From howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Thu Jun 15 06:08:49 1995 Date: Thu, 15 Jun 95 23:45:52 +1200 From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry Subject: Story: Human Memoirs part 14 The Human Memoirs Part 4 Section b I skidded around a corner, gasping out a curse as my shoulder slammed against a wall, staggering me. The news from the balloon was not good: Gulf forces were amassing for another attack against the town and although the fields were strewn with their dead like wheat after harvesting, there were still thousands of them. They were preparing themselves on two fronts, getting ready to assault sections of the walls weakened by previous attacks. When we put the data the Sathe aeronauts had complied onto the maps of the area, there was one fact that was instantly obvious: "I think we're up Shit Creek!" It was midday when they made their move. There'd been reports from the North gate. The few guards who'd been posted there had seen Gulf troops out beyond the walls skulking about, watching the town. I'd gone to check it out. Now I was headed south again. As fast as my feet could move me. My boots beat a tattoo against the flagstones on the bridge and the sounds of battle grew louder: the clashing of steel, the sound of battle cries and death screams. Like the sound of the sea it was; a continuous roaring, a riot of white noise mixed with clashing of metal. I sprinted around the corner of a blackened and gutted house to find myself in the middle of the fighting around the gatehouse. A young Weather Rock soldier was being pushed back by the vicious onslaught of an obviously more experienced Gulf warrior. The black and red armoured warrior tried to turn as he heard something behind him and his jaws shut with a sharp CLOP when I hit him with an uppercut. He dropped his sword as the Eastern warrior ran him through, then left him to die noisily, scrabbling at the hole in his gut. My rifle was on the wall, the south wall, and there were Gulf between us. The Gulf Warrior's sword felt insubstantial, like a toothpick. However, those toothpicks were lethal and a Sathe could wield one a hell of a lot better than I ever could. I threw the scimitar aside and cast around for something a bit more substantial. The only thing that immediately came to hand was iron bar, about six feet long, rusty, but it had reach and heft. The Gulf forces had broken through the wall to the east of the gate and every second that went by more of them clambered to the top of the wall. Militia reinforcements and Greens with grenades and automatic weapons were rushing to defend the breech and the fighting on the ramparts and on the ground below it was a small war unto itself; bloody and fierce. A Gulf warrior finished off his opponent with a slash of his claws and turned to face me, his eyes burning with battle-lust. He was so far gone my appearance didn't faze him in the slightest. His scimitar struck sparks off my bar as he slashed and lunged and I parried for my life, blocking a stroke at my neck, dodging back, then swinging the bar like a baseball bat in a move S'sahr or Remae would've chewed me out for. Hell, it worked. He was good, but he couldn't block the raw power behind my blow; the bar punched right through his guard, clipping his head, stunning him. My boot came up into his stomach and he doubled over. A blow on the back of his head and he was sprawled at my feet, blood seeping into his mane. Almost immediately I found myself facing another Gulf soldier with blood on her sword and fur. More cautious this one. She jabbed and I knocked the blade away. My return blow scraped her jaw, making her jump back. Blocking her again, I almost lost my fingers in the process. Again her sword came around and I kicked out at her wrist. She dodged that and fell back a step, looking surprised then wary. As she sized me up, a Gulf Warrior behind her brought his blade around in a shimmering backhanded arc that caught his Eastern opponent by surprise, slashing across his forearm, cutting to the bone. With one arm out, the hapless soldier was quickly disarmed, then dispatched by a chop across his neck as he turned to run. The Gulf warrior looked around then moved to aid the one attacking me. Shit! Two on one. . . that's not fair ! Fair or not, those two didn't look like they gave a damn. They spread out to give each other room to work and advanced slowly on me. I retreated before them, waving the bar before me, until I found I was backing into the ruins of a gutted house, rubble crunching under my boots. Maybe they'd step on a nail. . . The one on my left attacked, her scimitar a flickering blur in the midday sun. I frantically spun the bar out and the sword spanged! away in a flurry of sparks. That was when the other one moved and I was barely able to bring the metal around to block his swing. I felt the jar go up my arm when metal met metal and his sword had a notch in it when he drew it away. The two went back to circling me, their swords still describing slow patterns in the air before them, trying to distract me. I took another step backwards and found myself up against a crumbling wall. The two Sathe slowly spread their lips in vicious grins and their movements became more deliberate. I licked my own parched lips and my hands were sweaty on the bar, I could feel iron flakes sticking to my palm. Suddenly things seemed to go into slow motion; the Sathe both moved, one aiming high and the other low. The bar in my hands spun wildly and the impacts struck sparks from the iron. Several more times they attacked with blinding speed and somehow I managed to turn or dodge the worst of their blows, but when they did drop back, I was gasping for air and bleeding from a minor gash on my leg and another across my shoulder. There was no way I was going to win this. Frantically I looked around. I was in a cul-de-sac, the shell of a gutted building, with broken, sooty walls on either side hiding this particular little tussle from the Sathe on the fortifications. . . My foot stumbled against something, a length of two by four. Clutching my bar in my right hand, I scooped the wood up with my left. . . just as the Sathe attacked again. The female's sword flashed around on my left and I threw my left hand up, feeling splinters lance at my hand as the wood was torn from my grasp. In my other hand the metal bar rang and was knocked against my neck. I gripped it tightly with both white-knuckled hands. The female cursed loudly, her sword stuck in the wood. In the second she spent trying to shake it loose, I spun the bar and landed a solid blow across the side of her face, another into her stomach, across the bridge of the muzzle, on the back of her head. . . There was a faint look of puzzlement on her ruined face as she fell. The male stepped aside as she collapsed. I shifted my grip on my weapon and parried as he feinted at me. His blade flickered around my guard like a live thing and caressed my arm. Blood welled, reluctantly at first, then flowing freely down my arm. I winced and he plastered his ears flat against his head and grinned. It was then I realised I really didn't have a chance. Only my reach and the strength in my blows were holding him back, but I was tiring. I clipped him a couple of times, he recovered too fast. It was only a matter of time, that time coming too soon when I stepped on something that rolled treacherously under my feet, taking other pieces of rubble with it. My feet shot out from under me and my only defence flew out of my grasp and clattered loudly to the ground as I went over backwards. With sweat running down my face I faced the Sathe and knew that I was going to die; everything but the Sathe went out of focus. I opened my mouth. . . He gave a triumphant yowl and lunged, then his cry cut off and he sprawled across my body with a force that knocked the breath out of me, then lay in a twitching heap over my stomach. I just lay there for a second, then frantically shoved him off, scrambled away and crouched staring at the feathered shaft that protruded from the back of his neck then looked up at the Sathe who stood on a pile of rubble, still holding a spent crossbow, an M-16 slung over her shoulder, grenades at her belt. "My Ancestors. . . You just cannot stay out of trouble can you?" Then she rushed forward in concern as I doubled over and threw up. ****** The arrangement of copper tubes and the brass kettle hanging over the fire hissed and dripped. I winced and twitched as Fen bandaged my arm. "Hold still," he muttered as he tightened and tied it off. I flexed my hand; stiff and sore, but it still worked. "Will I be able to play the mandolin when this comes off?" I asked. "Of course," Fen said. "Incredible! I have never been able to play it before," I said, straight faced. He looked uncertain, then laughed. Old joke, but new here. I grinned, then flexed my hand again, "Damn!" R'R'Rhasct was sitting on a pallet nearby, staring at me. "I guess I had better thank you," I said to her. That was enough to set her off. Her ears flattened and she hissed, teeth bared. "What were you thinking!?" she exploded. "Attacking Gulf warriors without even armour or sword! Where was your own weapon?" "Sitting on the other side of a couple-dozen Sathe who wanted to make sushi out of me!" I retorted, taken aback at the outburst. "You are crazy!" Her eyes were wide. "You must be the hundredth person to tell me that. Perhaps there is something in it." Some of the things that I had done recently would get locked up in an asylum back home. I was doing what the Sathe were doing, almost imitating them, maybe I had gone further than I had realised in trying to be accepted. Would the old Kelly Davies have rushed into a burning building? Maybe. Would he have raced headlong to almost get himself killed? I doubt it. But things have changed and I am one of them. "I guess I owe you one," I said to R'R'Rhasct. "One what?" she looked suspicious. "Anything," I said. "You did save my life." "That is not necessary," she said, but her mane fluffed up. "I think that it is. I am rather attached to this life you know. I have got used to it and it fits me well." She twitched her ears. "It is my job to protect you. You do not make it an easy one." One of the Greens, Hraisc, had stopped a crossbow quarrel with his shoulder. He was in a lot of pain as the steel tip grated against bone, but getting the thing out had to wait until we could get him relatively clean and have a patch ready. The few physicians that Weather Rock had were working on the many other wounded but Chir had done stuff like this before - God only knows where - so the task of removing the quarrel fell to her. Hraisc's teeth clenched on the solid lump of wood between his jaws and he spasmed as Chir worked the bolt. She paused in her work: "Sir, he's going to have to be held down." "Oath," R'R'Rhasch muttered, then looked at me: "K'hy, do you think you could make your size useful?" So I held his arms while R'R'Rhasct sat on his legs. Hraisc was breathing heavily and his jaws quivered as Chir grasped the slippery quarrel with both hands, braced herself, and yanked. The sticky tearing of the quarrel coming out was accompanied by a crackling sound as Hraisc bit the wood clean through. Two pieces of tooth-mutilated wood fell from Hraisc's suddenly slack mouth to lie beside his head on the pallet. The bloodstained shaft clattered to the floor as Chir moved to staunch the blood that pumped from the shoulder. The bandages were still steaming from their boiling. Until my makeshift still bore fruit - so to speak - we'd have to make do with heat. The unconscious Sathe twitched as Chir tied the bandages in place. He was not the only one suffering. In the town outside there were thirty dead Sathe and over forty more wounded. That left us with about two hundred trained soldiers and another three hundred possibly unreliable militia to hold against perhaps ten thousand experienced opponents. We had very little ammunition for the rifles left - about sixty rounds for each of the eleven remaining Greens. The defences outside the walls had been breached in two places, and then there were the ridiculously low walls themselves. Through the windows horizon was starting to turn red and the sky to cirrus-streaked blood. I was drowsily tending the fire, watching almost pure alcohol plunking drop at a time into a small bowl, steady as a water clock. "Is it working?" R'R'Rhasct knelt down beside me and blinked at the arrangement. "Yes." She gingerly sniffed the glass bowl then drew her head back quickly, wrinkling her muzzle. She sneezed once then looked at me. "It takes its time. That is supposed to be a medicine?" she said with suspicion. "It smells like it can peel paint." "Uh-huh. You can use it for that too," I agreed. "Or you can drink it." She stared at the miniature still and made a sound like 'ugh', then was quiet for a while before speaking. "That thing you were doing to my back the other night, would you be willing to do that again?" she asked hopefully. "Would Chirthi object?" "Go ahead, K'hy," a voice from behind us called out. The firelight washed across her, waking gold ripples from her fur as she lay on her stomach before the hearth. A low rumbling sounding from deep within her throat as I rubbed her shoulders. Despite our situation she was lax, completely relaxed, almost boneless in fact. Occasionally she gave vent to a Sathe 'ouch' as I touched a sensitive area, then sank back again with a sigh. "You could make a living doing this," she murmured after a time. "You serious?" "Very. I would that you could teach this to me, but. . " the low rumble in her throat stopped. "K'hy, before the sun rises tomorrow, you leave." "Oh. You. . . "My hands froze when what she'd said clicked. "Say what?" She twisted around so she could see me better. "Tomorrow you go," she said firmly, staunching any protest I tried to make. "You said that you owed me; now I am calling your debt." She sure didn't wait around. I swallowed: "You are sure?" "Absolutely." "But. . . " "Your word." I simply couldn't think of anything to say. Finally I just nodded, "And what will you do?" "Before it is light there will be some troops taking the last of the cubs and as many wounded as possible out. You go with them and try to get them past the Gulf forces to the north." "The rest of you. . . ?" "The rest of us will stay and fight." "And die." Her muzzle wrinkled but she said nothing. The fire crackled away happily, highlights from the copper kettle gleaming in red, orange, and gold. "My Ancestors, Rhasct! There is nothing you can do now. Get everyone out of the town." "No," she simply said. "We swore to protect the Realm and we swore to protect you. We will do both; We protect you by sending you back to Mainport; we protect the Realm by staying to fight." I turned to the rest of the Greens, "You are all of the same mind?" They were. "It would seem I have a mutiny on my hands," I sighed and looked at the glass bowl; it was almost full of a colourless liquid. I dashed a bit on a hearthstone and touched a glowing splint to it: an almost invisible blue flame sprang up. Good, the stuff was pure enough. Hraisc was sleeping. He stirred and opened his eyes as I moved the bandages aside. "This will sting," I warned him, but couldn't be sure he understood me. He whimpered when I poured raw alcohol over the wound in his shoulder, but that was all. I washed the red flesh out with boiled water and dashed a bit more alcohol over the hole then replaced the dirty bandages with freshly sterilised cloth. All I could do. A hand touched my arm. "K'hy?" R'R'Rhasct was kneeling beside me. "You will go? You will not try any tricks?" "Yeah," I said in English. "What was that noise?" "Yes," I reluctantly rephrased my answer. "I will go." I didn't know how I felt about that. It was a chance to get out alive, but in doing so I'd be deserting my squad. Hell, I didn't want to die! But the Sathe soldiers seemed to have death wish; a loyalty to their Realm that went beyond all logical bounds. As if they didn't have any thoughts of the future. But I'd lived with them, I'd fought alongside them; I knew they had lives and dreams and hopes and fears. Why were they so willing to throw them away? To their minds it was something that was perfectly natural to do, to die protecting their territory. I couldn't compete with their single-minded devotion to duty. ****** The sun hadn't yet even appeared as a glow on the horizon but Weather Rock's northern gate was bustling with activity. Llamas bleated and complained, axles squealed, wheels rumbled. Milling Sathe stood aside to let the small caravan leave, silently watching after it. I watched the dark shadows of the town walls falling back behind us. Above the walls hung a giant Chinese lantern, the technicolor envelope lit from within glowing softly. Seen against the dawn sky it was an impressively beautiful sight. I began to get an inkling of how the Gulf Sathe saw it, but it wouldn't stop them from storming the walls again, for what would probably be the last time. Perhaps the balloonists would be able to get away. At the least they would burn the balloon, as they would poison the wells and food supplies. Except for the swords of the soldiers, there was nothing else to hold the Gulf Sathe back. Several boxes sat near my feet. In those boxes were the M-16s and machine guns. "Take them with you," Chirthi had said. "It would be disaster for them to fall into Gulf hands. You will likely need them if you should run into any Gulf bandits. With our ammunition, I think you will be alright." The convoy rattled and squeaked through the early dawn; the last convoy that would be leaving the town. I looked around at the cubs. The oldest were also staring back at their home, the youngest keening in distress, unable to understand what was happening. Why wouldn't the Sathe leave? The question persecuted me as we drew further and further away from the doomed Weather Rock. I hung my legs over the back of the wagon and put my head in my hands, rubbing my temples. They were cats - highly evolved cats - but cats nevertheless. They still had very strong feline instincts, as their mating habits showed. I guessed that their territorial instincts were just as strong, perhaps even linked in some way. You may wonder how a race that is governed by its hormones could survive. Well, there are more than a few humans who're ruled by their glands: what about phobias? And as for being socially oriented, humans are perhaps more so than Sathe. We flock together in herds of millions, we have a strong family instinct, and also a strong instinct to propagate the species. We live in a perpetual, almost hard-wired distrust of each other. Every human claims to hold a wish for world peace and brotherly love, but when you get large groups of them together, there is almost always some kind of argument involved. About the only time when people get together to enjoy themselves without some kind of conflict would be at concerts. Are we really so different? Are THEY really so different? It was a moot subject. I pushed my thoughts into a corner of my mind and closed the door on the musty chambers of memory to draw out and ponder over later. Meantime there were other worries. Gulf Sathe to the north of Weather Rock. I knew they were there; somewhere. Where? As the sky to the east brightened, sunlight cycling from red through orange to yellow-white dashing across distant altocumulus clouds, the town was ten klicks behind us. I kept looking back, but saw nothing but the wilderness around us. It was one of the adolescent cubs who grabbed my sleeve and pointed out the armed Sathe riders blocking the road in front of us. I cursed and grabbed for the loaded M-60 at my feet, readying the weapon while the riders milled and reigned their beasts toward us. Then I hesitated: The riders were wearing armour of grey with green embossing, colours that I had never seen before. . . who the hell were they?! Then I saw the blue and silver armour of Eastern Realm troops amongst the grey riders. ****** "This is K'hy," Tahr said. One wall of the blue pavilion was drawn aside, providing a vista of wind-stirred treetops surrounding the hill. Sun streamed in through small holes in the sides and roof of the tent, speckling the inhabitants with tiny spots of light, moving as the tent fabric moved in the breeze. Two guards stood on duty just outside the entrance, hands resting on their sword pommels; one dressed in blue and silver, the other in grey and green. Inside the tent, I was standing facing five Sathe. Tahr glittered in her gold and silver jewellery and blue breeks, two rings jingling in her ear. Remae in her comparatively drab armour waited a respectful distance behind her. The male to whom Tahr was speaking stared at me, his heavy pelt of red-brown fur turning grey in places, but it gave him a distinguished air. He was only wearing jewellery: a single silver wristguard. A male and a female - his marshal and advisor - both wearing their grey and green and an occasional piece of silver or gold decoration, stood behind him. "Tahr ai Shirai, I had heard reports, but even seeing it in the fur, it is hard to believe," the male wondered, his eyes taking in the details of my face and uniform. "You grow accustomed to him," Tahr responded airily. "He talks?" "He talks," Tahr gestured to me. "High one, this is K'hy, a H'man and a guest of our Realm. K'hy, I am honoured to introduce you to K'Soo ai Sthr't." His first title, it sounded like a sneeze. "Commander of our Lake Trader allies." I bowed, a little stiffly. "Sir, it is an honour." K'Soo's eyes widened and his claws peeked out of his fingertips, but he bowed in return; also stiffly. "He sounds strange, but perfectly comprehensible," he said to Tahr then looked back at me. "I never believed. . . " He made an obscure gesture with his hands and Tahr gave a subdued hiss of laughter. I ground my teeth. What were they doing? Every second wasted was one Weather Rock could not afford. "Tahr! Please!" The Sathe looked at me, K'Soo's ears flattened a bit and he glanced at Tahr. "Forgive him," she appealed. "There are some things he cannot understand." She turned to me and gestured at a corner of the pavilion strewn with colourful cushions. "Sit." I did so, followed by the two Sathe. The others remained standing unobtrusively against the tent walls. "Now, K'hy, what has happened?" I took a deep breath and managed to compress the major events of the past couple of weeks into a few sentences. The Sathe listened to what I had to say, but not all of them took me at my word. "It is impossible!" K'soo snorted. "You cannot seriously expect me to believe that?!" Tahr touched his arm. "Sir, when you have known K'hy as long as I have, you will find out that he does something impossible or at least highly improbable almost every day." For a second he stared at her as if she'd flipped her lid, then at me. "How could twelve Sathe and. . . him, stop the Gulf Forces dead?" "He just told us," Tahr said, deadpan. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and growled. "All right. The fastest scouts can be there within two hours." He flowed to his feet and swept from the tent, his two lieutenants in tow. Tahr turned to her Marshal. "Remae, I want the First and Second scouts on their way already. Get the Shoso, R'sest, and Sireth clans ready for forced march. The others are to break camp and start after them as soon as possible." Remae bowed, then was gone, the two guards at the door moving aside to let her pass. Suddenly warm, furry arms were flung around my neck. "We got a single message from you, then nothing," Tahr rumbled against my chest. "I thought we were too late." The guards at the entrance exchanged brief glances then turned their gaze outwards again. Beneath the midday sun, the grass on the gentle hillside was swaying in the breeze, spreading like waves or ripples on water, two faint tracks of trampled stalks following us to the crest. In the valley below, an army was on the move. Columns of soldiers, like ants, were marching away from circular clusters of tents, pennants and flags emblazoned with garish clan devices fluttering in the breeze. The lines of troops, the wagons and carts, the mounted scouts, stretched off as far as I could see, until they were lost beneath the foliage of the trees to the north. Rank upon rank of swordsathe, archers, engineers and messengers scurrying around between clusters of troops. Tents were being broken down and stowed away. Several squads were shifting wagons stacked with pikes. Hah, that brought on a twinge of pride. Now I knew pikes WOULD work. They were practical. Gulf tactics were to rush and overwhelm their opposition, their forces spreading out as the faster outpaced the rest. They didn't hit as a solid, cohesive unit; the proverbial irresistible force. But the Sathe pikes fully intended being the Immovable Object. With archers and regulars in support, they should be able to stand against any infantry charge. In the valley below there was a disturbance, troops moving aside as over a hundred Sathe on llamas passed them at what on a llama passed for a canter. On their backs the riders wore bulky cylinders. Real firepower. I hoped they'd make it in time. Tahr had flopped down in the long grass, her nostrils flaring as she tested the breeze, the distinct duskiness of sunbleached grass and airborne pollen. Then she sneezed and blinked up at me. I sank down beside her and watched the distant troops. "You never did say why you left," she said. "I did not have much choice. Rhasct. . . she had me by a promise I made. Anyway, I think that if I had not agreed to go that way, I would have woken to find myself drugged and chained in the back of a wagon." I looked at Tahr. "Why did you do it?" "Their orders. . . is that what you mean?" She was suddenly interested in her hands, stubby fingers busy plaiting three strands of grass. "You know it is." "Perhaps I care about you." She threw the small braid aside and looked directly at me, "K'hy, you are a troublemaker. I do not know if you do it deliberately, but you always seem to be in the thick of something. I gave the other Greens explicit orders to make sure that nothing befalls you. But I never expected anything like this. "All our intelligence told us their main forces were pushing up through the centre of the Realm," she moved her hands to illustrate her point. "If your messenger had not arrived, we would be marching to the west while the Gulf forces stepped neatly around us and tripped us from behind. They would hold the only river crossing for hundreds of kilometres." "Maybe they do," I said, staring at the marching troops below. Clouds of dust were being raised by feet, hooves, and wheels. They were moving, but it was so fucking slow! "We are trying," Tahr growled. "Yeah, I know," I absently agreed, noticing her ear. I'd seen it before, but it hadn't registered. I reached over and brushed the fur in her ear. "Where did the new ring come from?" "You finally noticed." She smiled and the two rings chimed delicately. "I am now mated to H'rrasch," she proudly stated. That rocked me. I blinked stupidly. Pleasure at her good fortune? There was that, but also. . . disappointment? I never thought she would go so far as to take him as her mate; I'd kind of thought of him as my stunt-double, filling in where I couldn't. I kept staring, unable to think of anything to say. Tahr cocked her head, giving me a funny look. "What?" "Uh. . . I had hoped that you two would get along, but this I did not expect," I shook my head, then broke into a grin, "I think that congratulations are in order, Tahr." She laughed and rolled on her back in the sunlight. "I thank you." "Where is H'rrasch?" "Still at mainport." She swiped at a bug and her jaw set, "I will not lose another." It was simple enough. She'd lost too many already: old friends, her father, a lover murdered while she watched. There been too many deaths all round. "You will not," I promised her and smiled: "I hope that you will both be very happy together." "We will!" she hissed, and rolling onto her stomach, she linked her fingers, planted her elbows on the ground, and rested her head on her laced fingers. "K'hy, you are truly the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me." Again I was lost for words and Tahr laughed again at my flustered expression. Below and to our right, a group of blue and silver guards appeared from amongst a group of tents, looked around, and doubletimed it our way. "Huh!" Tahr snorted. "That is the problem with leadership: everyone is always following you." I plucked a stem of grass and chewed on it while watching the soldiers running toward us. ****** R'R'Rhasct had changed out of her camouflage fatigues into a 'normal' flanged kilt and ribbed leather armour, as had the rest of the Greens; outfits better suited for swordplay. Fur still matted with dust and dirt and blood, reeking of smoke and blood, she stood to attention as Tahr and Remae swept into the room, then flinched when she saw me. Tahr saw that. "It is all right. I ordered him to return with us," she told R'R'Rhasct. "He has told me that you tried to follow my orders, but as you know, he is a difficult thing to keep out of trouble." I glared at R'R'Rhasct, then looked around at the other Greens and my heart sank: two missing. Wounded? Dead? There wasn't time to find out. An orderly swung the ornate double doors at the far end of the room open and signalled us to enter. Tahr took point into Fres's's study, with Remae and I bringing up the rear. I caught a glimpse of R'R'Rhasct sagging in relief before the closing doors hid her from view. The Clan Lord of Weather Rock was standing over at the window but she turned as the Shirai entered and returned to her desk. "High One, I thank you for coming." Shit, she looked exhausted. Her eyes were wide, her milky-white third eyelids were just visible, covering the corners of her green pupils, and her mane had been hastily raked back. "Please, sit," she gestured to us. "Thank you," Tahr replied as she chose one of the chairs facing the desk. The Clan Lord sank down into the leather and carved wood monstrosity behind the desk. Remae and I quietly took the two chairs flanking Tahr. Damn Sathe furniture, still doesn't feel comfortable "Honoured Shirai," Fres's sounded as tired as she looked. "On the behalf of my Clan, I lay my arms at your feet and bare my throat for your claws. We shall follow your tail and may none stray from the path you lead." The litany had been recited in a sing-song, in her eagerness to get it over and done with. I got the vague impression that she wasn't all that impressed with either Tahr or the formalities. With her town at stake, who could blame her? I watched as Tahr touched her fingertips to Fres's's throat, just once, just enough to drag her claws lightly through fur. "Hystf Fres's. I return your arms to you. I stay my hand. I accept your submission. Now," she cocked her head as she regarded the Fres's Clan Lord, "I would know exactly what has happened here." Fres's took a shuddering breath and began her tale. I listened as she described the days leading up to the Greens' arrival. They had heard tales and rumours of destruction in the south, but little was being done until the night when a quarter of the town was razed to the ground by the torches of the Gulf Realm. Tahr looked at me when she heard about the part I'd played that night, but she said nothing. For over an hour Fres's went on, answering questions and reeling off figures and facts that meant little to me. Even though I thought that I was fluent in Sathe, her steady talking and frequent references to people, places, and politics that meant nothing to me often left me behind. There were still a lot of words I didn't know. ". . . it was this morning when I ordered that the cubs remaining in the town evacuated. It was only a couple of hours later. We had scarcely three hundred warriors on the walls when they attacked again." She took a deep breath and licked her thin black lips. "They came as they had before, from two directions and we simply did not have the numbers to cover both approaches. They grew bolder when only crossbows were fired and they were on the walls almost immediately. It was like trying to hold the tide with your hands. . . We could not stop them. "High One, if it had not been for your scouts and their flame weapons. . . We would have fallen. When your banners started to fly from the ramparts, they were routed. Still, it was not without a high cost." She opened a drawer beside in the desk and pulled out a bundle of thick, yellow papers. She dropped them on the desk and quickly put her hands on the desk, one resting on top of the other, but I had time enough to see how unsteady they were. "High One, this is a list of our casualties. The ones we know of." Tahr silently picked up the bulky manuscript and turned to the first page. All the Sathe who had died protecting their home, immortalised and impersonalised on pieces of yellowing paper. She was still holding the book and just staring at it when a scratch sounded at the door. At a gesture from Fres's, Remae was at the door, opening it on the steward waiting there. "My apologies High Ones," he bowed. "The Gulf Commander is waiting beyond the south gate. He has called Challenge." Tahr snarled softly and flexed the remaining fingers of her maimed left hand. ****** From the small room in the gatehouse I could hear the gates squeal as they swung wide. Through the arrow slit in the south wall a swathe of the road was visible, a group of three Gulf warriors waiting there with their llamas shifting nervously. Off in the distance, the masses of the Gulf army watched. The sound of hoofbeats in the tunnel under the gate. Six more Sathe appeared in my field of vision, riding towards the waiting delegation. Tahr was one of those riders and Hraasa had a gun. My hands and armpits were damp and clammy with sweat. Beside me R'R'Rhasct's nostrils twitched as she caught scent-traces of my distress, but she said nothing. The Eastern delegation met the Gulf riders. Terse bows were exchanged, then they talked. Whatever was said it was swallowed by the distance, but there were gestures: ears flattening, the twitch of a hand upon the pommel of a sword, movements stiffened by anger and hostility. The sun had moved several degrees by the time the they finished. As the two groups started to move away from each other, Hraasa called out and the Eastern delegates stopped, Tahr rearmost turning her mount to face him. The Gulf Commander said something that caused Tahr's ears to flatten. She spat something back at him and reined about, galloping past the waiting Eastern Sathe and leading them back to the safety of the town walls. The Gulf Warriors followed their leader back through the fields of death to their camps. ****** "Tahr, please! I am lost! What is going to happen?" It was dark outside, and the small study in the keep was dimly lit by a single flickering candle. Tahr was honing her claws on a piece of wood while poring over reports scattered on her low desk. She looked up at me and twitched her ears in mild annoyance. "K'hy, at some times your ignorance can amaze even me." I was on the floor, sitting on a brightly coloured cushion, my back against the wall. Besides the desk and chair, it was the only furniture in the room. Chagrined by her words, I hung my head, "I-am-sorry Tahr." Those slitted emerald and gold eyes watched me for a second, then she ran her fingers through her mane and gave a faint hiss of amusement; or was it exasperation? "Do not do that, K'hy. It makes you look like a half-drowned cub." She sighed and pushed the papers aside, stretching with a crackling of joints: "Very well. Hraasa knows that he cannot be sure of a victory. He knows how many of his troops will die if he continues with this conflict, so he has called a Challenge. It will be as it was at Mainport, at the Choosing. Two individuals will fight: tooth to tooth, claw to claw, to the death. The winner," She tilted her hands in a shrug, "The winner will survive. The winner's Realm will survive." "The losing side will just. . . surrender?" She looked pained. "The losing Clan will surrender, clans allied with them. . . it depends. Most will sway their alliances, others might ccontinue to fight, others will grab for the opening, but they will lose. Without doubt they will lose." "Then why bother with the armies?" I protested. "Why not just have the Challenge at the beginning and save all this bloodshed?" Her claw tore a deep gouge in the piece of wood she held. "K'hy, it is an ancient prerogative of the Clan Lords. Fighting with armies always leaves some options: escape, retreat. . . This leaves nothing save complete domination for the victor and complete submission for the loser. If I recall correctly, the last time it was used was two hundred and twenty five years ago in the dispute between the Shirai and N'Fense clans; two rather insignificant clans." "Shirai insignificant?!" "Please, tell nobody I said that," she told me, then continued. "After Syfee ai Shirai defeated his opponent, the N'Fense clan merged with the Shirai. His descendant became the first Shirai to stand above the Eastern Realm." "'Stand above'? What does that mean?" "Why. . . uh. . . it is a term used to show. . . dominance." Tahr's muzzle wrinkled as she tried to explain something she'd always taken for granted. "From long ago. A chief would force any challengers to lie on their backs, baring their throats and stomachs in submission. Do you understand?" "Uh. . . Yes," I replied. "When you are called High One, does that mean the same thing?" "These days it is just a term of respect, but yes, it does mean the same thing." Her claws were making scritch-scratch sounds on the bit of wood. "Ah, K'hy, you wander from the trail. . . you were asking about the Challenge." "Yes. . . you said that two individuals would fight." "I did," she agreed. "Who?" She looked at the stick in her hands, then deliberately set it down on the desk and came around to squat down beside me, her hands dangling between her knees. "K'hy, we will have the choice of selecting champions, or fighting claw to claw; him against me." I'd grabbed her arm before she could move, making her gasp. "Champions! Tahr, I want to fight him. Dammit, I want to kill him!" "K'hy." "Look, I. . . " "You are hurting me!" I looked down and saw how deeply my fingers were pressing into her arm. She fell back when I let go, rubbing the spot and staring at me; the remaining claws on her left hand were poking out. Again I hung my head whilst my stomach sank, "I am sorry, Tahr." Her pupils flared, then contracted and she laid her left hand upon my knee. Slowly, the claws flexed. "You will not fight. I do not know if Hraasa would fight personally. He may simply choose another champion to oppose you; and whoever Hraasa chooses, you can be certain that they will be good. I know that you can fight - in your own way - but could you have bested Thraest if he had used his claws and you had to fight naked?" Remembering that fight, I shook my head. No. He would have taken me to pieces. "I thought not. . . K'hy, your opponent would be just as good as Thraest, perhaps better. He would slice you to shreds at his leisure." To emphasize her point she jabbed her claws into my leg, making me wince. "Perhaps more importantly there is also the fact that you are not Shirai, Eastern, or even Sathe," she continued. "If you did manage to win - and with your luck that is a possibility - Hraasa or other Gulf Lords would doubtless claim the Challenge forfeit. You would simply waste your time." Defeated, I slumped back against the wall and realised what could happen. "Tahr, if Hraasa does win, what will happen to the Eastern Realm?" She sighed, a slow hissing like the life was leaking out of her. "The Shirai clan will be taken into the Mharah Clan. Dissolved. The Realm would collapse. My defeat would be the defeat of the Shirai Clan. Shirai is the Realm. Without the Born Ruler, there is no cohesion, no Realm. Clans would fall aprt: Some might continue to fight, some would lie down for the Gulf Realm, others might decide they are the ones to replace the Shirai clan. Lords would argue, clans would fight amongst themselves. "Given time they would settle, a new Born Ruler would stand above the rest to bring the Clans together. There would be no time. The Lake Traders would return to their own lands and there would be nothing to stand before the Gulf Realm. "The Lake Traders would return to their own lands. The Eastern Realm would be carved up among the Gulf Clans, any Lords who resist would be executed along with their kin. Few would choose to do so. "It is traditional to destroy the symbol of a defeated Clan's, the heart of their strength. They would have the right to march into Mainport and destroy it until there is no trace of Eastern power left. Small towns and villages would have to turn to Gulf clans for protection against bandits, animals, and other Realms while any remaining Eastern warriors would be branded as outlaws and hunted to death. "The Eastern Realm would be only a memory, and memories eventually fade." A whole nation gone, just. . . gone. As Carthage was levelled by the Romans; when even the rubble of the city was ploughed level and sown with salt so nothing could grow there, so the Hraasa would do to the Eastern capital. And what would happen to me? I was sure that Hraasa would not let me rest easy. . . and what about Maxine? Goddamn it, there was no way he was going to get to her! If I had to commit suicide by walking into his tent and gunning him down, I'd do it. . . "What?" I looked up; Tahr had spoken. "You have a problem," she repeated.. "No, it is nothing," I tried to shrug it off. "You worry about what will happen to yourself and Mas?" That startled me. "That transparent?" "I have had time to learn to see through you, K'hy." Her ears danced and the rings chimed. "I have also given that some thought. If the worst does transpire, make all possible haste in returning to Mainport. Take Mas and flee. Go north, west. . . it does not matter, just leave this Realm." "But. . . " "Do not argue, just do it! K'hy, consider it my dying wish, alright?" I started to say something, then swallowed the lump in my throat. "Alright," I whispered. "Your word?" "My word." "Good." She relaxed; satisfied. "Huh. . . Just stay out of sight and you will not have to worry about pursuit; they think that you are dead." I blinked. "What?" "Hraasa boasted to me how he had rid the world of the. . . Well, what he said is not important," nor - I guessed - very flattering, "but the Gulf Realm believes that you are dead." But surely I had been seen by Gulf Warriors since then!. . . Hadn't I? "He seemed sure you were dead," Tahr assured me. Ah me. If only the Sathe were superstitious, believed in ghosts or something, then maybe I could just jump out in front of Hraasa and yell "BOO!" and he would keel over. . . While I'm at it, if only an aircraft carrier would happen by. Ifs are nice to dream about, but they aren't always very practical. "K'hy?" "Yeah?" "You will go?" she beseeched me. A small question, how could it hurt so much? I nodded minutely, "Yeah." She reached out for my face and I felt a clawtip touch my cheek; it came away with a droplet of moisture hanging from it. The tear glittered as Tahr turned her hand, examining it as though it were a rare gem, then she stared at me. "Good luck, Tahr," I choked. She didn't say anything, she just hugged me. In return I drew her close, just holding her, feeling her muzzle press against my cheek, then a rough tongue rasp against my skin. "Salt," she murmured almost to herself. ****** The shadows among the ruined buildings of Weather Rock were deep. The darkness and the piles and latticeworks of shattered masonry and timbers themselves sheltering me from wandering Sathe eyes. I wrapped the cloak tighter against the cool evening breeze that stirred the soot and the leaves of small plants starting to sprout amongst the debris. In the space before the south gate of the town, inside the walls, a circle had been marked out on the ground; about five metres radius. It was deserted. Far enough from the circle to escape scent and sound detection I crouched down in the shadows on a pile of rubble and leaned against a wall to wait. A squirrel scampered into the circle. Start, stop, test the air, scamper onwards. It sat up in the circle and quickly preened itself, then suddenly bolted and disappeared over the town wall as though the obstacle wasn't there. An even dozen red and black armoured warriors who appeared in the town gates. After all we'd been through to keep them on the other side of the walls, now they just walked in unopposed. Equipment creaked and jangled as the warriors crossed the court to form a crescent on one side of the circle. They stood like obsidian statues, even their ears motionless. Blue and silver troops marched into view. Just as silently they took up positions facing the Gulf warriors, hands resting upon sword pommels. It was so still that I found I was holding my breath. I let it out as silently as I could. Still it seemed as if they would hear me. I wasn't supposed to be there. Except for these bodyguards, nobody was. They were the elite from both sides, impartial witnesses. By now the rest of the town would be deserted. The confusion as the populace left had been more than enough to cover my tracks as I slipped away, and now. . . I waited. My field of view was limited to the circle, the soldiers flanking it, and the gateway beyond. The soldiers stiffened as a cloaked figure materialised from the darkness beneath the gatehouse and approached. From the other direction came another, the pair stalking toward each other from opposite sides of the circle. Tahr and Hraasa. They stepped within the boundary lines and slowly circled until Tahr was on the side nearest the Gulf soldiers and Hraasa the Eastern soldiers. Briefly they spoke; the soft words carried away from me by the breeze, then they stripped off their cloaks, throwing them aside. But for their fur they were both naked My heart fell when I saw them together. Not only was Hraasa taller than Tahr, but he was broader and must have outweighed her by fifteen kilos, and judging from the way he moved none of it was fat. Tahr was worried as well. Her hands flexed; clenching and unclenching as she and her opponent exchanged stiff bows. When the claws came out and fangs were bared, I knew with a sick despair why Hraasa had declined a Challenge of champions. There was a storm in the circle; the lightning strokes of claws slashed out and the thunder of snarls reverberated almost subsonically amongst the quiescent ruins. Tahr was fighting with every ounce of her speed and skill, and I could see it wasn't enough. Dodging past Hraasa after the initial onslaught, Tahr fell back to the opposite side of the circle, panting heavily. The fur on her arms was starting to turn several shades darker as liquid seeped through it. Hraasa turned and advanced slowly upon her, and again Tahr darted past him, landing a raking blow across his ribs. Looking surprised, Hraasa touched the mark and glanced at his hand, then quickly back at Tahr. Tahr just hissed, jaws wide. His ears flicking, Hraasa moved on his smaller opponent and again she tried to dart past him, but he moved, fast, and a blow from his hand snagged her shoulder. For a second he held her, then she twisted, slashing back at him and the skin and fur gave way and she ripped free. Another rivulet started down her arm. I watched helplessly. I'd been unable to get my hands upon my gun unnoticed, and if I tried to interfere the guards would doubtless cut me down and declare the contest forfeit to the Gulf Realm. Hraasa had only a few superficial scratches, but Tahr was being sliced and diced. . slowly. Tahr was faltering badly, unable to block many of Hraasa's strikes. For a second he paused as she shook her head, then went for her again. She dodged the first slashing left, and sidestepped a right, but then Hraasa was upon her, his jaws gaping, saliva glistening. Their snarls were punctuated by cries of pain, too many of them Tahr's, and then they were rolling in the dust near the edge of the circle; grappling to keep claws and fangs at bay. Tahr was pinned and shaken like a dog, the back of her head impacting the ground with an audible thud. Dark drops spattered on the ground and she stilled. Hraasa climbed to his feet, his chest heaving and his eyes glued on Tahr's prostrate form. For a couple of seconds she just lay there, then her chest heaved and she rolled over onto her hands and knees, spitting blood. Hraasa gave her a second, then kicked her in the head: hard. Tahr was flipped over onto her back, spasming like a beached fish in a mixture of dust and her own blood, coating herself. Her nemesis took a step back, falling into a combat stance, watching as she slowly recovered, sucked air, and hauled herself to her feet. My God, after that pounding, she could barely stand! I stared, horrified, unable to do anything. It must have been willpower alone keeping her on her feet, and Hraasa knew it. He snarled at her, circling her slowly like a waiting shark and she turned, staggering wildly with her head rolling as she tried to focus on him. Deliberately he stepped away from her, moving close to edge of the circle. There, he lowered his arms and grinned at her, taunting. She almost took a step but her leg betrayed her and she went down, kneeling before Hraasa with the blood covering her head and shoulders glistening like oil. In his triumph Hraasa threw his head back as if to howl. Perhaps it was the moonlight on my skin, or just that he was at exactly the right angle, or the shadows shifting enough. Whatever it was, he saw me. And froze solid, staring straight at me. I don't know how she did it, nor where she found the strength. Her lunge was feeble, but enough; her claws hooked into his chest and ripped down, just scratching, but pushing him back a step. . . . . . out of the circle. He didn't even notice. Ignoring Tahr moving weakly on the ground before him, he spun to his guards, and I was gone. As I ducked out of sight into the shadows of the ruined houses, I could hear him screaming orders to his bodyguard. And the soldiers as they scrambled over the rubble scant metres from where I hid, trying to stop my teeth chattering: "What is he talking about? Did you see anything? There is nothing here!" ****** "I know what I saw! It was that. . . that thing!" Hraasa hissed, then rounded on his aide and snarled, "And do not dare say that my mind must have wandered!" The other Sathe cringed. "Sir, nobody saw anything. The warriors found no trace of it. I myself saw you kill it, I saw it fall. I saw the holes in it. How could it possibly be here tonight?" On the other side of the tumbled wall, I pressed my back against the masonry and tried to melt into the stones. Turning my head, I could just see through holes made by fallen bricks to where Hraasa in his grey and black cloak was snarling at a subordinate. "How do you expect me to know what tricks that thing holds. . . perhaps it had armour." There was a pause. "Sir, you have seen what that weapon can do; it ignores armour." There was another pause, even longer. "It did say it had powers. . . " "Shut it!" Hraasa turned on the other, eyes blazing and his ears laid back tight against his skull. "I will hear nothing of talk about 'powers'. That. . . thing is as alive as you or I, and I swear that its revolting head will lie on the ground before me, no matter what I must do to get it!" "Sir! You forfeited! The Lords are going to be. . ." "There are still paths open to me," he snarled. "Some care only about the gold and silver in their hands; the affairs of Clans they could not care less about. They will remain loyal to whomever holds their payment and they are the path I shall take. Saaa! I swear: for all it has done to me, it is going to suffer. That creature's female will go first. . . " My heart stopped. No! Oh Christ, no! He couldn't! He'd lost! It was supposed to be over. It was supposed to be done with. Feeling faint I leaned against fire-blackened brickwork, clenching my eyes shut. After everything. . . the bastard had threatened Maxine. He wasn't going to stop; I saw that then. He'd never stop. Wherever we went in the Realms, Hraasa's agents would dog our heels. Their voices died away as Hraasa strode through the arch beneath the gatehouse, his retinue strung out behind him. After a while there came the sound of many hoofbeats, fading off into the distance. As long as I lived he would hunt me. . . us. I leaned my head back against the wall and looked up at the clouds pushing across in front of the moon. The stars were glimmering like things alive; laughing at me, a lunatic. As long as I lived. . . . . . or as long as he lived. My fist slammed against the wall as I made my decision, then I was off: South. ****** Scratching at my door. I gritted my teeth and wrapped the sheets a little closer before answering. Remae's dark form was waiting outside. Sickly dawn light glowed through the small window at the end of the corridor. "God! Remae! How is she? What happened?" "I knew that would be the first thing you would ask." She pushed passed me, closing the door and leaning against it. "The Shirai is. . . badly hurt." "What? How badly?! REMAE. . . " "Do not shout," the Marshal said as she gathered her thoughts. "She has lost a lot of blood, her collarbone and jaw have maybe been fractured, and she has been badly bruised, especially around her face. She sleeps now. The physicians cannot say. . . " I sat down on the edge of the circular bed and hitched the sheets up, trying to hide the discomfort that caused. It wouldn't do to have them slip down. "She won?" "Yes, she won, but I cannot fathom out why. She was more than three wholes dead while Hraasa was hardly scratched. Then. . . something happened: he seemed to freeze. She caught him unawares and pushed him out of the circle." She waved her hands in a shrug, "He was winning. He had her. I cannot understand why he would falter like that, can you?" Remae was suddenly watching me intently, sniffing. "How should I know?" I hastily provided, trying to look innocent. "Some have been saying he saw something." "What?" "I am not sure. Something that startled him enough to throw away the Challenge. Where were you last night, K'hy?" My guts clenched. "Around. Worrying." "Ah. I do not recall seeing you." "Why, I did not see you either. What a coincedence." "You were not anywhere near the Challenge?" "You know nobody was supposed to be around there . . . Wait. You think I was . . . Damnation! If you want to know what Hraasa saw, why do you not just ask him?!" She studied me, then carefully sniffed the air and her muzzle wrinkled, "An excellent suggestion. You do not know that Hraasa is dead?" "Wha. . . What? When? How?!" "There have been rumours from the Gulf camp that he was found dead early this morning. He died in the night. Perhaps honourable suicide after what happened last night?" "That would sound reasonable." That look again: "The rumours also say that he was found dead in his bed, still warm; and but for the cuts Tahr had given him, there wasn't a scratch on his body, however his throat had been crushed. Completely crushed. I would wonder how he managed to do that to himself. . . In fact, I would wonder how anyone could manage to do it; and the guards saw and heard nothing. "I have never heard of anything like it. . . And there was a purse of gold right beside the bed. It had not been touched. Who would pass by something like that?!" She paused, then grinned, "I suppose nobody would wish to take that furball's foul money." "You do not sound like you will miss him." Remae hissed, missing my sarcasm. "Miss that impotent bastard?! He was responsible for the destruction of my home! Miss him?. . . Huh!" she snorted in disgust at the thought. I was quiet for a while. "Would I be able to see Tahr?" "I thought you would also ask that," she sighed and scrubbed at her facial fur. "I do not know. . . I will tell you when she wakes. The physicians still are not sure. . . are you all right? You look. . . strange." "Yes, I am fine. . . just worried." I smiled at her. "I understand," she grimaced in an imitation human- style smile and then the door was swinging shut behind her. I stood there, just staring at the carved wooden panels of the door. Shit, she suspected me. If she'd arrived just a few minutes earlier. . . Shaking my head I returned to the desk, sat down and opened the drawer where'd I'd swept the small bottle and bloodstained cloths when Remae had scratched at the door. Letting the sheets drop to the floor I laid my bare arm on the desk. My arms, my shoulders, my chest were slashed and streaked with burning red lacerations where claws had flailed at me; first in disbelief, then in utter desperation. The alcohol ached terribly as I rubbed the contents into the wounds, but there were limits to what it could wash away. I grimaced, salt water running through my beard, dripping and stinging as much as the alcohol. ****** Two more weeks on the road. Two weeks of making sure I stayed covered up to avoid awkward questions about the new wounds that adorned my arms; the painful red ribbons wrapping themselves around and over old scars. Keeping them clean was hard; almost impossible. I'd had my tetanus jabs, but nevertheless my right arm started to stiffen up, the muscles around a slash on my biceps twitching. Mercifully, that was all that happened. My muscles bunched up and my whole left arm ached abominably for a while, but it went no further than that. The allied armies were moving north again, their numbers much depleted, but not by losses. About seventy percent of the Eastern forces had continued southwards, sweeping the Realm clean of any remaining pockets of Gulf troops. Twenty percent of the forces of the Lake Trader alliance had gone with them and they would march to the southern border between the Eastern Realm and the Gulf territories. They would draw Eastern Clans to them as they passed the remaining small southern settlements and towns of the occupied territories, further bolstering their numbers with conscripts and garrison troops. I guessed that they wouldn't stop at the Borderline River. The army of the Gulf Realm had collapsed like a house of cards. A couple of Clans tried to rally and fight, but. . they never had a chance. Weather Rock was litered with surrendered weapons and armour, shocked and confused Gulf Troopers hundreds of kilometres from their homes just dropping them were they stood. Now the few hundred being escorted nortward had nothing, not even clothing. The few light tunics were tattered and torn. They were fortunate that in the heat of summer clothing was not really a problem. It was difficult for me to understand, to accept. They just. . . surrendered. Remae had reared back in disbelief when I asked what would happen if they reneged on their surrender. "K'hy, they would not!" It was gospel. Whether it was a single individual or a whole realm; if you surrendered, you surrendered. There were no ifs, whys, or buts. The Gulf warriors were a formidable force no longer. Their Clans had been torn apart by their captors, their Clan crests burned and the ashes trampled into the dirt, then their left ears were lopped off to show they were POWs. Frightened and homeless Sathe were then taken into Eastern and Lake trader clans as slaves. No. . . I think serfs would be a better word. They would work on the land and in the holdings of their foster Clans. They would have very few rights: Being forbidden to possess weapons, living in conditions bordering upon poverty, but they were bound by oath to their Clan Lord, and in turn to the Realm itself. Oh, in time they could gain status. Perhaps their grandchildren would become successful traders and landholders. Perhaps they would see the land their ancestors had left behind. Perhaps. . . But in the meantime, these soldiers were soldiers no more. They could try to forget about any families they might have, but I wondered if any of them would succeed. For the lower clans and families, their loss in the conflict just meant a change of bosses, not too much of a change in the daily routines of life. However the larger, older, and more influential clans would not alter their allegiances so readily. There would be fighting and probably Challenges and certainly more deaths. . . But the war was all but over. Yes, the war was over. Those few words are easy enough to say, but always there were reminders. Reminders such as the twenty five wagons in the train behind us. On bad nights I sometimes still have nightmares about what those wagons carried. The army stopped for a day or so, taking on water and hunting food. You'd be amazed how much it took to feed this many hungry Sathe, and that food had to be hunted. It was during this break that Remae had come to me asking if I could help their physicians. I protested that I was no doctor, especially when it came to Sathe, but she persisted. Sathe were still dying from wounds that the physicians had no experience with. I finally gave in to her requests. While we camped the wounded were tended to in shelters set up well away from the bustle of the central camp. You could hear the moans and cries and smell the stench from well outside the tents. Inside. . . I burst out again, retching and gasping. "Shit! Oh, Jesus!" If just the smells had been indescribable, the things I saw in those tents were in another reality, straight out of the worst slasher flick.. A favourite target of the sword is the gut. Large and soft, the blade flickers in and out, often without killing, but leaving the victim open for the killing blow. If that blow doesn't come, the agony before death would be maddening. Sathe lay in that sweltering tent with dressings and bandages the only things holding their intestines in: Peritonitis would be inevitable for most of them. In others cases sword strokes had laid the flesh on arms bare to the bone - like whittling with limbs. Sathe with glazed and dull eyes watched me. Many of them were Gulf. When the Eastern Realm had defeated them, so they had taken their wounded, and the Gulf Realm had many, many wounded. Teeth and bone jutted from torn skin and fur. The air was thick, hot and muggy, a heavy cloying smell floating in it. . . like a slaughterhouse on a hot day. My gorge did somersaults. I swallowed hard to keep my last meal down and pay attention as Remae introduced me to a harrased, be- spattered Sathe medic. They were trying, working to the best of their ability, but there just wasn't much they could do. The physicians and their assistants had patched the wounded as best they could and now all they could do was hope they'd heal. Hope they'd heal. Jesus. For those Sathe troopers, being patched up could mean anything from having a banage slapped on to a limb sawn off. After that it was even odds if they lived or died. Infection got some, shock and blood loss others. I don't know what the mortality rate was, but in one hour three died. To make matters worse, they were dealing with a new kind of wound: the entry holes were small, but they shattered bones, pulversied organs and left a hole the size of a tennis ball on the way out. The physicians took me around the tents, a guided tour of things I hoped I'd be able to forget. I was shown cases with gunshot wounds who just weren't improving. Most were laid out with torso wounds. They'd been sutured or bandaged, but the Sathe physicians had to be shown the fragments of metal and splintered bone floating around the body cavity; the lethal slivers that could rupture vital organs. As time went on, I fought my queasiness and began fishing pieces out myself; Ape-descended fingertips were more nimble than Sathe pads burdened with their retractile claws. There were a few other suggestions I could give, seeing about getting some clean air in there. Tearing the flaps covering the entrances torn into vertical strips let fresh air in and kept flies out. Bandages and instruments and water needed sterilizing. Hands and what bedding they had needed washing. Sulfur could be used as an antiseptic, as could alcohol. Not much, I know, but it was all I had to offer. Of course, there were a few not exactly ecstatic for my help. I remember a female, her fur almost bronze colored. Her upper-right arm had been smashed by a bullet. The compound fracture had been hastily set in a crude splint; if left like that she would probably have had to lose the arm, an operation that would in all likelihood kill her. Screaming imprecations and struggling wildly, she had to be held down by several guards while I cut the splint off her arm. She gasped once and passed out when the bones clicked into place. The scabbed-over wound where the bone had punctured the hide had to be cut open again and cleaned out. Probably just as well she wasn't conscious to feel that. I did my best at helping, but it isn't easy when although you know that a limb could be saved, there is no way you can do it when there is no operating theatre, no skilled doctors, no blood transfusion or I.V. feeding facilities, no sterile instruments, no oxygen; just knives, saws, and bandages that were seldom clean. The Sathe did have drugs that could be used as crude anaesthetics in an emergency, but not nearly enough to go around. They were reserved for the very worst cases amongst the elite. For the two days we camped I spent time working in that hell of shattered bodies. Two days of slaving over wounds I knew I could have caused. Every bullet that I pulled out was one that I could have fired and without a doubt, some of them were. But there were so many of them, and the simple soldiers weren't the only casualties of war. ****** A bloated fly buzzed drunkenly around in the stuffy heat of the covered wagon, repeatedly butting against the canvass roof. "Tahr?" The gaunt figure lying on the cushions moved her head and opened her eyes, trying to focus on me. Her fur was coming away in tufts, patches of bare skin showing around the bandages that covered the worst of her wounds. But for the bruising and swelling, her naked skin was paler and greyer than mine. "Hmmph?. . . Hello, K'hy." "How are you feeling?" Through the bandages, her ears twitched mirthlessly and she grimaced as the wagon lurched. "I have. . . been better." That fight had nearly killed her. It still might. She was covered with scratches and bruises, minor and serious. Her jaw was fractured, and I was no doctor but I knew concussion when I saw it. Half dead after the fight, she had insisted she was alright, then promptly collapsed. She went downhill from there, losing weight at an alarming rate. We had to practically force water into her and food she couldn't handle at all. Consciousness came and went. Sometimes she was lucid; others she mumbled with glazed eyes. I had watched over her while she slept, listening to her chirr in pain as the wagon bumped her around. . . "Do you feel like eating?" She gagged slightly. "No. . . " Tufts of fur stuck to my hand when I stroked her mane. Tahr saw. "If. . . goes on. . . I'll look like you," she tried to joke, but it fell flat. "You think I'll make it?" "Course you will!" She smiled slightly; ever so slightly. "Huh. . . don't hold your breath," she breathed. "Oh, K'hy. The strangest dreams. . . " Then the light in her eyes faded and her muscles sagged. "Tahr!" I grabbed for her wrist, then her neck. The pulse was there, but faint. For Christ's sake, this can't go on! When we stopped for the evening, Remae was at the wagon, anxious for news. "It is not good," I told her, then looked at Tahr. She twitched in her sleep. I took Remae outside: even unconscious ears can hear. "She is. . . She took a lot of punishment. I do not know how serious it is, but she needs time to recover. Not in THAT thing though, the ride is killing her. She needs somewhere quiet, clean, and still." Remae hugged herself and laid her ears flat. "There is a town: Ice Blue. But it is off our path." "It is the nearest?" "Yes." I rubbed the side of my head, hissing through my teeth. "Nothing for it then. How far?" "Perhaps a day's ride." And it was that and a bit more. It was the middle of the night when we arrived: a troop of soldiers and a single wagon riding into the small town of Ice Blue. ****** The inn was a simple, single-floor half-timber construction - not large - and the innkeeper was not happy about being roused out of his sleep in the small hours. He tried to take out his annoyance on Remae, haggling over the price with her, until I stepped into the room with Tahr slumped in my arms and a pair of armed guards at my side. "Good sir." I reigned in my temper with difficulty. "The price can be settled later. We require any available room immediately. And hurry; I am tired and hungry." I placed particular emphasis on the last word and grinned. He didn't even notice the other Sathe, just gaped up at me, his ears going flat against his skull. "Saaa. . . of course, of course. Here, this way madam. Here. . . a fine room. . . " he prattled on as he scurried into a back hall. Remae threw me a warning look and followed. I trialed after. The innkeeper took great care to keep the Marshal between us as he led us to a room. "This is what you are wanting?" I pushed past him into the small room and set Tahr down on the circular bed of animal furs as gently as possible. She stirred, as if she was waking, then slipped back under again. "All right?" Remae asked me. "It will do." I'd have preferred an emergency room in a proper hospital. "Very well." She looked at Tahr and I saw the worry crawling across her face. "I will get the others settled down and arrange a guard. She will be as safe with you as with anyone." "Guards!?" the innkeeper yelped. "Good lady, what is going on? You are not leaving THAT here? High One?. . . " He cast me a terrified look and dashed off after her. The rickty door creaked shut by itself. Slumping down to the floor beside the bed, I watched over my friend. End Human Memoirs Part 4 Section b