“Very well.” Klain headed for the door, then paused. Returning to the bed, he scooped up his sword in its scabbard and strapped it around his waist. Turing back, he noticed the look of mirth upon the boy-child’s face. “In case you need protecting!” Even though he spat out the words in a deep growl, the boy-cub giggled.
The two stepped into the hall and Klain saw that two Humans flanked the door. They smelled of fear, though not the pungent odor they had had upon his arrival. Following Charver’s example, Klain walked between them without acknowledging their presence. The two Humans fell in behind them as they walked the halls that led to the back of the villa in silence.
They left the building through the same double doors that led out onto the patio where they ate halfmeal. Threading their way through the wall of plants that enclosed the area, Klain was amazed to see how open the space beyond was. A large dirt area covered the immediate ground, flanked by a stable and a few other low-roofed buildings. Past this, open fields stretched off as far as Klain could see, broken only by the occasional copse of trees. A slight warm breeze ruffled the hair of his mane, bringing with it the smell of life. Clean and fresh, the smells that invaded his nostrils invigorated him. He picked out wheat, barley, and a host of other grain smells. Pine and birch, flowers of many flavors…
And the stench of Human sweat.
The clang of metal on metal rang out in the early morn air. Grabbing Klain’s paw, Charver dragged him toward one of the buildings. “The men are practicing. Let us go and watch!”
Followed by their two guards, they rounded what looked like a workshop—tools and anvils littered the area inside a large open door—to find a small circle of Humans. Most of the men had stripped their shirts and stood watching two others sparing in the center.
The two men—sweat running off in driblets, and the blunted edges of their practice swords marred and nicked from use—attacked each other with fervor.
The larger of the two men, an older Human with a bald head, feigned a low stroke that became a high attack. The blow would have landed if he had not stopped it short. “Keep that guard up, Narn, or I will put a lump on that fowl looking head of yours!” The two guards who followed Klain and the boy laughed aloud and went to join the circle of men. “Come on then, are you going to try and hit me with that stick or just stand there and wet yourself?”
The smaller man, Narn, lowered his blade to the ground and the older one pointed his sword at him. “You call yourself a bodyguard, yet—” A loud clang resounded as Narn batted the other’s sword away and lunged in for an attack, jabbing violently. Narn was caught off guard as the older man let his practice blade fly from his hand, sidestepped, and looped his free arm over and around Narn’s sword arm. A loud snap sounded when the older man spun, forcing the younger man’s arm to bend back on itself. The practice sword fell from his numb fingers and Narn joined it on the ground, howling in pain and clutching his broken arm.
The older man spat upon him. Looking up, he pointed to one of the spectators. “Poltin! You and Brin take this pathetic heap of dung into town and have a Shaper see to his arm.” Bending down, the old fighter scooped up his dropped practice blade from the dirt. “Lith, you are up!”
Poltin and Brin shuffled forward and, not too gently, plucked the still whimpering Narn from the ground. Half helping—half dragging the man, they headed for the villa. A burly, well-tanned Human with short-cropped black hair stepped forward and retrieved the discarded practice sword from the ground where Narn had lost it. He gave a salute to the older man, then dropped into an attack stance.
Just then, the older man caught sight of Klain standing next to the workshop and raised a hand for the other to hold. “Well, well, if it is not our famed Kith! I wondered when you would crawl out of hiding and take a sniff around.” The few laughs that joined the older man’s jib came out strained at best. Klain could smell the fear level rise even over the stench of their sweat.
“He did not come out of hiding. He came out to play with me!” The laughing increased and Klain did not feel his situation had improved from Charver’s aid.
Kneeling down, he put a paw on the boy’s shoulder. “Mayhaps we could find somewhere less crowded?”
“Nix, I want to watch the men practice. Hey!” His eyes lit up. “Mayhaps you could spar with them?”
“Oh, that is a wonderful idea!” The older man’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “How about it, Kith? A little exercise to get the blood pumping?”
Holding his tongue, Klain stood and headed back toward the villa.
“Uh oh! It looks as if our kitty has decided to go back inside!” The rest of the men laughed louder. “Come on, kitty, kitty. We just want to see if the stories we heard of your skill were true, or are they tall tales like so much that goes on inside the Coliseum!”
Klain felt the small vibrations of the boy-cub running up behind him. Charver grabbed his paw just as Klain rounded the corner of the building. “Where are you going?”
At the boy’s touch, Klain stopped yet did not look down. “This is not wise. I am not here to fight for anyone’s amusement!”
Whipping around to face Klain, the boy stood defiantly. “Nix! You are supposed to protect me. How are you going to do that if you run from a fight?”
A rumbled growl rattled Klain’s chest and he glanced down to glare into Charver’s eyes. “These are your father’s men.” Spitting the words out in a whisper, he did not even part his fangs. “I will run from nothing that is a danger to you.”
“You are a coward!” Charver stomped his feet onto the dusty ground, receiving a loud round of laughter from the men standing in witness.
The Human who won the fight with Narn stepped forward. “Go on, I will not spar with some thing that is frightened of its own shadow.”
Blood trickled from Klain’s paws and splattered to the ground from his sharp claws digging into them.
“An angry fighter is a dead fighter.” Master Flayt, my old trainer, your words still ring true. Still, I hope your bones are rotting in the ground!
Forcing himself to relax, Klain walked back to the men amidst a chorus of heckles. “I misunderstood. If it is only sparing you are looking for, I could use some exercise this day.”
A wicked grin slid over the old man’s mouth. “Good, I was hoping you would say that.” He flicked his head at one of the men who jogged to the workshop. Returning with two thick cowhide mittens, the man tossed them to Klain.
Looking down at them in his paws, Klain snarled. “What are these?”
Still smiling his wicked smile, the first man chuckled. “Well, we would not want any accidents to happen, now would we?”
“I will not even be able to hold my sword wearing these!” Flinging the gloves into the dirt, Klain crossed his arms defiantly.
Tisking, the Human bent down and retrieved the mittens. “Well, any excuse, huh? Do not hide behind gloves if you will not face me, beast!”
The dam holding back his anger burst. Rage boiled up inside Klain. Without word, he thrust out his paws to the man and held them there. Taking a step closer, the Human pushed first one, then the next glove over his paws, tying each securely in place with leather thongs. The man then handed Klain one of the blunt practice swords. Grasping the hilt, the bulky leather gloves bending only reluctantly, Klain took a practice stroke. The sword slid from his grip and slammed onto the ground, kicking up dirt. A chorus of laughter resonated through the area as one of the men bent down to get the weapon. Taking the sword once again, Klain forced his claws to extend as far as they could in their cramped prisons, and griped the sword with all his strength.
If I must hold my grip this tightly, I will not have long before my paw cramps.
Again, he gave a practice stroke, this time retaining control of the sword.
“You ready then, beast?”
Facing the Human, Klain crouched into the fighti
ng pose he had learned to use when wielding a sword without a shield. The two circled each other. Too late, the overpowering odor of Human alerted Klain that someone had stepped close behind him. Stars filled his vision and pain lanced through the back of his skull. Slamming to the ground, a multitude of blows assaulted him from all directions. Scrambling, working on instinct alone, he pulled his paws under his body. Digging his hindclaws into the dirt, he launched himself forward and slammed into whoever stood in front of him, continuing through. Landing once more on the ground, he tucked into a tight roll, twisted his body, and came up standing on his hindpaws. On shaky legs, he took in the blurry scene before him.
Half a dozen Humans rushed him, blunt practice swords at the ready. Sidestepping the first to reach him, Klain used the man’s momentum to fling him beyond and to the ground. A second stopped short and swung his weapon in a vicious downward attack. Pouncing back, the sword tip narrowly missed Klain’s face and instead struck the ground, throwing the man off balance. Whipping his right paw in a wide arc, Klain caught the man in the neck and was disappointed not to see blood flinging into the air.
Damnable gloves!
Yet the force of the blow spun the man around and drove him into the dirt. Before Klain could recover from this attack, a third man, this one wielding a wooden stick, cracked it across Klain’s outer thigh. Howling in pain and rage, he went down on that knee.
The man with the stick attacked once more, this time aiming for Klain’s head. Klain threw up his forearm, allowing it to absorb the full brunt of the blow. Snatching the stick, he yanked it to him. Man followed stick, and Klain abandoned his end of the weapon in favor of grabbing the man with both paws. He locked one paw around the man’s neck, the other on his groin. The man gurgled out a scream as Klain stood and lifted him high in the air. Stepping forward on his uninjured leg, he launched the man toward the remaining two Humans. Caught by surprise at their comrade hurtling toward them, the flung man slammed into them, and all three landed in a tangled heap upon the ground.
A guttural laughter echoed through the yard. “Well, well.” The older man stood spinning a sword.
And not a practice blade either. This one holds an edge!
“Seems as if some of the stories about the kitty are true. You have got some skill.” Grinning, the man advanced. “Let us see how you fare against a real opponent, beastie!”
“Satner Timms! I will have an explanation for this!” Rohann came storming around the workshop.
Klain’s head still rang. Glancing around, he tried to locate Charver to insure the boy was unharmed. He saw the boy leaning around the far side of the workshop, eyes wide with fear and guilt. When he saw Klain looking at him, the boy bowed his head and fled. Reaching up, Klain cupped the large lump on the back of his head that had sprung up from the first blow.
This whole thing was a setup! And that little whelp was a part of it.
The older man, Satner Timms, lowered his blade and gave a baleful look at Klain. “This beast of yours attacked my men! I told you this was not a wise idea, sir!”
Rohann stopped between the two, looking at each in turn. “And before Klain here decided to attack a group of armed men—for no reason—he chose to put on mittens?”
Stuttering, Satner looked around searching for something. “Well, he… Look at my men!” He pointed with the tip of his sword to the group still tangled with each other.
“Aye! Look at your men! Six of you against one! And Master Klain without a weapon! Seems like I should look for a better class of protection for my personal bodyguard!” Rohann flicked a hand toward the man. “Clean this up and get out of my sight!”
Satner reached down to help the man nearest him to his feet.
“And if there is so much as another shouting match with Master Klain here, you will all be looking for new employment!”
Trying not to put his full weight on his injured leg, Klain stood and watched as the Humans gathered themselves and headed off.
When the last man vanished from sight, Rohann turned to Klain. “Master Klain, I apologize. It seems that some men are less tolerant than others. I will understand if you turn down my offer of employ.”
“It was not your fault, Rohann. I have found that I understand little of Humans.” Klain limped forward a step. “It will take more than this to shake me.”
Rohann smiled. “Come, then. I have some Oolant drought in the villa. Let us attend to your wounds, eh?” The man turned and headed toward the villa.
Suppressing a wince, Klain followed.
Besides, I have nowhere else to go.
Dusk settled over the foothills of the great Nektine mountain range like a scorned woman. Clytus Rillion stood gazing off at the distant snow-covered peaks. The mountains stretched both west and northeast, grazing the very sky until they disappeared into the horizon. A chilly breeze had stalked the troop since the day prior, and with the coming of dusk, it had become ferocious in its tenacity. Clytus feared a storm approached and knew it would be cold this eve.
The way thus far had been relatively uneventful, and for that, he was glad. The land, albeit hilly, held few large rock outcrops or streams to traverse. There were several copses of hardwood and pine, though these grew separated by the vast brownish-green oceans of grass, and the wagon train easily circumvented them. The troop had made good time and Clytus was more than satisfied with their progress.
If things hold like this, we should be into the Nektine on the morrow’s eve.
Footsteps from behind alerted him to someone’s approach. Turning, he watched Alimia ascend the hill to his vantage point.
She stopped next to him, content to look off at the distant mountain range for a time. “How far do you make them, sir?”
“We should see their base on the morrow’s eve, I should think. Mayhaps the next eve will see us deep into the foothills.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Clytus returned his gaze back to the distant mountains.
“What is your plan for the wagons, sir? Surely we will not find passage for them within the jagged peaks of the Nektine.”
Looking over his shoulder, Clytus cast his gaze over the small camp nestled at the base of the hill. “My plan is to set up a base camp as deep into the mountains as the wagons will go. From there, I will take a small team and hunt for a Drakon. I expect the scouts to search as well, yet they are not to engage the beast if they find one. If, after half a tenday or so, that area turns out to be fruitless, we will relocate the base camp a few days further east along the range and start the process once again.”
“How long do you think the hunt will last, sir?”
“Could take moons.” He gestured down at the wagons. “Thus the reason for so many supplies.” He squared his shoulders on the leftenant and took a stern, hard look at her. “I should not have to state the fact that that area,”—he jabbed a finger toward the distant mountains—“is infested with O’Arkin. And I speak not of the Morlis Mountain creatures that often frequent Mocley. The O’Arkin found here are much larger. A wild and barbaric race unaccustomed to outsiders. They will not be kind to strangers in their domain. I expect everyone on guard at all times. The scouts are to travel in groups of no less than four. I want a double watch set around the base camp at all times. You will be responsible for things while I hunt. The supplies are critical to my success. I have not the luxury of returning to civilization for more.”
Crossing her arms below her breasts, Alimia nodded her head, her expression serious. “How do you plan on felling the creature, sir?”
A sly grin crossed Clytus’ face. “I spent a near fortune procuring a toxin that should do the trick. I hope to kill it with a single bolt—if I am lucky. A Drakon is not a thing to toy with.”
“Have you ever seen one, sir?” He took note of the queer tone in her voice. Many tales of woe and doom accompanied the word Drakon.
“In art, aye, and story. Ne
ver known anyone to actually see one of the creatures. I am not sure I believe all the tales said of them.” He smiled broadly. “We shall soon see if the legends are true, huh?”
Without returning his mirth, Alimia dipped her head and walked back to the camp.
They traveled north the following day, and the gentle rolling hills gave way to steeper, rockier terrain. This slowed the caravan down, and caused on one occasion an aurn’s delay when a broken wagon wheel needed to be changed. Still, that eve saw them camped deep in the foothills of the Nektine Mountains. Ominous, snow-covered peaks towered overhead, causing even the heartiest of the troop to stand in awe of their mighty visage.
Alimia gave orders to park the wagons in a tight clump under a massive natural outcrop of rock. Clytus hoped this would give some semblance of protection from the storm that hung overhead preparing to unleash its fury upon the land. The men drug out more tents than they had on the previous eve, setting them up in spots to take advantage of any natural cover they could find. Several barrels were also placed around the camp to collect fresh rainwater.
The mood of the men is as dark as the clouds in the sky. Many of the superstitious fools will see this storm as a bad omen to start a hunt. Not that the trip has not already been plagued with problems!
Thinking of the lost wagon of supplies the Artoc had claimed, he walked over to Trilim. The man was busy raising a tent for him. Bending over, he picked up a few wooden support rods. “I will worry with mine own, Trilim. You get busy with yours. It shall not be a pleasant eve.”
Trilim handed over a pole he held. “Aye, Master.” He glanced up to the sky and pinched his lips tight. “That it will not.”
Bending his mind to his task, Clytus set about pitching his tent and arranging his sleeping area in a manner to his liking. Once done, and not wishing to allow his mind occasion to drift and linger on thoughts he knew it would, he pulled out a Silrith’tar and sat down. Rolling the semi-translucent, bluish Memory Crystal in his fingers, he stared off to the south and all he had left behind. Placing the stone to his forehead, he let the Essence of it Meld with his mind.
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