Shadows and Anguish (A Cat Among Dragons Book 8)

by Alma Boykin

  «No, of course not. But we can still Trade, carefully, can’t we?» Zabet inquired, shutting the stove door after banking the coals. She curled around the hot metal feet of the stove, making her Pet and pilot cringe at the sight.

  “Oh yes. But carefully, as you say.” Rada picked up her instrument again. Zabet dozed off to the strains of “The Ash Grove.”

  Shy-kii led the way over the rough ground, Lord Reh-dakh following and watching for signs of shardi: scrapes, den musk, fresh kills. They were on the west slope of Burnt Mountain itself, skirting the edge of a basalt lava flow and the forest. Shardi denned in the dark rocks but they preyed on forest dwellers, so the hunters were fairly certain of finding spoor most easily in the middle ground. Shy-kii’s comparatively light build was perfect for clambering along the narrow edges and over rough ground. Rada had tougher going but managed to keep up. If you’re trying to lose me, Highness, you have a surprise coming she thought at him.

  Both hunters scented their quarry at the same time, heads coming up and nostrils flaring. The prince gestured off to the weak side of the “trail” and the Wanderer pivoted silently, then sniffed as a fresh puff of musk caught their noses. Shy-kii reached back and unslung one of the hunting spears he carried in his harness, removing the protective cover on the very sharp blade. Rada, less optimistic, had a crossbow in hand as the two eased into the forest. Moving very cautiously through the initially thick underbrush, the Azdhag and mammal kept close watch for anything alive. They heard snarling and the sound of flesh tearing and froze where they stood.

  Shy-kii eased down until his belly almost scraped the ground, pushing one talon-length at a time through a screen of brush at the edge of an opening in the woods. Reh-dakh stepped to the side so she would be at an angle to the prince should she need to shoot. The yellow-and-green reptile maneuvered so that he had both forefeet free, balancing on hind legs and tail as he eased a bit of shrubbery out of his way. Rada heard a vicious snarl and saw an explosion of motion as the crown prince swung his forefoot back and threw the meter-long spear. The blade slammed into the dapple-brown shardi, knocking the low-slung predator off its feet. Shy-kii waited a moment, then advanced on his prey. Rada raised her crossbow to her shoulder but aimed it off to the side, well clear of the crown prince.

  With a meter left between the Azdhag and the shardi, the wounded animal screamed and charged the prince, fangs wide open. Shy-kii hesitated a second, then swung to the side, grabbing the animal’s foreleg and slinging the beast behind him, against the bole of a large tree at the edge of the clearing. The shardi’s back hit the tree with a dull thud and the predator lay still. Rada sighted her weapon, then swallowed a curse as Shy-kii pounced on the stunned creature and slashed its throat with his talon. She waited until Shy-kii waved her in, only then uncocking the crossbow and hanging it back over her shoulder. She still had her blaster if something surprised them.

  The prince had already started gutting the reptile, and Rada studied it with interest. A touch over a meter long, the shardi’s stocky and cumbersome-looking body belied its speed. The blunt head sported large jaws, the lower of which could disarticulate, allowing the shardi to bite and kill quite large prey. Rada had heard of a shardi taking down gantak unassisted, and those were the size of a small Terran cow. She hadn’t believed the tales before, but now she did! The predator’s leathery hide sported an attractive dapple pattern in shades of brown, fading into a cream-colored belly.

  As Shy-kii finished his work, Rada looked over the shardi’s kill and frowned. She knelt down, drew her hunting knife and poked at the few remains, trying to identify what it had been. A few scraps of hide, some bones, and a battered ear told her the tale, and her frown deepened. The prince joined her inspection. She looked up at him, “Imperial Highness, what was this?”

  He picked up the ear and sniffed it, then felt the bits of hide. “Smells like ts’talee,” he said. Reh-dakh wiped her blade in the dirt before sheathing it, as the reptile thought hard. “But ts’talee are nocturnal,” he added, pointing at the scrap of black, scaly skin.

  “So why was it out at midday, Imperial Highness?” Rada asked, standing and listening hard as she sniffed the wind. Shy-kii mirrored her, sitting back and rising onto his hind legs for a better taste of the air. The mammal’s lips drew back in a flehmen.

  The prince noticed it first. “The birds have stopped singing.” Reh-dakh nodded. “And there’s sulfur in the air,” Shy-kii said, dropping back onto all fours and looking concerned.

  “And I’ve been twitchy all morning,” the mammal observed. “Highness, perhaps we should start moving back toward the open meadow we passed? I don’t care to be near rocks or trees if an earthshake starts.”

  Shy-kii started to argue, then stopped and shook himself, as if shaking off water. “I yield to your greater experience,” he said. Rada helped him balance the gutted and bagged shardi on his harness, then followed him through the forest. At one point they passed a spring and noticed that it had started bubbling with something. Rada didn’t sniff to see what it was, but picked up her pace—and rolled up her lower sleeves, revealing her pelt and scars. Her fur had started to stand up, making her uncomfortable. Enough so that she briefly considered shifting into her pure Wanderer shape, then decided against it. She growled silently, Even half-blind and earless, I’m faster and more sensitive in this form, but damn I hate static in the air!

  The pair emerged at the edge of a bald, a large grassy area. Rada, increasingly uneasy, froze and pointed. Two roklat, a small herd of talkak, and other animals had gathered at the edge of the forest. Shy-kii stared at the scene. The predators and herbivores ignored each other, instead milling in groups, or hunkering down against the ground. “Farther into the open, I think,” Shy-kii announced and walked forward. Rada trailed behind, glancing over her shoulder to the northern sky.

  “Oh fewmets,” she muttered, catching up with the prince. “Highness, I think we want to sit down—” She got no farther as the ground swayed under them.

  She dropped to all fours for balance as Shy-kii dug his talons into the dirt. The surface of the meadow seemed to roll up and down with the quake, launching birds into flight as the other animals howled or screamed in terror. So much static electricity filled the air that Reh-dakh’s fur stood out straight, and to Shy-kii’s amazement a spark jumped from her metal hairpin to her neck when she looked up, making her flinch. Ripping and booming sounds filled the air, and the hunters exchanged worried looks.

  The temblor lasted perhaps twenty heartbeats, although it seemed longer. Rada shifted to her knees, then sat, etiquette ignored. Shy-kii flopped down, breathing hard and eyes wide. “Lord Reh-dakh, does this happen often here?” His voice sounded higher than usual and the brunette felt a bit of sympathy as she remembered her first earthshake.

  “Oh, every half-century or so there’s a big one, which this may be. Little ones happen every year, Imperial Highness. That’s why the lodge is made of wood—it gives and flexes, instead of breaking like masonry or stone does.” She rubbed her nose, then sneezed at the dust in the air before continuing, “Singing Pines gets more small shakes, and the manor-fortress is tied into the living rock, so it fares very well, even in a big shake.”

  Shy-kii didn’t look happy. He relaxed his grip on the dirt and sat up. “Why do you say this ‘might be’ big?” A series of animal screams answered his question as Rada dropped flat to the ground, eye shut tight. The second shake hit harder and lasted longer, making Shy-kii sick at his stomach. Nothing he’d read or heard could prepare him for the feeling of solid land waving and shaking under his feet!

  After it stopped, Rada clambered to her feet, then nodded towards Burnt Mountain lodge. “Highness, we need to get back and check on your people.”

  “Can we do it and stay in the open?” the lean reptile demanded.

  “I think so. My only worry is the possibility of rockfalls closer to the lodge,” and Shy-kii winced, remembering the booming, which still echoed though the quakes ha
d stopped. Then his eyes opened wide and Rada knew what he’d just realized. “And to make sure he got back safely, Imperial Highness.”

  “Come.” Shy-kii trotted in the direction of the lodge. There was no way she could keep up with him in her current shape, but Rada tried. After about two kliqs the partly crippled woman gave up and dropped into a fast walk. She slid what looked like an ancient Terran “cell phone” out of its case on her belt and dialed someone as she hurried along. First she called Singing Pines and checked in with the Steward there. Then she tried Burnt Mountain and was surprised when the head com-tech answered. Relief washed over the daimyo at the news that aside from a few minor injuries and two small fires (quickly extinguished), the place was intact and everyone accounted for.

  She heard Azdhag cursing from ahead of her, and rounded a curve to find Shy-kii swearing at a fresh rock fall. Rock avalanche would be a better description of the loose jumble of stones, boulders, mud, trees and God-knows-what. Shy-kii tried getting onto the pile and tumbled back.

  “Highness, there’s a better, faster way, if you don’t mind helping me for a moment,” Reh-dakh offered.

  “What?” he demanded, his agitation plain.

  “Let me shift form and go first. I can find you the most stable path.”

  “Do it,” and he helped her take off her harness, weapons, and garments. She stepped back and closed her eye, then shifted form into her full cat shape. The reptile’s muzzle gaped as she shook herself, but he collected his wits and helped her reload with her harness and the shardi, as well as his weapons and gear. Rada wiggled to make certain nothing would move and tangle her, then carefully leapt onto the rock fall. She took a step and bounced a little, making certain that the surface wouldn’t move, then advanced farther, Shy-kii following behind. It took some work, and she had a close call when something shifted under her weight, but she led him across the slide. It was only a kliq or so wide and they made very good time. Rada stayed in cat shape once they emerged onto open ground again and so was able to keep up with Shy-kii’s pace.

  The manor servants must have thought they were seeing things as the Prince Imperial and a large black feline with a single grey eye charged toward the buildings. They screeched to a halt and Shy-kii demanded, “Has my honored sire returned?” A swirl of negations answered his question and he turned to Rada. “Take me to where he was hunting.”

  Then he stopped, staring at her as servants removed her load and harness. The cat looked down and realized that her scars had transferred to this shape. “What happened to you? Those look like skinning cuts!” he hissed.

  She nodded, thinking you must really be clutched not to have noticed before, and then reverted to her normal form. “They were, Imperial Highness. I can lead you to where his Imperial Majesty went this morning, but it will be faster to call a half-hover in from Singing Pines,” Rada suggested.

  “Call in a half-hover for what, Lord Defender?” the King-Emperor asked, coming into view and helping one of his huntsmen stagger along. She didn’t answer but moved to help her liege with his burden. The huntsman’s left rear leg and tail had been crushed, and how Di-dosk and the huntmaster had managed to get him back to the lodge Rada didn’t care to guess. Instead, she clamped her hands on the male’s leg, stopping the bleeding as she got an idea of the extent of his injuries. Another Healer galloped up and stopped beside the mammal, as did Zabet.

  “Zabet, traction on the leg at my signal. Skara, spine and tail are yours,” Rada decided, and her two assistants took their positions. The dark green Azdhag female laid her forefeet on the hunter’s back and tail base as Zabet very carefully locked her talons around the mangled hindfoot.

  “Teer, has it stopped hurting?” Rada asked quietly.

  “Yes, Lord Mammal” he said, eyes closed, flanks rising and falling slowly as he relaxed. Probably trying to go shocky on me Reh-dakh thought, then set the notion aside for the moment. Airway, bleeding, and consciousness were assessed and good, or under control, so she nodded at her associates. “On three. One, two, three.” Zabet pulled gently, straightening the leg as the mammal reached out and massaged bone back into place, feeling with her Gift for torn blood vessels, ligaments, and muscles. Skara concentrated on the tail and nerves. It only took a few minutes before the three sat back. “Someone get blankets for—” and a heavy quilt dropped onto the woman’s lap. “Thanks.” She spread it over the patient.

  Skara checked Teer’s pulse and peeled back his outer and inner eyelids, then nodded with satisfaction. “He’s tough, Lord Mammal.”

  “That he is,” Di-dosk agreed, peering over Skara’s shoulder. The Healer started dropping to the ground, but the King-Emperor stopped her. “Don’t. Not now.” He turned to the Wanderer, who’d scooted away from her patient and lay on her back in the short grass, eyes closed. Zabet didn’t seem overly concerned, so the King-Emperor wasted no energy worrying about the mammal.

  “What is the status of Our estates?” Di-dosk asked.

  Rada didn’t open her eyes. “Minor damage at Burnt Mountain, scouts are checking on the settlements. Singing Pines, a few injuries, no buildings damaged, people have left the lower fields just in case there’s a quake flood. Harvest shouldn’t be interrupted too much, Imperial Majesty.”

  The two Imperials drew aside and held a private discussion. The manor staff had already taken the two men’s catch, and someone dropped Rada’s harness, weapons, and other gear beside her. Spicy scents and wood smoke came from an outdoor kitchen that had been set up away from the house, in case of more aftershocks. Soon, one of the servants came around with mugs, then another appeared, carefully dragging a cart with hot talkak soup for everyone. The King-Emperor decided that it would be safer to sleep outside, since the skies looked clear, and servants began carrying bedding, hides, and heavy blankets and quilts out of the lodge.

  Rada still hadn’t moved or spoken after her report, and Shy-kii approached the prone woman, a little concerned. Zabet claimed a blanket and tucked it around the pale figure. The True-dragon’s forefoot rested on the Wanderer’s chest, and Zabet sighed as Shy-kii approached. «He’s so far asleep I don’t think even Burnt Mountain erupting would wake him» Zabet said to no one in particular.

  Di-dosk joined his son as they contemplated their Lord Defender. “Reh-dakh has earned his rest,” the King-Emperor decided. “Let him sleep until We need him.” Shy-kii and Zabet bowed, and it was so.

  February, 2010. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to do this, and I want to kill whoever produced this exercise, Rada grumbled. She’d returned to Ter-Tri too soon, and now some sadistic idiot in Vienna had opened every raw wound in her still-healing mind. At least she wasn’t the only unhappy one, she growled to herself. If her ship were any larger, she’d offer to take de Alba and ben David to Vienna so they could wait in a dark alley for the scenario’s designer. General McKendrick looked more dyspeptic than usual. Given that most of his command are dead, I’d look a little green too if I were in his position, Rachel thought. Not that I let it reach that stage when I really did have to deal with a planetary invasion, she thought, and she let her mind drift to the memories of what the Azdhagi still called the Mercenaries’ War, at least until the debriefing dragged her back into Hell.

  When the lights came up, General James McKendrick took his glasses off, rubbed his nose, and tried not to sigh too loudly. The exercise had not gone well. The branch’s efforts had been successful well into the scenario, that is until the xenology specialist was captured by the invaders. Six hours later, by the accelerated clock the referee used, the invaders had suddenly managed to turn the tables and—had it been a real invasion—much of England would have been occupied and the British branch of the GDF would have found itself in a fighting retreat with its back to the Atlantic.

  McKendrick noticed that Commander Na Gael remained silent through the debriefing. The officers finally stopped and looked at her, puzzled by her unusual quiet. “Commander, are you feeling well?” Captain de Alba asked.


  “No. My part was far too real,” Rachel answered. There was no emotion in her voice or expression in her eye. The others called up her action-response set on their screens and Colonel Przilas winced. “Could we continue the debriefing, please?” Rachel asked, voice dull.

  McKendrick nodded, “Yes. It seems that we’ve been underestimating just how tactically valuable the xenology advisor is.” The Scottish general gave his executive officer a harsh look. It had been Tadeus Przilas’ quite optimistic under-estimate of how exposed the xenologist’s position had been that allowed her—and the field headquarters—to be captured, although McKendrick noted that she and her two guards had managed to eliminate several of the invaders before they were overwhelmed. The American nodded and made notes.

  The five officers and their advisor finished reviewing and picking apart the exercise. In the end, McKendrick was annoyed but philosophical. They’d done well on ninety-five percent of the scenarios and simulations they’d run before, and the regiment had handled the two actual emergencies they’d faced since his arrival without incurring major casualties or suffering a defeat. Truth be told, it was probably good for them to get the occasional reminder of their fallibility. But it still stung.

  Na Gael left as soon as she could, pale and very unhappy. “What did she mean, that her part was ‘all too real?’” Captain Moshe ben David asked.

  Maria de Alba’s head popped up from where she’d been bent over her notepad. “You don’t know what happened back in September?”

  “She got hurt in that mess, I remember, but I never got the details.”

  “She was tortured, almost to death,” Maria informed him. His breath hissed as he inhaled, and the Spanish officer nodded. On that cheerful note the officers went back to their usual assignments, promising themselves to do better the next time.