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(Ch 1 / Part 1)

Chapter 1

The groan and crack of timber jolted me out of the canvas hammock with an indignant thump to the slimy deck. A loose keg of water careened into me before I could stand. I was slammed up against the moaning hull of the galleon, the roar waves and wind battering against the soaked wood. Pinned in place by the water barrel, I felt my senses swim from the water keg rolling over me. My senses weren’t the only thing swimming; the whole cargo hold was in sway to the mad beat of the storm. With a stiff mewl I slid the water keg off of my belly and found my footing precarious on rain slicked wood. A quick glance gave me a full view of a cannon butting through the top deck where I could only guess it had broken loose during the storm. Rain poured in around the iron frame the cannon was lashed to; a miniature waterfall ran greedily over the deck wrapping it in maritime slime.

A small hiss escaped my lips knowing what the salt water would do to the leather pants and corset I wore. Better than drenching my steel armor and setting rust in. My feet slipped as I skated for the beam where my hammock was tethered and swaying madly to the storm. The crate beneath it was still lashed in place and gave me a sliver of peace that my armor and blades were not taking a cold salt water dip. My tail swished sluggishly from the tiger striped fur drenched and going numb from the cold wind pouring in. A lurch as another wave slammed into the galleon had me tangled up in the hammock, the soles of my sandal boots finding now purchase on the wet wood. A quick and savage mauling from my clawed hands set me free from the strangling embrace of the hammock and deposited me unceremoniously on the deck again. I’d had enough of this topsy-turvy world and made quick work unlacing my sandal boots. My paws found the slick, wet wood discomforting but now I had the upper hand as lethal claws slid out and bit into the deck.

I began fishing out the oiled leather satchels from the crate and slung the shoulder straps crisscrossed over my shoulders. I’d be a damned fool to stay down in the cargo hold as supplies smashed around in this storm. After a waltz or two with more storm churned cargo I reached the rickety wood stairs to a topside hatch that was rattling against its hinges in the howling winds. I could stay within the cargo hold, perched on these stairs, safe from debris puncturing my Felissii hide. However I was fond too of finding out why the captain had sailed us into a storm. I worked the latch on the hatch and felt it ripped from my hands as a gale force wind slammed the hatch into the wood deck. Ice cold rain drenched me in an instant giving me a distinct longing to change my mind. I gripped the hatchway tight and fought against the wind. A wind stung view of the main deck gave site to Felissii sailors that scrambled in a mad flurry of soaked fur, clinging canvas and flailing ropes as the storm gleefully ravaged the rigging.

“Well I’ve played perilous gambles worse than this.” My words sputtered in vain hopes to steel my courage.

With a jaw aching grit of teeth I found myself scaling the main deck, my three inch claws biting deep into wood as I worked to the aft of the ship and the wheelhouse. Each foot of deck I moved across, the wind tried to rip away, my oiled satchels becoming poor makeshift sails. Frothed, roiling waves rushed over the rails of the galleon as I reached the steps leading up to the wheelhouse, a scream was heard as a Felissii sailor was swept into the inky back ocean. I kept my amber eyes locked upon the massive oak wheel that seemed to strain the in gaunt hands of the captain. A firm set was upon the jaw line making a striking ridge of determination upon the old Felissii’s snowy leopard face as lightning struck a yard arm.

Shouting hard into the wind I tried to ask him about the storm. “Captain Tilson! Why have you set our course through a fierce storm?”

“Miss Talon! Get bellow to the cargo hold! This is no place for a lady!” Captain Tilson roared back to me.

A wall of foam flecked ebony water surged up over the aft of the galleon slamming into us like a wet and heavy titan. I gave several sputtering coughs; my mouth tinged with the briny taste of the ocean and tried to glimpse Captain Tilson. He was gone, two spokes on the pilot wheel missing like rotten teeth in a lazy kittens mouth. Fear struck down to my bones seeing the captain gone, my mind crying out to be back on the cliffs of Madesto and my homeland of Chanteer. The time for home was long gone; I had chosen my fate to buy passage out of the country, to flee my death. Now it seemed death had simply bided its time until I was at its mercy upon the roiling angry ocean.

“Land!” A voice roared out from the crow’s nest.

A bone jarring shudder wrenched through the ship as timber and planks cracked with a chorus of splintering pops. I was hurled from the steps of the wheelhouse and slid across the splintered deck, the screams of Felissii sailors being flung in all directions a minor note to the symphony of chaos. My back smashed into a section of railing, a painful respite as lightning illuminated jagged fingers of rock over my shoulder bathed in foam. The galleon had run aground of some shoal and the sound of more splintering was heard as the storm beat at the impaled ship without mercy.

Scrabbling to my paws with an aching cold that joined the camp of my misery I stumbled through the buckled deck. Cries in choking darkness could be heard as I neared ruined forest of masts. A hand latched onto my shin and a gurgled plea for help met my ears. The Felissii sailor attached to that trembling grasp was skewered among snapped beams and twisted iron hoists. I knelt and braced myself in to the howling storm as wind and waves surged with more passion over the deck. Prying the sailors hand from leg, I stumbled through the last rite of Cala Mormor and touched his head. He gave a weaker gurgle as he fought for his last breath and his head slid from my slick hands as his existence ended. I left dead sailor to his life now in the surging waves and continued on searching for survivors.

Fate, it would seem, had other plans for me than rescuing Felissii sailors. Lightning coursed through the howling night sky, snapping at the iron upon the galleon. I felt hot fingers lance into my side before the electrical discharge slammed into me like a massive boot. I tumbled through the banshees of the storm and felt my world grow colder as my mind registered a distant splash of a body hitting water. A rocking lullaby lulled me into darkness until I felt the waves roll and beat me against the hull of the galleon. I started to swim in desperation, the black water giving me no sign of up or down and I could only hope I was reaching the surface and not sinking deeper to my own life in the storm. Lungs ached for air as my limbs turned to lead in the cold waters. My life started flicker before my water masked eyes as I saw the myriad of choices that lead me here. At least my family would no longer remain in slavery if the bloodline ended with me.

The deafening roar of wind heralded my arrival to the surface and my lungs demanded air and coughed violently as it was appeased with liberal doses of salt water. Strange shapes bumped and rolled over me in the waves and I latched onto the familiar shape of a barrel bobbing in the same helpless mercy I was in. My claws bit hard into the barrel as I rode along the rolling dark hills of the storm. Time slid by me like a stranger. How long had I been steeped in the cold water and when would I finally join the Felissii sailors in a watery grave bellow? My thoughts were smothered as a wave slammed me into jagged rocks of the shoal and the sounds of the storm and the bite of the cold water left me completely.

Chapter 2

The nomad encampment would have been hard to spot much less hard to call a camp. From the tilted world I was confined to all I could see was rough weave blankets used for lean-tos and a very worn out looking hide tent. My head pounded with pain and my body was on fire enough that this hole in a while dwelling between two cliff faces was paradise. The male Dehsii that had spoken to me reappeared by the cart once it stopped. Seeing I was alive and breathing caused him to frown and spoke musically to the others before vanishing from my sight. Time slid by to the heavy lugs from my heart for what felt like a year before hands grabbed my body once more. I was too worn out to do more then give a weak hiss as pain washed over me in molten waves of lead.

The hot sunlight soon gave way to cool, mottled shade as I saw myself carried into the old hide tent and to my surprise, gently laid upon something soft that let my body sink into it blissfully. A new canine face loomed into my view, this one was somewhat slender and thin as if it belonged to someone needing to eat more. Silver eyes gazed down on me and slender wolf like ears folded into tri-points naturally glittered from several silver rings pierced along the edges. Soft reddish fur peppered the dominating white on the face and muzzle as it drew closer with a gaze familiar to me; a person that was used to passing judgment upon a single glance.

With a few gestures from the person, I heard the other Dehsii leave the tent. Soon after, the silver eyed canine came closer to me. It wore faded white and blue robes that appeared frequently mended with whatever cloth was at hand. The swell at the chest and tapering of the waist pegged the person as female to me. When they spoke it was in common tongue without stammer or difficulty.

“It would seem the nomads failed to find dinner and instead found a Felissii in ragged condition. What am I going to do with you?” The silver eyed canine said.

“Let me live?” I said with a croak.

“Let you live?” The female said in amusement. Slender fingers stroked her furred chin. “You’re in a bit of a predicament stranger. You are quite injured, and without even touching you, I can see you’ll be paralyzed by the usual means the nomads use for healing. But don’t fret. You’re not dying, too fast.”

The female vanished from my sight then returned in a moment or two to press a cup to my lips. I felt cool water touch my lips and I drank deeply of sweet water. The cup was pulled away and the female sat beside me, her hand laid upon my chest with gentleness and kept there as if feeling for something without moving the hand.

“Let’s have a bit of a chat, shall we. You need to convince me why I should let a Felissii live when they should not be here in Luhpihnoos. Otherwise I’ll allow the nomads to handle you like they handle most cripples, buried in hot sand with no life left in you. The Deshsii nomads here rely on swiftness to move when they are threatened. A cripple takes too much time and effort to move, they cannot help defend the pack and become an extra mouth to feed for nothing in return. So let’s start with your name and why you are here?” The female said with her silver eyes locked upon more own orange orbs.
Had I the energy to be snippy I would have delighted in slapping the female and describing the inadequacies of her father and mother. Yet, drained as I was, those silvery eyes upon me seemed to hold a strong compelling gaze to bear my soul to the female with abandon. I felt my words and voice come out with ease and energy.

“My name is Trisha Talon, daughter Telwin Talon, former crusader for the Golden Crosses, follower of Cala Mormor. I am not here with ill intention. I was fleeing for my life when the galleon I was on was caught in a severe storm and blown into some rocky shoals. I was tossed into the stormy sea and woke to the nomads finding me on the beach. They brought me here to see you. To see if I live or die.” I said.

“Well fate has indeed put you on a rough path of life. I’m not familiar with this Golden Cross you speak of, or this Cala Mormor. Would seem you are not here on a sly agenda. Hmm. You are safe from death by the orders of the Silver Ones by your merit of being shipwrecked. However, you’re still in distasteful shape for the nomads. I suppose I should honor my duties as a Sister of Foxingale and attempt to mend your broken body. You will owe me for this, Trisha Talon. You will owe me heavily. Now then, close your eyes and rest. You are in the capable hands of Mihlihssah Sehlahn.” She said.

Mihlihssah’s words lulled me to deep slumber, with a coolness and comfort to them. My eye’s fluttered once as I resisted then I sunk into deep sleep; the words of Mihlihssah swirling around me in an alien chanting.

~ ~ ~ ~

I dreamt of howling storms smashing me upon the shores of Madesto. Of waves pulling me back into the cold darkness every time my paws dug into wet, milky sand. I dreamt of being whipped by the voices and eyes within the cold dark waters, the phantoms of the Madesto Council wanting their dues. I watched in vivid lucidity the bishop decreeing my family line void with no proof of a relic vainly sought for. I watched my father’s head fall into the dream waters and bob like a keg cast from a ship. I dreamt he spoke to me, calling for me to seek out the relic, fulfill the family duty and restore honor. I screamed at his head and shouted my pleas to release me from my duty. I kicked and swam hard in the storm waters for warm beaches and solace in leaving the shame. I was drug back into the cold waters and felt my brethren run white hot blades through my belly and chest.

I screamed and was greeted with a dim echo of my roar, the feel of light but strong arms wrapped around me, the nuzzle of stiff fur upon my striped cheeks. Silver eyes stared at me from the ruffled red and white furred mane of Mihlihssah, like twin points of starlight searching deep into my soul to know my deepest terrors. I gave racking sobs into her chest as she stroked my ears and whispered softly that I was safe in her arms and the night terrors would not hurt me. Once my crying dulled to a fit of sniffles she released her embrace and pushed glass bowl into my hands, hot and steaming with broth and stringy black roots churned in with oats.

The broth smelled of pilmoo and blood with an earthiness from the oats, and while my nostrils flared a bit in disgust of the two scents mixing, my stomach gave a sharp pain of protest to remind me of my promise last night. I tipped the bowl to my lips and sucked at the thick broth, a salty and heavily peppered flood assaulted my tongue and throat. I gave several gags and coughs to breathe and clear myself of the cloying heat of the pepper. Mihlihssah watched me, brilliant metal eyes over the rim of her own bowl.

“You will get used to pepper oats. It muddles the bitter taste of blood root. You’re body, while healed by a long day of focus and mending, still craves nutrients to replace the blood loss. You’re mind as well seems starved for peace.” She said.

“My mind was seeking peace away from the prospect of being property.” I growled testily from hunger and fear. “I’m not allowed my clothing until I prove useful. How can I be useful if I die of cold in during a desert night?”

Mihlihssah laughed in delight. “I gather Rohtheer has spoken with you then. The way of the Dehsii can be hard to swallow. They thrive on absolutes, seeking the best value of what they hold in their tight fisted hands. You are either highly valued and deemed a person, low valued and property until deemed otherwise, or you are scrap to discard or trade for something of better value.”

“And what of the Sohltrii way? He called you a mahgiit, tricky and crafty. Also that you’d be angry if I left the tent without your permission. Do you rule these nomads?” I said. I took another swallow of the spicy oats, a blood root slithering along my tongue bringing out a bitter metallic tang of copper and iron.

Mihlihssah had an amused look upon her muzzle and face. “Rule a band of Dehsii nomads. Now there is a very degrading and ill advised prospect. They call us crafty and tricksters for the soolmah we can use. I believe the old word for the Humaran tongue is magic. Dehsii do not trust things they cannot put a price on. As to me be angered if you left. Mending a broken body with my soolmah risks my life and health. To have all of my hard work undone by a curious Felissii getting stabbed by a twitchy nomad would be great cause for my anger. I do not rule these nomads. Consider me more of a slightly neglected asset they acquired when my caravan was attacked.”

“So you are enslaved as well?” I asked dumbfounded.

“Lightly so. As long as I mend wounded hunters and guards I am kept from starving too much and allowed freedom to walk within the camp and offered protection within stingy reason. I’d rather see them all hang from the neck or set ablaze for laying hands upon a Sister of Foxingale. Granted it’s not of the right mind for a healer, but I have not seen my fellow Sisters for several months. A little revenge I can easily ask forgiveness for form Lady Fohxinhgaal.” She said.

I had to think for a few moments on what all she’d said. “If you can do this soolmah, or magic, as you call it. Why not free yourself and walk away?”
Mihlihssah seemed to wither before me and looked thinner that I thought possible.

“Soolmah is not a talent for free, Trisha. Soolmah takes when it gives. As I use my soolmah, it feeds on my body, on my soul. Small acts with my talent drain me little. Large acts like healing you will starve me quicker than a three day trek in the dessert. I could try to force my way out, but the Dehsii are smart. They know our soolmah is always hungry. The best way to keep a mahgiit docile is to keep them starving, then they will not turn on you with their soolmah or they risk perishing. So I must bide my time and hope I am rescued during a raid.” She said.

“It feeds on your body and soul. Is that why Rohtheer used this round sphere he called a soul gem to cast soolmah to create our fire?” I asked.

Mihlihssah bobbed her head slowly. “Soul gems cast soolmah without feeding on the user. It is instead feeding on the soul within the gem until that soul is consumed into utter nothingness. Not all Luhps have talent, Trisha. Many are simply alive and living among these lands without the curse of having soolmah. Many wish to have it, but few appreciate or respect the nature and cost of using it. Have you seen soolmah in your lands?”

“Only a few times.” I said, my finger run through the dregs of the spice oats left in the bowl. “Miracles they would call them in Madesto. Miracles from the True One. They can heal like you do or harm, but only within the sacred temples of Cala Mormor. To see it so freely used here without holy ground is fascinating and frightening.”

“I see. Your land has temples as well. If you find soolmah frightening, then you best prepare to see it often in our lands. Many raiding packs like to pay for a mahgiit to add more bite to their attacks. Granted, many mahgiit lose their lives doing so as the price for harming others with soolmah comes back to the mahgiit in time and destroys their souls. Soolmah used for healing and guiding the natural order will never return to harm the mahgiit using it.” Mihlihssah said.

Before more questions could leave my muzzle, the tent flap rustled. Rohtheer had appeared before us.

“If she well, we take. Hunt comes a second time. Need all able to help.” He said.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 3

The nomad camp remained settled for two weeks. Two weeks of bittersweet life as I spoke more with Mihlihssah and learned the ways of the desert by Rohtheer and the hunters. I had found that most of the nomads I was with carried little in the way of amenities. Where most of my life travel was focused on how best to pack cookware, containers for food and water or furniture that various pilgrims always wanted to bring, the nomads here crafted what they needed. I spent many days watching Rohtheer use the soul gem to back wet packed sand into milky glass vessels when need arose.

By the same token he showed me how the use of the soolmah from the soul gem sent the vessels back to the white sand from which they were born. A life of using what you had in desert when you rested your head upon pilmoo hide pillows stuffed with the chaff of spice oats and leaving what you use to return back the natural order of existence.

My prowess at handling a spear grew as the hunting party found my skills steadily useful and of value. With each hunt I had learned how to observe the signs of prey lying in wait, how best to drive bait to ferret out the Tuhkzoht. The elder in the hunt began to take me aside with Rohtheer as translator to show me the ways of divining water and how to smell which way the game had gone. As much as I had tried, my nose could never pick out the subtle hints of moisture from the arid desert air throughout the countless rituals to make the air shimmer in divination. While I may not be gifted in the ways of the desert soolmah I shone brightly in my knowledge of wearing armor.

I was allowed to assist the female Dehsii of the nomad tribe as they worked the thick scaled hide of the Tuhkzoht into pliable sheets of naturally scale mailed leather. Each hunter was critically studied and measured in their old hide clothing bringing a much complaints about a female exerting her will on them. Their tunes changed as I helped both young and old in donning new leather armor that hugged their bodies for protection and draped appropriately for running. More than one hunter made singsong howls when I was seen public. To my surprise and much burning of my cheeks and ears Rohtheer finally told me I was being propositioned often in the native tongue. I felt it was inappropriate that they’d want me, but what I had failed to see was that my value in the nomad tribe had risen.

I was no longer toiling with the other females just in a loin cloth. I was allowed a tunic and koolats that draped to my knees in a cooling fashion, both woven from the silky fibers of hardy bohshin grass. I was allowed to scout ahead with the elder on hunts and I began to enjoy the freedom to move about the camp and speak with Mihlihssah more outside the confines of the healing tent. I was even given more portions of spiced oats, my muzzle now used to the tingly fire as well as the savory and pungent herb baked meat of the Tuhkzoht that tasted like roasted hen.

I grew a fondness for living in the desert, my worry and longing for what I once had slipping more from my mind. Did I really need my armor and lost possession? A deep welling stillness within me seemed to hum and thrum that I did not. All was right in the brightness of Leo.
Then the rain came.

~ ~ ~ ~

Cold rain hammered down upon my scaly hide armor, a secondary discomfort in my mind as I focused on stepping in the hard packed foot prints of the nomad hunter ahead of me. True to Mihlihssah’s words, at the first light from Leo, the nomad camp broke into a flurry of activity as the tent was pulled down and the sole cart they owned was loaded lightly. Each one of us had a makeshift pack of a blanket, rolls of Tuhkzoht hide and soolmah made orbs filled with fresh water all held upon our backs with a spider web of twined spice oat stalks. It was a very simple plan as I thought upon it. We were keeping the pair of pilmoos lightly burdened with a cart that’d be light enough to avoid heavily miring in the wet sands and floods. The rest of us took equal shares of the nomad’s wealth to ensure no one person was in the same fate of being bogged down by weight.

The elder and Mihlihssah were kept to the middle of the single file exodus train while the rest of us too point or brought up the rear. The talk of raids and how treacherous the rainy season was had me slowly working my way up to stride behind the elder and our sole healer. Old habits die hard as I allowed my crusader training to take the reins of my senses. I kept my rough spear held lightly in my hands wishing for the cool, affirming touch of my rapier. My eyes trailed to the cart where two leather satchels stuck out like a sore thumb among the hide tent and pillows. I had yet to understand what value I needed to rise to be given my armor and weapons back.

Somewhere between the longings to renew my vows to the Heavenly Mentor and the little grimlings that swirled among my thoughts on what was needed fixed on my armor being withheld, voices cried out in pain. The cries came out form the head of the nomad convoy and from the rear of it. Alertness burned away the misty dross of my wandering mind. We’d managed to travel along a crumbling, sodden dune crest flanked to either side by newly formed lakes with depths unknown. A body rolled into the water from the head of the nomad convoy, the spines of crossbow bolts tearing furrows into the wet sand during the tumble. The body vanished into the water never to rise again. I gave Mihlihssah and the Elder some rough nudges to the cart and whispered to her to stay low. We were at a disadvantage if this rival nomad clan had crossbows to meet our rough spears.

The rain continued to fall in a heavy monsoon deluge as we all hunkered down to make smaller targets. Spears bristled out like the tines of a ragged porcupine. The females and children of the nomad convoy huddled around and in the cart seeking shelter. I could barely make out the dark beige of the wet desert around us in a silvery weight haze twenty paces from me. The heavy drum of rain on the lakes around us and the gritty thumps upon the sand is all we could hear. No more cries were heard. I placed a wager on my life that the archers no longer had clear visibility on our huddled forms in the heavy rain. A thunk of metal striking the wood of the cart by my side a moment later confirmed that we were no longer easy targets. I gripped my spear tight knowing what was to come next. I’d seen tactics like this before when I guarded pilgrims in Chanteer; sudden surprise attacks followed by the flash of steel and the roars of challenge by bandits.

What came felt worse. There was a snapping, hissing roar as nomads dressed in rain soaked cloth rode upon the backs of Tuhkzohts like some nightmare fueled cavalry. A few muffled cries came out from the younger hunters among our convoy though the shortness of them proved the elder hunter kept them calm. Six of these nightmares slithered and clawed rapidly towards us, three ahead and three behind. We didn’t hesitate or wait for death to come to us first. We all collectively felt the will to take down as many of these bahstrii, to use a local term, as possible. Spears flew from a few of us and screams filled the downpour of life as one Tuhkzoht took a spear to the eye and into the brain. It thrashed and rolled down into the lake, its riders crushed or drowned in its death throw. A few more raiders clutched at the ending of their existence at the hand of a five foot spear through chest or belly. All in all it was a weak retaliation but now we only had five beasts and enough raiders to count on two hands.

We sprang to action taking this as just another hunt with a few bonus prey to take down. In teams of two, iron glinted death flashed and stabbed, soaked wood parried and battered as we closed with raiders and beasts. Our hunts prepared us well for this. While raiders tried to slash at any too slow or too brave with rusted long machetes, we struck at their largest weakness. The raiders would have had no idea that killing Tuhkzohts was this nomad tribe’s daily pleasure. The sand ran milky red from Dehsii and beast alike as we brought down their mounts and a few raiders when lucky to the wet sand. I lost track of how long my arms burned, my thighs ached and my ankles creaked as I became one with my hunting partner.

Rohtheer was a devil incarnate during battle. He moved quicker than most of the younger hunters, his spear in one hand finding its mark repeatedly in close combat with the Tuhkzoht. His other hand held the soul gem up high, bathing raiders unlucky enough to slash at him in the smells of fire, sulfur and wet charred flesh and fur. Fire raced from the soul gem lighting our fight in a surreal orange haze through the rain. The stench of burning bodies and hair was like a battlefield perfume driving me on as I charged the last Tuhkzoht and the lone raider mounted atop it. The raider howled a challenge at me, machete in hand, ready to cleave me in two. I issued a rumbling feline roar as I planted the butt of my spear into the wet sand and vaulted at the raider, the blade of the machete scoring deep into my leather armor, knicking my thigh. My momentum and weight drove the balls of my paws into its chest and we both careened off of the Tuhkzoht and into the cold lake beside us.

We grappled and rolled in shoulder deep water, a constant tug of war as we each tried to pull the other down to drown. Being taller and larger than the Dehsii raider gave me the advantage on leverage. However that counted little when weighed against the bite of steel as a dagger pierced through a seam in my armor and the tip scored along my ribs opening fire on my side.
I really didn’t feel like dying in a rain soaked desert and I am sure Mihlihssah would be more than miffed to piece me back together again. I ended our game of dunk and drown by seizing the raiders hands, keeping them away from the dagger fowled in my armor and lunged in with my head. Felissii have long evolved socially beyond using teeth for settling conflicts, yet biting into the throat of the Dehsii raider and feeling hot blood flood my mouth made me doubt our ancestor’s choice. I clamped down hard with my tiger like muzzle and heard the rewarding crunch and pop of muscle, tendon and bone. The raider made several weak struggles then went into the stringless limp of a puppet only the dead can perfect.

Letting the body slip under the water I fished the dagger from the side of my leathery armor and looked up at the crest of the dune. Every raider lay dead, sprawled in ways no living creature would ever wish to be in without protest. The six Tuhkzoht were motionless as well, blood flowing freely from deftly made wounds to drain life with haste. We’d won. It was a miracle rare for the small, diminished nomad tribe. I slowly worked my way up the crumbling wet sand to the choruses of triumphant baying from the hunters.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 4

It was my turn to hold Mihlihssah as she screamed in the night, shaking hard in my arms as I held her. The rain made a dull roar that echoed through the cave the nomad tribe had taken shelter in, one of several cave caches they held for traveling to the nearest city. I’d set up a spot near the rear of the cavern, a fire built up high to help dry us both, our clothing and gear laid out to bake near the fire pit. Pilmoo pelts were wrapped around us both as I kept her warm as she endured a fitful rest. A pot of spice oats and several skewers of Tuhkzoht meat cooked in anticipation of her hunger. I’d declined to eat with the hunters, my concern for the healer more pressing than missing a meal or two. I was grateful for Rohtheer looking into my wounds from our fight and pronounced fit with only minor punctures and a graze, all of which was coated in sticky amber like sap they call buumsiis.

I moved the skewers around a bit to keep the meat from charring to inedible coal and stirred the spice oats. I never realized how much I had learned and picked up from living with Mihlihssah in the healer tent. It was a realization that brought a slow smile to my muzzle, whiskers catching the glow from the fire pit.

“Water.” Was the weak sound I heard along my chest wafting up from under the sheltering warmth of the pilmoo pelts.

I took up a glass globe of cold water, snapped the glass stem on it as if plucking it from and apple and pressed it to Mihlihssah’s muzzle. I watched her throat work as she sucked and drank heavily, the globe drained in seconds. Three globes in total were drained before she ate with resistance to help but yielding after my persistence. As she ate and steadied, I felt my hunger return and I ate in silence with her, letting her bide time and gain strength again. Once our rations for the night were gone, I took to poking the coals, adding some more aged and split wood to ward off the chill flooding the cavern from the rain.

“You saw me and my pain.” She whispered our last globe of water for the night in her hands.

I sat down and pulled a pelt around me tightly for warmth and watched her from across the fire pit. “I am not sure what I really saw Mihlihssah. I witnessed the gruesomeness dealt to those not known when killed. I witnessed strangeness as you made bodies into soul gems after you drained their blood and spoke to the dead of their pain. If your pain is how the soolmah made you wither in health, then yes, I saw your pain. Though, Mihlihssah, you’re more than a healer aren’t you? I found so many wounds on you that speak a story of active warring.”

Mihlihssah stared at me, silver eyes glittering in the vibrant flames of warmth. I felt a slight buzz in my head like a bee locked in it. I shook my head a few times and the buzzing cleared. When I looked back to her, she was staring into the fire. “I am just a healer. Dealing with the dead is part of my training as a Sister of Foxingale. When you live in the desert, injuries from raids and survival are common. No more, no less.”

I leaned in and poked the coals more as I watched her intently. She was good at stonewalling my questions. “If you wish me to believe you’re just a healer and that the nomads would risk losing you from starvation as the soolmah consumes the body, fine then. Eventually you’ll talk or slip up and then we’ll sort it out. I noticed not everyone speaks the common tongue of trade. What do they call the singing howls they use?”

She huddled deeper into the pelts wrapped around her. “I cannot tell you, Trisha. To do so would put our lives in peril, a death sentence or worse. I will admit to one truth. I was not always a healer. I have many talents. As to the singing howls as you call it, the Dehsii speak in code called Luupehsh. It is the wisest thing to do when you are unsure who could be using soolmah to listen to you in the desert. Think of it as a martial secrecy and every tribe and nation has their own variant.”

“So, you think our lives aren’t in peril as it is being claimed by Dehsii nomads? Do the nomads know you are keeping such a cloaked life among them?” I asked.

“Here, we live till we can escape or passed on to better captors. I say what I know and even being held as valuable items in a tribe will not save us. Leave alone the answers you seek, Trisha. In time you may get them another way, but I will not have your blood on my hands for asking blind questions.” She said then laid down, cocooning in the pelts and slept.

I poked the fire pit again without cause, their embers not the only thing bright and heated in the cavern. I never liked being in the dark when having to depend on someone to watch my back. But I had little choice in who I knew in this tribe; then again, I as being unfair with her as I had a fair share of skeletons in my own cupboard.

The rattle of metal and leather clattered next to me causing me to jump a good three feet in the air to land on my feet facing the direction of the sound. Multiple stings sang out on my thigh and ribs as the buumsiis sap stung, numbing the injuries more. Rohtheer stood just outside of the firelight with an amused smirk on his muzzle.

“Trisha the Strange. You are now valued. Return your items. Enjoy.” He said brokenly.

My orange eyes lit upon the oiled leather satchels by me feet as a longing sang in my blood. Valued finally. I knelt by the satchels and felt Rohtheer still there. “You have questions, don’t you?”

Rohtheer continued to grin and melted away from us, heading back to the rest of the nomad hunters. Something about the male made me shiver. I pushed the feeling away and worked at the leather cord sealing the satchels shut. Metal reflected in my eyes and my hands spent a loving hour reuniting with my heritage.

~ ~ ~ ~

Glahsseel was a windswept plain of sand, more dunes and fired sand bricks worked into small domes. I had first thought the town small, a village really for the domes could not have housed that many Dehsii. I was pleasantly surprised in being wrong. The domes were simply a shelter to the entrances of an underground town held in the cool embrace of the sweltering desert.

Most of us descended with the elder of the nomad tribe, a few of the females whose names were never entrusted to me and some of the younger hunters stayed with the pilmoo drawn cart in a large dome covered dug out for stabling a variety of animals. The cool air contrasted sharply with the dry, clean sand blasted air above. The heady scents of alien food filled the air, hints of smoke from fires well ventilated and as we moved through glazed sand walls, a large market cavern opened up before us.

The jarring array of brightly dyed fabrics, glazed pottery and cook ware and finally made hand crafts was muddled by pits for slaves to fight or platforms showcasing the newest living flesh to buy. The air had the sting of fear in it, the sweetness of love and lust and a souring note of anger stirring from the gathered masses. Mihlihssah stepped closer to me, and it was hard to say if she didn’t want to leave my side or I leave hers. For all the wonder Glahsseel held, the site of the slave mongering had us both feeling uneasy. We took up residence in one of many caverns off the sides of the market that were furnished lavishly with fur rugs, plump floor pillows, low tables and a small platform in the center. The elder made motions and sang in howls with Rohtheer letting us know to sit, rest, enjoy the food and drink to come. Rohtheer and the elder stole away from us, I assumed, to barter.

We’d only been at rest for a minute or two when other Luups had arrived. These were not the short hair, long eared Dehsii I’d spent weeks with. They were of a wide range of reds, whites and golden yellow fur which paled to the vibrant gemlike hues of the feathered wings whose span was longer than they were tall by a foot and feathered tails as well. Each one was a head shorter than a Dehssii, all bore trays and baskets of food, goblets and vases of a strong, pungent wine and they were all nude save a collar about their necks made of braded silver. As we were feted, a rather lithe canine with fur a faint blue black and feathers of crimson to the center platform and its intentions were clear. The curves were female in all sense of the word, the fine fur covered with an enticing and frail modesty as she moved and held two feathered fans dancing and hiding behind them or her wings.

I watched in idle amusement as the male hunters seemed more intent upon the dancer than the precious and sumptuous meal laid around them. I sipped with care at the pungent wine, a deep blue I color with a cold bite to it and leaned up against Mihlihssah to keep my conversation from drawing attention.

“What Luups are these? Do they actually fly or are they some abomination with birds?” I asked.

Mihlihssah leaned in, fresh baked bread in her hands that she was devouring with haste. “These are called Airii. They do fly. They are the fastest, most agile people you will ever meet. Vain, beautiful, lethal with talons that will lay you open faster than a hawk. They love to hunt from the air as well. Many that fall out of favor with tribal flocks get sold into slavery as they are pleasing to the eye but some can have some fierce, sharp tempers.” She said.

“So the collars are a sign of being owned?” I asked.

“Yes and no. Collars can be quite fashionable to some. How the collar is made and what material they are will tell if a person is enslaved or not. Braided collars of leather, silver, gold or even string indicate the status of being free or bound to servitude. These Airii wear silver collars that often denotes public servitude. They are the pretty faces guests will see.” She said.

“So the slaves have a ranking that is publicly known? Trade in lives must be well established.” I sipped some whine. “The dead raiders a few days back. No burial and beheaded. Why?”

Mihlihssah gave an unsettling smile. “Those that raid upon merchants and other tribesmen are not of high value to be treated with respect. They are, for a lack of far reaching decrees, criminals, Trisha. Do you not lay your enemies bodies out on the field to show their defeat? To return to the soils nutrients and food for the wilds? As to the beheading, those that raid are often wanted by many tribes and even cities for their ruthless actions. The heads are sealed in glass and brought in to cities as a bounty and favor marks with the ruling alphas. Some heads will fetch you hides of the finest leather from the eastern dens, heads of the most wanted will even fetch you weapons and armor if their targets were merchants of the wealthy mid dens of Dehsii industry. Enemies of the Steele dens, fetch high price and favor.”

I nodded slowly taking it all in. “We generally have a code of respect for all that die, enemy or not, also to prevent disease. And the bodies you care for being made into soul gems?”

“Our land is precious for life and maintaining life. Why waste valuable land planting rotting corpses that will not sprout food? Soul gems allow us to be taught from souls wishing to stay or a comfort to hold and remember those that choose not to stay and return the Spark of Life. Little in the way of disease comes from leaving our enemies on the fields. The wilds feed well from our struggle to exist.” She said and popped a few grapes into her muzzle.

The dancing Airii had left the platform, working her way among the seated for a closer show, stinging swats of talons to any that touched, and a blood draining flirtatious flare. My attention was drawn back to her as it seemed she was slowly coming towards us. After another yip was heard from a young hunter not learning from others to not touch, the dancer swayed, swirled and writhed her way up to us. Her wings fanned out, shielding us from view as she kept her hand fans moving in her peek a boo dance. She leaned in and opened her muzzle, showing vey sharp and delicate teeth. There was a crushed ribbon of paper balled and held by the tongue. To my surprised Mihlihssah leaned in, as if making those sitting near us believe the healer had a fine eye for females. The ruse worked as her head closed with the dancer’s muzzle, her hand was quick, fingers fishing the ribbon of paper to steal away in the palm of her hand as she leaned back.

My view of Mihlihssah vanished as I felt the Aiirii’s muzzle loom before my eyes and a kiss was crushed up my own. The taste of cinnamon and the scent of sandal wood mixed with treetop air danced their own rhythm with the blue black fur; crimson red feathers an ever moving frame to deep green eye. I pulled away quick and felt a flushing heat in my cheeks. I liked my entertainment tall and well muscled with a generous swath to handle. Yet I found a distracting tug enjoying this sudden assault on my borders of excitement and passion. Before I could even stutter words of surprise the dancer was gone, off to tantalize and ensnare another young hunters mind. Mihlihssah’s words evaporated the spell woven over my mind and desires.

“Airii dancers have a keen sense in pulling and tugging on the inner desires, or at least a solid effort in confusing people. The way you stared at her has me wondering who you kept warm often in Chanteer. You do seem to know your way around holding and comforting another soul sitting in your lap.” She flashed a slim, white toothed grin my way.

I found my throat a little dry and took a sip to stall and save my dignity for a few breaths. “Who I warm and who I don’t warm is of no concern for a simple healer. I was merely admiring the dancers smile, scent and feathers, that is all.”

She felt that subtle jibe in my words. “Oh, but a healer is always inclined to learn and listen. Diseases do go around.” She grinned again sparring with her words. “I can wait, I’m sure we’ll come to a point where we’ll settle the matter. For now I have what I need.” Her hand deftly slid into her robe the reappeared to take more bread and some cheese, the ribbon of paper was gone.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 5

When I woke from the rocking sway of a Higo, pain graced my body like a warrior’s dross and I wanted to curse any and all living deities there ever were. I seemed to be on the joking end of fate lately. My eyes opened and I had a nauseating view of silvery white sand passing to the left of my dangling finger tips. The solid looking leg of the Higo drove a hoof into the night cooled sand as I realized a few things. I was slung over the back of a Higo, packed and treated like cargo on that mix of horse and ram. I was alive and someone hand their hand on my butt holding me in place. I tried to talk but my chest and ribs hurt and my muzzle and jaw felt swollen and dry.

A few minutes working at making sound and a pathetic mew was all that left me. The Higo’s gait slowed, then stopped and I saw the edges of hooves and legs in my periphery. I had to wonder if I was pressed into another nomad tribe after my failed, strong armed heroics to free Mihlihssah.

The healer was probably sold off to some other tribe, forever locked into healing, lying and being starved. Booted feet crunched in front of my view and I felt hands shove on my shoulders setting me to slide backwards and thump to the sandy dunes around us. The jarring dump wrung more than a mew from me, I spat out words I never knew I had learned from sailors that’d make the fur fall off of my mother’s tail.

“Ah, well it is nice to know you can curse too.” Mihlihssah said.

Her voice stunned me and I looked up into her tired and drawn face, her muzzle open a bit in a lupine pant signaling she was still in pain.

“How are you here? I remember trying to die and something didn’t stick I guess.” I said.

She laughed and crouched down by me, her tattered, overly patched robe flapping in the desert wind. “Yes. You tried to die, again. You owe me. Because of you, my thigh still burns like hell until I can eat and recover more.”

“Pain makes you feel more alive.” I said with a groan. “So are we stuck with another nomad tribe?”

Mihlihssah handed me a glass jug of water and opened up a rough cotton tunic I didn’t recall wearing during the fight to check some of my injuries. I was also in a cotton dress as well; both items dyed a rich golden rod in color. I opened the jug and started to cough and splutter as my thirst insisted I chug the water fast. Her fingers probed over my shoulder and pain shot through me making me choke.

“Tender!” I half roared.

“Pain makes you feel more alive.” Mihlihssah taunted. “We’re not with a nomadic tribe. You’re gusto with trying to take everyone down with you during the duel seemed to impress Rohtheer’s gambling partners. So much that they had him killed when you took all three Ehrthrii duelists down. Two lived, barely, and you’re butt stayed alive barely with what soolmah I had left. I could eat a Higo right now. So hungry.” She groaned.

I finished drinking from the glass jug and tried to think less murderous thoughts as Mihlihssah continued the shoulder prodding. “So we’re free then? I managed to win our freedom?” I asked.

She frowned a little and I felt sharper pain snake into my chest and ribs. “You’re shoulder needs a few more sessions of healing. The regeneration is barely holding right now. As to us being free, we are in a sense free. We are not part of the nomads anymore. I’m now property of the Liishoon Gladiator Theater. You, I’m afraid don’t rank as property but more as an investment in entertainment.”

A small frown tugged onto my muzzle. “Gladiators? You have blood sports in your lands? So I nearly died and got us both into a deeper mess. So you play nurse and I’m what?”

“You’re whatever they want you to be. I’ve seen these theaters. Exotic dancers, escorts, gladiators, maids, or if things go all to muhdrah, living targets.” She said.

I leaned away from her probing and pulled my tunic closed. “Stop poking my shoulder, hurts horribly. Not to sound ungrateful or like a wet Felissii, but where is my armor and weapons? What is muhdrah? I’ve heard you say that word a few times.”

Mihlihssah pulled back with an oxen like patience and just smiled faintly at me. “Easy Trisha. We had to get the armor off you to ascertain your injuries. Your armor and weapons are safely stowed in saddle bags on the Higo we’ve been given to ride on. As to muhdrah, I’ll give you a hint.” Her slim furred hand idly waved to the mottled browns and blacks of the manure left behind by the Higos.

“Oh. Muhdrah is… you found a way to make a swear sound elegant. Just wow.” I shook my head as if I didn’t hear her right on something said. “We have a Higo to use, and my possessions remain with us?”

She chuckled and moved to the Higo to take out some items wrapped in red cloth. She returned to my side and opened the cloth wraps to show what appeared to be cookies. I glanced around and noticed the two Dehsii in robes were sitting on the sand by their own Higo while the eight archers fanned around us, sitting on the sand with mounts as well. Everyone was eating similar looking cookies and drinking water.

“Unlike the nomad tribes, we are valued cargo and valued property to be kept and maintained for future use. Though this is not what I had in mind.” Mihlihssah said.

I snagged a few cookies and bit into them. The robust taste of dried, salted fish blended in with a honey sweetness with some almond slivers and saffron mixed in to boot. I stared at the cookies a long moment. I think I fell in love with food. I pigged out on two handfuls of cookies. Mihlihssah watched me in amusement as I ate, she herself eating quite a few cookies as well.

“So the duel had nothing to do with that long ribbon of paper you took from the Airii dancer then? You had someone to rescue you back in town didn’t you?” I asked.

She gave a small sigh, her silver eyes scrutinizing the grains of sand as her fingers dipped into them. “It was simply a report that the Sisters of Foxingale were issuing warrants for my safe return and that I should be returned unharmed. Failure to do so would have them withholding healers from towns they suspect are imprisoning me. I am quite certain the owners of the gladiatorial theater saw the warrants and put things together when hearing the nomads walked in with a healer. You were a bonus after they saw you whip three Ehrthrii at the near cost of your life. They may decide to sell me to the Sisters of Foxingale if the price is right. How long that’ll take, I don’t know. I suspect we’ll be seeing the blood fights for a while. Do you enjoy fighting? Killing?”

I ate a few more of the tasty cookies and licked the crumbs off my fingers. “That’s two loaded questions with loaded answers depending on how I feel about answering you. I personally think no one likes to fight or kill. But I also know many people have no choice especially when their life is put on the line. I hate killing, and I hate fighting but it is something that happens often that I’ve gotten better at over the years. I tried to buy off those duelers but they just got angrier. I was left with die or make them pay dearly for killing me.”

Mihlihssah tilted her head in puzzlement. “I thought you were a crusader? Is not the very definition of one is to go out and kill in some holy or zealous cause?”

I felt a laugh just rip out of me hearing her notions. “Yeah, that definition applies to most that are in the crusader role for the wrong reasons. Get rich or favor points by killing whoever you’re told to. I didn’t join up for the Crusaders of the Golden Cross. It was a birthright handed down to me to protect pilgrims as they wandered the lands of Sliinkaa to pray at sites where our holy artifacts were exhumed.” My muzzle held a bitter taste as I continued. “That was the purpose. Protect pilgrims and when not playing the role of babysitter track down leads and find our holy relics scattered over the lands. That was what we were originally about. Somewhere along the line it became more of extortion and slave selling ideals that went from protecting people to demanding all they had to be pilgrims just to sell the people once their journey was done.”

She leaned over and touched my wounded shoulder again. Instead of pain, warmth trickled into the wounds, numbing and itching as I saw a flicker of gold touching her hand. I leaned into her hand, the warmth and numbness alluring but not as much as the solid, physical contact of some someone just holding my shoulder and showing a sliver of compassion.

“Then your reasons for fleeing were quite valid. A pity you wound up here instead of free as you’d planned.” Mihlihssah said and moved her warm, tingling hand from my shoulder to my chest, lingering a few seconds before sliding like warm luxury to my ribs.

“I may not be free in all things, but some things I am free and have found an artifact worth hunting in my sights.” I said as I stared at her like a fire blinded kitten.

She gave me a slow nod as if not hearing what I had said. Her focus was on healing me then her own thigh; a consuming need that deafened her to listening to words. I hid my snorted sigh and sipped more water from the glass jug as I shrugged my tunic closed and secured my modesty again. I had watched the Mihlihssah tend to our injuries and found every bit of attention she paid to details alluring. When she was finished with me and moved to her own thigh wound, I stood and walked away a little too swiftly for tact from her. My cheeks burned beneath my fur and a slowly building stream of thoughts swirled around rocks of desire and hesitation. I dropped a few boulders of buzz kill as I walked slowly up to our new owners.

“Uhm, pardon me sirs.” I gave them a low bow. “May I ask what you both intend for me and the healer?”

The golden rod robed Dehsii stared up at me from some game of stones and grids drawn in the sand, twin pairs of silver eyes judged me for a long, still minute.

“Property wishes to know its use and implications.” The Dehsii on the left spoke. I decided to call him or her Lefty.

“Does a sword question its master? A rake worry a farmer? The ox take court with the herder?” The Dehsii on the right spoke earning him or her the name of Righty.

I held up my furred hands in front of me. “I just want to know if we are getting a rough deal like we had with the nomads you killed.”

“Nomads had no deal with you both. Waste, waste, waste of value to be in Nomad hands.” Lefty said.

“Truth he speaks. Nomads only squabble. Talented healer and talented fighter better used in the city for shows. Much more wealth than protecting and saving flea ridden nomads. Much better with us.” Righty said.

Before I could ask another question they both said in unison. “Property leaves or we make corrections to property to obey.”

That sent a shiver down my spine. I had no clue what they meant by making corrections and I felt a sluggish response to wanting to satisfy my curiosity. So I took the better part of valor and retreated back to Mihlihssah who was watching me the whole time it seemed.

“You didn’t get much out of them either, did you? Just the same old spiel about property asking questions and corrections if we don’t shut up, right?” She said.

I nodded to Mihlihssah and sat with a grunt. I was not used to being property and equated to something so inanimate like a sword or rake or dumb like an ox. I was not used to the feelings either that Mihlihssah spurred in me. I snatched another cookie and munched away for a moment or two then decided to give something a shot.

“Is there like a buff, tall healer you’re waiting to go home to if we get out of this alive?” I asked.

Mihlihssah laughed, and not a laugh of nervousness in someone finding out if she was taken. It was the stark, harsh laugh only the lonely knew. I ate another cookie and felt my mind wash away under the currents of questions and what may have been the first few spars to building a ship of love.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 6

I’m not a virgin, nor will I ever lie to say I was one. Knowing the ways of flesh, the purrs of heated delight and the groans of release are old music to me. I am however a fighter first, a lady second and never a whore as third. It seemed my new masters were finding my resolve on the third point of my feelings to be a bone of contention. They seemed to exact their frustrations on me one whip lashing at a time though and the whip wielder was a strong, lithe shark like Luupihnohsai. A pained growl left my swollen muzzle where a patron of the coliseum struck me hard with a fire place poker when I promptly bit off something dear to him that belonged nowhere near my muzzle. I licked my split lips as I sagged against the chained manacles holding my arms up. I felt burning fire on my back and butt cheeks where five or was it six jagged bites of the whip touched fur and hide. It was hard to keep track through the pain and the leers of the audience sitting around, lounging on opulent cushions feasting on all the delights sinful and immoral possible while observing the punishment of a nude pleasure slave that refused to be broken.

Another snap and crack chased away the site of several patrons finding too much pleasure in seeing my whipping and spreading their joy around upon other escorts. I kept my eyes closed, drooling spit and blood waiting for another lash to hit, but the sing song of Luhpehsh brought instead the cessation of the iron manacles biting into my wrists that had rubbed away fur and skin. I fell to the sawdust covered floor, my back and rump screaming in agony as I lay among the heavy chains. Another round of sing song and my arms ached as I was pulled along the floor by the manacles upon my wrists. With little care, a hulking Ehrthrii, tasked with removing me from the site of bored oversexed patrons; drug me into a cell out in the display yards of the coliseum, next to the Wereluun cages and locked the cage door behind me.

It took me the few shreds of dignity I had left to curl up into a ball, screaming into my chest and legs as my lash wounds bled and stung through the hot afternoon and the chilling evening to leave me dazed by the morning peak of Leo. I remained in that tight ball, refusing to give any acknowledgement to the jeers and calls of the public that saw me nude and beaten. I even shut out with effort the howls and snarls of the Wereluuns in the cages on either side of me, wanting to rend me to pieces and most likely eat me. The clack of the cage door behind my back and the soft, subtle waft of sandalwood, spice oats and a sharp tang of minthril oil drew me out of that ball. My muscles protested and complained from holding myself tight for so many hours, but the sight of Mihlihssah, resplendent in a new silk robe of white, bringing me a tray of food and a satchel by her hip with healing wares restored some of my lost sanity.

She knelt by my side and acted as if nothing was wrong with me. The tray of food was left on the ground by me. A small group of young Luups had gathered to watch us just beyond the black iron bars of the cages in the display yards. A few of them had picked up pebbles and slung them at me wanting to see this strange Luup that looked nothing like them react like the rest of the beasts on display. A few of the pebbles struck my raw and swelling lashes and it drew a wrinkling of my muzzle in pain. I reached for the tray of food, hungry and waiting for Mihlihssah to heal me. She seemed focused on the young Luups and gave them a snarl and several barks that mangled the sing song of the Luhpehsh language. As they scattered, she turned her silvery gaze on me then reached out and grasped my chafed and raw wrist in her slender hands. She shook her head and nodded to the tray of food, shaking her head slightly again. Then she looked around the cage a bit and I watched her eyes dart to various open windows and doors. I took the hint after a moment of piecing together her behavior. The food was most likely tainted and we were being watched.

I settled onto a hip that wasn’t lashed open and looked to Mihlihssah. My voice cracked as I spoke from thirst. “I am being corrected by Lefty and Righty, aren’t I? I will not bed others for my continued existence. Let me eat the poisoned food, there’s more honor in that than being used repeatedly.”

She looked back at me, silver eyes narrowing at the sound of my words. She lifted the tray of food and flung it at the Wereluuns to our left. Dropping the tray to the ground, she withdrew something from her satchel and pressed it to into my hand forming a fist with my fingers. A few barks of Luhpehsh echoed from the entries of the coliseum and two Ehrthrii guards were walking for my cage with brutal interest. She looked back to me, leaned in and brushed her muzzle against my swollen lips. A faint kiss and fainter still were her words.

“Picture yourself during a happier, healthier time and the orb will warm. Survive Trisha. Just survive and we’ll be together again. Drink the water if you must. I have to go before they beat me for cushioning your corrections.” She stood, picked up the empty tray and left my cage locking its door tight behind her.

The Ehrthrii guards reached her as she turned and grabbed her by her upper arms and hauled her physically and rapidly away from the display yard. I watched her vanish under escort before I opened the fingers of my hand. A soul gem nestled in my palm and it swirled with a slugging, moss green light. It was much smaller than the reddish orb Rohtheer had used to produce fire with soolmah. I noticed no water was brought or left for me when Mihlihssah departed. The young Luups had returned to harass me and I gave them no sport. I curled up on the ground once more, clutching that mossy green orb to my chest and closed my eyes. I must have drifted off into sleep as I did my best to think of myself in a happier, healthier time than some beaten slave on display.

I could feel a warm breeze stroking my fur and the scent of Madesto magnolias tickling my nostrils with their heavy perfume. I was standing in an old cathedral of crumbling stone and timber, a monstrous metal ball wrapped in a nest of wire and cables lay before me. Around it was tarnished golden crosses, beat into thin sheets and set upon poles of steel. A hooded figure, the cowl throwing a shadow too deep to pierce, stood before me with my father’s rapier held out in it its gloved hands. The old, beige canvas robe upon the figure stirred in the wind that whistled through the derelict cathedral. Flickers of multicolored light drenched the figure in ethereal brightness as Leo shown through the snaggletooth remnants of a stain glass mural. A voice that rasped and chirped with metal on metal in the wind called out to me.

“You can run child or you can accept your task. Family bound, family bound. Flee thy debts and forever in shame will you drown. Family bound, family bound, fulfill your fathers quest. You can run child or you can accept your family’s final task.”

I sat up in shock as I heard a loud, anguished roar rumble through the coliseum’s display yard. The dream and the memories of my initiation into the Crusaders of the Golden Cross was sharp, so fear inducing that it took me several heart thumping moments to realize I was the one screaming. The Wereluuns were not to be outdone in their madness and joined my screams with their own howls and snarls as a fight broke out in their cells. I was left shivering from that dream and faintly noticed I hurt less; the stings of my lashings were gone though the tender and raw fire of healing wounds remained. I felt with ginger fingers along my lower back and rump. There were hot welts from wounds scabbed over, but not the puffed and swollen ire of infection. The soul orb in my hand seemed to be dimmer than I last recalled, it was now a shade darker than moss green and I had to wonder if my healing was from it?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 7

Twin points of ruby light stared at me from the depths of my new hell. I forced myself to sit up and found myself doubled over on my side, retching with no relief from a starved belly until bile burned thick and metallic in my muzzle. Claws scraped on the sandstone and I drew my eyes back to that sea of noire shade. A Luupihnohsai, gaunt, stooped yet moving with strength from iron corded muscles drew close to me. It was a male by the loin cloth, fur nigh existed, and the skin was leathery and rough looking; begging me to believe it would feel like stroking a shark as it swam by in the water. A boxy, heavy muzzle sat between the reddish eyes and as it stared at me in a predatory gaze, the muzzle opened in a small, panting smile showing rows of jagged shark teeth. I’d seen one of these Luups before. They had held the cruel whip that gave me a fresh set of ragged tattoos to attest to life and endurance. A strong, finned tail swept the sandstone clean as it walked.

The male knelt on all fours and stuck that nightmare inducing maw closely into my face and inhaled deeply. All I could do was lay there and be sniffed while trying to shove down a primal fear that incites a tingling shiver when one was swimming in a bottomless ocean, too afraid to look behind or bellow them as they swam. The snuffles continued as well as his long, rough and cool hands slid all over my body with impunity. In seconds that felt like eternity, the Luup drew away and the sound of water drumming into a wood bucket was heard.

“Why must the masters send me such addled scraps?” The voice was soft, cool and echoed in the cell. “For once I wish for a meal that would squeal in hard fought loss and a forced yielding. Suppose you’ll just have to do, striped wench.”

A bucket thumped by my head, the water sloshed cool, wet and clean tasting droplets onto my muzzle that ran and pooled beneath my left ear. I was not prepared for the second bucket I had not heard being filled as it was emptied of bone shocking cold water that sluiced over me. A shocked gasp was sucked out of me from that rudeness and I found myself upon my paws, claws flicked out and my body wavered drunkenly. I really wanted to shred something with a pulse. I found the emptied bucket shoved hard into my belly and chest.

“Oh good, you’re not too addled to muster some attitude. Use the other bucket to clean more of your filth off. I will not have you stinking up my residence. Don’t you even think about pissing on my floor until you know true fear. You may be a scrappy pup but I won’t think twice to beat you into a tender morsel.” The Luup said and vanished into the darkness at the rear of the cell.

A small splash was heard and the sounds of water slapping against stone was all that accompanied was left by his departure. I glanced at the cold water ground my teeth as I cleaned myself. My sight still blurred and my limbs were heavy as I took the empty buckets toward the back of the cell.

The darkness swallowed me. A few seconds of stumbling and my eyes adjusted. I barely made out a few rough shapes in the darkness and varying shades of grey. A half, circular well wall lay at the fare end of the cell and the sound of water that trickled over the sides proclaimed that it was an artesian well. I dropped the buckets with a hollow clattering as I stumbled to that well and fumbled clean, cool water to my muzzle. I drank till my belly bulged and ached. Slowly the dizziness and severe sharpness of my senses lessened. I had no clue why the masters would drug the water I drank while imprisoned in the display yard. I was already starving myself, why drug me?

Cold, wet hands rough like sand paper latched onto my hips and my world tumbled in a dark jumble of being thrown and falling. A vision of dying in the dark with a broken neck filled my thought. Plunging face first into cold water and sinking like a rock was not part of that death fantasy. My legs and arms kicked and pulsed as I tried to swim, tried to surface and find air in a dark and wet world. I surfaced with a gasp as air starved lungs labored for breath. I tread in the wet darkness for a moment or two, thudding heartbeats counting out my lungs billowing. Something large splashed in the water, sending waves over my head. In a breath, those same sandpaper rough hands clamped onto my ankles and I was pulled under the water. In vain I tried to kick loose but I may as well be a bronze statue mortared into a pedestal for how firm that grip held me.

My descent seemed to have come to an end as my lungs began to feel insulted like toddlers being pressed into a bath. Bending over, I tried to release my ankles by way of pointed protest as my claws probed for the offending hands. Sandpaper and barbs slid across my nostrils and cheeks as my head was pushed back by something powerful and finned. If I couldn’t reach the grabby hands then I’d get my point across the assaulting tail. Claws met shark skin in a skittering bumping as they tore through skin and into muscle and bone. My ankles were free and I kicked my paws hard for what felt like the surface of this dark pool. Several gasps and chokes were made as I took in water and air when I felt my head break the surface. My lungs burned from the water and I began to swim, not wishing to take another dip under the surface of the pool. I felt a snout, then a head and finally what felt like a charging bull slam into my belly and chest. I was expelled out of the pool in a wave of water and met slick hard stone as I crashed onto the cell floor.

My mother once told me that Feliissii land on their paws just like their feline ancestors on ancient Earth always did. I was hard pressed not to find a way back home and have words with her grave, Mormor rest her soul. I slipped and slid to my paw; my back, belly and thighs ached from the last few days of abuse. My breath came in ragged with a tinge of fire as a rib protested being used and I shook from being drenched in more cold water. I was pretty sure my attacker was the same shark like Luup that greeted me. He was living up to his threat of just toying with me before he ate me. My eyes darted around, useless in the thick darkness and my ears twitched at every echo. I hunched and made myself small as I began to work myself back towards the dim light of the cell door. My paws moved in soaked stealth, my breath a ragged echo from the cold. The slap of paws on wet stone cued me in that the dog shark was in bound and I had no intention to be a solid target. I took up a run and ticked off seconds in my head waiting for those rough hands to grab me before I reached the cell door.

I tripped over the empty buckets and earned more delight from my bruised thighs. The snap of teeth just clicked where my shoulders had been. I rolled on the wet stone floor, hands batting away one bucket but snatched up the second one. I fought to move up on one knee from my roll and swung out my pathetic weapon in the dark. The sound of cracking wood greeted my ears as well as an indignant snarl. My eyes just made out a large body wetly slapping the floor near me. I was not fond of fighting in the dark, or swimming in the dark, nor being wet in the dark. I just didn’t like the dark period! However, hearing that bucket hit my attacker sparked a tang of deep rooted satisfaction, like a vengeful itch scratched. I belted out a deep, feline roar at my downed assailant while I could.

Chapter 8.

I was taught new meanings to the word pain by the Riivii instructor. Every thrust I made he had a parry followed swiftly by bruising strikes from his blunted short sword. I had once been a swift and fierce fencer, taught by my father on his furloughs home from his personal crusades. The flicker and flashes of my epee would never fail to draw out a laugh from father. I was his little hornet, his wasp in the guise of a butterfly. Father would’ve been ashamed to see the Riivii pick me apart, sword battered aside with bruises and gashes upon my body.

Unarmed and panting on the ground, I had a moment of clarity to the bulwark of parry and counter strike I had faced. The Riivii favored a subtle dip to the left before blocking a thrust or lunge then followed that dip with a flick of the blade to deflect and a flash of efficient, brutal blade work. He was left open for a span of three heart beats as he’d reset his T stance, left hand hovering before him like a distraction from the real pain to be inflicted. As he reset, I thrust myself from the floor on trembling legs and latched my right hand onto his left wrist. My momentum sped me past him and my legs gave out from fatigue and abuse. As I dropped to the stone floor, my left hand shot out and felt his hip under shark rough skin. My fingers gripped like iron and my claws sunk deep into muscle. With a grunt of effort, I arched my back and hauled him off balance, slamming him into the stone floor. He went down in a heap of claws, teeth and rough hide. I let go of his wrist and grabbed behind his neck and slammed his head into the stone floor twice forcing his skull and muzzle to bounce rapidly.

I stood over him for several panting seconds as he lay dazed and bleed from nostrils and mouth. Had I killed him? Thoughts whirled in my head; would I be killed outright if he was dead? Or will I be beaten and starved more? If he could thrash me this badly in a bout to prove myself to him, how could I even manage to fight in the blood games without his training?
Loud, wet coughing pulled my thoughts to the cell I stood in and the Riivii I had bloodied. I flinched as something sharp and sticky hit my muzzle and chest, sticking to my fur. I glanced down and found several broken shark like teeth on my breast and felt another on my cheek. The Riivii made several more coughs, stirred and spoke in a slow, slurred tone.

“Water. Fetch me water to drink, wench.” He rolled onto his back and stared unfocused at the sandstone ceiling.

I stared down at him in disbelief and confusion. The impact I’d delivered to his bounced skull would kill most Felissii. I left him and fetched a wooden mug full of water and brought it to him. He sucked in the water; red tinting the beading dribbles from two split lips. He eyed me carefully while he drank and remained supine.

“Thank you.” He said. “Your blade work is weaker than a pup drowning, but your grappling and close quarters skills are decent for a rookie. You made me bleed, only fair to not kill you and train you. We’ll start training after a small nap.” He passed out, the wood mug falling to the floor.

~ ~ ~ ~

I slept fitfully in the comfort of a full belly. No training or talk had ensued after the Riivii’s dazzling display of inept social skills. I’d piled enough lightly molded cushions to rest upon for the night. A glance over a half wall of the really molded cushions showed me the Riivii sleeping in the pool, bubbles imprisoning snores rose from the deep water. I had fallen into a dream of pleasantries draped over the piercing spear head of night terrors.

I dreamt of alluring silver eyes, silky fur of a Sohltrii under my hands, the marred and brail pattern of a hard life, the tug and pull of mystery behind the healers touch. I was riding a higgo, along white sand set to jeweled fire from the cool evening light of Linus. Wind spilled through my fur and the rippled through fine pelt of Mihlihssah as she sat before me on the saddle. My cheek was aloft her bare shoulder, the desert could not hold our bodies prisoner to the heat of the day as our loin cloths flapped at our thighs. Joy thrummed through me as my arms circled her hips, holding fast as we rode hard without a care through the nomadic deserts. We could go on through life like this, I thought.

Then I was pushed off the higgo by her, and she laughed at me, silver eyes blazed with eerie light as I fell. I tumbled and jostled in a fall that felt forever, Airii dancers swirling around me in alluring confusion as they bound me tight with strips of paper. I struggled but was held fast in the tight coils of missives that burned with writing I could not read. The dancers twirled around, each one now wearing Milhlihssah’s face, silver eyes glowing with a heated pain to them that burned when they touched me. I want to scream, to cry out in agony and ask why she had abandoned me. But my mouth gagged as I choked on brackish water that made my mind float and my stomach burn. I threw up, the water leaving me tired and panting while I lay on a deserted beach.

A cool, kind touch stroked my cheek, I felt one of the coils of paper loosen then fall free. Another cool touch, a familiar stroke of my fur in a soothing manner then another coil melted away. I wanted to cry, thinking it was Mihlihssah come to torment my dreams more. Another coil was removed and the deep, steady breathing of a warrior at rest came to my ears. The scent of smoked fish, tanned leather and polished metal came to my nose. The last coil of paper was freed from me, and as I lifted my weary head to look at my savior, the emerald jewels of my father set in a sea of ebony fur met my orange orbs. He lent me a hand and pulled me up onto my paws then brushed the vestiges of clinging sand and paper from the pants and fencing blouse that I now wore, a snapshot of a child long grown now.

“What troubles my sweet magnolia to dim such a beautiful blossoming in the sun?” He asked.

My gaze plummeted from his genuine curiosity. How could I tell my father the deepest desires of my heart? The trials I’d been through? The pain and dishonor if felt? How could I trouble his already burdened shoulders with the cares of a misguided child? He lifted my chin to look at him, a knowing and fatherly smile upon his panther like grace. I gave a small sob and hugged into him tight, cheek pressed hard against the breast plate of his armor. It was a dream, he knew what I feared to say but still waited to hear me say it all.

“Where do I even begin, papa? My body hurts constantly since I’ve fled. My heart aches horribly as well. I feel like I’ve been shot through the chest by the silver gaze of a woman I am finding fondness for. It confuses me, papa, I’ve dallied with boys in my youth and men when on the road protecting pilgrims, but none have set fire to me like this woman does. I have feelings for her, but fear she’s tossed me aside as a marked coin in a game of chance. I’ve failed you as a crusader and your death will be in vain as I’m marked to fight in blood games tomorrow. I fear I will be dead soon.” My words shook and trembled in my throat and muzzle.

I was given a patient nod that was born of mountain top sages and fathers that held their daughters in a light of purity and grace. His embrace around me tightened slightly, a comfort and solace missed sorely. A purr thrummed through him and set my tired and weary nerves to a blissful numbness.

“Troubled waters for my kitten, perhaps thrash less like a wounded seal of life and swim slower like a turtle of patience to throw off the shark of pain. But don’t fear pain. Don’t fear the fear itself either. Pain is the rain of life that makes the rose of our soul bloom. Fear is the fertile soil that our rose is rooted in. Both are hand in hand my sweet magnolia. Too much of either and your rose will wither and die, then what will I look fondly upon as I walk the highway of Mormor? I know you, my daughter. You are bright and eager. Temper your steal with wisdom even if you feel it is a rust to be scoured from yourself. Not all feelings and honor are hard set in a mason’s stone. Perhaps it is best you square off with this woman that has snared your heart. Put your sword to her throat and have truth. Ask if she loves you and speak your love for her openly. If you worry at this deepness of infatuation, you’ll tire out from pining and the real dangers will strike you. There are many things circling you to be distracted by the simple lack of someone who may be in as much danger as yourself. Don’t look for the dagger in the hand at every corner.” His words were soft like rose petals and the truth in them were barbed like rose stems.

I struggled to pull away from his embrace. I didn’t want truth. My heart and mind wanted sweet lies, balm to sooth hurts real or imagined. I wanted everything to be taken care of by another and to be left alone to my fantasies on the back of a higgo in the cool desert evening. My father didn’t let me go. He held me firmly but not tight enough to hurt, a gentle rebuke to a spoiled child. He gave me that patient look, waiting to hear something.

“I just want love, pure and simple. A breeze on my whiskers, a warm embrace and too look over my shoulder at someone I love instead of the fear of a Crusaders blade in my back. Papa, I want things to be made right. Please, make them right.” I begged in his arms.

A gentle and amused chuckle rumbled through his chest and armor. “Oh Trisha, my little magnolia, you paw and jump for the moons when you should be stalking the grass. Anyone with a beating heart wishes for what you yearn. Hunting for love pure and simple without the teeth and claws of trouble is a weak love that will pale after a year. I know you have the strength to endure the trials beset about you. You are my daughter, nothing less than what you are facing would suit you. Focus on staying alive, keeping wits and charm about you, and find this woman you speak of. Set things right by your hand and you’ll find solace. But first, my magnolia, leave lie this notion of dishonor. The Crusaders can only hold sway over what is in their keeping. You are not and I am deeply asleep from the headsman sword. I give you permission, Trisha, to end the family quest. It lies with me now, in the grave. Seek your own quest Trisha. Seek it and be happy.”

He leaned in, gave me a gentle kiss to my forehead and vanished once more from my life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 9.

Thunder boomed through the waiting halls, sand trickling through cracks that were long divested of mortar between the sand stone. From a worn and bloodstained bench of faded oak I glanced up the hallways. The solid iron door rattled in its socket, the clamor of thousands of voice made it writhe upon its hinges; steel on steel sang and screams of people punctuated the chorus of madness with soloist notes of death. My heart hammered to the tempo of stomping paws above me from the spectators in the coliseum, my death for amusement froze my being to the core as I sat there and began to tremble hard. The Riivii trainer clapped a rough hand onto my shoulder and gave it a rough squeeze, a small clumsy gesture of comfort as he sat down beside me.

“Steady wench. Don’t piss yourself just yet; you’ll lose favor that way. Breathe and think of laying your opponent open before your blade. Only then will the vuus-ohrtaa settle from your mind and heart. It has a way of turning the wise into fools and the brave into cowards if you let it take root. Remember, close in, duck, get under your opponent and make sure they do not walk away.” He said.

He began to check the fit of my fighting tunic made in the last hour and ill fitting. He began to tear and shred the cotton cloth with his claws in a strategic fashion. I gave him a hand to ensure that my foes would find steel in their bellies from fatal staring.

“You never asked my name?” I said.

He let go of my tunic and left me alone for a moment as he carefully selected a sword of iron from the racks. He returned to my side and sat; the sword in his hand had dreams of being a thrusting saber but fell a hand width short and was double edges. He worked the edges of the sword on a wet stone, the scrape and rasp of iron being freshened to kill held rein upon his silence. The roar of the crowd above stilled that drew him from his task then he looked to me as if knowing something was coming. A solitary voice screamed in such agony that I twitched before that song of ending drowned in the madness of cheering that crashed against the iron door like waves.

The Riivii went back to sharpening my blade. “Never familiarize with the fleeting. Win, wench, and I’ll tease the thought of asking what it is.” He held the sword a moment, checked the blade thoroughly and handed it to me. “One lives to walk away, one remains to darken the hay. Never forget that wench.”

I gave him a slow nod as I took the sword from him. It dawned on me that I’d never asked him his name either. Perhaps if I lived I should know it if our training continued. The iron door clacked as the lock was worked and it boomed through the hall as it was shoved open. A towering Ehrthrii set paw into the hall and growled something at me, his metal plate armor caked in grime and dried blood, hand on the pommel of his sword, the gleam of a killer set in his brown eyes. I shrugged my tunic to settle into place again and strolled with my best unshaken march that moved me past the guard and into the blinding noon sunlight of Leo.

As my blinking eyes adjusted to the bright sun I found the arena was a good one hundred strides across the semicircle it formed. Behind me was a high wall butting against the open ends of the coliseum, a variety of banners with heraldry alien to me unfurled upon them. Atop that wall was various boxed in seating where elegantly dressed and tended to nobles sat and took their leisure watching the blood games. Along the shorter wall of the semicircle were rows of seating packed with patrons to the point of groaning timbers. The arena floor was sand stone sprinkled with white sand and pale straw. At the center of it all was a large set of recessed wood doors that’d allow something to rise or descend. Flanked on both sides of those doors were open recesses that lead to the halls bellow. The tips of spears were seen above the floor marking that the recesses, just like the entry I had left were guarded. A grated gate clanked down behind me as I fully emerged from the halls exit, the guard leaning against a wall inside to be comfortable for watching me die.

Just off to the side of the large trap door several small Airii rushed about working to clear a body tied to a wood post that stood in a frame freely upon the arena floor. More Airii flew in, bundles of fresh straw held in their arms as they worked to spread it out and remove the bloodied remnants left from the body. The trap doors sprung open with a hearty thunk as a Sohltrii rose upon a wooden platform. He held a sky blue orb in his right hand and spoke, his voice booming over the chatter and din of the patrons.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, lads and lasses, pups and senile bow your heads and please the Packs of Spihrihtohr and Steeleh. They give you all pleasure today with our twentieth year of Unsavory Functions. Yet, how can we not savor agony? Savor death and the sweet smell of blood and fear. Today’s menu has been a savory delight. The long awaited clash of two Ehrthrii titans was played out before you in agonizing delight as Cohlawsahs claimed his fifteenth win from the jaws of Teeahmaht who held the crown of twenty eight souls taken by Steeleh made hammers. Speak of hammers, the bidding for Teeahmaht’s hammers will begin in the late afternoon; serious bidders only to help our nobles continue these wondrous sights. Now, we moved from the clash of titans to the mouthwatering execution of an exiled noble. Hold fast the delight of his agony and the delectable piercing of arrows and trident into his rotten, traitorous flesh. All hail Spihrihtohr for his justness!” The Sohltrii turned to salute a noble’s box set high and in the shadows of above all seated atop the high wall.

Whistles and cheers roared as much of the patrons were Sohltrii that I could see as they all stood, applauded and bowed before that box. I tried to peer into the shadows of that high perch but could only make out the faint, shadowed form of two Sohltrii sitting alone with no servants. So Spihrihtohr found a convenient use for this utter distaste in ending life. We all looked back to the speaker once more as he made a booming noise from a snap of fingers.

“Now let us not wear out our enthusiasm before feasting on an all new dish, prepare to indulge in the strange and weird. The Liishoon Gladiator Theater has bought a stranger to us, striped, curvaceous and wickedly feisty. We don’t know where she hails from, and really, if you’re here, who cares.” The crowd chuckled in unison with the speaker. “I present to you, at a mere five feet and six inches, the Streep Miinohaw.” He waved in my direction and the crowds gave a half hearted applause. “Now give us your attention as the Streep Miinohaw comes face to face with our reigning gladiator in inflicting pain. I give to you, the one, the only Moogiis the Thrasher!”

The crowd went silent for a second then began to chant as the clank of a gate being drawn open from one of the recesses was heard. “Moogiis! Moogiis! Moogiis!” Emerging from the far right entry was a study of grace and solid muscle that rippled where tight leather could not contain the power of something I swore was part Riivii and part Ehrthrii. I had hopes to distract Moogiis as I had found useful from dueling my instructor. My hopes coughed and died as Moogiis turned and I saw a landslide of mountainous assets that were locked behind leather and a crafted chain mail in the form of a two piece bikini. I gave a hard swallow and felt my odds had dimmed more.

“We have a running bet of thirty to one on Moogiis the Thrasher verses Streep Miinohaw. Place your bets and hand them to the ushers. Without further ado, your next meal!” In a flash of smoke and thunder, the Sohltrii vanished down bellow and the trap doors were closed tight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My muzzle moved without thought. “One lives to walk away, one remains to darken the hay. The rule of the blood game Moogiis. I walk; you lay and darken the hay. Death was never implied in that rule. You’ll be dead in a few more minutes; I don’t have to bloody my hands with a final blow.”

A flick of my wrist and I sliced her hand off of my abused calf. She howled in more pain as the patrons gave a tenuous and uncertain cheer. I turned and left her, limping back for the grate that barred the entrance to this hell. The Ehrthrii guard stared at me with a mix of amusement and disgust. The nobles aloft of the high wall stared in utter silence at me as I walked away, living my opponent alive to bleed out. The golden rod robes of Lefty and Righty flitted among the shadowed noble boxes as they bent their ear to each patron, their leisure disturbed by this change of public intent. Even the servants and slaves came to walls of the boxes to peer at me with muzzles slack in awe. The golden rod robs of my Dehsii owners soon vanished into the shadows of the viewing boxes and I heard the trap doors thunk open. I turned expecting the announcer to come out and yap away his pleasantries. Instead a cage of black iron rose up from the sandstone and straw. Two slathering Wereluuns paced back in forth in the cage in agitated excitement.

“Rohdaagoos! Rohdaagoos!” Moogiis keened and wailed with a keening laugh born of pain stripped sanity.

The cage door clacked as it was unlocked from unseen source and the Wereluuns seemed to cue in on the sound. The door was shoved open as they both exploded from the cage in black matted fur and death marked hard in their blood shot blue eyes. They fell upon Moogiis first, a weak and bleeding prey just ripe for shredding. As her life and voice faded among the snarls and snap of teeth and bones I took stalk of the severe muhdraa that I had sunk into now. Two crazed and derange Luups were now loose in the arena and I was not feeling so hot. My left calf burned as I left red paw prints each time I limped with the leg, my ribs and shoulders ached from Moogiis’ thrashing. On a happier note, I now had a shield and still felt woefully underpowered for these buggers.

One Wereluun had feasted enough and looked up to glare at me, perhaps smelling fresh flowing blood or perhaps just to belch out gobbets of bloody fur and muscle from a Moogiis meal. I clutched shield and sword tightly and crouched for a moment, making myself small, a shaking fear rising in me as the beast lumbered from the gore and fixed deranged blues upon me. It seemed to sense my fear and pulled back blood blackened lips in a snarl of pink stained fangs then bolted for me. Instinct overrode my mind and I did the only sane thing one does when facing a large predator, I ran. I ran as best as my limping pained body could manage. Hot breath blew upon my thighs and rump as teeth snapped and clicked at my bobbing and weaving tiger tail. I spun on my right leg and sliced my blade low and was rewarded with lopping an ear off and permanently closing an eye on the Wereluun. Then it grabbed my right ankle with brute force and pulled hard as it fell. Stars exploded in my vision as I felt back with a skull bouncing impact on the stone floor. I could feel the beast sliding up me as it crawled, a mix of keening pained whines and snarling hatred flowing from its muzzle.

My vision cleared to see gleaming teeth shoot forward for my neck. I jabbed my sword in at the beast and kept sharp iron between my pulsing throat and ivory death. It pushed me down as it bored harder, the pain of the metal slicing into its muzzle a small insignificant thing. I found purchase on the shield with my free hand, gripped the wood handle tight and forced my entire might into crashing the metal lip into the sliced face of the Wereluun. That made it yelp and I struck again and again, forcing the beast off of me as blood spattered my face chest. Once I sat up, I gave the beast no time to recover from the stinging blows and hilted my sword into his remaining eye socket, the tip of my blade bursting from bellow the skull. I stood shakily and pulled my sword free. The other Wereluun feasted still on Moogiis corpse. I wasted no time limping my tired tail to the beast and hauled off with a sledgehammer strike of shield to Wereluun snoz. I don’t remember making a dented relief of the Wereluuns face in the metal shield or how long I’d been standing over the twitching body as I beat the head to pulp and my hand ached and bled from clutching the ruined shield so hard.

All that came to me was silence once more; you could hear a pup yip in protest of a nap and someone dropping coins from betting. I flung the shield to the side, turned and stalked in a swaggering, bleeding trek for the grate at the exit. Someone spoke out, and then another as the words caught fire. The grate opened with the Ehrthrii guard giving me an appraising and naked look of lust on his muzzle. I slunk into my earned rest at the hailed calls of “Dehguu Fiis! Dehguu Fiis! Dehguu Fiis!”

I didn’t look over my shoulder as I vanished into the company of my trainer, only pain, fear and the burning words of the spoken rule of the blood game settled into me.

One lives to walk away, one remains to darken the hay.