From howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Wed Jun 14 06:48:02 PDT 1995 Article: 32267 of alt.fan.furry Xref: netcom.com alt.fan.furry:32267 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!news.starnet.net!wupost!waikato!comp.vuw.ac.nz!newshost.wcc.govt.nz!usenet From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry Subject: Repost:Human Memoirs part 10 Date: Tue, 13 Jun 95 23:01:21 +1200 Organization: Wellington City Council Lines: 1581 Message-ID: <3rjr7h$cbj@golem.wcc.govt.nz> NNTP-Posting-Host: ix.wcc.govt.nz Greetings viewers. It's time for the next exciting installment of. . . Human Memoirs Part 3 section B The trio of bored guards lounging around outside my door had kittens when I appeared. Hands shot to sword hilts, fur bristled. "Hey guys!" I smiled and waved at them. "You . . . How . . . " they stuttered with jaws dropping. "Where have you been? What have you done?!" the senior howled. "I got tired of the view and took a walk," I said. "Now if you will excuse me . . . " "A walk!" The guard started to hyperventilate. "The Shirai will have our hides for this!" "What she does not know cannot hurt her," I pointed out. "I am here, I am safe. Just keep your mouths shut and nobody will know." He gaped and was about to argue when his associates caught his shoulder and drew him aside to put their heads together. Eventually they came to a solution that was of mutual satisfaction to them all. The trio returned to their posts, staring past me. "If anyone asks, we never saw you leave your room." I grinned and opened the door. ****** From the rampart below my window a bird was singing its respects to the morning sun. "Oh, Jesus . . . Why haven't they invented coffee?" I moaned to myself, clasping my head between my hands. Water had to do instead. I took a mouthful, swilled, spat, then drank. Nah, it's just not the same. Christ on a crutch! How much had I drunk last night? R'R'Rhasct had said it was only three mugs. Bullshit! I'd never feel like this after only three beers. It reminded me more of the after-effects of Thamil. Still, whatever it had been, it had been more than enough to persuade me to go all the way with yet another Sathe female, one I didn't even know! "This is a habit I've got to break," I muttered, then dropped back down on the couch, nursing my water. My head was still aching, even when I put my head down and closed my eyes for a second . . . Five localised points of pain lanced through my shoulder. I yelped, rolled over, and fell off the couch. >From my position on the wooden floor, I looked up at Remae leaning over the back of the chair, her claws still poking from her fingertips. "Oh, sorry," the Marshal apologised, "I forgot how thin your skin . . . what has happened to your face?" "Huh?" I touched my cheek and winced. "Oh, I just had a small accident last night. Fell over. Nothing serious." Outside, the sun was high in the sky. How long had I been asleep? "Good to hear. Have you looked at yourself?" There was a mirror in my room, a tiny square of smoky glass. Unfamiliar features stared back at me. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the damned thing, I looked. . wrong, and this time I looked even worse than usual. My left eye was almost swollen shut and surrounded by black and blue skin, a real shiner. I touched the tenderised meat and winced. "Ouch. That's going to be a beauty. " Reflected in the mirror, I saw Remae standing behind the couch, staring at me. The contrast between the brilliance of her eyes and the darkness of her fur was incredible; like the catseyes down the middle of a road, shining in a car's headlights. It made me nervous. "Fell over," she mused. "Did you trip over someone's claws?" "Huh?" "Those scratches down your side." I glanced down at the tears in my shirt with the red scratches showing through. Shit! I'd forgotten . . . "Was there something you wanted?" I snapped and turned to face her. "The guard said that you were asleep when he brought in your food, that you had been all day. I just stopped off to see if you were all right." I bent over to picked up the mug I'd knocked over when I fell off the couch and set it back beside the pitcher of water on the desk. "Oh, thanks . . . I would be better if I could get out more often, but that is not possible is it," I said with a meaningful glance in her direction. She rubbed behind one triangular ear; amused. As if she knew something . . . "No, I am afraid not." I rolled my eyes, sighed, and she turned to leave. "Hold on a sec," I stalled her. "Can I see that Gulf prisoner? The female, the one whose mate was injured." She stopped in her tracks. "What in the Name of the Clan do you want to see her for?" I shrugged. "There are a few questions I want to ask her." "Are there?" she stared at me, her ears tilting back. "Why? She is the enemy." "Remae, to me she is a Sathe . . . as are you, Tahr, and Rehr. I find it very difficult to hate any of you because of your backgrounds and histories; they do not mean as much to me as they do to you . . . Please, can I see her?" Remae's hand was resting on the door latch but she made no move to open it. She stood there for a few seconds, her muzzle wrinkled in puzzlement and those unblinking eyes fixed on me. I swallowed. "We shall see," she said, then she swept out and the door was swinging shut behind her. I watched the door after it had shut, thinking about what I had heard Remae and Tahr talking about the night before. What had Tahr told her about us? Judging from the way she had been staring at me, I guessed it was a lot. "What is it with them? We're different goddamn SPECIES!" I wondered if talking to yourself really was a sign of cracking up. ****** Papers on the drawing board fluttered in a draught coming straight through the closed windows. Sparks danced up around the stew simmering over the fire, the smell wafting around the room. As the papers rustled again, I jotted down a note in the margins: DOUBLE GLAZING. They hadn't let me see that Gulf prisoner, but I'd got my drawing board moved in. Those long winter evenings dragged on, working was one way to pass the time. I spent hundreds of hours at that desk with quill and ink, scratching away, putting ideas to paper. Technical works for the most part, tools and machinery I tried to recreate from memory, but tucked away in a drawer were a few sketches of a more personal nature. One slow day I'd found myself doodling, sketching a line drawing of Tahr's face. It just went from there, drawing the faces of the Sathe I'd met, trying to catch the individuality of the alien bone structures and furry faces; emotions expressed in ways a human couldn't; ways a human found difficult to relate to. I never actually showed the pictures to anyone - embarrassed they might just laugh at my interpretation of Sathe. They were something to do when I was bored or when I needed something else to think about. I kept them tucked away in a drawer and slowly - over the months - their numbers grew. On the board in front of me at the moment were rough notes for part of a wind-powered sawmill, the mechanism that would move eight saw blades while pulling a log through them; not to difficult to put down on paper, but I wondered what the gears and ratchets could be made from . . it looked like it would have to be wood. Steel would have to wait until I got a Bessemer converter - or a satisfactory analogue - worked out. There was a scratch on the door. "Come in," I called out absently in English, my mind really on the paper in front of me. No matter. Remae came in and shut the door behind herself. Without preamble she said. "I have the person that you wanted to see. She is outside . . . Do you still wish to see her?" I tossed the quill I was writing with on the drawing board and leaned back in the chair. The sharpened feather made a small blot of ink as the tip touched the yellowish paper. "She is here? Sure." She stared at me then started to open the door. "Remae," I got her attention again. "Why do you keep . . ah . . . looking at me like that. Is there something strange about me? More than normal I mean." She favoured me with a smile. "Apologies. I did not mean to stare. It is nothing." She disappeared into the corridor. I cleared the papers off the desk. "Nothing . . . right. Sure." What HAD Tahr said about me? When I looked up again that female Gulf soldier was standing in the doorway, a pair of armed and armoured guards flanking her. Remae hovered behind them. "Can we be alone?" I asked her. She gave the Gulf trooper a dubious look, then asked me, "Will you be all right?" Of all the stupid . . . "Does she look as though she can hurt me?" I snapped. That was true. It looked as if she was having trouble standing; her wrists were chained and her fur was matted and bedraggled, tufts missing with patches of cut skin showing through. With dull eyes she watched me, but her nose was twitching. I saw her glance at the fire and the pot of stew simmering on the hearth. Remae and the guards left. "You do not look so good," I said. She just stared at me. "Have a seat." I sat down in one of the armchairs and gestured at the other one. She just stood there. "Come on. You can sit down now, or I can carry you to a chair when you collapse . . . Look at yourself, you can hardly stand." She seemed to wilt even more, if that was possible, and settled in the chair nearest the fire, tucking her feet up and lowering her head, her eyes still watching me. "I do not even know your name," I realised. "Do you want to tell me?" She didn't say anything. "Listen, please. I am sorry about what happened to you and your mate. I wish we could be meeting under different circumstances, but I am afraid I really have no say in the matter." "Kass," she said. "What?" "My name is Kass . . . Kass ai Shila." Her head lifted slightly. "Kass," I pronounced the name correctly and looked at her sitting there, small, defenceless, scared, but with a spark of defiance burning within her. I saw the dirty muzzle, fur stretched taut over her ribs, and I saw her furtive glances at the pot of stew steaming softly beside the fire. A thread of saliva hung from her mouth and she licked her chops. "Hungry?" Startled, she looked back at me and pointedly clamped her mouth shut. I shrugged, picked up a clean bowl and ladled a generous helping of stew into it. Beside the fireplace a spoon I had carved for myself hung alongside Sathe spoons; I took one of the long Sathe ones. "Here, take it." I offered the bowl to her. She hesitated, but was soon shoving spoonfuls of stew into her mouth as fast as she could, holding the bowl awkwardly because of her chains. "Careful." She flinched when I touched her hand. "Go slowly." She kept eating, but at a more sedate pace. When she finished, I gave her a mug of water. "When was the last time you ate?" She belched and looked surprised. "I told you to take it easy," I said. She snorted then looked at me suspiciously. "What do you want?" "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." "Huh?" "I just want to ask you a few questions." Her eyes narrowed as a guarded look crossed her face: Obviously she had been asked some questions before. "No, no," I hastily assured her. "You will have nothing to lose by answering . . . at least I do not think you will. I just want to know what happened to the family at the farm." She still looked wary and scared. "For Christ's sake . . . Look, I just want to know what happened to them. I will not hold your answer against you." I hoped. "Can I ask you a question first?" she countered. "You will answer my question if I answer yours?" "Yes, I swear it." "I will take you on your word. What is it?" "What ARE you? Those months ago I was told we go to capture a strange creature aiding the Eastern Realm. We do this task," her chains rattled as she clenched a fist. "The creature talks, it seems to burn to death, then it returns to capture US!" She sagged and stared at the black chains around her wrists, then almost pleaded: "What are you?" I couldn't blame her for wanting to know that, but should I tell her? What could it hurt? "It is a long story." "I am not going anywhere." Well then. I poured myself a mug of water, settled and began to tell her my tale. She listened attentively. "That is true?" she asked once I had finished. "Yes, every word. Now I have answered your question, it is your turn." She took a deep breath that hissed like steam escaping from a kettle and tucked her feet in closer. "They were executed." "Oh, God . . . You fucking . . . " She cowered back, wide-eyed in terror as I stood and took a step toard her, jaw and fists clenched in fury. All she could do was cringe back, like she was trying to push through the back of the chair. She raised her hands to ward me off, the chains rattled, and the rage abruptly faded. I sat down again. She couldn't read my expression, shrinking away as I raised my head from my hands, moisture streaming from my eyes. "We had to do it," she gabbled. "We had to! If we didn't, he would have had us impaled and skinned for disobeying his orders if he had found out!" I half-listened to her. Why hadn't he come with me!? He had his family. "Why are they any concern of yours though? You never knew them." That snapped my attention back to the present. "Oh, I knew them! I knew them. They gambled everything to save my life, and they lost. "I owe them everything, Kass!" Bewildered by my outburst she gaped, then stuttered, "You . . . cared for them?" it was an unbelieving question. "Yes, I cared. I can care you know. I can love and hate, laugh and cry . . . everything a Sathe can feel, so can I. When you had me chained, did you think I enjoyed it?! Did you think I LIKED being tortured?! What did you think I AM?!" "I still do not know," she mumbled. My anger abruptly died. As tired as if I had been running for my life, I sagged and ran my fingers over my scalp. "You were asking the guards about me; why?" "I wanted to know more about you. What . . . who you are." "Have I answered your questions?" Her chains rattled as she waved a sign of acknowledgment. There was a silence, then: "You are alone? There are no more of your kind?" "I do not know," I replied. "You have not heard any stories or rumours about anything like myself?" "If you listen to enough tale-weavers you will eventually hear anything you like," she said," but I have never heard tell of anything like you." I sighed to myself and stared out the window. Droplets of water impacted against the wavery glass as the sky outside began to open. "Alright, Kass. Tell me about the Gulf Realm." Instantly her ears went back and she clammed up. "Hey! No. My mistake. All I wish to know about is what your life in the Gulf Realm was like. Where you were born, what your Clan and family is like. I know nothing of what life outside the Eastern Realm is like." Kass stared at me in surprise, but the hostility was still there. "Okay ," I shrugged then got up, took her bowl, refilled it, and handed it back to her. "You do not have to tell me anything you do not wish to." She looked at the steaming bowl she held and I could see her nostrils flare. Saliva glistened on her thin, black lips. A time of thought, then she started speaking. Her Clan was not prominent. They hailed from a fairly insignificant settlement in the western borderland of the Gulf Realm. Farming and herding was a major part of their lifestyle. She described in wistful detail the small outpost and the countryside about it: the golden prairies that 'vanished beyond a glowing purple horizon', the rivers and glades. She was a long way from home. Six years ago, at the age of thirteen, she had been drafted into the Gulf military forces to do her time as all able-bodied Sathe were required to do. She had seen action on their north-western frontier against the nomadic tribesathe of the Open Realm when the Gulf Realm carved itself several thousand square klicks of new land. She returned to their capital a vet and was initiated into the Guard where she had earned the trust and recognition of her superiors. Although she had fond memories of it, she really harboured no wish to return to her little backwater town. She'd found a job that offered to let her see more of the world than she could ever see swabbing out llama stalls. "However I did not realise that the world would include the inside of an Eastern dungeon," she finished wryly. While her story was doubtless biased, what she had told me gave me a picture of how her Realm functioned. To begin with, while the Eastern Realms form of blanket government was what could be coined a benevolent monarchy, the Gulf Realm was reigned over by a militant dictatorship. For generations now, the Clan leading the Realm had been the Mharah Dynasty, of whom Hraasa ai Mharah was the current Born Ruler. They had the Gulf Realm in a stranglehold, stifling opposition by ensuring that the other Clans in the Realm were all firmly under their control. There were the compulsory draft regulations. Clans must send a certain number of their young to serve in the Gulf military for a time. That left the Mharah Clan with a standing army of immense size under its almost exclusive control, funded by taxes from the other clans of the Realm. I also saw how the Gulf Realm had been nibbling at its neighbours, taking tiny bites from here and there. And now there were Gulf troops infiltrating the Eastern Realm; pushing far beyond the borders nearly undetected. The Eastern Realm knew they were there, but couldn't find them. Like fleas on a dog. Their push was going to turn to shove real soon. I turned from my ruminating back to Kass: "Thank you. You have been most helpful." Her catlike ears went back flat and the green eyes she shared with the rest of her kind, regardless of their Realm, widened in alarm. I could almost hear her thoughts: what did I say?! The guards came when I called them and yanked Kass to her feet. I growled at them to be gentle and they took their hands off her, but they still kept a hand on their sword hilts. "Hold it," I said before they carted her away. The guards stopped and she looked around at me. "Kass, one more thing. You know the choices available to you. Make your one count. I do believe that no ideal is worth dying for." "I will in no way dishonour my Clan or my mate," she said. "I will make my own choice." I shrugged. "Spoken like a true fanatic." She bristled. The guards hissed. "I hope I see you again," I said sincerely, then waved for the guards to take her away. Remae drifted in, turning in the doorway to watch the Eastern Warrior being taken away, and sat down in the chair that Kass had just vacated. "Did you enjoy yourself?" I glared at her. "Cut that out. I found out what I wanted to know." Remae idly scratched at the arm of the chair with a claw, "What was that?" "A little about the Gulf Realm." "We could have told you anything you wanted to know." "I know," I shrugged, "But I wanted to hear the other side." From the horse's mouth, so to speak. "Then you see what we fear. Do you think we are right or wrong to desire your weapons to protect ourselves?" "Christ, Remae, I do not think I am the right one to make moral decisions of this kind. I can only hope I am doing the right thing." "Believe me," she said. "You are!" "Thanks a lot," I said dryly, then dropped down in the chair behind my desk: "What she said as she was leaving . . I think she really would rather die than surrender to you. Are all Sathe like that?" Remae's eyes hardened:" Gulf they may be, but they are also Guard. They are the most trusted of the Clan Lord's followers for good reasons: They are good, and they are loyal. It is a code: Loyalty, courage, and honour above all else. Why did you not believe me when I told you that they would live and die by this code?" "I guess I was thinking like a human." "Would you not die for your Clan and Realm?" "Ah . . . we do not have Clans like you do." "Would you?" "I do not know." I couldn't explain all the differences between our two cultures. "I do not think so." Remae's head rocked back as if my words had been a slap in the face. "But you are a warrior. It is your duty to defend your Realm!" "A duty I can perform much better if I am alive," I countered. "I will follow my superior if he leads me to Hell and back. I would fight for my . . . Realm, I would not betray it, but I would not give my life. Shit, I do not want to die; nobody in their right mind does. No honour is worth that." "Saaa! K'hy, honour is everything!" To you, Remae, perhaps. To me it just seemed like another name for pride. A means of inflaming youthful imagination to do the bidding of those who would use them. But when in Rome . . . I sighed and nodded vaguely. She stared at me, then shook her head as though dispelling a cloud of midges. I didn't hear Remae step up beside me, but I felt it when she brushed against my sleeve. "I am sorry, maybe you are right," I apologised, then changed the subject: "I have not seen much of Tahr lately. Is she too busy to see me?" "You have not heard? . . . No, of course you would not have. The old Born Ruler is much worse. She has been seeing as much of him as possible." The black velvet of her muzzle wrinkled slightly. "I do not like to belive it, but I do not think he has long to live." "Oh," I said. She laid a black-furred hand on my shoulder. "Do not worry, she has not forgotten you." "I understand. She has a life to lead as well." I astonished Remae by putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug, "Thank you, Remae. For everything." ****** Something disturbed me that night: The creak of a floorboard, scraping of furniture, I don't know what it was, but I rolled and opened my eyes to stare up at a raised thread of steel, glittering like the startled Sathe eyes behind the mask. The face reared back even as I yelled and kicked out, sending sheets flying up at the figure standing over me, sending it reeling back, flailing at the cloth and I rammed into its midriff, feeling something like an icicle push into my back, then we both slammed into the wall and slid to the floor. Her head was in my arms and I was about to break her neck when pain ripped into my shoulders and tore down my arms. Reflexively I lurched backwards with a cry of pain and tripped over something in the dark. My arms gave out when I tried to cushion my fall and I hit the floor hard. Agony shot through my back, the cold feeling turning to paralyzing pain. She pulled the blankets off, her claws glistening oily with steel and blood, snatched something small from her belt and cocked her arm ready to throw. In the turmoil the black mask had been torn off and I saw her face. "Hymath?" I gasped, eyes wide, trying to focus while arching away from the pain. She hesitated, and at that moment I heard the door in the other room burst open. A blur in the darkness, she turned and disappeared. There was shouting, a cry of pain, the sound of furniture being overturned, then guards were milling around me and I was lifted and laid facedown on the bed and my back was throbbing and everything whirling, then a claw moved in my back, below my shoulder blade, a grating of bone on . . . something. I began to scream, hands held me and jammed something that tasted of leather into my mouth. I bit down hard as a cold length was pulled out of my back. A Sathe doctor fussed over me. Salves and paste on my shoulders, on my back. I shuddered weakly as it burned and stung, then burned again, like a poker in my trapezius. I was able to mumble a warning and someone grabbed a chamber pot, holding it while I puked my guts out. Hot water was brought in, they cleaned me. The surgeon mixed powders from various small vials on a single piece of parchment, then tipped them into a mug. I was almost eager to drink the sedative, my bolt-hole from the pain. They kept me drugged for three days, half-waking me only to give me food and water and the chamber pot. The last of the antiseptic from my medical kit was used to keep the sutures clean. I dreamed, or so they said. I would cry out in my sleep and toss around, threatening to tear the stitches open. Whatever those dreams were, all I can remember are flashes of fire and teeth and bloodied steel. I awoke with that hangover usually characteristic of Thamil. My head was throbbing and I couldn't move either arm without feeling pain in my shoulders. The sun was streaming in through the window, water was dripping off the eaves outside, and Tahr was there; back turned to me as she stared out the window. "I will break the legs of the next person who gives me that stuff." I growled, then sputtered to get fur out of my mouth as Tahr hugged me. ****** "You are sure it was her?" Tahr asked. Perched on the edged of my bed, she was turning a dagger over in her hands. It was a wicked-looking piece of steel, with a long, polished blade and an ornate wooded handle, finely carved in minute detail to resemble a Sathe's head. It was the dagger they'd pulled out of my back. "It was Hymath. She was as close to me as you are, and she recognised me as well. She could have killed me then, instead she ran away." Tahr flicked the knife and it became a silver blur in the air before thudding to rest in the doorframe. She went to retrieve it. "It could have been her. She was a Scirth Warrior, the weapons are those favoured by them," she said as she pulled the dagger from the wood. "This is a ceremonial dagger, used for assassinations, and the wounds on your shoulders were probably caused by Iron Claws." "Iron Claws?" Tahr extruded her claws; sharp, black crescents. "They are pieces of sharpened steel that fit over one's claws . . like so. Only Scirth Warriors use them." "I am sure that it was her," I stated adamantly. "But if she was going to kill me, why did she not go through with it?" "She is a mercenary," Tahr reminded me. "She may have been hired to kill someone, but was not told who. She did not seem to be the type who would kill a friend." "You have got to admire her, it was a brave attempt." Hymath had broken into the apartments directly below mine and cut a hole in the roof, the floor to my room. When the guards burst in, she dropped back down through the hole and lost them in the corridors of the Citadel. The scratches she'd left me in my shoulder were deep and painful, but not life-threatening. Her knife, that had gone in at a sharp angle, scraping against my shoulder blade and sinking deep into the muscle. "Someone tries to kill you, and you admire her," Tahr's muzzle wrinkled. "I simply do not understand you, K'hy . . . Well, she has given you enough scars to remember her by." "I am starting to look like a map," I looked down at the tracks of old scars beneath the sparse hairs on my torso. "If I get any more punctures, I will start to leak." I saw her worried face and hastened to clarify: "That is a joke Tahr." "Huh, you have a strange sense of humour." "You should talk," I retorted, then yelped as her claws pinched my arm. "Alright! I take it back! No fair," I grumbled, "picking on a helpless invalid." She gently stroked my arm with the pads on the tips of her fingers. "I am sorry," she grinned, looking anything but. Then, while I couldn't retaliate, those hands ran up my arm and caressed my face. "What happened to your eye? That was not from Hymath." "An accident." "You are very accident prone," she smiled and patted my cheek, which she knew annoyed me, but there was nothing I could do about it. I threw a few light hearted insults after her as she left. ****** It was a clear night, but the moon had chosen to hide behind the only cloud in the sky. The air was cold and a stiff wind had blown up, howling down corridors like a banshee. There was no snow on the ground, the rain of the past few days had washed it away. The Keep walls surrounding the central courtyard where the Circle lay rose away from the courtyard like giant steps, each tier made up of walkways, buttresses, balconies, and archways. It was plain for all to see that this face of the Citadel was not intended to be a fortress: the masonry was artistic and intricately carved, letting the walls soar. Five floors above the courtyard I huddled into my cloak. My wounds still ached, the stitches itching, but I couldn't miss this. My two Sathe bodyguards stood like statues, not noticing the chill. On either side of us along the length of the cloistered corridor Sathe were standing silently, watching what went on below. Beneath the gaze of thousands of Sathe around the walls and the watchful squinting eye of the quarter moon appearing from behind its cloud, the old King lay dead on a litter carried by a small entourage of Sathe as they headed across the frozen ground toward the stone circle. In the centre of the circle, in the centre of the arena where the Candidates had fought, the litter was placed upon a rectangular stack of logs. The Sathe moved out until they formed a circle with the deathbed in the middle, then several Sathe stepped forward with torches. The pyre burned slowly at first, a flickering glow around the base, but it quickly grew until a tower of flames leapt up into the night, sparks ascending until they faded from sight. Light danced and wove among the Sathe, playing with their long shadows and finally losing itself in the darkness. A single figure stepped toward the pyre and a mournful cry of loss and sorrow tore up into the night. The cry was echoed. From a thousand Sathe throats, the same sound reverberated, sending electric shivers up and down my spine. Every Sathe head I could see was thrown back, howling like coyotes baying at the moon. Their eyes were shut tight and their ears plastered back against their skulls. The fire settled, the collapsing timbers setting a shower of sparks to dancing above the Circle. Slowly the sound faded as Sathe started to drift away. After a time, only one Sathe was left standing by the pyre that blazed in the circle. Even from that distance, I could see the grief in the way she stood. I stood there and watched her until a guard touched my arm, telling me it was time to leave. Back in my room, I sat and stared into the fire. Tahr had lost her father now, the last person whom she had been very close to. I didn't know how I would take it if I found out that everyone I used to know was dead . . . Hell, I didn't know if they were still alive, I just kept myself sane by telling myself they had to be, but how could I be sure . . . I tore my thoughts away from that track and tried to think about something else, but my mind kept drifting back to the funeral and that eerie howling. All the Sathe I could see had cried out at the same time with no apparent prompting. I wondered if it was a custom that went on at all their funerals, then decided it couldn't have been. There had been no howling on that night after we had captured the Gulf forces. The Eastern Realm soldiers had mourned the loss of their comrades with silence. No, it was another ritual, something reserved for their nobility. There were voices in the corridor outside, then a scratch on the door. "The Born Ruler sent for you," a guard told me. "We are here to escort you." I nodded and went with them. Tahr's quarters were dark and cold. I hesitated inside the door, waiting for my eyes to adjust. "Tahr?" There was a movement near the window, a flash of emerald eyes. "Hello, K'hy," the voice was flat, emotionless. I picked my way across the dark room, feeling ridiculously clumsy as I bumped against furniture. "I am sorry," I said. "I am as blind as a bat." Perhaps she smiled. "But bats do not walk into things." I shrugged. She reached out and took my hand, her much smaller one almost engulfed in my paw. "K'hy, I just wanted someone to talk to." "Me?" "I know you." My eyes had adjusted to the faint moonlight coming in through the window. I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her against my side. "I am sorry about your father," I whispered. She tensed under my arm. "I can remember what he was like when I was a cub," she finally said. "Before I was sent to the estate, I remember we would go to the market. I always loved that. The strange Sathe, their wares. I could eat sweetmeats, enjoy myself. Sometimes we would go to nearby towns by ourselves for a few days, get away from the court. He was much stronger in those days, able to take care of himself," she was staring out the window, trembling violently. "I remember . . . I . . . " she broke off, shivering, chittering. I'd never seen a Sathe cry before. I held her close, resting my head against the fur of her mane while she shook against me. By involuntary reflex her claws dug deep into my back; I gritted my teeth and did nothing. I just held her until she cried herself out. "Why?" she gasped. "Why is it like this? We mourn their death, but it is we, the ones who live, who suffer. We mourn for them, but they no longer care." She leaned her head against my chest again and I gently rocked her back and forth. "I know . . . I know," I murmured softly and gently scratched her behind the ears. "Among my people, there is a belief that a person lives even after death. The body might wither and die, but the thing that is the person, the essence, the soul lives on." Tahr stirred against me. "Is this so?" "I do not know. Many people like to believe it is so . . and nobody has every proved it not true," I stroked her muzzle with the tip of one finger and smiled at her. Inside I felt a tinge of regret, I might have just made a big mistake. At best Religion is a touchy subject "It is a nice thought," she murmured and snuggled in close, looking out the window. I ran my hand through that long fur that made up her mane. Slightly coarser than human hair, it was still warm and soft. "Will you stay with me?" she asked. "I am not going anywhere," I reassured her. I stayed there, holding her, stroking her mane until her eyes closed and she relaxed against me. Then I set her to bed and watched her until I also dozed off. ****** The sword swung at me again and I managed to block it with the edge of my thin blade. Deflected, it somehow snaked around and came at me again. I blocked the one as well, then swung a stroke of my own. The Sathe snarled and lifted his blade, sagging under the force of my blow. Then my sword skittered off his blade and his leapt forward. Frantically I moved to parry. It'd only been a feint. While I was off balance the Sathe slipped under my guard and slammed his blade into my unprotected left side. "Ow!" I yelped. "Alright! Stop!" S'shar snapped. "You are dead!" He flipped the weighted blade of his wooden sword over his shoulder and wearily rubbed at his facial fur, then rounded on me. "What by all the Plagues were you doing?! Using the edge of your blade to parry!" He gave a disgusted snort. "Are you seriously trying?" Doubled over, gasping air and with sweat running down my neck, I nodded. My introduction to swordplay was not going well. During my regular lessons we attracted a small crowd of Sathe who lounged around on the grass growing on the balcony garden, having a great laugh at my expense. I put my hands on my hips and leaned back, taking a deep breath and squinting at the chittering Sathe watching us. "We should charge admission. Could clean up." S'shar was not amused. He ignored that and slung the mock-sword over his shoulder. "I do not know!" he spat air in disgust and frustration: "Teach you to use a sword! Huh! It is hopeless! You are slow. You favour your right hand too much. You cannot guard your left side correctly. You have enough strength behind your blows . . . but first you have to hit me . . . and even then I think there is a chance you would break your blade or get it stuck!" I looked at the battered imitation scimitar in my hand. Sathe held theirs' in a two-handed grip, but I could manage one-handed without difficulty, something S'shar often chewed me out about. He couldn't seem to understand that I was built differently. The mock-ups weren't as dangerous as the real things, but they could still bruise. With his fur S'shar didn't bother with protection, but the body armour the Sathe had issued me with was leather, and on that day in May it was hot enough in that sweat-suit to fry eggs. I sank down in the shade of a tree making the windbreak that sheltered the garden from the wind off the Atlantic. The Citadel landscapers did good work. The swordsmaster loomed over me: "K'hy, most cubs are better than you are." "Gee . . . thanks for the constructive criticism," I snapped. "I cannot move as fast as you can. If you would just stand still, it would make everything a lot easier." "I doubt that many opponents will stand still for you to take pieces out of him," he gave a rumbling laugh, then glanced past my shoulder. "Company. Saaa . . . she will not be pleased." I looked to see who 'she' was. Oh, Remae. She was brushing through the wild grasses that Sathe preferred to close-cropped lawns. "Oh shit!" I closed my eyes and groaned. "Report card time!" "S'shar," Remae said in way of greeting, stopping beside me and reaching down to ruffle my hair. I patted it flat again. "How is your pupil doing?" S'shar gave me a single, despairing look, then said, "Not well. I fear that I can never see him being any good at all with a blade." Remae looked astonished. "Hey! I am not superman," I said grudgingly. "He is just a beginner. He is really that bad?" The swordsmaster took a deep breath, then launched into a litany of my faults. While she listened the Marshal stared at me: I leaned back against the tree, propped my head up with a hand and tapped at my cheek with a finger, trying to hide my embarrassment. "K'hy," Remae finally said when the vet had finished, "pick up your sword." She in turn took up S'shar's wooden scimitar and swung it experimentally. I groaned and struggled to my feet. I was still tired from my previous rounds with my tutor, my muscles aching from days of non- too-gentle whacks and jabs that signalled I had lost the match. The creature duelling with the Marshal . . . Sathe out enjoying the sun sat up to take notice. Remae touched her blade to mine, took a few steps back. . . . and the rounded tip of her blade was spearing for my guts. I danced backwards and knocked it aside with a Clack of wood on wood. Again and again. Step by step she was forcing me backwards. As sweat dripped down my face I realised with shock that she was playing with me, pushing me just so far that she could see what I could do. Goddamn, she was even better than S'shar. And I fought back to the best of my ability, for all the good that did. S'shar had taught me to fight the way he had been taught: grip the hilt with both hands and rely upon nimbleness to be your shield. It worked for Sathe. It didn't work for me. Air whistled as my sword passed through the space Remae had occupied a split-second earlier. "You are slow," she hissed from a compact crouch, then she blurred forward. You really have to see it to realise just how fast Sathe are; just snap your fingers and they're . . there. Frantically I twisted to cover my left side, but there was a stinging slap against my arm, then I was facing Remae down a lacquered wooden blade at my throat. From his comfortable seat in the shade of the tree S'shar waved his hand philosophically at Remae: "You see?" "I see." Remae's ears went flat in disgust. She practically threw the sword at the veteran who deftly caught it in one hand and ran a finger over the notched blade. "You really have never even SEEN a plague-touched sword before, have you? Did your army teach you nothing about swordplay?" "No," I shook my head, "Never needed to. In one of our wars they would only be good for chopping firewood." Remae's muzzle rumpled in disgust. "There is no honour in your kind of fighting." "There is no honour in any kind of fighting. If you want to pussyfoot around, you should not be fighting!" "You are farting though your mouth!" she bristled. "Fighting should involving meeting your enemy face to face and defeating him, watching his eyes when he dies." I cast an exasperated look heavenwards. "Oh, of course. How foolish of me! That is what honour is: Seeing a fellow Sathe holding his entrails in with his hands, watching him coughing blood on the end of your sword? Better . . . " "EXCUSE ME!" S'shar bellowed. Both Remae and I halted our tirade in mid-broadside to glare at him. "I apologise," he said in milder tones, "but I think that the point of this was not the discussion of personal philosophies. "K'hy, are you trying your utmost? You do not think you can improve?" "I am trying, but these are your rules we are playing by. I cannot match you there." "Then do you have any of your tricks that might help?" Remae inquired. Almost I said no, then paused with my mouth open and thought for a second or two. "Perhaps," I finally admitted. "Perhaps I may have an idea or two . . . " ****** Shrouded from head to foot in heavy leather apron and mask, the Sathe blacksmith resembled some extra from an Italian B-grade sci-fi movie. White-hot glare exploded around him as he pulled the door of the furnace open. Shielding his face with a leather-clad arm he poked a hook into the scorching heat and slowly swung the miniature Bessemer converter out on its arm. The converter was shaped like an inverted bell, scored and coated with carbon, spitting sparks of molten metal as apprentices continued pumping high-velocity compressed air through the viscous ore. The smith wrapped a paw protected by an oversized leather glove around a handle on the converter and tipped it, directing a cascade of orange-white metal and sparks into the mould, letting it envelope the thin core of brittle, low-carbon steel. An assistant swung the converter back into the crucible, leaving the smith free to turn his attention to the liquid steel in the mould. Before it had cooled the smith was passing the glowing rod through the trip hammer, more sparks flying and rebounding from his apron as the length of metal was pounded and folded around the slat of the central core. A hand-held hammer knocked off extraneous pieces of metal, crudely shaped it. The metal hissed furiously as the smith quenched it in a trough of oil. Now the Sathe smith turned to where I was standing out of his way and held the blade up to the light spilling from the furnace. With a claw he pulled the mask from his face. You can always recognise a Sathe blacksmith: the fur around the eyes, crown, ears, and mane - unprotected by their masks and aprons - has been curled, withered by heat, blackened by soot. From that mask of soot, green eyes gleamed as the blacksmith ran a critical finger over the black bar, still glistening with oil: slivers of carbon peeled off, metal gleamed and wavered. It was the final draft, the finished copy. The other lumps of ore, the small daggers and blades that had been forged in the weeks before were dry runs, practice. I was giving the Sathe a quick way to produce large amounts of high-quality steel much faster than they could produce with their conventional smelting and manual metal-folding techniques. I think it was fair enough that this be the first finished article to be produced. ****** The practice hall was almost deserted, the occasional couple of Sathe sparring with hands or weapons, their feet raising dust from the straw mats. Cold midwinter sunlight from those small windows high in the walls threw puddles of light against the opposite walls. S'shar held the new practice sword I'd built in both hands, turning the long wooden blade over and over as he scrutinised it: the crosspiece, the hilt moulded for the contours of a completely different palm. The captain tried to wield the sword with one hand, swore as his grasp slipped and weapon's blunt tip dropped to the mat, missing his foot by mere inches. Unlike the curved Sathe scimitars the sword was based upon the two handed broadsword: longer, heavier, and definitely meaner looking. "You actually intend to use something like this? And . . . that?" he jabbed a finger at the buckler I was strapping to my arm. "I am going to try." "I will believe it when I see it," he hissed, then tossed the sword to me. I caught it in one hand, slipped the strap over my wrist, then spun it in a blurring figure eight before settling it comfortably and stepping onto the mat. "Alright," his sword leapt from sheath to his hand, he padded into a ready stance. "Surprise me." ****** Remae touched her blade to mine in salute, then lunged. I barely had time to parry her first blow with the shield before she was coming around again, sword raised and teeth bared in a white grimace. This time her practice sword hit mine and she was staggered, knocked back as my heavier weapon waved hers aside. She scuttled back a couple of steps and began circling. "That is better," she said. I didn't waste breath answering. Now she dashed forward again and barely dodged the tip of my longer blade as I jabbed at her, again forcing the Marshal to retreat. Now she began to look interested. Her toe claws were out, digging into the grass as she sidled through the long grass. Dry stems crunched under my boots as I pivoted, watching her, then defending as she feinted left, moved right, then to my left again. I couldn't bring my sword around to block that, but my shield dropped and deflected the blow Remae had aimed at my legs. At the same time my sword was driving at her right side. She wheeled to stop that, again staggering back a step, then coming in again fast and low. I hit her with the shield: hard. There was a commotion from the watching Sathe as the Marshal was knocked over onto her back, then I was over her with sword raised. Before I had a chance to bring the weighted practice blade down, she kicked up and planted a foot in my stomach. I felt needles dig through my shirt and into my skin and froze, afraid of how deep they'd gone and what might happen if I tried to pull away. On her back on the ground Remae grinned up at me, then hissed. "Much better, but there are weapons besides swords." I looked down and swallowed. "Alright," Remae said with a smile, ears fluttering against the grass that framed her. "K'hy, could you untangle my claws please. They are caught in your clothing." I winced as she moved. "Ahhh, shit! . . . That is not my clothes." It took a while to untangle her claws. A crescent of five bloody pinpoints began to seep through the shirt where it touched my skin. "Oh," Remae said with a sheepish look. "Sorry. I forgot." "No problem," I grimaced. "Shit." ****** Remae had been convinced that all that paraphernalia wouldn't help me improve and in a way she was right. At first it didn't. It took time and practice to learn to use the shield and heavy blade to their full advantage. Slowly, but surely, I improved. Holding my own against S'shar took work, many hours of his time, but he was a good teacher. At first he invariably beat me black and blue. When the end of the day dragged around I would collapse on my bed, my joints so stiff I imagined them squeaking. I exercised. To help build up my arm muscles I began to wear several kilograms of lead in leather bracelets on my wrists. The added weight made my arms and shoulders ache even more, but after a week I stopped noticing the hindrance, and when the handicaps came off, my sword felt as light as air. And often, during her spare time, Remae would come to practice with me. As time passed I stopped making a complete asshole of myself and graduated to mere incompetence. Sometimes we even had a small audience watching the Marshal and her unusual partner sparring. It was obvious that compared to a Sathe I would never be much better than mediocre at swordplay, certainly never as good as Remae. But then she was one of the best. Spring dragged on. ****** "HAHHIIIRRR!" Remae's sword danced around the side of my shield as she yowled in my face. I batted it aside with the edge of the shield and lunged with my wooden blade, straight at her padded chest. Surprised, she danced back a step, then retaliated with an attack again absorbed by my shield. I made a feint with my sword, and lashed out with the shield, never expecting to hit her. She gasped as I caught her a solid hit on the shoulder and went over backwards, taking me with her. Cursing seconds untangling ourselves, then she called time. I sat down on the grass beside her while she propped herself up on her elbows. "What happened?" I asked. "That was too easy . . . or am I too good for you now?" I grinned at her. "Ah . . . you were lucky," she panted, licked her chops and stared at me - suddenly disturbingly intensely - then blinked and shook her head. "I think we had best stop now." "But we have only just started," I protested. "That will be all!" she snapped and began to bustle with her equipment, intent on what she was doing. As if she didn't want to look at me. "What is the matter with you?" I asked. "Not your business," she snarled with bared teeth. "Alright," I said, taken aback. "Sorry I asked." I got up to leave. "K'hy!" I stopped and looked at the Eastern Marshal. She blinked, then furiously scrubbed at her face with her hands as though trying to wash off something I couldn't see. Was she cracking up? Remae stopped her rubbing and stared at her hands. "I had hoped this would not happen yet," she muttered angrily. "It is my Time, K'hy." I rocked back on my heels, "Uh-oh." Well, it had to happen. Spring was well and truly there, and things were hotting up . . . in more ways than just the weather. Spring was the time when Sathe females had their first Time of the year, and the number of females I had seen walking around the Citadel with a horny male entourage in tow was growing. In some places even I could smell the scent of heat in the air, a spicy musk that did nothing for me. I hadn't really thought about Remae having her Time, and now it was here, I was a bit nonplussed. "Do I make you so nervous?" she asked, wiping her sword down. Yes, she did. As we headed back through the corridors of the Citadel, I was aware of how closely she was walking beside me. Once, a male going in the opposite direction stopped and stared at her, his nostrils flaring as they worked overtime. Remae turned and rumpled her nose in a grin that bared teeth. He hurried on his way and Remae huddled a little closer to my side. I'm with HIM! was the message she was broadcasting to all and sundry. "Remae?" When she didn't answer I nudged her. "Remae!" "Huh?" She blinked in surprise, and moved a hasty step away. "I am sorry . . . I did not realise," she paused, and I caught a whiff of something . . . familiar: a faint, musty scent which was quickly wafted away. We moved on down the corridor and she was silent, lost in the turmoil that oestrus brings them. Until she suddenly grabbed my arm. "K'hy, stay with me tonight." Oh, shit. I'd been hoping she wouldn't ask. "Oh, Christ on a . . . Remae, WHY?" She let go of me. We stopped outside the door to her quarters and she met my gaze with her huge eyes. "I like you," she said. "And I want to. I wanted to ask you that night in the wagon, but you seemed afraid of me." Was it that? Or was it curiosity, something new, something the Shirai had told her. I reached out and stroked the dark fur on the side of her neck. It was soft, but not like a human woman's hair; slightly coarser. She twitched slightly as my fingers touched, ran down her mane and along her jaw. "Shit . . . Please Remae. I like you - a lot - but I cannot. I mean . . . You are Sathe, I am Human . . Look at me: We are as different as it is possible to get. I saw how that male back there looked at you. He could respond in the right ways. And there are plenty more Sathe males: plenty of fish in the sea. Please, understand." I leaned forward and kissed her gently on her muzzle. She regarded me with ears drooping slightly. Maybe she was the Marshal of the Eastern Realm; maybe she did have fur and fangs, but she also had feelings. "What of you and Tahr?" she asked. "We have been through a lot together," I tried to explain. "She has helped me, she has been my guide, my friend, my teacher . . . and my lover. It just . . . happened. I do not really know how. Circumstances I suppose. She told you what it was like." Remae flinched. "How did you . . . ?" she blurted, then bit the question off and looked embarrassed. "So Tahr was the lucky one." "Hey! No! Remae, she and I are too different. I cannot give her cubs, and she is not . . . right for me. In a way, I love her, but it can never be love as I would love another human, or she another Sathe. "Remae, it is nothing personal, it is just . . . I . . I suppose it is the relationship. I mean, you might be able to have sex and maintain a casual friendship, but I do not think I can do that. I like having you as a friend, but if I stayed with you that would change. Do you understand?" She hesitated before answering. "Yes . . . I think so," Her ears flickered in a smile. "Well, as you say, there are many more fish in the sea." I watched the door of her apartments close and sighed. With my armour feeling like it weighed a ton I trudged back to my rooms. ****** "Do you think you did the right thing?" "I just do not know. That was why I was asking you. Did I hurt her feelings?" The fire crackled. Tahr was warm against my side as we sat together on the couch. She had her feet drawn up behind her and was leaning against my shoulder, wearing only her fur. There was a faint musky scent hanging around her. Familiar. "You did what you thought was best . . . Did you mean what you said about relationships?" Hesitation: "Yes." "Oh." "Tahr, it is true. Someday you will find a male you are attracted to . . . " "I am attracted to you." "You know what I mean! You will find a Sathe male who is right for you and you will settle down together." "Settle down?" Tahr cocked her head, puzzled. I chuckled. "Start a home . . . a family. You know, the patter of tiny feet and all that." "Cubs." She flinched, then stared fixedly at the fire and said, "You are right. The years are running by and I am not getting any younger. Soon, a cub." "Why only one? Have a few." Again she twitched. "I mean one would get lonely all alone . . . " She looked right at me, her face clouded over, her pupils turning to black pools and wrinkles marching up her nose. I trailed off. "Hey, what did I say?" She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. Her ears went back up, but still they trembled slightly. "No . . . I am sorry. I over-reacted." She raked her hand through my hair and I was aware her claws were not completely pulled. "It is difficult to talk about . . . some things during a Time." I was still confused. "I am sorry, I do not know what I said." "Cubs. Birthing. It is not something that is to be taken lightly." She heaved several deep breaths. "You said several cubs . . . Why?" "Why, because that is . . . " I swallowed. "Do not tell me: that is not normal for you, is it." She clenched her fists. "No! It is wonderful, it is what any female dreams of, but never normal." I blinked. I'd always taken it for granted they had litters, like cats would. "But your breasts . . . " I blurted. "What about them?" she inquired softly. And for my next trick, I'll put my other foot in my mouth. "Ah . . . you have six. I thought that would mean that . . . you would have many babies." Her ears started to lower again, but she pulled them up with an effort. "You are right. We have . . . five, sometimes six cubs." Her claws flexed in and out of their sheaths as she spoke, like a sharp heartbeat. I touched her shoulder, "If you do not want to talk about this . . . " I said, but she cut me off. "No . . . It is better I do, before you get torn to pieces by a female who does not understand you." She took another breath. "K'hy, is it easy for a human female to become pregnant?" "Yes. Sometimes all too . . . " She kept on, as if I wasn't talking. "It can take many Times, many matings, sometimes several years. When it happens, we have four or five cubs . . . But only one . . rarely two, only they are normal; the others, they are . . they are animals in the shape of Sathe. They cannot talk, eat, or think." I gritted my teeth as her claws sank through my pants and into my leg. "The mother she has to . . to . . . she has to kill them. She . . . " shaking violently she broke off, then suddenly rounded on me, ears down tight against her skull, her eyes all dark pupil, and her teeth bared in an open-mouthed snarl. I jerked away, throwing up an arm to protect my face. And Tahr changed again, the fury evaporating and horror replacing it. "Saaaaa! K'hy! I did not . . . " Her hands shook as she held them up before her, the claws retracting. "It is hard to talk . . . " There was nothing I could say. I reached out and put my hand to her bowed shoulder; she flinched under my touch. Her fur was standing on end, like filaments of wire. I stroked, smoothing her ruffled pelt. Beneath that she was tense: coiled springs of her muscle to the wire of her fur, like she was ready to fight for her life. She shifted slightly as my hands moved, the stroking turning to rubbbing. Like ice melting under my fingers she relaxed, luxuriating in the massage. There was a remote buzzing in her throat when she craned around to gently nuzzle my neck. I moved my hands down, down her back, tracing the ridge of her spine, until I was stroking the spot just above her buttocks, that spot that sent shudders through her body. She gave a moan of pleasure, her breath warm against my neck. I slowly stood, gathering her into my arms. She rubbed against my face and neck, running her hands through my hair as I carried her into the bedroom, then her hands were clenching against my back, claws scratching lightly . . . When we were finished, she curled up against my side and immediately fell asleep, twitching occasionally in her dreams. I lay back in the warm bedclothes, aware of her musky scent covering the linen and myself. With the tip of one finger I drew small sworls in her ruffled fur and stared at a patch of moonlight on the stone wall beside the door. I wasn't sleeping. I couldn't stop thinking about what she had said. They kill their children! They kill their goddamn children . . . The morbid litany plagued my thoughts. Little more than animals, she had said. Their mothers had to kill them, 'She cannot help it'. My mind went back to that day I had played with those cubs in that stream outside of Bay town. I remembered their teddy bear-like cuteness, their friendliness, and tried not to think about what had happened to their brothers and sisters. Tahr stirred in her sleep, and I wondered if she ever thought about what her siblings may have been like. Over the years, piece by piece, I would find out that for their females childbirth was a fever much like their Times. Uncontrollable; instincts trying to run rampant over their thoughts. They would want to be alone, and most times they would leave their homes to find solitude for the birthing: a hollow beneath a tree, a basement, a barn or hayloft . . . anywhere they felt alone. There the female would litter, and always, just after they were born, she would kill most of them. I don't know how they choose. Maybe scent, maybe maternal instinct, but somehow, they choose them. I have since read old Sathe texts where attempts have been made to save cubs - usually if the mother dies in labour. If they are taken while she is alive, she goes berserk. None of those attempts have met with any success. As Tahr had told me, most of the cubs are severely retarded, little more than animated lumps of flesh and bone. I had no idea of that while I lay there beside my impossible lover. I touched her soft fur and a heavy lump settled inside me. This could not go on. I'd already told Remae that, I had told Tahr that, then I went right ahead and did it anyway. "Fucking hypocrite," I cursed myself: soto voce. Beside me, Tahr rolled over and nestled closer into my side. ****** I stood beside the window and finished my breakfast, looking through the open door at Tahr lying sprawled out on the rumpled sheets in the bedroom. It was already the third day of her Time, and it showed no sign of ending. I sighed and remembered her last one, it had only lasted about a day, but this one . . . God, I was exhausted. There was something going on in the Citadel. Banners were flying above the gates and Sathe in polished armour paraded the walls. Some kind of holiday? I was just about to take Tahr's breakfast through to her, when there was a scratch at the door. "It is open, come in." I called. A young Sathe guard hesitantly stepped into the room. I thought I recognised him. "Sir, a message." The penny dropped. "I know you. H'rrasch? is it?" He bowed his head. "Yes sir." "I thought I told you not to call me that," I told him. Last time I'd seen him he seemed to be pretty much head over heels for Tahr. I fought back a grin. "Alright, you said you had a message." "Ah . . . The High Lord's adviser requests your presence. He asks that you wear . . . the things you had when you first came here." H'rrasch's tufted ears flicked in apology. "I am afraid I do not know what that means." "S'okay, I do. Any idea what he wants to see me about?" I asked while opening the chest that held my camouflage fatigues. I hadn't worn them recently, saving wear and tear by wearing Sathe clothing that had been altered to fit me. They were folded and stacked neatly, the Kevlar helmet perched on top. Would I need that too? To be on the safe side I tucked it under my arm. When I turned around, H'rrasch was staring avidly at Tahr through the open doorway. She was still asleep, sprawled naked on the bed. He saw me watching, and quickly ducked his head. I pursed my lips in amusement, then had a thought. Would it . . . ? Nah . . . But still, he didn't seem a bad sort and surely she could make up her own mind . . . "You like her?" I asked. He didn't say anything, but his left ear drooped before he caught it. "Do not worry," I laughed, "I do not blame you." I pulled the pants on and wrapped the web belt around my waist. "Sir, may I ask you a question?" "Go ahead . . . and stop calling me 'sir'!" "Why does she sleep with you?" Such a straightforward, direct question; just what you have to expect from a Sathe. I sighed again, "I'm afraid that you would have to ask her that." The camouflage jacket was a little tight across the shoulders, but I shrugged into it. After pulling on my socks and boots, I inspected myself in the mirror; I could have done with another haircut. In the bedroom, Tahr turned over and gave a small sneeze before settling back again. I saw H'rrasch glance her way, his ears drooping. Should I do it? "Ah, H'rrasch," I cleared my throat. "Would you like to meet her?" "Sir?" "Just take her breakfast in." I gestured at the tray. "You can also tell her where I have gone." His eyes widened. "I . . . I cannot. It is her Time . . she will want too . . . " "Exactly," I grinned. "But . . . but she is yours." "She belongs to nobody but herself," I said. "Please. I think she needs you more than she needs me." He hesitated, and I could see the indecision on his face. He licked his lips, glanced at the doorway again, and asked, "Is that an order?" "Yes," I grinned and he flinched. "Now, where is Rehr?" "There are warriors outside who will take you to him . . and sir?" He stopped me as I was about to leave. "What?" "You would have time to bathe before you see him." He taped the claws on his index fingers together nervously. "Sir, you smell like the Shirai." I blinked in surprise, I had forgotten about their noses . . . I smelled like . . . I laughed at that. H'rrasch's muzzled was wrinkled in puzzlement as I closed the door, still laughing. ****** When a guard told me to go in, I pushed the door open and stepped through. The room suddenly went very quiet. Intricately woven tapestries full of vibrant colours covered the stone walls, portraits of Sathe made from woven thread. An exquisite deep, dark-blue carpet covered the floor, wall to wall, it must have been incredibly expensive. In the centre of the room there was a table with a top that looked like it was carved from of a single chunk of obsidian, scraps of paper scattered around on it. The attention of the Sathe who sat around the table was riveted on me as I stood in the doorway, at a loss as to what was expected of me. "Here," Rehr ordered without looking around, and I ducked my head to the staring Sathe and went over to take position beside his chair at the head of the table. He'd never even glanced at me, watching the four others as they stared at me towering over his chair, his ears canted in vague amusement. I stared back at them, memorising the patterns and texture of the fur that helped me tell Sathe apart. They were all fairly elderly males. All of them looking wealthy and important in their fine robes and jewellery. All of them staring back at me with various odd expressions. "My lords," Rehr addressed them. "This is K'hy, a h'man. I know he looks . . . unusual, but despite his appearance, he is probably as intelligent as any Sathe." He waited for that to settle in. "Twice now, he has been abducted by outland warriors, once from within Mainport itself, and there has been a direct attempt on his life. Of course, these attempts failed." He was scratching a claw back and forth on the shiny table top. "However, he has had some excellent opportunities to get good looks at these outlanders. K'hy, would you please describe the warriors you saw." I wasn't sure what was going on. Was this some kind of court of inquiry? "Yes, sir." I saw it the instant I spoke; all around the table there were those involuntary twitches, the flaring of nostrils and irises. I saw it in all of them, with the exception of one - as if he already knew what I was. Reddish-brown fur streaked with grey, especially around the tufted fur in his ears. Not especially unique, but his gorget was made out of what looked like alligator hide. He began to bristle under my scrutiny. The others were beginning to wonder what I was staring at. Turning away I cleared my throat and began to describe what had happened, the armour and weapons of the troops I'd had run-ins with before. I told them about the ambush on the wagon train from Traders Meet, the attack on Tahr and I on our journey from Bay Town, and the Sathe who kidnapped me from the Citadel. I also told them about the bandits I'd killed when I first met Tahr, although I couldn't say whether or not they were more than they had seemed. They were staring at Rehr when I finished. "You expect us to believe this?!" It was that Sathe with the grey tufted ears. He was glaring at me. "This . . You would believe something like . . . like THAT?!" "So you do not deny having warriors in our Realm," Rehr replied. "I do deny it!" the other spat. "I would say that if the Eastern Realm cannot handle bandits within its borders, then that is none of our concern. However, the fact that our lands and trade routes are threatened by your inability to deal with your own internal affairs compels us to act." His ears rose with his spirits as he felt that he was taking control of the situation. "The Gulf Realm is willing to send warriors to aid the Eastern Realm in ridding themselves of this . . . bandit problem." Four . . . No, five of them. Ambassadors from the other Realms. Judging from what he had said, Tufted Ears would be from the Gulf Realm. The others would be from the three other Realms: Open Realm, and the alliance of the Lake Traders. Rehr bared his teeth slightly. "My lords," he addressed the other three Sathe at the table. "Do you really believe that the Gulf Realm would send troops to HELP us? I doubt that very much. I am sure that you all remember that Daycross River incident in the Open Realm." That didn't mean anything to me, but it obviously did to the other Sathe. The one with a very light fawn pelt sitting opposite Tufted Ears fleered his lips back in a grin. I took a stab in the dark: that was the emissary from the Open Realm. "Lord Samth," Rehr said to the Gulf emissary, "you deny having warriors in the Eastern Realm?" "Most vehemently." "Then would you please explain this." On some signal that I didn't catch, the door opened and with a rattling of manacles, several prisoners were led in, still in their red and black armour; officers who had been captured. They were all battered, bloodied, and tired. They saw me, then the Sathe gathered around the table and they sagged, as if something inside them had died. Rehr grinned at the emissaries. "You recognise them? Good. Honoured ones, you may ask them questions. They will answer. K'hy, thank you." ****** Rehr was alone in the conference room when I returned. It was dark outside, the only light coming from a dim lantern on the paper-littered obsidian table top. He had his head buried in his hands. "Sir?" I ventured uneasily. I felt like I was intruding on something. "They said you wanted to see me about something else." He looked up at me waiting for him and sighed. "Ah, K'hy . . . I am getting old and tired . . . Please, sit down." He gave me a wan smile; the barest twitch of his ears. "Yes, I have some news that may interest you." He handed me a crumpled and stained piece of vellum marked with Sathe ideograms in black ink. "Uh . . . I cannot read," I confessed. "No?" he looked vaguely surprised. "Well, I guess one cannot expect everything . . . You know that while the Born Ruler is . . . indisposed, I take over her duties?" He waved his hand over the piece of paper, cream in the flickering orange light. "That would figure." "Well, this was brought in from the village of Singing Rock, a small village. It is not too far, but well away from the main routes. It would seem they are having trouble with a strange creature." My heart leapt into my throat. Rehr continued. "Apparently it is two legged, leaves very strange tracks, steals food, and kills wolves with 'a loud noise'. Sound familiar?" I nodded dumbly. "They want some help in tracking it down." He folded the paper carefully and handed it to me. "Would you be interested in going there and finding out what is going on?" My mouth worked silently for a couple of times before I asked, "How soon would I be able to leave?" He twitched his ears in amusement. "I can have an escort ready for you by morning. Be ready then." I turned to the door, still staring at the paper in my hand, and hardly daring to hope. Could it be possible . . . ? I had my hand on the latch when I remembered. "Sir?" "Yes?" "May I ask how the conference went?" "You may." He drummed his claws on the obsidian. "It looks as if we may be at war." ****** The door to my quarters creaked as I closed it behind me, but there was no sound from within. In the dimness, I half-felt my way across the room and peered through into the bedroom. There were pieces of armour and clothing strewn everywhere. Two figures were curled against each other, lying in an errant patch of moonlight in the centre of the bed with rumpled sheets surrounding them. I mouthed a silent 'oops' and started to close the bedroom door. "K'hy?" Tahr had lifted her head and was blinking first at the figure lying beside her, then at me. Smoothly, she extricated herself from beneath his arm and slid out of bed. He made a noise, smacked his jaws and settled down again, never quite waking. Once the bedroom door was closed behind us I smothered a smile and asked, "How are you feeling?" Tahr settled cross-legged into a chair, still naked. "Confused . . . WHO is he?" She jerked her thumb at the closed door. "You do not remember?" I shook my head. "Well, you needed someone to look after you; his name is H'rrasch." I squatted down beside her. "I have coupled with him?" she cast a bemused glance down at her groin. It was quite obvious what she'd been up to. "It would look like it," I said. "You do not remember?" Her muzzle wrinkled. "You were there, then suddenly he was there . . . " Her Time. Jesus, what went on in her head while it was going on? It was like she became something else; like there was a deeper, more animalistic side to her that ran closer to the surface than in humans. Despite the intimacy, she scared me sometimes; holding her, looking into her eyes to see the pure hunger staring back and for a second SHE wasn't there. Perhaps some thing were never meant to be. "You seemed to be getting along well enough," I observed with nod towards the bedroom door. "Yes, but . . . I mean this should not happen. He is just a soldier." "So am I." "K'hy, how can you ever be just a soldier?" she chuckled and reached up to stroke my face. I smiled and touched that little tuft of fur on her chin, then remembered the note in my pocket. "Tahr, I am going to have to go away for a while. Out of Mainport. Tomorrow." "What? Where are you going? What has happened?" "Hold it, slow down," I touched her lips and she was quiet. "Rehr has let me go at my own request. Here . . . " I produced the message and handed it over. Tahr scanned it, then read it over again. "Well, what do you think?" I asked eagerly. She shook her head quickly, then stared down at the paper. "It could be anything you know . . . a trickster, bandits, maybe an animal of some kind or . . . " She trailed off when she saw my face. I took a shuddering breath. "Oh God, I hope not . . . " End Human Memoirs Part 3 section B