by Matt Laney
Kaydan sniffs the air, turns to Anjali and me, and whispers, “Keep your cloaks and hoods on, heads down. Don’t talk.”
As we seat ourselves, a quadron of soldiers enters and finds a table across the room. Kaydan and Anjali share a troubled glance. It can’t be a coincidence that these soldiers entered immediately after we did. We’re being followed.
Anjali’s back is to the quadron, but Kaydan studies each one. I keep my head down as instructed. “You know them?” Anjali mumbles.
Kaydan draws a little circle in front of his muzzle with one finger, to indicate he recognizes them by face.
“Friendlies?” she asks.
He shrugs. I guess it’s hard to say where anyone’s loyalties are these days.
At that moment, the old Singa in the back rises and walks toward us. Her steps are slow and unsteady. Kaydan’s right hand snakes to the dagger strapped to his leg, the same weapon I waved in Anjali’s face. Will he cut down this frail creature in her tracks?
The elder passes our table, stumbles, and plunges toward the stone floor. I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around her shoulders, and we both end up in a heap, with me serving as her landing cushion. Kaydan lifts the elder and places her in a nearby chair, never taking his eyes away from me.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
I’m fine. After being bitten by a slaycon and shot at with arrows by traitorous Singas, this little tumble with somebody’s grandmother was a breeze; however, my cloak has been flung open, revealing my winged chest plate. The hood has fallen away too.
“The prince!” the elder cries. “The prince lives!”
The soldiers across the room get on their feet, looking jittery. Kaydan is one step ahead of everyone, switching gears to take control. Anjali helps the elder up and urges her to make use of the door.
“Have you no respect for the throne?” Kaydan snaps at the quadron. “Bow to Lord Leo, our future Singa-Kahn!”
All four bend forward, pushed down by the force of Kaydan’s order if not by sincere loyalty. That’s enough to lift Kaydan’s suspicions even higher. His nostrils flare. His tail sways over the floor. I know that look. And I’m glad I’m not them. Anjali positions herself in front of me at Kaydan’s side.
“In the name of the Kahn, lay down your weapons.” He says it so slowly, each word could be a sentence unto itself. Peeking through the narrow space between my protectors, I look upon the quadron for the first time. The sight of the captain makes me gasp. He’s the one I bumped into before leaving the castle, the one who exchanged Anjali’s pellet for the poison. The fur on my back sticks up for the second time in only a few minutes. And I’m ashamed for suspecting Anjali of high treason.
“Get behind the bar, Lord,” Anjali says without turning around.
I race behind the bar and peer to the side to see what’s coming.
Anjali’s arms are relaxed, which means she’s preparing to draw a blade or two in the blink of an eye. Two against four would be bad odds in most cases, but Kaydan is well known for defeating quadrons all by himself in training exercises.
And he has Anjali.
For a moment nothing moves. Even the dust seems to hang suspended in the air. The owner of this eatery squats behind the bar next to me, no doubt worried about a battle reducing his business to a pile of bloody rubble.
“As you wish, General,” the captain says at last. “We mean you and the prince no harm. I am happy to see that he lives and—”
“Shut your talk hole, put your blades on the floor, and move to the back wall,” Kaydan demands.
“Do it now!” Anjali growls. “Slowly.”
Asking warriors to give up their weapons is like asking them to rip out their claws or cut off their tail. But Kaydan leaves no room for discussion. The captain reluctantly unsheathes his long blade and lays it on the floor, followed by his short one and the dagger. His companions follow suit. Anjali advances, drawing her long blade to cover them.
“And your aero-blades,” Kaydan says. “Do you take me for a fool?”
The aero-blade is a ringlike weapon that warriors wear on their back. They are designed to be thrown short or long distances with great speed and deadly results. The four soldiers unhook their aero-blades.
This is the most delicate moment of all.
With a flick of their wrists, four aero-blades could fly in our direction. Kaydan could block one or two with his blade, but four? I guess that’s why Anjali looms over them with her long blade, ready to chop any hands and arms moving in the wrong way.
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding as the rings of metal clang on the floor.
“Tell me your names, Captain,” Kaydan growls.
“I am Mandar,” the captain says with a hasty bow. “This is Holu, Jatari, and Nora. And we are loyal Singas.”
“I will remember your names,” Kaydan says, “and if you are loyal, you have nothing to fear. Now move back.”
The quadron shuffles to the far corner of the room.
“Kind sir!” Kaydan calls to the owner of this eatery. “I trust you remember how to handle a blade from your days of soldiering.”
“It has been many, many years, General,” he says.
“Not to worry. Gather up their weapons and lock them in your kitchen, except one, which you will put in your own hand to prevent these four from leaving over the next hour. Then, and only then, will you let them go free. Under no circumstances are you to return their blades. Is that clear?”
“It is, Master Kaydan,” the owner says, making his way around the bar to the heap of discarded metal. He scoops it all up and delivers it to the kitchen. He returns with a long blade in one hand and a plate of food in the other. “And . . . would you like to take your order of deer livers with you?”
Kaydan’s only answer is to head for the door. Anjali waves her tail for me to follow. Out in the street I ask Kaydan how he knew that quadron was loyal to Tamir.
“I didn’t know,” he says. “But I don’t take chances. Your safety is all that matters.”
Kaydan sets a swift pace for the remainder of our journey to the castle. Anjali strides alongside me.
“Anjali . . . that captain . . . Mandar . . . he was the one I bumped into, the one who gave me the poison pellet.”
Her eyes narrow. “So Kaydan’s instincts were right. Always are.”
“Should we tell him?” I ask.
“If we do that, you’ll have to tell him everything about the pellet.”
Forget it. As much as I dislike secrets, I don’t want Kaydan to know Storm died after swallowing poison meant for me. Mandar would be locked away in a prison cage where he belongs, but I might end up repeating the hunt.
Upon arriving at the castle, Anjali and Kaydan deliver me to the bath for a good wash and then to my den, instructing me not to open the door for anyone except them or the Kahn himself. The door is hefty and the bolt is strong. Just to be sure, Kaydan assigns Anjali to keep watch while he consults with the Kahn.
Grandfather said he would deal with Tamir’s treachery tonight. And that was before our quadron escort attempted to kidnap us.
Grandfather will have to move swiftly and carefully. Tamir has many followers, perhaps more than we imagine. Dealing with him too harshly could drive a deeper wedge into an already divided realm.
I’ll get my answer soon enough. Right now, all I want to do is fall into bed, bury myself in the sheets, and sleep for the rest of the week.
Chapter 10
It is a double grief when a firewing bird is killed by an arrow feathered from its own wings.
—Sayings of the Ancients
dream of the Great War, twenty-five years ago.
Or, more accurately, the moments right after the war.
The ground rumbles from the aftershock of the earthquake. Singa soldiers give chase to retreating Maguar warriors. Behind me, a much younger version of Grandfather weeps over the body of a fallen soldier. The soldier’s armor bears the royal sign of outstre
tched wings, which means he is one of the Kahn’s sons, one of my mother’s elder brothers.
With the enemy on the run, the battlefield is quickly vacated, revealing a plain littered with the broken and bloodied bodies of Singas and Maguar alike. Besides Grandfather, only one Singa soldier remains behind. He moves toward a platform covered in feathers and surrounded by the corpses of several massive Maguar. I follow, curious to know what beckons the soldier, my feet sliding a bit in the blood-slick grass.
Then I hear it: the frightened whimper of a cub. I bound closer as the soldier lifts the platform and discovers a little Maguar underneath. He is dirty and blood-smeared and no more than seven or eight years old. The soldier is astonished. He sheathes his blades and kneels before the little enemy.
“What is one so young doing on the field of battle?” The youngling is terrified. “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
“Abba!” the cub cries.
“I am not your abba. I am Shanti.”
The cub holds a fistful of bright firewing feathers. “Abba!”
“The feathered one, the Spinner, was your father?”
The cub sobs, “Abba, Abba, Abba . . .”
Abba, his father, is nowhere to be found. His slain body must have been collected by the retreating Maguar, who forgot the Abomination’s young son trapped under the platform.
But why is he here at all? Why take such a delicate young creature into the crush of war?
Shanti wraps the quivering cub in his cloak and carries him away, fading into the morning mist.
• • •
I’m pulled out of the dream by a fist pounding on my door.
“Lord Leo.” It’s Anjali. I’d know her voice anywhere, even half asleep through a door ten centimeters thick. “The Kahn requests that you join him and all the senior warriors in the feeding hall. I will escort you.”
“Just a minute,” I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes, stretching this way and that. The images of the dream are still fresh in my mind, as fresh and vivid as any fiction that might have invaded.
I check myself in the mirror, sorry to find that a few hours cocooned in silk bedding has not transformed me into a fierce-looking warrior. I’m still the same scrawny piece of fur on a bony frame that I was yesterday.
I unbolt the door and find Anjali standing perfectly still like some life-size hall decoration.
Seeing her makes me feel both safe and insecure. She proved her loyalty in her willingness to fight and die to protect me, but she also knows what I am. What if she can’t keep my secret and lets it slip that the prince is a diseased Spinner?
I slide past her and head down the hall.
“Did you sleep?” Anjali asks, falling in behind me.
“How long was I in there?”
“Three hours, seventeen minutes. Or eleven thousand eight hundred and twenty seconds.”
“Do you count everything, Anjali?”
“Can’t help it. My brain never shuts off. Makes me the perfect Singa, don’t you think?”
Light is dimming throughout the castle, activating our night vision. The interior of the castle shifts into shades of gray, but everything remains clear. We bound and jump our way down the leaping platforms to the central hall.
General Kaydan chats with General Dagan by the entrance to the feeding hall while dozens of senior soldiers file in. The fireplace hosts a bright blaze. The candelabras are lit. Both bring color back into my eyes.
“Good evening, Lord Prince,” General Dagan says, bowing gracefully. Dagan killed more Maguar in the Great War than any other Singa, including the Abomination. Countless kill marks are etched into her aged blade scabbards. Her face itself is a carving of sharp edges, hard lines, and battle scars. “And congratulations on a successful hunt. You have done Singara a great service by killing Storm.”
“Thank you, General.”
“Kaydan will be your guard now,” Anjali says dolefully. “Senior warriors only at this dinner.”
She’ll hear all about it soon enough. Whatever happens tonight will be the talk of Singara for a long time to come.
Grandfather sits with two of his four generals at the high table overlooking the hall. To his left are three empty chairs for Kaydan, Dagan, and me.
I cross the length of the hall and ascend the four steps to the high table. Kaydan and Dagan remain on the floor. I keep my eyes on Grandfather, searching his face for clues about what he might say or do tonight, but his expression is locked up like a strongbox. With each step the room quiets, until my final footfall is so noticeable, it might be echoing off the far wall.
Grandfather turns his large and stately head and winks at me. His mane is groomed and he’s dressed in his finest robes. He is every centimeter the Singa-Kahn.
Once I’m seated, the swell of conversation rises, washing the strained silence away. Kaydan takes his place next to me. Flanked by these two great Singas, I feel secure as well as fragile, like a dandelion between two mountains.
I search the room for Tamir and can’t locate him anywhere. Maybe that’s what everyone is talking about: the obvious absence of Tamir.
The Kahn rises and roars. Hundreds of commanders and legionnaires respond with a collective, room-rattling roar before settling onto rows of benches at the tables.
“Welcome, senior soldiers of Singara,” Grandfather calls. “As you all know, Leo, my grandson and heir to the throne, has proven his worth in the hunt. Tomorrow he will begin his training at the Academy, and when he has graduated he will be ready to rule as the Singa-Kahn. Tonight we feast in his honor and drink to a prosperous and united Singara! Let all loyal Singas rise and recite the Singa creed.”
When everyone is on their feet, the Kahn places two fingers on his temple and everyone in the room does likewise. I cringe at the words that are about to come. “We are the present and future glory of Singara,” he begins.
“We are the crown of creation, the most evolved and advanced species on earth.” Every voice joins in. “We believe only in reason, evidence, and the way of science. We will protect and defend our race against all threats, be they enemies of flesh and blood, dangerous ideas, or fictions of any kind. Therefore, Spinners are as much a threat to our way of life as the Maguar. We pledge to report all Spinners at once, even if they are family; even if, nature forbid, I am one of them.”
I exhale, grateful this ritual has passed.
Grandfather claps his hands, and servants enter bearing trays of raw meat, fruit, vegetables, and drinks for the hungry masses. The room erupts with applause and the thunder of fists banging on tabletops. Before the cacophony dies down, the main doors open, and Tamir storms into the hall with a few soldiers in tow. Silence descends as though a wind has swept through the room and sucked out all the sound.
“Greetings, nephew,” Grandfather says. “I see you have decided to join us after all.”
Tamir bows. “It is an honor, dear Kahn. And congratulations to you, Prince Leo.”
Grandfather looks flustered. Whatever he plans to do or say to his mutinous nephew, Tamir isn’t going to make it easy for him.
“Please be seated. You and your . . . followers.”
Tamir bows again, but not before a shadow of anger passes over his face.
“Feed! Be filled!” Grandfather says. “May this meal strengthen you and Singara!”
I select hunks of meat from different animals and pile them onto my plate. I surround them with helpings of plant foods. For a time, there is little to hear beyond lips smacking, teeth tearing and chewing.
Grandfather bellows, “Who will be the first to raise their mug and offer a toast to the prince and future Kahn?”
“I will,” Kaydan says, rising and lifting his mug. “Lord Leo, you have killed one of the most vicious slaycons in all of Singa history, against whom so many others have failed. By your hand, Storm is dead. Or should I say, the storm has passed?”
That yields some laughter. It’s rare for Kaydan to use humor. I’m sure i
t’s a calculated move to lighten the atmosphere. He doesn’t twitch a finger or move an eyebrow without some strategy behind it.
“The Kahn has feasted on Storm’s tail, and the slaycon’s body now rots in Border Zone Seven. His death, Lord Leo, means Singara will be in strong hands when you receive the throne of your grandfather. Let us drink to the prince and to the future of Singara!”
Approving snarls ripple around the room as hundreds of mugs tip to the ceiling. Other toasts follow. The string of speeches begins to feel like a loyalty contest, each senior soldier trotting out bigger, grander expressions of praise to outdo the last.
It goes on for a long time.
Tamir is the last warrior to speak. “Lord Leo, son of my cousin, your mother, had she lived to see this day, would be radiant with pride at your accomplishment. As for your father, whoever he is, wherever he is, he would certainly be proud of you as well. For all we know, he’s in this room right now!”
Grandfather growls.
“Do not be alarmed, Uncle,” Tamir says. “I mention Leo’s unfortunate family background to allow his victory to shine all the brighter. A diamond is more noticeable on a pile of dung than in a box of jewels, is it not?”
Tamir refocuses his attention on me, and I feel more like dung than diamond.
“Cousin, no one expected you to survive your hunt, especially against an opponent like Storm. You have defied all of our predictions and perhaps even science itself. I’m sure one day you will share the facts of your hunt for our official record. For now, we can add your victory to the long list of mysteries that grow up around you like weeds.”
“Are you going to toast to the prince or not?” Grandfather snaps.
“So allow me to join my comrades,” Tamir continues, “in commending you on your kill. I wish you well at the Academy, where you will meet my eldest child, who is a second-year cadet. I’m sure you two will be fast friends, in addition to being blood kin.”
It’s been a few years, but I’ve met Tamir’s daughter, Amara, several times. She’s about as warm, caring, and congenial as her father.