it aside before glaring at his boy and stalking back to his plow.
The plow started again forcing the young man to scramble backwards through the acrid earth to avoid being run over by the apathetic lizard. He dried his eyes, and ran ahead with renewed vigor to do his father proud. They needed to get the fields plowed before the lazy sun found its way to the horizon so they could plant on the morrow. He sighed as he strained with his scrawny muscles to clear the path for his father, and more tears worked from his eyes as his hands burned with the agony of his labors. The rocks he tossed began to bear tiny red smudges, and not another word was passed between the older tiger and his son as for the rest of the day.
Dinner passed solemnly between the three. The fire burned with its sing song pops and hisses casting a pale reddish light around the room that danced mournfully over their frames as they ate in silence. Finally, the meal concluded, and the older man headed out of the room to the only other one available. A single, fallow blanket swung to show his departure, and the tigress began clearing the wooden plates, and utensils. Brodry stared blankly at his half-eaten meal, and poked absently at it with his fork.
"Are you ok, sweetie?" the tigress said as she smiled through her course, unkempt hair and sat down next to him, "You've hardly eaten. You know if you don't finish it you'll never grow up to be strong, like your father." She grinned at him, and teased him a bit.
"Why does he hate me so much?" he said lackadaisically, "I try so hard...why doesn't father love me?" The smile faded from her face as she listened to him, and she pulled her boy onto her lap.
"He does love you" she said as she stroked him lovingly, "He just doesn't know how to show it. Give him some time, and keep trying. He'll realize what he's doing some day." A hopeful expression crossed her face and she hugged Brodry tightly eliciting a bit of a smile from him. He lifted a mouthful of pallid food into his mouth, and chewed it.
"I know" he said, "I'll just have to get stronger, and be a better son. I have to prove him proud, or he won't have anything to do with me." He shoveled his meal into his mouth quicker and quicker, and his mother smiled.
"Well at least you are eating" she said, "You keep trying, and become a wonderful man. I love you sweetie. I know you'll make us proud one day." She kissed him on the cheek, and held him for a while longer before slipping him back into his seat, and walking out of the room. He continued to eat as she paused and watched him across the dim light of the room. "Good night, baby" she said with a smile, and headed into the back room.
Brodry finished his meal, and waited until his parents snored peacefully before he slipped from his home, and out to the barn. A few placid lizards stood in their stalls. He walked around, and lightly ran his paw along a few of their sides. "If only I had a daughter" he mouthed quietly to himself as the creature's tail shook off a few flies, and the young tiger bit his lip. His chest ached and all of the pain in his hands and limbs seemed insignificant thanks to that. There were other children that he knew and occasionally played with, but all of their parents were fiercely proud of them. A part of him agonized over his father's rejection, while another elated that he at least had been acknowledged by the older man. Most days he didn't even take the time to insult his child.
He shook his head, and lazily batted at a few brave flies that had seized the opportunity of his still melancholy to light, and stomped over to where he and his father stacked burlap sacks filled with grain for the animals. Well, that is to say where his father had stacked them, as he was far too small to lift them so high. He sighed as he looked at the tower of brown sack-cloth, and lightly touched it.
"Why am I so little?" he asked out loud as though someone might answer him, "Why do I have to be so embarrassing to my own father?" No one responded. If there was a god listening, he or she did not see it in his or her wisdom to provide him with the knowledge that he sought, and would give no succor. No, succor would not come from a god...it would come from knowing that he had done what he had to in order to earn the love of his sire. He took a deep breath, and cut one of the bags open.
Tiny drumming noises filled the night as the thin grains fell in a golden cascade from their housing, and sang happily with percussion as they found their freedom in the form of a rusted old pail. His skinless palms gripped the handle that held the bucket and grunted as he heaved it over his head. The light of his solitary lantern danced obliviously as he lifted the bucket over, and over and over again, and sweat beaded down his young brow, and shoulders in ever growing rivulets. Its illumination twinkled off of the moisture on his body, and cast the room's dull grays, and browns with a mixture of Halloween oranges, and Easter yellows. He'd be a man by the name of Shopil, or he would die in the effort.
The next day his mother woke him from his small bed in the corner of the main room, and he lurched up to help his parents in the field. It would be a long, long day of planting in which not a word was exchanged between himself, and the old man. That night found him back in the barn with his buckets working until he could no longer stand.
Years passed, and the routine of the farm did not seem to change at all. The onset of puberty proved that Brodry was in fact going to be a large man, but his father did not seem impressed. Even when his nightly routine of secret exercise caused him to grow twice the size of his peers, and capable of doing the older tiger's labor for him he seemed uninterested. Winter turned to spring, and then to winter again with no change in his attitude and the young tiger grew increasingly bitter, and prone to tantrums of anger when confronted with any fault. Why didn't his father love him? What was wrong with him that made him so unpalatable?
Brodry sighed as he sat in a merchant booth at the fair. Everything around him was brilliant energy, and bright colors, but in his own little world it was all grey. Men women and children walked the bland dirt pathways between simple lean-tos that held men and women calling out and singing about the quality of their goods, or games, and generally making merry that the yearly harvest fair was here again. Flags of reds, yellows, and blues flew overhead in the wind as the tiger watched the bland dress garments of passersby. His general attitude lately had been complete malaise, and the fair had done nothing to improve it in spite of how much he had loved it in his youth. He watched over the young ladies who walked to and fro giggling happily to each other and the pageantry of the young men who vied for their attention, or simple affection. A long sigh emanated from him and knocked over a toy paper sailboat a child had left on the partition before him. He leaned forward to pick it up, and his attention finally caught something that grabbed it.
Across the ways past a few game booths and a crowd of townsfolk and farmers stood a small gathering of men that stuck out from everyone else. Among them was a tiger lifting a hammer high into the air to "test his strength" as the challenge proclaimed. People crowded around to see what this man could do, and watched with mixed feelings of fear, and interest at him and his fellows who in their eyes were obviously mercenaries. This meant one of any number of things to the quiet farmers of the area. On one hand mercenaries often had money to spend, and that was good. On the other hand such mercenaries spent their lives like angels; one hand raised in prayer, the other dipped in blood. Who knows where their coin came from, and what the intention they held in coming here meant.
A shrill growl escaped the man as his thickly muscled arms tightened in downswing and he slammed the hammer against the button that would determine his power. A small metal ball shot quickly up the rig and caused the bell at the top to ring with a loud peon of alarum; warbling around the dent he left in it. People clapped, and his compatriots cheered as he collected his prize then generously gifted it to one of the young ladies who was standing nearby with a wink. The young tiger slowly rose from his seat, and inched away from responsibility towards the powerful figures as if mesmerized. His gaze fixed on the man who was obviously the best among them and the large mace at his side.
Everyone seemed entranced by this fellow. The older people watched him warily as though he might prove a danger, while the younger men watched him with awe, and envy. A train of young women flaunted themselves to him, and erupted in giggles whenever he gave them a coy glance, or a clever word. Brodry felt no jealousy, only a strange awe at the enigmatic foreigner who wore his armor and weapons so proudly. Finally, the stranger's eyes fell on him, and he felt his face growing hot...
The hearth fire blazed warmly heating the blackened pot that hung over it as Brodry sat down to another quiet dinner with his mother and father. His father sat at the head of the table with his general quiet stoicism that bordered on dour, and the younger tiger toyed nervously with his meal. His mother watched him for a long time realizing fully that something was on his mind that he wasn't sharing while his sire ate in silence seemingly unaware. Finally, he spoke up and broke the stillness.
"I'm leaving" he stated plainly, and shoved a mouthful of food into his maw to chew vigorously. His mother looked up at him shocked, and his father continued his meal obliviously. "I mean it" he said as he finished swallowing the bland morsel in his mouth, "I'm leaving. I've met a group of warriors...one of them agreed to train me in the sword. I'm going to be a mercenary...and get off of this farm for ever." He watched them with apprehension waiting for his father's insults. His heart broke as he looked at the expression on his mother's face, and saw the pain in her eyes. Finally, his father looked at him, and spoke.
"So this is how you will repay us for all that we have done for you?" he queried in a flat tone, "You're going to abandon us in our autumn years to roam the land aimlessly, and die on some blackguard's sword?" He looked into his son's eyes, but there was no real emotion there, not even surprise or anger. "Very well" he continued, "Goodbye."
Brodry's heart sank at his response, and he felt a frigid knot welling in his chest that he knew all too well. He stood up from what remained of his meal and walked quickly to the barn where he had spent every night of his life for the past eight years, and slammed the door. The old frame of the portal shuddered with the force of his passing, and creaked open after failing to latch. The tiger's paws slipped under a stack of burlap bags that he had himself stacked unaided, and lifted three above his head. He began to pump them to his chest over and over. In spite of his efforts, tears streamed down his face, and he dropped them back into place to cover his eyes with his paws. He sank to his haunches with a few quiet whimpers as he realized the door was occupied by the figure of his mother.
"Sweet heart..." she said with tears in her own eyes, "please...please don't leave me...not like this." She walked forward and put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them softly. She sighed quietly, and stroked his hair comfortingly. He rose, and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. "Please..." she continued, "I...you can't go out and die like that. Stay here...I'll take care of you. You don't need him, or his approval."
"No" he said plainly, and looked into her eyes, "I have to go...I...have to get out of here. I love you mother, but I can't live like this anymore. This man...Couric of the Sherftii is...he's like father but he cares what I do. He said I'm a natural at the blade, and I have a bright future beside him." He looked off with shame, and sighed deeply. "He's...I'm...you don't understand" he continued, "I have to follow him. It's...I've never met anyone like him."
She looked into his eyes, and sighed. So that is how it was. There would be nothing she could say or do to stop him now...it was in his heart to go. She smiled reluctantly. "Come back to me" she said, "as soon as you get the chance. If you make that illusive fortune, build a house and I'll live there with you." She patted him on the shoulder and sighed. "Please" she continued, "give me a grandchild...at least one. I don't care if it is a boy or a girl, but just one. I'd like to meet such a child some day."
He smiled, and nodded to her even though he knew it would probably never happen. He turned and walked out of the barn into the plutonian night, and didn't even stop to look back. The moon hung overhead in the purple sky that spanned the horizon uncorrupted by even a single cloud so that every star shone brilliantly on the diamond studded welkin, and a gentle breeze blew a low song warmly through the trees and grass. Brodry smiled and pressed on with a heart filled with hope, and dreams of his face behind a helm of shining plate as he rode a proud mount into battle clad in shining mail. A sword swung triumphantly over his head as he threw down enemy after enemy, but his image was sullied by not even a single stain of blood. His weapon flashed to save children from bandits, and sheathed to refuse payment for his good deeds while men and women cried at his departure. A warm feeling swelled in his heart, and he ambled forward optimistically emblazoned in the full bloom of youthful exuberance. Couric would give him meaning...he'd be a hero and everyone would love him or suffer his wrath. This would be the end of his perpetual trial with no reward, but the beginning of a new life, with a new father figure who actually cared if he came or went. A smile spread across his face as he thought of the Sherftii, and warmth grew achingly in his chest. What was this feeling that rose whenever he thought of the man? All he knew is that he would do anything to please him, and nothing would ever bring him down like that again.
Razzar fled down the corridor pursued by a team of loyal knights, and courtesans as war raged from his gates, all the way to his chamber. "Where did this come from?" his mind screamed as he fled, "who gave these slaves the gall to rise against me in Sherftii name?" His fine shoes beat furiously against the hard stone floor of the castle as he descended deeper towards his goal. Finally, one of the artisans ran in front of him to a large clock, and toyed furiously with it until it opened to reveal a secret passage. Screams of battle and the clashing of weapons resounded through the castle as the clock panel swung back over the narrow corridor behind, and the lot of them ran quickly into the dark passage through years of dust, and cobweb. The artisan ran in front with a small torch and left on his sides a strange vision of burning web that quickly blazed away from him in a corona on all sides.
Above, a few key military officials were shouting orders to a small slave rebellion that had locked down the castle while a portion of the army proper was trying to batter the gates. Barely a dozen loyalists were to be found inside the walls, and all of them followed the king as he fled towards an exit to reconvene with his loyal warriors, and plan a counter attack. Unbeknownst to them, a second force comprised of not only slave warriors but free men and untrained slaves alike descended on the south gate and besieged the keeps there. Such was the fighting that no side had managed to get a single free soldier to send word to the other, and the assault on the castle was easily given the priority. Razzar could not fathom what was happening. Never before had such a coup ever taken place on any Sherftii king, and he feared whether this could be taken control of.
The noble who ran in front of him panted, and wheezed from the dust, and the fumes as he fought to keep up pace, but also clear the path, when he rounded a corned and stopped with a cry and a sickening crunch.
"Get going!" Razzar called as he came up behind him, "I have to get to Orvir! I have to assemble the legions!" He paused for a moment, and stared wide eyed as the man dropped his torch and its flicking light fell across a pool of blood that drained from him. He slowly slid backwards and fell to the ground with a sick thump, and the king gulped at seeing the man's destroyed remnants of a face. He looked back up into cold, steely eyes of green, and a wide, grim smile.
"Couric..." he said in a low tone, and his mind snapped around an image he had seen only a few days earlier. He remembered this face...it was his brother's son grown into manhood to be sure, but he had seen him elsewhere... He had seen him wear the insignia of royal military in attendance on his most trusted General Orvir when he brought him news of his nephew's return. "You...you're alive? What have you done with Orvir? Why have you caused this coup instead of asking for your throne, dear nephew?"
"A liar and a coward" Couric hissed as his uncle tried to back up, and found himself stopped by a wall of a man, "You'll find no escape that way, dear uncle" he said in a low tone as the solder reached around and grabbed Razzar by the Jaw. The old tiger's body tensed with fear, and he wished that he had the room to draw his weapon. "Don't worry" he said, "I will be asking for my throne back...I'm displeased with how you've kept it. I think I might redecorate...maybe something in orange, with black stripes?"
The soldier behind him chuckled, and leaned his face over the king's shoulder. "Mmm" he said in a low tone, "such a firm fellow for being so old...perhaps I could find some way to have some fun before you punish him?" Razzar felt his hands being gripped and held behind him, and his eyes widened with pleading terror. Couric laughed heartily and stalked towards him.
"No, my lad" he said with a look of hateful disdain running over him, "This trash isn't good enough for you...and I've better work to give the best man of my army than to punish base traitors." He glared menacingly into the king's eyes, and the old tiger felt his blood run cold from the sheer hatred in his eyes. The fire from the torch on the ground reflected twin blazes in the warrior's eyes and for a moment Razzar could swear he saw a little boy hugging a smaller girl in front of the fire as tears began to well in Couric's eyes.
Sparks erupted in Razzar's head as Couric drove his large fist hard into the side of his skull. "Don't look at me!" he screamed and grabbed the old man by the hair forcing his head down, "You don't have the right! You traitor! You kin slayer!" He stepped back and turned his face from the old man for a moment as he paced, and collected himself. A deep breath slowly issued from the tiger as he turned to face his captive once more. "Brodry let him to one of the others. I need to you to tell Queen Budakha the gates are open, and the battle is beginning." He knelt before Razzar, and pulled his face inches from his own. "When I was a boy, there was one man I looked up to almost as much as my father" he said in a near whisper, "but now...there is no one. Because of you my mother burned in a peasant's robe with no one but myself and my sister to mourn her. Your fate will be similar." His eyes narrowed again with sheer hatred, and once more his fist slammed hard into the old man's nose. He rose, and walked away down the narrow, stone corridor. "Quickly, my love" he called behind him, "Time is a factor!"
Brodry smiled, and dropped the bleeding old tiger to the ground. He paused for a moment as pity filled his heart for the sobbing, broken form below him, but then he thought of his mate and banished those morals. If it was what Couric told him, then it would be done. He squeezed past the other soldiers who took the deposed king into chains, and rushed towards where his horse waited for him so that he might deliver the message.
Shouts rang out across the camp, and Budakha emerged from her tent nearly unclothed. Men were brandishing spears against a mounted warrior in fine royal armor who was attempting to approach. He yelled curses at them, and they yelled back in their own native tongue accomplishing no communications whatsoever.
"Let him approach!" she called picking up her own weapon, "He can't do any more damage here than there, you fools!" The throng parted and the rider slowly rode up to the proud, strong woman. As his slid open the visor of his war helm, the sun shone through the trees over him, and she recognized the right hand of Couric clad in noble mail that shone with the light of the star above. She followed his form down to his strong, well bred mount, and the finely honed weapon on his side. A small tickle ran through her, and she smiled at the sight of this man at arms.
"Queen Budakha?" he said in a proud tone as he pulled his helm and slipped it to under his arm. She pulled her eyes back to his and grinned widely.
"That is me" she said in a loud voice, "Budakha is here, and what with Budakha now?" A small cheer erupted from the growing crowd of warriors and spread throughout the camp. Brodry looked around at the strange, foreign warriors and felt a bit of awe for them. Proud, powerful creatures they were, and somehow completely different from all he had ever known. These were a people bred far apart, and he realized for the first time how little he understood of cultures that were not his own.
"I am Brodry, First Knight of the King" he stated proudly, in a loud voice, "I bring this message: The gates of the city will open in one hour, and the army is concentrating on breaking the castle. King Couric of the Sherftii has already arrested the traitor, and holds him captive inside. Another force will descend from the north, and aid you in the fighting." As he spoke the men and women who were crowding around looked at him blankly, and Budakha ordered on of them to begin speaking after him that they might all understand. Brodry smiled when he realized his speech would not go unheard, and his spirit rose as he realized himself the center of these warriors attention. "May all the gods, ours and yours aid you in your battle" he called out, "for just reward, or glorious deaths!" He turned his mount drinking in their expressions as they heard the meaning of his words, and raised his sword high into the air above him in feeling electricity in their reaction. "All hail Budakha, warrior queen of the south! Hail Couric, king of Sherftii, and bringer of justice! May we all strive to be worthy of their glory, and let the flashing of our weapons make the gods stare in wonder!"
The throng of rabbits cheered and raised their spears and sending waves of ecstatic excitement up and down the tiger's spine, and his expression maddened with their approval. Budakha smiled at the obvious fulfillment of the young man's dreams as she raise her own weapon and cheered with her people, raising her voice to bring their attention to hers while the power of the moment persisted in their hearts. Shouts went out calling men and women to form their battle lines, and move as they had only one hour to reach the city's gate. Brodry smiled down at the queen, and rode over to her. She returned his smile, and set her spear against her shoulder.
"I'll be riding into battle with your force" he said, leaning down closer to her, "If you have a banner, I can carry it into the fight. Also or, I could carry you into the midst of the bloodshed on my lizard." He smiled and patted the side of the trusted beast, and it snorted happily at his affection while stamping its feet slightly. She looked over his large, muscular frame, and apprehensively at the larger, scaled, and sharp toothed war beast.
"Budakha usually carries herself" she replied, and took a deep breath, "I not know about big scaled beast. How can Budakha trust egg born? Why not ride on own strong legs?" She put a hand on her hip, and stared at him defiantly waiting for him to answer.
"Because it is faster" he said as a matter of factly, "and well trained. It won't even step on a rider if you get thrown. I want to be in the thick of the battle so that I can take more trophies. If you wish to have to work your way there, then so be it." He turned and slowly began to walk away, and her eyes widened. This man had merely turned from her without so much as trying to convince her to sit close to him. A part of her railed against the fact, and she tightened her grip on her spear.
"You wait, Tiger-son!" she called, and walked towards him. He stopped the animal, and looked over his shoulder. "Budakha will test the beast. See if we get war-beast for Mumgatu...for better battle." He smiled and turned his lizard so that he could help her climb into his lap. She sat down, and looked out over her legions as they assembled and could not help but feel an eclectic high at looking down on them, and the power of the creature beneath her. For that matter...the power of the man behind her. Brodry swallowed hard as a strange feeling ran through him...a feeling that he had never experienced before. His heart fluttered for a moment as he felt the warmth of the warrior queen before him seep through his armor, and the scent of her bare breasts wafted to his nose. He kicked the creature and rode quickly towards where they would need to be to lead the army to the gate. He had only felt something like this once...and that was with Couric. A shiver ran through his chest, and caused him to breathe uneasily.
Budakha sensed his nervousness, and put her hand on his leg. "Why do you fret?" she asked in a polite tone, "When so soon back you ready to smash the wall with your fist?" She smiled over her shoulder at him, and he shook his head for a moment.
"It isn't that" he replied, "It's something else...I'm worried for a loved one. It isn't a worry that someone else could help with." He looked out over the rabbits as the prepared for battle. Many were outfitting themselves in crude armor made from waxed rope and planks of would. Others were applying strange war paints over their comrade's bodies while they stood patiently, or toyed with their armor. Some were engaged in passionate embrace as though they might never see each other again. Brodry breathed deeply considering why, but his mind returned to the staggering intoxication of his speech, and he felt prepared for whatever might come.
Budakha snapped him out of his reverie with a quick pat on the cheek, and told him to make the animal stop. He complied, and she hopped down and strode quickly to a group of other warriors and younger girls who stripped her loincloth, and began to spread her lithe and muscular body with intricate designs largely based around her scarifications and tattoos. Others began to strap her with armor as areas were complete, and an old man chanted ecstatically and baptized her with ground herbs, and smoke from a sepulcher he waved. Brodry was awestruck by the transformation she underwent, and began to wonder if the stories that passed about demons were real, or from encounters with Mumgatu and similar people. He snapped back to himself as a man beckoned him to come down off of the mount, and follow him.
He hopped down and walked over a bit, and the man smiled and turned with a palate of war paint. He began to smear it around Brodry's face and neck until he stepped back, and bowed slightly. Budakha clamped a hand down on his shoulder, and he turned to look at her.
"You honor him" she said, "he see you as great leader, and servant of mighty king." She smiled and looked over his face for a moment before calling over the crazed looking mystic, and commanding him in their curious foreign tongue. The old man mumbled in a constant low monotone, and looked Brodry as the tiger became more and more nervous. Finally, he dipped his hand in a jar, and smeared a line of bright red down his forehead, and raised the tone of his chanting. Brodry looked at Budakha with confusion, and she looked back with concern.
"I tell him" she explained "find your great weakness and mark it so the gods know where best you need protected. He mark "Ba Uktakbu," or the seat of soul where it connects to other souls...that is bad omen..." She moved over next to him, and looked deeply into his eyes. "What you see that make you stray" she said, "from person you love? What love you need protect? You best to watch yourself, tiger-son, you put your soul at risk...this no trial for your body." She watched him as she walked away, and took a deep breath as she felt a small worry that she might be involved in this fate-casting. She looked back to him and wondered if he considered breaking some love bond for her, or if he loved she and she would die. Budakha didn't know if she truly liked either prospect.
Brodry's mouth went dry as he though about what she had said. He climbed back onto his mount and tried to clear his head, absently bringing his helm to the cap of his skull. He stopped for a moment, and thought about what he was doing. He smiled and put the helmet into a saddle bag, and rode among the rabbits painted like one of them, but standing out like a sore thumb because of his bright, finely made metal armor. His head swelled with pride at the importance of the battle he would fight in today. For the first time he would not be warring for some over stuffed bureaucrat, or doing the muscle work of a cowardly usurer. This would clearly be a battle with a righteous goal for someone that he loved deeply, and truly cared about. Today he would fight as a man is supposed to, and when he won, every battle after would be the same. A huge grin spread across his face as he looked to the city anxiously and itched to bring his steel to bear. The wetness returned to his mouth as he nearly began to drool in anticipation of the exercise ahead.
The gates ahead were as promised wide open and as such the fighting there had escalated far beyond the earlier scuffle. Men on the high, crenellated wall cried out to one another as their forms silhouetted against the sun as it hung lazily in the western sky. Those that were not engaged in fighting men who they thought were friendly only days before turned to hail arrows down on the charging Mumgatu warriors as they ran screaming their strange, ululating battle cries oblivious of the danger above. Pure battle lust drove every man and woman of their ranks, and they dashed over their colleagues as they fell in shock to the ground from some previously unforeseen arrow. Brodry roared with anticipation as he drew closer to the fray brandishing his fine weapon, and steering his mount towards combat and glorious bloodshed. The men on the frontline were not preparing a defensive, but already fighting for their lives as they heard his approach. They shrank from him as he beamed in the light of the descending sun, wide eyed and frothing in a frenzy of preparation and shock at the seeming blend of him self and the fierce faced warrior queen that screamed madly on his mount. Fighting stopped as they took him in, and fear shook them. Budakha leapt from his beast in a high arc with a ferocious shout and descended on a tiger taking him to the ground gurgling on blood, impaled on her weapon. Brodry finally struck them knocking warriors from their feet and swinging his blade in vicious arcs through unlucky men. Panic struck through the fighters as they realized these vicious demons regarded neither friend nor foe, and the fighting renewed as men grasped desperately to save their lives. Brodry's mount was forced over, crushing two men as it fell and he bounded to his feet with a scream of unconquerable rage and cut madly through any who would dare come close. The line behind them suddenly bucked as the rest of the rabbit warriors caught up to their leaders and slammed into their enemies with deadly strokes.
The tiger that fought among them awed those who dared look in his direction as he cut a swath through the soldiers in front of him with mad, roaring laughter. His childhood fantasy culminated in flying blood, loosing souls, and the stink of spilled bowel and bile. He was a brightly clad warrior of destiny that fought for a noble cause and struggled through the greatest of hardships for his lord, and liege, but something was different. His shining mail and finely honed swords that had been his long cherished symbols of virtue, and honor stood fouled with the spattering of thick blood, and loosed offal. He no longer resembled the image of his dreams, but more like some demonic murderer from his nightmares.
The sun sank lazily in the west as the battle raged on, and the rabbits succeeded in their push towards the center of the city. The pause of bloodshed was indeed brief before they clashed with the main force that already combated the turned legion of slave warriors promised freedom by their savior king Couric. Brodry seemed an untiring foe, implacable by fatigue or the number of lives he took. Rival and partner fell in twitching heaps of ruined flesh in all directions but nothing would faze him from the singularity of his mission, and purpose. Fires burned through houses, and small shops sending flames and smoke leaping into the air like the arms of the dying as though they thought that they could somehow reach the sun, and keep it from descending they might have a chance; as though that impassionate star might somehow protect them from the darkness that loomed ahead. The walls of the city flickered with a surreal, terpsichorean light as the sun sank lower leaving it to the burning homes to illuminate the blood shed. Men fought and died, others fled for their lives or surrendered in as the coming of evening cast everything into darkness, or deep reds and purples with intermittent oranges and yellows all distorted by that strange waviness of the heat. It almost seemed as though the heavens sought to have their last look on the city be colored by blood beyond what it already suffered.
The fray raged outside of the castle as desperate loyalists struggled to maintain their protection of the king in spite of the fact that they now fought over the backs of dead friends, relations, and coworkers. Some proud tigers would not accept surrender over death, and fought to their last breaths. In this moment, the eyes of rabbit and tiger met through the haze of smoke, and casualty as they each completed a stroke that painted the groaning land with a few more drops of unending sanguine. Brodry stared deeply into the eyes of the lapine beauty, and she back at him. Their bodies drew closer and closer together until they met nose to nose and glassy eyes driven by pure adrenaline and instinct glared at each other. The stink of fear, passion, blood and offal disappeared under the soft scent of each other's bodies, and they stood frozen as the screams of the dying, and the terrified slowed and distorted behind them. Budakha reached out, and gripped the buckle on the side of his hip without taking her eyes from his, and Brodry wrapped his huge arms around her shoulders drawing her tightly against him. In moments they locked in a hot embrace as they struggled to rid him of his protection and he pulled hers easily away.
Their bodies crashed against each other in fanatical throe as warriors crushed each other, and lay dead or dying all around them. Their tongues danced together like combatants, and she howled as he buried himself within her as though he had won a mortal scrimmage. They stared into each other's eyes from an inch away as they growled and shook with the unrelenting emotion of the moment. Lust, rage, love, hate, everything blended into one vicious urge and the pair of warriors fought with each other to keep themselves together while the others warred to strike their enemies down. Brodry bit hard on her neck and she screamed while drawing deep gashes across his back with her claws as their dance finalized and they spent each other, and lay panting in a lover's embrace amongst the mud, and blood and ash. The fight moved on as though some god protected their coupling and left them to enjoy the ensuing moment's before they would be stripped away by real life, and the pair lay in the other's warmth hoping that the dream would not end. All too soon, the sun peeked in on the end of the fight, and the lovers, warriors, children in adult bodies rose from their impromptu bed. The held each other cheek to cheek for a moment, and wordlessly returned to the world that they belonged in.
Days passed and the city began to recover from the shock of the coup. Men and women worked day and night to clear the bodies, and cover over the evidence of their passing from the streets, and people worked to rebuild their shattered lives. The Sherftii moved through the days in a hazy dreamlike state. They were no strangers to war, but never before had a war taken tiger against tiger, and such a thing was unthinkable. Their own people and citizens had been in the streets murdering each other's fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, and cousins. Now they had only the grim remains of those brave souls, and the notion that for the first time in the history of their people a king had been ousted from his position. The thought of this precedent was shocking, and on the whispers of every tongue in the city.
Couric spent his days cementing his newly won empire. Men and women had to be tested, and anyone who was disloyal to his rightful rule would have to be dealt with violently. Leaving them to live would be a recipe for assassins and revolt against his position, and could not be allowed to persist. Finally, he felt ready to address the people.
When the last of the bodies were clear every man woman and child of the city and it's surrounding suburbs and farmlands were instructed that they must enter the city and attend a grand council. Men and women filed in from all corners of the surrounding land, and the city brimmed with hot angry people who were quietly anxious of what would be announced. Finally, the gate of the royal forum opened, and Couric walked out flanked by Orvir, Brodry, and the council of the elders.
"Most divine peoples of the One Nation!" the leader of the council announced, "Many years ago we lost a great hero to the Beduin! Not long after his soul departed, we lost his wife, son, and daughter. In his will he named his brother steward of the throne, and his son as the heir. By his brother's treachery, we have been ruled by a false man, a dictator who betrayed the true ideals of our Nation, and we have been bereft our rightful and good ruler! Today, in the wake of bloody fray, and unconscionable kin killing our true lord, and king has returned! His army has driven out the thief, and taken him captive for justice! The council of your elders and most trusted representatives has convened and determined him the rightful heir to the throne! Stand and acknowledge your rightful lord, and King of the United Sherftii peoples, Couric, son of Kalafax!"
The crowd rose and cheered drowning out all noise that came from outside the city. People of every race of the nation screamed their approval, and many wiped tears from their eyes as they clapped and roared with the good news. Whether it was truly good news or not no one cared. It was a great thing to hear after such a horrible event, and brought a new hope for the future. Besides, their elders had told them that he was the right man for the job, and who why would they lie? They cheered and cheered and made much hoopla in their calls of joy and support until Couric raised his hand for them to be quiet.
"My people!" he called out in a loud, commanding voice, "I was only a boy when my uncle's treachery forced me away from you, but I have never forgotten my love for the Sherftii nation! I have not forgotten the ideals of our people, and our fathers. I have held close to me the joy of simply living amongst you that I longed for in my years and years of exile. Now I have returned to find my home in a sad state. Our unprivileged people are downcast into hopelessness when they should be uplifted, and rewarded for their cooperation! The Beduin occupy lands that belonged to our ancestors! Taxes choke the hearts of the men and women who make this collective work! This is not the way of Sherftii! It is the way of a selfish steward who enthroned himself through underhanded theft! We must rebuild now, and hold fast to our pride, and hearts. There has been a great loss of life of our own people by our own people, but it has been for the cause of righting the wrongs of the false king, who by his own actions forced this tragedy upon us. How can we live if we do not live free? As a show of good faith, I call forth the slaves who fought by my side in the battle last week."
He paused as a large number of cats of various races came forward into an area prepared for them. He stood in silence for a long time until whispers began to circulate, and he raised his hand for silence.
"I apologize" he called, "I called for the slaves who aided me, but I see none. I see only men freed by royal decree for their services to the true king! Free men, with free families, citizens of this great nation, and true people of Sherftii Blood!"
The crowd exploded in pomp and applause as his words concluded, Couric decided that this was as good as this speech would get.
"My people!" he cried and waited as they hushed each other, "My people! By the decree of his highness, the crowned king of Sherftii, I declare a holiday, and celebration for seven days! Be free, happy, and make merry for we have seen the darkness through, and all will revel for truth and beauty! In seven days time all men and women may come forward to the city to watch the execution of your tyrant! Long live the Sherftii, long stand our walls! May the shining love of Mighty Dalma wash us forever in her warmth, and joy!"
The excuse was given, the throng released, and the liquor flowed. The city erupted in hedonistic revel as though such a celebration may never happen again. Couric smiled, and walked from the balcony to his throne, and seated himself.
"I've done it father" he intoned quietly as he closed his eyes and rubbed the soft fabric of the royal seat, "I've come home...for the first time since you died. Now there is only one thing left that I must complete to honor you...the foxes must die to their last."