by Kracken
Shakra's training had begun as soon as he could walk. He was a warrior through and through, but this would be his first test, his first kill, maybe, and it was time to stop being the protected prince, to stop being a cub? His eyes went icy and his ruff sprang up menacingly. No emotions, he thought, no distractions. Focus, find their weaknesses, and destroy them as efficiently as possible.
The werewolves surged forward, their goal to drag them down and rip them to shreds. Shang met them with slashing knives and killing martial arts moves. He seemed to fly, to defy the laws of gravity, and he killed with grace and unequaled skill. Shakra was more basic, more brutal, relying on his strength, which was considerable, and the power of his blows. It was with surprise that he realized that none of the mountain weres, older and larger than himself, were his match. Side by side with Shang, they killed half of the werewolves before the rest fled, tails tucked between their legs.
Shakra hadn't even broken a sweat. He looked down at the dead weres, his mind showing him graphically how he had killed each one. He felt satisfied, disturbed by the need to kill, but understanding that here was the proof that he was the weapon that Shang and his other teachers had fashioned him to be.
Shang smoothed a hand over his black crest and said, “They were weak. They should have made themselves stronger instead of relying on numbers.”
Shakra understood. His teacher had said it often enough, but it hadn't made any sense until then. There was nothing honorable or good in facing an enemy who was not your equal. Shakra felt as if he had slaughtered, not battled. The weres didn’t have a chance and there was dishonor in that. He thought how, earlier, he had been afraid and had offered a ransom for his life. Now he felt contempt for himself. He had acted the part of protected cub, waiting for rescue. This was proof that he didn't need to wait for that any longer.
The werelion... Shakra tested the air and caught his faint musk over the smell of blood. He curled a lip in disgust, but then grunted. How could he blame the werelion for leaving? It wasn't his fight. He had come there in slavery and now he was free to seek his home. He didn't owe Shakra any loyalty. Still, Shakra thought of silver eyes, thick fur, and the creature’s warmth and he swallowed hard.
“You fought well,” Shang told him and that was a high compliment from the werelizard, “but your kick to that one were's face was weaker than it should have been. You will work with the upper muscle weights for one hour after we return home.”
Shakra scowled, bristled, but then bowed his head in submission. Shang's sole purpose was to keep him alive, to train him to a peak of performance not attained by most men. If there was a fault, Shakra was just as interested as Shang in correcting it. False compliments, and allowing his ego to be misplaced, wouldn't help him stay alive.
Shang took the lead through the forest and Shakra followed. He pricked ears and tried to catch the faint sound of padded feet and the jingle of chain, but he knew that was a foolish hope... until he heard it. He stopped walking. He waited until the sound approached close enough and then he looked over his shoulder at the thick ferns. “You are lost again,” he said to the invisible werelion; a statement of fact. The low growl confirmed his suspicion. “I have a friend who lives in the desert beyond the Savannah,” he told the creature. “If you come with me, I will ask him if you can accompany him when he returns.”
Shang had turned, frowning. “My Prince, this is not wise. There is... a situation arising between your warden and the Savannah prides.”
Shakra spun, shocked. “Why wasn't I informed of this?”
Shang raised an eyebrow. “You are not at your majority and battle hasn't been engaged... yet. I'm afraid your warden might see the werelion as a threat.”
“That's ridiculous,” Shakra growled. “My warden isn't a fool and the werecheetah can vouch for his arrival here.”
“I'm certain he will want answers from the werelion himself,” Shang told him. “You may not like how he attains those answers if your werelion decides to keep his silence.”
Shakra looked back at the ferns, thinking of the werelion's short replies. He couldn't imagine Warden Kol being happy with yes or no replies.
“He's lost,” Shakra told Shang. “He can't smell home. He'll be put into slavery again if I don't help him.”
“Why do you wish to?” Shang asked, troubled. “Your warden did not raise you to be a compassionate and emotional prince, but took great pains that it should be trained out of you. How has this werelion caused you to suddenly wish to free slaves and to care about their well-being?”
“Isn't that noble?” Shakra wondered angrily.
Shang gave a small nod. “It is, but I was not hired to teach you to be noble, my Prince.”
“But you have. I see you act nobly often. I see you use your strength to protect the weak,” Shakra pointed out. “You have taught by example.”
“Then it will be the worst for you and me,” Shang sighed. “Your warden cares nothing for honor or being noble. He wants a warrior prince.”
“Why?” Shakra wondered. “My life has been filled with fighting and training and I wonder why when he makes no preparations for my ascension to the throne.”
Shang looked troubled. “I don't know his plans, my Prince.”
Shakra felt doubtful of that, but Shang had never lied to him or spared him the painful truth. “The werelion is coming with us,” he ordered firmly. “I will deal with Warden Kol.”
Shang gave a small bow that was stiff and disapproving.
Shakra tried to see the werelion, but he was too well hidden in the ferns. “Come with me,” he called to it. “It's your only hope of getting home.”
The werelion slunk out of the ferns. Shakra was startled. He had been very close by, almost within pouncing distance. The werelion kept his ears down and his tufted tail twitched. It was obvious that he wasn't happy, but he saw the necessity of following Shakra. When Shang and Shakra began walking, he paced behind them. Shakra couldn't help feeling relief. To say it was about honor and being noble was a lie, and Shakra suspected that Shang knew that. What really compelled him to help the werelion, though, was something Shakra didn't fully understand yet.
They entered the city, passing through a bustling crowd, and Shakra feared he would lose the werelion then and there. Tamarind's fur was bristled and his ears were flat. Shakra took up a position beside him, both to protect the werelion and the curious people he was eyeing dangerously, as they followed Shang to the Keep.
The Keep was a lodge of dark stone from the mountains and ancient forest wood that was as hard as iron. It looked impenetrable, formidable, and ready for any kind of attacking force. The city sprawling at its feet was a marked contrast, looking as if it had never known a moment of strife or feared attacking forces of any kind. It was a place build for peace, to house a thriving population more concerned about the latest fashions and the new merchant courtyard, than any threat from invading forces. They had known peace for a long time and Shakra wondered if his warden was about to end that peace.
Entering the Keep, they passed unchallenged through a huge main hall built for gatherings and audiences, and into a warren like section for the royal family and their servants. Hearth fires and many weres living together gave the air a familiar, heavy scent that was welcoming to Shakra, but clearly distasteful to the werelion.
Shakra put on a persona he had put aside when he had decided to play commoner in the market. He couldn't be the errant young werewolf here. In this place, he was Prince Shakra, highly trained warrior and heir to the leadership of the forest weres. His face went hard and his eyes glared at the people who looked ready to question his right to bring Tamarind into their midst.
“What is the meaning of this, Li’Won Shang?” a voice asked and a very large, strikingly handsome werewolf, with a general’s sash tied around his waist, came up to them hurriedly.
“My Prince,” Shang said aside to Shakra. “Perhaps you should take your guest to your rooms until I explain the situation?”<
br />
Shakra nodded and took a side corridor with the werelion slinking close to his side. “Stay away from that one,” Shakra warned. “He's General Armandu. He would like nothing better than to see any creature that isn’t a werewolf in a cage.”
**************
Once in Shakra's spacious, well appointed rooms, the werelion felt even more claustrophobic. There was a dead fireplace, but before it was a thick fur and Tamarind couldn't help curling into it. He glared at Shakra and thought about his words. The pride leader, Katze, had the same opinion of other weres as General Armandu, but he had expanded that desire to include scrawny orphans who looked as if they would never reach the promise of a werelion's full size or strength.
Shakra watched Tamarind for a few minutes and then he moved to light the fireplace. When it was crackling warmly, he chose a low lounge covered in sable furs to rest on. “Is there anything you need?” Shakra asked.
“Freedom,” Tamarind growled and the werewolf nodded. Tamarind had thought that he was a stupid cub, bumbling about like a new born impala, but Shakra had shown a harder side, a warrior's training, and an ability to kill with ease. Tamarind wouldn't underestimate him again. He was in a land of enemies, but his own land had hardly been better. A werelion didn't wander from his pride if he expected to live. The other prides didn't accept trespass into their territories. That was why it was odd to hear that the head of his pride had been plotting to bring them together for war.
Tamarind crouched, ears flat and snarled, “I don't like this!”
Shakra's tail curled up around him, but his ears were up and alert for trouble. “I don't blame you,” he replied. “You're probably used to wandering the savannah and sleeping under the open sky. I've heard that werelions don't build or-”
“We are NOT animals!” Tamarind protested hotly.
Shakra bristled. “No, that's what the werecheetahs thought,” he agreed.
“We weave shelters from bramble bushes and wander our territories,” Tamarind corrected him with a growl. “We have pits for making tools and weapons.”
Shakra looked intrigued. He began to ask questions, but there was a knock at his door. He opened it and a tan werefox darted in. “Where is he, Shakra?”
Kyrill N’jhaleen was a desert werefox. Very large ears were nestled in his golden hair and his eyes were very large and blue. His tanned, tightly knit, body, blended smoothly into tan fur and he had a very bushy tan tail with a white tip. A large, black tattoo adorned his entire back in fanciful swirls and he wore golden armbands, leg bands, and a golden circle at the base of his tail that had been the talk of the more spartan werewolves. Son of a wealthy chieftain, he had traveled extensively before falling in love, creating a scandal, and befriending the prince of the forest weres.
Kyrill darted towards the werelion faster than was wise. Tamarind raised hackles and made a low warning sound. Unperturbed, Kyrill danced in place excitedly and gushed, “It's been ages since I've seen a member of the Sun Pride. How is old Bukinia? My father spoke volumes about him. He saved my father's life when he was stranded out on the plains by an unscrupulous caravan owner.”
Tamarind regarded the werefox cautiously and then replied quietly, “Dead.”
Kyrill flicked his ears, stunned. “I'm sorry to hear that. Was he your sire?”
Tamarind looked from Shakra to Kyrill and then he grumbled, “No.” and edged closer to the warm fire. It was too strange to find someone who knew his family here. He had almost convinced himself that he had stepped out of his world entirely.
Kyrill understood a reluctance to talk when he saw it. He turned his excited attention to Shakra instead. “Did you buy him? He has a chain!” He looked very reproving.
“No, I helped him escape a werecheetah merchant,” Shakra admitted and then winced, probably remembering his obligation to pay the werecheetah.
“Very admirable,” Kyrill beamed. He eyed Tamarind again. “So, he was kidnaped from the Savannah?”
“I believe so,” Shakra replied. “He will need an escort to return. I've promised him safe passage.”
Kyrill blinked at him and then smiled warmly. “Shakra.... I... this is so unlike you. I was beginning to think that your mother had birthed a stone and now you're showing compassion for another-”
Shakra's ruff bristled and he cut Kyrill off. “Shang taught me honor. A thinking creature should not be caged and sold. It was nothing more than that. After going to such trouble to free him, I don't want him to fall into the werecheetahs hands once more.”
“I sense a favor about to be asked,” Kyrill surmised with a look that someone reserved for very small cubs that weren't lying very well.
“You are returning to your father's court, “Shakra reminded him with a glare. “I request that you allow the werelion to accompany you.”
“Request?” Kyrill laughed but his eyes glinted too. “Are you insulting me? I am indebted for your hospitality. It is my duty.” He made a curious motion with his hand over his heart.
“I assume that means yes?” Shakra asked him sourly.
“Most certainly, my Prince.” Kyrill grinned and then he turned his attention back to Tamarind, tail bristled excitedly.
“You will be very safe with me,” he told Tamarind. “I have a veritable army of werefoxes to protect us on our journey. Father may not approve of me, but he is careful with my skin all the same.”
Tamarind hunched in on himself, tail wrapping tightly around his body.
Kyrill sighed. “I can see that trust is not something you've learned to indulge in. I hope that I earn that trust and we become friends on our journey.”
Shakra frowned. “You are the one who is too trusting, Kyrill. You would make the entire world your friend, even a mountain werewolf with his teeth at your throat.”
Kyrill walked to the door, laughing over his shoulder, “Once that particular mountain were found out there were more interesting things to do than eating werefox...” but he didn't elaborate and he was gone, closing the door behind him.
“You can trust him,” Shakra assured Tamarind. “He isn't as foolish as he seems and his werefox guard is very fierce.”
Tamarind wanted to snarl and claw, express his anger and alienation in a tangible way, but the werewolf prince short circuited that desire by asking, “Are you hungry? We could go down to the hall. They should be serving food there now.” Tamarind was off of his fur rug at once.
“Yes,” Tamarind said and the rumble of his stomach punctuated that word.
Fresh meat was what his body needed. Once he was fed and strong again, he would see about finding his own way out of that place. Perhaps Kyrill N’jhaleen wasn't a fool, but neither was Tamarind and, once he could get the scent of home, he could return to depending on the one person who had never failed him; himself.
Chapter Four
There were many weres seated on low divans next to low tables near the big hearth. Servants were laying out platters of cooked meats along with vegetable and fruit delicacies. Mugs of wine and cider were being poured liberally.
Tamarind stiffened at the doorway, but Shakra was already nodding to greetings and raised mugs to his health. His presence next to Shakra was instantly noticed. There were fearful and challenging looks equally peppered among purely astonished expressions.
“They won't dare harm you while you are under my protection,” Shakra assured him.
He ushered the werelion to a divan that was raised higher than the others and he sat down. Several house cats descended on him, purring excitedly and wanting handouts. Shakra handed them off the table. “Damn cats,” he muttered and then looked at Tamarind, who was hunched beside him, apologetically. Tamarind glared and growled. He wasn't going to be insulted, even by a Prince who didn't seem to know that a werelion was nothing like a cat.
Werewolves served them their meal. Shakra dug in quickly, using his hands, but Tamarind looked at his platter in confusion. It smelled almost like meat, but it wasn't fresh. It smelled like the animal
s that died in plains fires.
Shakra noticed his hesitation. “It's perfectly safe,” he assured Tamarind. “We have good cooks here.”
“Why isn't this creature locked up?” an old voice demanded crossly.
Shakra put down his food and scowled at a grizzled werewolf who had a patch over one eye, a chewed ear, and was missing part of a hand. “Warden Koll. This is Tamarind of the Sun pride. He is not a servant. He is my guest.”
Warden Kol skewered Shakra with an icy, blue eye. ”If he is a free were, and a guest, then why was it necessary for me to pay a werecheetah slaver for him?”
“I freed him,” Shakra replied, not backing down.
“A savage from the Savannah, let free to threaten law abiding weres?” Warden Kol sneered. “It seems I have failed in my lessons to make you a caring ruler over your people.”
“Tamarind hasn't harmed anyone, even though he had very good reason to,” Shakra informed his guardian. “In fact, I am indebted to him for my life. That alone earned him his freedom.”
Kol looked about him in annoyance as he saw that the other weres were impressed by that revelation. “And where was Li’Won Shang, your guard, that you should need guarding, my Prince?”
Shakra clenched his jaw. Shang had gone to Kol to explain. The man already knew the circumstances. It seemed that he wanted to put Shakra on the defensive to show his power over him. “Shang followed my orders,” Shakra growled.
Kol’s eye glittered angrily. “Was it your order to leave you alone in a crowded market? Was it your order to allow you to release a dangerous savage from its cage? And was it also your order to look the other way while you chased that creature into the forest, where you were attacked by mountain weres? Were those all of your orders, Prince Shakra?” He waited, but Shakra didn't answer, just panted and glared furiously. “You will be a poor protector of the peace if you cannot even protect and rule yourself, my Prince.”
Kol limped closer and pointed at Tamarind. “That creature is a savage without manners, without speech, and without respect for laws. It should not be at table with your people, but locked up where it cannot harm anyone.”