by R A Oakes
After walking down to the landing, Valkira looked at the two tangled bodies on the floor and said, “Yermeti, this is the Fighting Eagle’s son, Rathlor. Rathlor, this is Swarenth’s niece, Yermeti.”
Rathlor could hardly be seen beneath all Yermeti’s luxurious hair, but neither made any attempt to get up.
Eventually, however, they struggled to their feet and looked at each other sheepishly.
“We’re heading over to the small arena, Yermeti. Why don’t you join us?” Valkira asked.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“So would I,” Rathlor added.
While the couple continued staring silently at each other, Rathlor stroked Yermeti’s cheek with one hand and ran the fingers of his other hand through the long, blond hair flowing over her neck and shoulders.
“Yes, well, let’s head over to the arena. We can get something to eat along the way,” Valkira said.
“Okay,” Rathlor replied, barely hearing the chief ambassador, and they all began heading downstairs.
General Zarkahn watched as Lord Stallington’s son kept running his fingers through Yermeti’s hair, and the general was pleased when she responded by pressing up against Rathlor, who slipped an arm around her waist and, after hesitating for a moment, gave her a little kiss on the cheek. His advances seemed welcome.
“I’m sure it’s going to be a nice afternoon,” Valkira said.
“It already is,” the general smiled.
◆◆◆
A few hours later, in the arena outside Dominion Castle, Prophet and Chaktar have already defeated their opponents. After leaping onto the wall surrounding the arena, Prophet has launched himself at the platform where Swarenth, Valkira, General Zarkahn, Rathlor and Yermeti are sitting.
Seeing the enormous, 700-pound tiger heading right for him, the warlord ran to the rear of the platform, spread his skin- covered wings and attempted to launch himself into the air. But before Swarenth could escape, Prophet slashed a wing with his claws shredding it and rendering it useless. Like a kite with a gaping hole, the warlord wasn’t going anywhere, at least not into the sky.
Instead, Swarenth was in for a nasty fall. The platform was ten feet above the cobblestone floor, and the winged ape was teetering precariously on the edge. However, his odds of staying alive by remaining on the platform weren’t so good either.
Lunging at Swarenth, Prophet bit down hard on the warlord’s right leg and savored the moment. The taste of gargoyle blood was bitter, but revenge was sweet as the warlord let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Dragging Swarenth back onto the platform, Prophet placed a massive paw on the warlord’s chest forcing him onto his back and let out a ferocious growl. However, as the tiger’s jaws began clamping down on his enemy’s neck, Prophet felt an excruciatingly sharp pain shoot through his right side and knew he’d been seriously wounded. The intense agony caused the tiger to grimace and lift his head buying Swarenth some precious moments.
As strength drained from Prophet’s body and his brain began to fog, he shoved his face right up against Swarenth’s and snarled. The massive tiger opened his jaws and tried grabbing onto his enemy’s neck once more when another searing pain pierced his side. This time, Prophet knew he was mortally wounded.
Swinging his head around, Prophet saw General Zarkahn gripping the handle of a sword that had penetrated deeply into his flesh. The tiger wanted to growl and to lunge at his attacker, but his muscular body would not respond.
Letting go of the sword, General Zarkahn patted the dying animal on his shoulder and said, “That was a valiant effort, and you should be proud.”
Those were the last words Prophet heard before collapsing next to Swarenth. The tiger tried growling one last time as a final act of defiance, but no sound emerged from his throat save for a tormented groan. Looking at the man who’d delivered him from the shame of living in captivity under gargoyle rule, he stared into General Zarkahn’s eyes.
The general held his gaze and said, “You’ve done all you can do. It’s time to go home and join your ancestors. When my time comes, I only hope I face my end as bravely as you have.”
As General Zarkahn placed a reassuring hand on the tiger’s shoulder, Prophet drew his last breath and died, at least that’s what everyone else thought had happened.
But as for Prophet, all he noticed was that the searing pain in his side had subsided. The huge tiger felt his strength returning and, much to his surprise, was able to get back onto his feet. Prophet stepped over Swarenth’s body and looked back at General Zarkahn. It was then that he noticed something strange. There was another tiger on the platform, and this one was lying on its side with a sword stuck between its ribs.
No one could survive such a wound, Prophet thought as he walked over to the dead animal. However, the tiger got quite a shock when he saw who it was. It was himself!
I’m dead, Prophet thought.
As he looked around, everything seemed to be frozen in time. Nothing moved.
However, Prophet was in for another shock. Looking down at his feet, the tiger saw that his new body was disappearing, and as this progressed, he experienced an enormous energy surge. With incredible velocity, a brilliant white light came out of nowhere and hurtled down upon him. Completely overwhelmed, Prophet was caught up in the radiant energy and was shot through a conduit filled with power beyond his reckoning. Everything appeared to be both different and the same. Prophet’s consciousness still seemed to be intact, but the nature of his outer being, his body, had totally changed. Prophet could still see and feel everything around him, yet he had no discernable form.
Off in the distance, he could see two pulsating beams of light energy. As he got closer, he realized they were his father and grandfather, even though they’d died years ago and he’d never actually met them.
you.”
Eagerly racing ahead, Prophet asked, “Father?”
“Yes, son, I’m here.”
“Where are we?”
“I can’t even begin to describe it. I’ll have to show
“Aren’t our bodies incredible, father? We’re made of extremely powerful energy of some sort.”
“Wait till you see what else there is.”
“What, father? What?”
“Something that will make all your years of suffering seem worthwhile.”
“Father, I can still feel the shame of living in captivity under gargoyle rule. I can still see my friends going to their deaths in the arena. I can still hear the screams of the many gargoyles I’ve killed in self-defense just to stay alive. Nothing can wash that away, father. Nothing.”
“Well, take a peek at this!” his father said excitedly.
At that moment, Prophet, his father and grandfather entered a realm so vast that traveling at the speed of light seemed natural and necessary.
“What is this place?” Prophet asked.
His grandfather answered, saying, “This is home, my grandson, this is home. But look over there.”
Glancing millions of miles away, which would take them only seconds to traverse, an incredibly powerful light flooded the horizon, so powerful that by comparison a conventional sunrise would seem like subdued candlelight. As they flew towards it, Prophet felt something he hadn’t experienced in all his years of captivity. He felt welcome, he felt whole, but most of all, he felt loved.
And the closer he got to the source of the light, the better he felt.
Next, Prophet saw a massive ball of energy splitting in half and opening towards him. It was like two arms spreading wide, eager to embrace him. As he flew into the center of this living presence, he asked it a question that had been on his mind for years, “Why is there so much suffering on earth?”
Prophet didn’t really expect an answer. He’d never had one before when he asked himself that question over and over while imprisoned in Dominion Castle. In frustration, he shouted out to the energy source with all the strength he could muster, “Why is there so much pain?”
However, the fa
rther he went into the massive energy presence, the more he let go of his past. After a while, Prophet reached the very core of the light, and it was different from anything he could have ever imagined. Still, he persisted in his question and once again asked, “Why?”
There was no response, but Prophet gradually became aware of having two choices. On his left, he saw a land of peace and tranquility, a land of no worries or suffering. He longed to go there and rest.
But on the right, another pathway emerged, and Prophet flinched when he saw it. He’d felt that kind of atmosphere all too many times. It was the way of the warrior.
“Choose your path,” a warm but insistent voice urged him.
Again, Prophet looked on his left and at the quiet life it would afford him. Then, he looked to his right and felt the old familiar doubts and fears, the pain, suffering and anger.
“I just came from there, why would I choose such a path? It’s the way of the warrior, and I’ve had enough of that.”
“But your young friend still faces those challenges.”
“Who? Chaktar?”
“Yes.”
“He needs to find his own way,” Prophet said.
“He’ll be needing your help.”
“That’s too bad because he won’t be getting it. I’ve had enough of that young upstart.”
“Things won’t be as they were.”
“In what way?”
“You’d sort of be his guardian angel.”
“Tigers have guardian angels?”
“In a severe crisis, it’s possible.”
“How would I help him?”
“Well, you’d usually be invisible, so you’d mainly give advice and counsel.”
“I get to talk to him?”
“In a way, but mostly through intuition. You’ll influence his thoughts and feelings. However, you could also intervene directly, on extremely rare occasions.”
“So, I’d go back as an angel?”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t be just any angel. You’d be a warrior angel.”
“Are you saying that I could wreak a bit of hell and damnation without quite being directly involved?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Where do I sign up?”
With that, Prophet suddenly found himself floating invisibly over the small arena located outside of Dominion Castle. He watched as Chaktar, in human form, knocked a gargoyle unconscious, took its tunic and ran under the grandstands.
However, Prophet sensed something different about his friend, and thought, Chaktar’s afraid. That blustering bag of hot air is scared.
But then, Prophet looked down and marveled at the size of Dominion Castle and all the hostile territory around it and realized he’d underestimated the danger involved in having Chaktar remain in the area wreaking havoc.
Prophet watched as Chaktar, who’d already changed back into a tiger, emerged from under the grandstands and ran into an open field surrounding the arena. Next, Prophet saw the young tiger attack a group of what looked like 20 gargoyle warriors, all of whom were fully armed. Chaktar clawed as many as he could before bolting away, zigzagging and ducking as he went, trying hard to avoid the spears being thrown at him.
Upset with his friend, Prophet sighed and thought, I told Chaktar to start out by attacking one gargoyle at a time. Fighting large groups is way too risky. But he never listens, and I don’t know why I even try reasoning with him.
However, as Prophet watched the young tiger making his way through the vast expanse of open fields, he saw Chaktar hunker down behind a mound of rocks and dirt. The young tiger was observing the castle and sizing up his enemy.
The tiger warrior angel watched in horror as Chaktar stepped out from behind his hiding place and ran back towards the castle. Prophet realized that Chaktar was going to attempt another attack. The warrior angel thought, I never told him to kill all the gargoyles in one day!
With a sigh of resignation, Prophet realized he still had much to teach his young friend. So, the tiger angel raced after Chaktar even though he couldn’t help thinking, That youngster’s way too impulsive and undisciplined.
However, to Prophet’s surprise, the call to battle sounded in his heart, and as he dove down towards Chaktar and Dominion Castle, he realized something. He didn’t mind being back in the fray. In fact, he was looking forward to it.
“I’m back!” Prophet shouted at the top of his lungs. Of course, no one could hear him since he was an invisible angel, but as he plummeted out of the sky, he thought, Hey, do I have wings? Don’t angels get wings?
The guardian-angel tiger looked over his furry shoulder and saw long, sweeping, powerful wings protruding from his back. Next, he spotted Chaktar as the young tiger was hunkering down along the side of a road waiting to pounce upon a group of approaching gargoyles. Folding his wings flat against his sides, Prophet dropped from the sky like a hawk descending upon its prey.
Just before Chaktar leapt at the enemy warriors, Prophet spread his wings, pulled up hard and flew directly over their heads creating what seemed like a sudden storm. Winds of enormous velocity slammed against the gargoyles knocking many off their feet.
Flapping his wings with all his might, Prophet swung around for another shot at them. Dropping from the sky and skimming right over them, the warrior angel created a second mini-hurricane knocking more to the ground.
“Okay, Chaktar, bite a few and get out of there,” Prophet shouted.
The gargoyles couldn’t hear the guardian-angel tiger, but Chaktar thought he’d heard something, not with his ears but somewhere deep inside himself and ever so faintly. However, the young tiger instantly recognized Prophet’s voice.
Oh, no, don’t tell me that old tiger’s going to plague me even after he’s dead? Chaktar thought in alarm.
“Get used to it, kid. I’m your guardian angel now,” Prophet laughed.
“I don’t want a guardian angel,” Chaktar protested.
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” Prophet said, and he smiled. “Personally, I think being an angel is going to be fun.”
As Prophet soared back into the sky, he listened to the screams of the gargoyles as they were bitten and clawed by Chaktar. The old tiger was enjoying himself immensely and thought, I wonder how much bad a good angel is allowed to do?
Prophet intended to find out.
◆◆◆
A few minutes earlier, in Dominion Castle’s small arena, Swarenth lay soaked in blood, tiger’s blood.
“Get that thing off of me!” Swarenth screamed.
Prophet had fallen next to the gargoyle warlord, not on him, but one large paw was still draped across his chest.
“Get it off of me!” he shouted again, fear readily apparent on his face.
Valkira didn’t move. The chief ambassador’s hand was on the knife in his belt, but he had no intention of defending Swarenth. Anyway, the animal was already dead. But Valkira continued gripping his knife tightly while trying to decide if he should capitalize on the situation by slipping his knife quietly between the warlord’s ribs. Swarenth was sprawled out on the floor with a shredded wing and a body so covered with claw marks that another cut would hardly be noticed.
There were no guards on the platform with them, for it was thought that none would be needed. There were warriors on the stairs leading to the platform, but no one had expected a tiger to be leaping at Swarenth from the arena. Valkira could still hardly believe what had happened.
The chief ambassador looked at the gap between the top of the wall and the platform and was amazed that anyone, man or beast, could make that jump. Valkira looked back at the warlord and noticed two things. The first was how vulnerable Swarenth looked while caked in blood and, secondly, that the guards were slow in responding to the crisis.
General Zarkahn noticed it as well, and thought, If it were up to me, all the guards on those stairs would be put to death. They were negligent and deserve to die.
However, after giving the situation fu
rther consideration, he thought, Maybe they were slow intentionally and are unwilling to put themselves at risk for their leader. If so, it’s one more indication that Swarenth’s hold on Dominion Castle isn’t as strong as everyone thinks it is.
But as the guards made their way onto the platform, they professed enormous concern. Still, General Zarkahn thought, Concern is useless when not linked to effective action.
Being both a realist and a shameless opportunist, General Zarkahn wasn’t about to share any of the glory with a bunch of ugly apes. Even though they were fully armed, he stood between Swarenth and the guards with just his knife drawn, but it didn’t matter. War is about force of will and the ability to dominate one’s opponent mentally, as well as physically. The general’s mere presence was enough to intimidate most any rival.
General Zarkahn’s former master, Lord Stallington, was the thinker. General Zarkahn was more brawn and muscles, lacking the ability to see the overall long-range picture from various angles and levels, something that came easily to Lord Stallington. The general was by no means lacking in intelligence, and the Fighting Eagle was in no way lacking in fighting ability. It’s just that when comparing the two, the general was stronger and the Fighting Eagle smarter.
The gargoyle warriors who’d climbed the stairs somehow realized they’d be risking their lives if they took one more step towards Swarenth. They could sense that the general was even more dangerous than a tiger and questioned the wisdom of coming up onto the platform at all.
“I could have been killed! You were too slow!” Swarenth shouted at them, furious over their poor performance.
Leaning close to the gargoyle leader, General Zarkahn whispered, “They should die for their negligence.”
“Yes! Kill them all!”
General Zarkahn did just that, and it was over in a minute. Five dead gargoyle warriors lay at his feet.
“I didn’t mean right now,” Swarenth said in a shocked tone of voice. “I meant to have them taken prisoner and hanged later.”
“Sorry, my lord,” General Zarkahn said while bowing low. “I apologize if my zeal to defend you caused any inconvenience.”
