by Cat Bruno
“It matters little what she wears,” he told the Islander as he shifted the bow to his chest.
“I would be ready all the same.”
Otieno, having watched Gregorr, pulled the cloak from him, with the shortbow still disguised under the weight of the fabric. As the diauxie placed the bundle on his lap, Gregorr’s gaze returned to Syrsha. The air hummed with voices sounding like chimes. The girl stood in the center of the arena, crouched low, with her arms extended and her hands outstretched.
The arena floor was bare, without mound, boulder, or bush to hide behind. Overhead, the sun had begun its descent, and the sky burned orange and red. The great cat, Gregorr recalled, hunted at night, which would come soon enough. Beside him, the fennidi overheard Aldric state that he knew nothing of the dress either.
“She wears her boots still,” Aldric added, pointing to where the blackened tips peeked from the hem of the dress.
“Then she will have the dagger, yet,” Otieno whispered, without offering to return the bow.
“There it is!” Sharron cried. Her pale fingers shook as she aimed them at the corner.
Gregorr leaned forward, half-hanging over the stone wall that overlooked the arena. The great cat stood, unmoving.
As the humming of the crowd lessened, the great cat began to pace, slinking low, slowly lifting its white-edged paws. Against the spreading silence, he roared, throaty and snarling.
“Ready the bow,” Gregorr murmured.
None of them had been allowed to see this laohus, and Gregorr did not doubt that the others were just as frightened as he by the great cat’s size. In Cossima, desert cats abounded, yet they were a third the size of the great cat. The laohu was larger even than the Cordisian black bear, Gregorr guessed.
When the great cat paused, Gregorr hurriedly jerked his head back to the center of the arena. Syrsha had not moved and held no dagger.
“Why has she not run?” he asked.
“Let the cat think her no threat,” Otieno answered.
To convince himself, Gregorr uttered, “I have seen her with the stripes.”
“As have I, yet we know not how it occurred. Your eyes are sharp, Gregorr. Watch and warn me when I should raise the bow.”
Half on his knees, Aldric joined them near the wall’s edge as he said, “The air is heavy here with a magic I cannot identify. She must have crafted a ward, one that feeds on the native magic of Tian.”
“She had been warned to abstain,” the Islander interjected.
The thought of a strong ward around Syrsha eased his worries some, and Gregorr stated, “The great cat will not be able to strike her with such a ward. It was a wise move. And may be the reason why she has saved her strength this last moon.”
“I know not why I had not thought such possible, and I blame myself for not investigating it further,” Aldric admitted.
“She will evade and dodge, circle and roll, until a time when she can strike the animal.”
He did not doubt Otieno’s words. Yet none spoke on just how she would subdue the great cat. They watched, as if spellbound, as the creature crept forward. Its neck, white fur thick and straight, continually shifted from left to right, searching and smelling, knowing that Syrsha was near. Copper-orange fur gleamed brighter under the gaze of the setting sun. Black stripes curved its body from tail to nose. The great cat’s eyes glowed like amber orbs. The laohu’s beauty was without rival, from Cordisia to Tian, Gregorr decided, unable to look away from the beast.
When it jumped forward and raced across the arena, he feared it anew.
His hands, forest-green and wrinkled, grasped the top of the stony wall, and his life pulse drummed against his throat. Let the ward hold!
A giant paw with extended claws swiped at Syrsha, as if in play. Her feet did not shift as she ducked under the blow. Again the great cat swatted, and, again, it missed, as she rolled backward.
But Syrsha’s movement caused the animal to lunge forward, its mouth open. A long, pink tongue hung across sharp, angled teeth. Somehow, she was faster than the great cat, spinning away from its bite and coming up behind it. Gregorr thought she might strike it then, while she had an advantage, but her hands held their defensive position as she returned to her low formation, legs stretched out to either side.
“Why does she not break its neck from behind?” Aldric asked.
The mage did not need to remind them of her strength, a gift of her blood. He knew not how the others had defeated the great cat, but, without weapon, there were but a few ways. Syrsha only needed to encircle her arms around the animal’s neck and twist. Before she was the size of Gregorr, she had been able to lift Otieno’s Greatsword, a feat few could accomplish even full-grown.
“Do not forget why we first came to Tian,” the diauxie stated, his words hushed and tense. “She needs an army. What better way to gain one than by charming those in attendance. Look at her. The girl comes to them as goddess.”
“You think she plays a game with the great cat?” Aldric half-gasped.
With one raised brow, Otieno answered, “The beast is large, even more so than I had expected. But I have sparred and wrestled with her since she was a near babe. And never has she shown me her full strength. Look how her eyes still shine green. Once darkened, the cat will be no match for her.”
“Surely it weighs thrice that of a large man,” Sharron whispered from behind. “Not even a wolf weighs as much.”
“Aye. But the great cat was not born of gods,” Gregorr murmured.
*****
The fennidi’s gaze showed a mixture of pride and fear as Aldric gaped at him.
“Am I the only one who worries?” the mage asked, glancing at the others with concern. “Have you all become spellbound and witless?”
No sooner had the words slipped from his thin lips that understanding came. Even as his hands tingled, as if tiny spikes pressed against his fingers, Aldric searched for the source of the shadowy magic. She was learning, even without his aid, how to weave the wind until dark became light. Around the arena, twinkling eyes watched her, faces lit with devotion. Even the Emperor appeared enchanted as Aldric noticed how his gaze fell upon Syrsha. Gregorr’s words hummed in his head as he scanned the adoring faces.
Born of the gods. And dressed as one, too. As Luna, Queen of the night sky. And more. Mother to Tribe and Eirrannia, Luna was of flesh and of stars. Immortal, except for rare nights when her glow would be masked, and darkness would spread. On these occasions, Luna would descend, mortal and human, to walk among her kin.
Or so the stories were told.
Had his hands been whole, Aldric might have attempted to feel for the current and trace the magic to its source. Yet he realized that it would be for naught, for Syrsha had planned this moment for a moon or more, ever since learning of the laohu hunt. She would not be defeated here, for the magic was strong, enough so that she could ward and weave both. The girl had learned much since their days in Cossima, enough to enamor and trick even those who had known her since birth.
“Gregorr,” the mage breathed. “She will become a legend on this day. Far from lands that she seeks to rule, they will look upon her as fallen from the sky.”
After Aldric’s words, the fennidi’s eyes cleared, gray-green and knowing, and he said, “Caryss knew what the girl would become.”
Any response was interrupted by a barking growl that exploded from the great cat and clattered against the stones. On and on, the creature roared, clashing and thundering until the stone and clay seats trembled.
When the laohu spun, its mouth wide, Aldric hissed. Syrsha jumped to her side, away from its bite. Now, the two faced, less than an arm’s length between them. White whiskers framed the great cat’s mouth, jutting forth like chards of lightning. Its ears, rounded and black-tipped, flickered. A raised paw threatened, while its striped tail curved upward. For a moment, Aldric looked from the cat to the girl, admiring Syrsha as if he saw her for the first time.
Adornment of some kind glitt
ered under the sun’s rays across the top half of her dress. To him, who knew little of clothing, it seemed as if bits of stars had been sewn across her chest. Two large slits, from ankle to hip, allowed her to move with ease, a necessary alteration. Her hair had been piled high atop her head, braided and twisted as if she was served by a dozen handmaidens. She was no longer a child, nor was she daughter. Ascension had come. Those in attendance watched her rise.
But for the great cat, who none had told.
When next it lunged, the laohu’s teeth closed near Syrsha’s hip. With a mouthful of the shining fabric, it prevented her escape. As its claws seared her face, Aldric screamed.
Around him, echoing shrieks joined with his own voice. He dared not look to the others.
*****
“You have brought fewer than I expected,” he told her as they sipped on blackberry wine.
Her voice sounded of oak and ash as she explained, “The last ten moon years have not been kind to us. We did what we could for Eirrannia, and the cost was high for both sides. Conri, we are old enough to know the costs of war extend well beyond the battlefield.”
Ohdra had been Queen for half her life, although the High Lord could not guess her true age. Older even than the Tribe, the fennidi were kin to the Ancient ones, although they spoke little of that past.
“Perhaps that is why the gods have abandoned us,” Conri sighed, sipping anew.
With an unexpected laugh, Ohdra told him, “They watch still, unseen and forgotten. Do you know your history, High Lord? There is some immortality in the blood of these Rexterrans.”
He knew of what she spoke, for Ardoro had been God of Fire and Flame, a gift to the mortals from the Ancient ones. It was Ardoro who had gifted the Rexterrans with atraglacia, the only weapon that could prevent the spread of darkness. The Tribe had spent generations stealing and destroying the black-ice, until little remained. Now, a new weapon had been found.
“The Lightkeepers have enough atraglacia for concern. With tallora, the threat deepens. How was it that the sap was able to be taken without any fennidi notice?”
Conri could not keep the accusation from his words.
Setting her glass in her lap, Ohdra said, “If you are asking if there exists a traitor in my ranks, then I think the answer is clear.”
“How many would have known of the poison?”
Her crinkled, earthen fingers rose in uncertainty. “Who does not know the tale? The fennidi are not many, but our skills and knowledge of the forest has kept us safe. We cannot fell men with blows from swords that we can hardly lift, so our arrowheads offer us safety.”
It was not the first time that he heard Ohdra defend their use of poison. “You could have warned us when the tallora trees were marked.”
“We knew not, in truth, High Lord,” she quickly answered. “As you suspected, we travel little these days.”
“Let us speak on a cure, then,” he interjected.
In agreement, the Queen stated, “Five fennidi are with your healer now.”
“He is no healer,” Conri said. “But he knows more than most of the Tribe and of tallora.”
“I met him briefly. He is a strange man, that one.”
“Kennet comes well recommended,” Conri told her quietly.
“You speak of Caryss.”
When he did not speak, Ohdra asked about Syrsha.
With hushed words still, he said, “She sent word through the Elemental that she leaves the East at once. In two moons, she will arrive in the Tribelands.”
“Perhaps in meeting her, I will forgive that she long ago took my beloved Gregorr. He is cousin to me, High Lord.”
Her words surprised him, and Conri admitted, “She thinks fondly of him, moreso than the others even.”
“The girl is no fool then, for he is wisest and kindest among us.”
Just then, Conall entered, offering a crisp bow to the fennidi Queen. It was not unusual for his brother to join him, but Conri sensed that this was not a visit to welcome Ohdra.
“You have news,” the High Lord stated.
After pouring himself some of the burgundy wine, Conall said, “As expected, Kyran has been spotted near Concordia.”
“He will seek out the Rexterrans next,” Conri added.
“Unlikely allies,” Ohdra mused, “Now that the Lightkeepers accompany the Royal Army.”
“Kyran is cunning, as are most Crows. I would not be surprised to see Crow next to Lightkeeper on the battlefield.”
“Conall, call for the others and have the kitchens opened. Kennet and Jarek, as well as the Blaidd, Blaze, and the captain; they all must come. It is time to ready a plan,” the High Lord told his brother.
As Conall made his way from the room, Conri called, “Have the meal served here. And strengthen the ward.”
Ohdra, who had not moved, raised a silver brow, but did not object. In times of war, few could be trusted.
*****
The words were simple ones, and he knew not if they would be understood. But the risk of sending them made him take great heed, in case the letter did not arrive in the Tribelands. You have a friend near the robed ones. Pietro dared not hire a messenger. Instead, he had packed the missive in a small trunk to be shipped to the Academy and addressed to the library. Perhaps Kennet would one day receive it, or mayhap not.
On the morrow, however, he would depart Ravenfold with Queen Assana and Tanic. A small guard of a dozen soldiers would join them, although they wore the Ravenfold crest and not that of the King. The men had long been in her father’s employ, and Assana herself had chosen who would accompany the group. Tanic had never been so content, although he spoke few words to her. His actions hardly affected her, Pietro realized, for he was no longer of an interest to her.
The Queen had gifted him with a satchel of newly made healers’ robes, stitched with the same Ravenfold crest. The children would remain, despite Alistair’s noisy protests. Nearly all had been settled for their early morning departure. When Tanic entered his room, Pietro could not hide his worry.
“Fear not, Pietro, I am not here to tell you that our plans have altered!” she teased.
“Why have you come?”
“The news is not so dire,” Tanic said, making him aware that she had heard the annoyance. “I only wished to tell you that I am happy that you have decided to join us. It would have been terrible if you had disappointed the Queen.”
His time spent at the Grand Palace had taught Pietro much, yet, without power or freedom, he could only observe the politics that others employed. Now, Tanic stood, a disingenuous smile across her face that might have fooled most. It was then that Pietro realized that the Lightkeeper considered him easily used, little more than a half-wit. With that new insight, the healer returned her smile, yet his gleamed brighter.
“You must forgive my behavior this last half-moon, my love. I only sought to keep you safe from the war that comes,” he cooed, coming so close to her that his lips brushed her cheek.
She did not pull away, but stated, “You have been quite boorish, Pietro.”
His mouth slid across her face until he found her lips, parted and pouty. Closing his eyes, Pietro kissed her with a devotion that was well practiced. His hands slipped to her back, as one began to unlace her tunic. When she groaned in feigned protest, he kicked at the door behind them, forcing it closed. Remembering what she liked, he let his teeth bite at her lip until blood soured their tongues.
With a rumble of pleasure, Tanic moaned and puller her tunic over her head.
Few could play the game of love better than Pietro.
*****
It was not the first time that she had tasted her own blood. But she was Wolf and the taste was honey-sweet.
Across her cheek, just under her left eye, the great cat’s claws had ripped open her skin, four crimson slashes against her ivory skin. Syrsha did not know how deeply the laohu paw had cut, although her lips were sticky with blood and half her face burned. Rolling too slowly had all
owed the great cat to bite at her leg, and Syrsha had been unable to escape the strike.
The pain was a reminder of the animal’s speed and strength, and, more, a lesson that she must react sooner. Somewhere in the arena, Otieno would be thinking the same thing, scolding her for moving without forethought. He often reminded her that she must not act without having planned each countermove.
Against man, it had become easy. Against the great cat, Syrsha struggled, for she knew not what the animal might next do. Only then did she consider Master Ru’s warning that only those who had studied the laohu could fight it. By coming close to its giant muzzle could she feed it the mandrake root, yet she dared not let anyone see what it was she attempted. Syrsha must shield her movements from the gathered crowd or her plan would fail.
Without turning from the great cat, Syrsha slid backward, slowly, as to not frighten it further. As he panted, his mouth like a sliver, she thought on what she must do next. If she could mount the great cat, she might be able to choke him enough to force his mouth open. Yet, if he reared onto his hind legs, half the arena would watch as she placed the root into his mouth. If she neared close, her hand could throw the squared root onto his tongue. But there would only be once chance to succeed.
Still considering her options, Syrsha heeded the laohu as it paced across the center of the arena. His starburst gaze noticed the watching eyes of the Tiannese, and he rushed to his right until a brick wall stopped him from going further. Half-climbing the bricks, the great cat roared into the white face of the paralyzed Emperor. Beside him, the Empress shrieked in fear, cowering until she was lying prone across the seat.
It was then that Syrsha knew what she must do.
“Heyo!” she screamed, rushing toward the great cat.
Steps from the Emperor, she dove for the laohu, intentionally missing so that she could flip onto her back and under the standing animal. Grabbing for the thick, white undercoat that shined bright except for its ebony lines, Syrsha pulled him toward her. Her face, blood-covered now, sat just below his jaw, but above his paws. Just so, the great cat could neither claw nor bite, although she had little time before that changed.
