Her Mantle Upon Your Shoulders: Part 8

The guest were now enthralled, their festiveness sparked by the sight of more than a thousand Shigu soldiers animated by the commands of their Grand General. More food was devoured and more ale was downed as the soldiers danced around the courtyard, their torches little specks against the darkness. Their rows maneuvered around one another, intertwining, forming into shapes. A square, a circle, a diamond. There was no falter in their step, no flaw in their formation. And all through this display of discipline, their feet pounded up on the ground like a thousand wardrums. The guest's cheers, including Akuna's own, were just whispers under their volume.

Once the demonstration had transpired, the torches were extinguished into darkness all at once. The soldiers' feet continued to drum with power as they exited the Narulus' enormous courtyard. The guests were still cheering with jovial cries. Grand General Vok smiled proudly at the sound of praise around him, everyone surging towards him with questions and words of admiration. Several captains bent their knees, pledging their loyalty to him right there upon that balcony.

Akuna, Akzla, family, and mates were pushed out of Vok's inner circle as the northern crowd gave their acclaim for the demonstration. Vok grinned at all them, bowing his head politely as salutes snapped up in recognition. The nevrean and Agundar were ever at his side, smiling as if they had commanded the squads themselves.

"A spectacular sight," Rupland said, looking to Akuna. He could see the annoyance on her face, having been shoved to the side and away from Grand General Vok like a mere lackey. Regardless of her annoyance, Akuna could not deny the gravity of awe she had felt when the shadowed squads moved over the ground like a carpet of stars.

"A damned amazing one," she confessed, looking out over the courtyard again where the darkness held sway. "But I'm not sure if I should be this impressed."

"Why not?  I have never seen anything like that under the General's command," Akzla added herself in the conversation. "Under her, soldiers just marched and charged.  This Grand General possesses a fair amount of ambition." She smiled, drinking her ale steadily.

"It was just a show, Akzla," Akuna's booming voice told. "A show for the eyes.  Nothing more."

"And a grand show it was!" her fellow captain countered. "A grand show by the Grand General!" She laughed, pulling at Cagost by the hip, taking part in the excitement around them.

Akuna did not disagree. Rupland watched his mate's jaw twitch, ears straining not to dip down as her tail went into a frenzy behind her. She was deep in contemplation.

"What is wrong, my dear?" he asked, poking her in the side with a claw. Instantly, her eyes were trained on him, as if she just realized he was there. "Is something wrong?" he asked again. Brunka looked up at her mother, eyeing the mixture of emotions in her face.

"Nothing," Akuna finally answered, contrary to her true feelings.

Zulca pressed through the crowd, his face stretched with a smile. "How was that?  Yes?  What do you think now?" he asked both Akuna and Akzla. "A performance that removed the breath from my throat," Akzla said.

"A common reaction." Zulca laughed again. "And you, Akuna?"

The Shigu warrior shuffled uncomfortably, her eyes wandering over the darkened courtyard. "If my eyes hadn't been hindered by the night, I believe my doubt would be less...potent," she said at last.

"And why is that?" Zulca asked, his smile leaving his face.

"How can I truly believe there were that many soldiers if I couldn't see them clearly?  The majority could have been decoys.  Dummies strung on a rope.  Who can say it wasn't all a magician's trick?"

"Such witless banter," Akzla sneered with a spiteful tone. "Such disbelief could only come from someone that favors the southerners."

Akuna's angered flared within her instantly, hand stiffening to slap at her fellow captain. Zulca's interruption saved Akzla from the assault.

"Now, now!" the High Officer quickly said. "Akuna cannot be faulted for detailing her disbelief.  I would be heavy with doubt too if I were her.  But by my own eyes I have seen the same maneuvers done in the shine of the day, and all the soldiers are as flesh and blood as you and me, captain."

"And what of their vigor?  They dance as good as any tail-tosser in a tavern, but do they dance the warrior's dance?"

"Believe me, Captain," Zulca smiled cunningly, "You will not able to remember any uncertainty in your mind once you seen them spar."

"I pray so," Akuna frowned, unmoved by his words.

"Damn you, Captain!" Zulca laughingly swore. "Smile!  Don't let your doubts weigh on your mind!  Not tonight!  This night is to celebrate!  The gallop of our soldiers was just heard throughout the desert!  Our brothers and sisters rejoice in their sound and the southerners weep in fear!"

These words did bring a smile to Akuna's face, one that was as bold as Zulca's. The High Officer laughed as he saw it. Before long, the guests were in an uproar, their accumulated voices bringing forth a warcry not heard for so long. "Blood and tears!  Blood and tears!  Blood and tears!"

Rupland watched his mate add her voice with the others, joined by her daughter. He dare not refuse the power of the warcry and combined his voice with theirs. Tight fists were thrust up in the air, muzzles pointed to the night sky. Voices rang for rekusus around. Blood and tears.

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Once back inside the meeting hall, the Shigus forgot their modesty. There were few chairs within the hall, but that did not stop them from seating themselves upon the marble floor. The drink flowed freely, goblets and tankards filled to the brim with ale and wine. Before it could get cold, the food was devoured rapidly, guests wiping their bloodied fingers on their tunics and robes. A small minority thought it appropriate to flirt as well. Hands groped, lips kissed and tongues licked. Soon a couple at the far wall were at it, the female presenting herself while the male pounded into her like a spear through flesh. All to sate their hunger. In their bellies and in their loins.

Akuna found herself speaking with Hashin Vok again with Zulca while other guests were occupied with their indulgences.

"Tell him what you told me, Akuna," Zulca pressed, showing a jesting expression. "She wonders if your soldiers have the skills of the warrior or even if they're real.  Perhaps they are shadows upon the night, conjured by some illusionist's magic," he told Vok, but the Grand General's face remained ever so expressionless. "But she did say they danced as well as any tail-tosser!" He burst with laughter and Akuna knew from the smell of his breath that he was overly drunk.

Akuna's ears dipped with embarrassment. "There was no intent to offend," Akuna said quickly, not wanting to sully her reputation with Vok. "Only a joke."

To her surprise, she saw Vok smile while his eyes continued to cast their empty stare. "Others had made the same correlation.  Does that mean you weren't impressed?"

"No," Akuna answered. "I was fully impressed, but it's difficult to decide an army's worth just by the ease of their formation."

"You will not find it difficult in these coming days," Vok told her, sipping at more wine. "My warriors are very real.  Neither shadow nor trick.  And they handle their weapons as if they were born with them out of the womb."

"I should hope so," she said. Her eyes then wondered down to find the Grand General's sword attached to his hip. "I see that weapon of yours, Grand General," she pointed, hoping to change the subject. "It looks too thin to be a fine sword to my eyes."

"On the contrary," the Grand General began, looking down at the holstered sword, "you should not judge a sword like this by it's girth." His white fingers were around the gray hilt. The sword sang as it's black blade was revealed. Many guests snapped their heads in his direction to see the origin of such a hostile sound. He gave Akuna a full view of the sword, tilting and moving it to show both of it's sides. "Can you guess the material this blade was forged from?"

Akuna needed no time to deliberate her answer. "I know the sight of such blades well," Akuna said firstly, trying to hide her disgust. "That's a nevrean blade, a singing blade, forged of black nevrean metal." But this one did not sing with the ability to cut any material with ease, it's inner mechanism inactivated.

"Ah, yes," Vok spoke with excitement, but he showed no smile. "And have you ever fought with these blades before?"

"I have not and I dislike them," she confessed, her disgust fully shown now.

"Oh?  Why?" Vok now looked solely at her, his naked blade held horizontally between them.

"They are not forged by the hands of my clan.  They are empty of spirit and honor while they might contain black air conjured by foul nevrean clerics that wish to curse it's wielder." For a second, she flashed her eyes at the nevrean and the Agundar at the Grand General's flank. Both gave a fleeting stare of humor at her words, mistaking her words for a joke.

A tiny chuckle was the Grand General's first response. "And whom told you that?"

"The General herself," Akuna answered, leaning her head forward to make her point. Years ago, even before the Shigus breached the southern desert border, Rain had warned them of such weaponry and it's foul intent. Cast them off and you will be saved, she said. They followed her words and throughout the campaign, Akuna had never took up such armaments. Even so, some of her comrades had traded their fine swords for the black blades. She attributed their untimely deaths in battle for their misplaced trust in the nevrean weaponry.

"Ah, of course.  I can understand her confusion with these weapons," Vok said, carefully running his hand over the side of his sword while the other held the hilt. "But I can assure you, these blades contain no black air or curses.  In all truthfulness, they are quite the superior weapon.  They cut through armor, slice through steel and smite flesh like a butcher's cleaver."

"Then you admit you are disregarding the General's advice, no?" Akuna asked him, hoping to catch him in some lie.

"I am not disregarding our dear General's advice at all, Captain," he retorted. "This sword," he held it vertically before her, "was not made for any nevrean.  A blade solely crafted for me, given by my friend, Asasukula, over here," he gestured to his left at the nevrean. "The hilt is long enough for both my hands to hold, the blade elongated for better reach.  I can assure you that this blade, and the many blades that Asasukula has donated to our forces, are without any malicious intent or untold corruption.  I have for many turns of the sun had this blade at my side and never fallen ill.  It might have even provided me with a fair bit of luck, if I dare say," he admitted with a smiling at Akuna.

"I'm not convinced," Akuna confessed, her mind wrestling with such foreign ideas of accepting non-northern weaponry. "Even so, what honor is there in using such a weapon?  Have sergal hands tolled at making that blade?  Have they been blistered and hardened by working at it?"

Akuna truly did not expect the Grand General's answer. "Yes, Captain Akuna.  Sergal hands were the ones that made this blade."

Akuna's face showed deep surprise. "What?"

"Asasukula benefited us with the knowledge of how to manufacture these blades.  Black blades that are sharper than any other, more robust than steel.  But unfortunately not as unbreakable as the ancient Agundar weapons.  You seemed very flustered by this, Captain?  Have I disturbed you?"

"I had...never imagined we would surround our honor-"

"We have surrendered nothing, Captain," Vok interrupted her, voicing a heavy tone. "We have merely adapted our ways.  How can we hope to match the southerners when they can cut right through our weapons?" "With superior tactics and overwhelming force!" Akuna answered quickly.

The Grand General shook his head. "We have to match them on all fronts.  Cover ourselves from all sides and not allow them to take any advantage from us.  We are warriors of Clan Shigu and it is our honorable burden to see that we sustain ourselves atop a mountain of blond-hair corpses."

Akuna was surprised by the force in the Grand General's words. She found her suspicions lessening, ears more ready to receive his words. The night passed without heed to the passing hours. While Akzla drowned herself in drink with Cagost, Akuna stood near the Grand General, listening intently as he spoke to the throng of captains and squad leaders around him.

His subordinates gave tell of their concerns. Rogue northern thieves, southern bandits, the starving, the dehydrated, diseases. What anxieties were made known, Vok was there to remedy them. For the thieves and bandits, soldier could be dispatched to locations of strife. If that was not enough, he offered a safe haven for all northerners here, in Wevren. He promised there was plenty of food and water for those with desperate need of such. Healers could also be donated, elixirs in high supply along with armaments.

With the guests heavy with ale, platters of food made bare, and acts of lust concluded, the ensemble drew to a close. Akuna was one of the few that didn't stumble drunkenly out into the halls.

"What does your doubt say now, Captain Akuna?" Zulca asked as he escorted them back to their chambers.

"If I must admit," Akuna began, "my confidence has been invigorated.  Despite my thoughts on black blades and the support of non-northerners, this Grand General is no fool and he seems ready with a solution at the mention of an obstacle.  But I noticed his lips were light on war.  Some might mistake him for peace lover."

"Preparation is Hashin's main concern at this time," Zulca provided. "War is a thorny matter for those unnourished, thirsty, and exhausted.  He is sowing our ragged and sand-blasted banner back into one piece.  Give it time and the Sailzane will quiver with our renewed strength."

"Your words are always hopeful, High Officer," Akuna admitted, giving him a sidelong look.

Zulca returned the expression. "These are hopeful times," he told her. He wished them fair sleep once they found their chambers.

With Rupland pulled close to her right and Brunka snuggled warmly to her left on the circular mattress, Akuna surrendered herself to a deep and dreamless sleep.

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The next day, with the morning still young, Akuna, her mate and child, along with Akzla and Cagost, were awaken by servants to survey the city. By whose request? High Officer Zulca's, of course. He greeted them all this morning with a new, topless carriage. Once they were settled on it's blue cushions, they pulled out of the safety of the Narulus' gates and into the waking streets of Wevren.

As the carriage wove it's way through the traffic upon the street, Akuna could not help but notice something off about Akzla seated across from her. Her fellow captain slumped in her seat and Cagost showed the same posture. Their eyes were glazed over with drossiness and they flinched at slightest beam of sunlight that touched their face. With each bump in the road, Akzla gave a pained groan, covering her head with both hands.

Akuna showed an unhidden smile. The gluttonous fool, the drink has come back to bite her. She felt thankful for her modesty last night.

Throughout the day with the carriage prowling street after street, Zulca flooded Akuna's and Akzla's head with the history of Wevren. Many turns of the sky ago with the city in southern hand's, the Shigu approached Wevren with a large host under the veil of night. Despite the surprise attack, the southerners, aided by their nevrean allies, combated the northerners atop their walls with guns and other far-reaching weaponry. The Shigu's high numbers and the southerners favorable position made the battle a stalemate for many days. Many northerners ventured to climb the walls of the city but either fell or were picked at by volleys of bullets and bolts. The one soft spot the southerners left unattended was the treacherous canyon valley the city sat upon. The canyon walls were covered with homes carved into the vertical rock face. Believing the passages too treacherous and the northerners too unwilling to scale the rock wall, the southerners thought their home impregnable.

"And thus was their folly," Zulca had dispensed. "The southerners thought us to be cowards.     They didn't think we would make the climb over and down to the canyon homes.  Not a guard had been posted, no countermeasures to prevent our advance.  Not a strategic mind among the lot of them." He laughed, delighted by the recalling of the memory.

While the majority of their brothers and sisters waged war upon Wevren's outer walls, those brave enough scaled the canyon side, invading the many interwoven bridges and edifices of the rock face. A handful died due to their loose grip upon their ropes or a misplaced foothold, but a great number found entrance to the city's innermost structures from there. By then the southerners' attention had slacked with the northerners attacking from two sides. A handful had conquered the white stone walls and retracted the portcullises to breach the city. This created a bottleneck and many northern soldiers died in a bloody rush to survive the gauntlet of bullets waiting for them beyond the city's walls.

Many hours of frantic slaughter followed. The Shigus flooded the streets, drenching stone and steel in the blood and bile of it's former holders. But they did not burn the city into ash or topple over it's towers like standard. Instead, with so few Shigu bases remaining within the desert, they made the new-claimed city their center. A great victory despite the string of defeats claimed by the southerners' ambush tactics.

"A grand triumph for our General," Akuna said, looking over the city streets like it were a war trophy.

"A grand triumph for our Grand General," Zulca corrected.

"Pardon?" Akuna asked, not sure if her ears had truly heard him.

"Hashin lead the assault, gave commands to the captains, and rallied squad leaders to capture our victory.  And he was the one to suggest that we claim this city as our new stronghold.  Without it, our clan's vitality would have dispelled like spit on hot sand."

Akuna pressed her back against her cushioned seat and gave mournful face. Zulca immediately noticed. "Something amiss, Captain?" he tilted his head to one side.

Akuna shrugged. "I had believed such skill in strategy could only be attributed towards our General, Silves.  It's just...remarkable."

A quaint smile found hold on Zulca's face, a claw rising to scratch at his muzzle. "You loved the General deeply, didn't you?" he asked.

"Of course I did." Akuna answered sharply. "Name one who didn't love our General."

"A difficult request," Zulca answered. "And I'm pleased to see one soldier who refused to abandon our Mother General.  You would shudder to hear how many of our brethren relinquished all their loyalty towards Silves, forgetting her title, and the path she carved for us through the flesh of our opposers.  She was our harbinger, the light that brought us might like the sun gives us warmth.  To forget our General is a sin most dreadful.  But we have worked against such sin.  Look to Wevren and you will see her likeness.  The young and grown never forget her appearance and authority.  The city will ring with worship when she returns."

Zulca's words were indeed true, Akuna saw. Plastered on the side of buildings, storefronts, and windows, and walls were posters of their Brutal General. Some displayed her full bust with her cascading mane of dark blue, face drawn with a smile while her golden eyes watched all that passed by. Others showed her in full armor holding her signature lance, but Akuna found these to be lackluster renderings. She had remembered the General's armor as an imposing sight, gleaming divinely with sunlight. Her lance was much larger than what they showed too.

Rain was quickly forgotten as a subject of discussion, much to Akuna's dismay. All conversation turned back to Grand General. Zulca praised Vok for his rejuvenation of the newly captured Wevren. Immediately, his troops manned the walls, assessing their advantages and disadvantages, where the city was weak and where it was formidable. They prepared for the southerners counterassault and it came sooner than predicted.

"We had expected siege machines.  Catapults.  Cannons.  Engines that would break the walls.  Explosives.  The Reonos had brought nothing but themselves.  Thousands, a great number to besiege the city.  But we'd seen through to their fear.  They feared damaging their beloved city, their gem among the sands.  They sought to remove us solely.  Even before the first wave, they had lost."

The southerners' fear gave the northerners an immense advantage. They waited behind the defenses, firing at the southern force with both bow and firearms once held by their foes. For many days north and south clashed, both patient. The southerners used thick shields to protect themselves from the barrage of bolt and bullet while the northerners remained perfectly content behind the heavy white stones of the Wevren.

"The blond-hairs were wise to assault the canyons," Zulca said, "but we had not replicated their mistake."

The Shigus made certain that any southerners hardy enough to climb the canyon walls found only death. But that is not to say they didn't have another strategy hidden in their fur. Male nevreans, whose wings would embrace the wind under them for flight, attacked in waves during the night when vision was diminished. They gave no warcry, gliding silently over the walls in  an attempt to open the city gates. None succeed.

"The southerners lost their vigor and it became easy countering any strategy they used," Zulca provided with the carriage working it's way through the market crowds. "They attempted to trick us in believing they given up the assault by retreating their numbers in the night and then bringing them back to another side of the city.  Over and over again they did this, retreating and returning but it was an ineffective effort.  They had lost all but one-third of their host while we had lost only a handful of our force.  Finally, remembering their wits, they retreated for good. "

"A fine tale," Akuna had to admit, having enjoyed the retelling while Akzla lingered in her cushion with her eyes closed. "When was the last attack on the city?"

"More than half a year's passing," the High Officer answered. "But that only counts large sieges.  Over time we've had a few attempts by the southerners to disrupt our grip on the city.  Assassins.  Sabotagers.  Reonos disguised as wanderers and traders.  For now, their attempts are fruitless and we seek to keep it that way."

Akuna gave an acknowledging nod of the head. Looking to her fellow captain, she violently kicked Akzla on the knee, awaking her with a startle. "You're embarrassing us with you lack of attention," Akuna scowled her despite the humor she currently felt. "And you're dishonoring the High Officer by ignoring the history he has been relaying to us.  Forgive her, High Officer," Akuna smiled with Zulca.

"I can forgive," the High Officer snickered, "but I'm not sure Kusno could if he was with us."

"Apologies," Akzla grumbled, sitting upright in her seat while Cagost snored beside her.

"You should thank me," Akuna spoke again. "Kusno would be one to slap your muzzle with his claws out for your disrespect.  I had been gentle."

Akzla gave no words, only a scorning gaze that added strength to Akuna's mocking smile.

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The air was pleasant today, Rupland observed. There was less humidity in it, clear of sand and dirt. He even dared to say it had a chill to it. It was more reason to be grateful the carriage was open and topless. They were going at a slow pace, but they were not burdened by the traffic. Like with their first arrival, the crowd parted respectively to let them through.

Brunka pivoted her head at the sights and sounds that surrounded them. One moment, she looked to her right and watched the sea of northerners flow. Then she whipped her head to the left, lifting her muzzle to the air to take in the array of smells from the storefronts and markets stalls where strips of meat hung and breads baked.

Both father and daughter were silent, knowing not to speak while the High Officer conversed with the two captains. But it would be accurate to say they were both stunned silent. For Brunka, the trip through Wevren was an delightful assault of the senses, her eyes and ears receiving constant new stimulation. For Rupland, it was much of the same. He watched homes and businesses come and go, studying each of them as if he possessed an architect's eye. He admired the detail and scale of some, head tilting upward at the fourth, fifth, sometimes even sixth floor. The rancid smell of a blacksmith's shop greeted his nose as they passed by. Then came a brothel where perfume-soaked beauties manned the balconies and below on the street, giving the pedestrians a little swing of the hips, a taste. To see more, all they needed to do was pay, but never cheaply.

A few structures, maybe once temples where southerners would give prays to their own gods, were either ignored or deposed into rubble. What were once statues chiseled from marble, sanded smooth by artisan hands, had also been vandalized into unrecognizable nubs. Arms and legs were smashed off, heads shattered, no more than broken torsos. Rupland wondered which had been monuments to blond-hair warriors or monoliths once built by ancient Agundar settlers.

Where the road turned and swirled into more of the metropolis, more sights came into view. Some eye-catching, some dull, but Rupland always had an ear turned in the direction of High Officer Zulca as he chatted with Akuna and Akzla.

"Without the southern distraction," Zulca's voice said, "Hashin looked to make this city a home, a destination for weary soldiers that needed shelter, food, water, companionship.  Whatever they might need, they could find it here.  He had workers rebuild the holes in the defenses, cooking food for the masses, forging weapons and armor, watching over the land before us.  He never tolerated slack.  Sloth is a sign of weakness.  A muscle must be used constantly if it is to remain strong.  He focused on training the young and old.  In each northerner, is the warrior, he says.

"Wevren was a rumor upon the wind before we could get the word out to our comrades," Zulca continued while Rupland listened, watching a group of youngsters argue amongst themselves. It soon turned violent, claws coming out and slashing. "We were a mirage, tales said.  Other said we were just a southerner deception, a false haven of slaughter.  But once a few squads found all the worst of tales to be unfound and best to be true, they came in droves.  We took all them in.

"Once the city filled up, we began to ask everyone to pay their tribute.  Taxes on water, sugar, businesses were placed."

"Taxes," Akzla repeated with a neutral tone. "We thought of the same with our squads.  How did your troops take to it?"

Zulca gave a shrug. "Most were grateful for how openhanded we were.  We allowed them to settle here, come and go as they wished.  Only an few were ungrateful of our generosity.  We shunned them, shamed them into paying their levy.  Others were more receptive to broken fingers or one less ear." Rupland turned to see the smile Zulca presented. He could feel the viciousness behind it. Turning back to the crowded streets, Rupland maintained his listening ears.

"As the cellars of wealth in the Narulus swelled, we looked for ways spend our coin.  We purchased steel, bronze, and silver to increase the size of our armories.  We bought livestock and cattle, even the beasts that pull this wagon.  We even share our wealth with our soldiers if they adhere to their duties."

"So even my child could earn a wage?" Akuna asked, her voice full of interest.

"Maybe so," Zulca chuckled, shuffling in his seat with a groan. "My ass is getting numb.  How are your stomachs?" he asked.

"A bit empty," Akuna was sure to answer first. "One chunk of bread and a few strips of meat was a light breakfast for me."

"My hunger is approaching fast too," Akzla agreed.

"Then we shall feed.  Susu," Zulca designated the carriage driver. The female looked back at him with a ‘yes, sir!'  "Rein up to my usual place.  We need our fill."

"Yes, sir," she said, and the carriage swung in a wide arc, starting down the opposite direction they were heading.

"Where might we be going?" Akuna asked as the carriage completed it's turnabout.

"Many months I have seated here," Zulca said, stretching his arms out, "as my knowledge of this city might tell.  And I have been served by all the known eateries, but only one suits me best."

That one eatery was no restaurant like Rupland expected. It was a cooker's stall placed within one of busiest market districts, and it was far from meager. It's measurements were more than two small huts, wide enough for three other workers, a female and two males, to tend to the array of grills and firepits, slabs of ribs and cuts of meat sizzling over hot flames. A line of five stood before the front counter.

The owner, a gray male whose fur was turning grayer with age, immediately gained a smile once he saw Zulca dismount from the carriage with his guests.

"High Officer, High Officer!  Sir!  Sir!" the aged male said joyously, speaking loud enough to advise the entire street of his presence. "Come, come, come," he waved them all forward. Zulca ignored the line before him and the cook turned his attention to them only, hoping to tend to their hunger.

"Grenso," Zulca smiled, bowing his head politely as the cook gave him a stiff salute. "Glad to see you're not too busy.  My friends and I were dripping at the jaws to taste your cookery."

Dripping at the jaws indeed, Akuna thought. Her mouth was already filled with saliva, belly aching with her nostrils overwhelmed by the heavy scent of cooking meat. Looking to the back of the stall, she watched the three cooks mill about, neither lingering or rushing.

"What is your stomach's lust?" Grenso happily asked Zulca.

"Have anything southern?" Akuna spoke up, her appetite begging.

"Ah, I'm sorry, my friends.  No southern meat here," the graying male dipped his head regrettably.

"It's no trouble," Zulca assured him. "They will all have my choice dish."

"Ah, perfect," Grenso smiled and then counted the Shigus before him. "Six stabbed fillets of broger.  Half-cooked.  Quickly!"

Akuna gave an unheard grunt of displeasure. Half-cooked? She would rather have it all raw and bleeding. If the cook had permitted, she would have enjoyed it alive and squirming.

The cooks were at a hurried pace now, forgetting the orders they were first previously given. The one female advised Grenso they were short of meat, and Grenso demanded she go see a fellow by the name of Sero. Perhaps a butcher, Akuna reckoned as the female exited the stall and melded into the traffic on the road.

Their meat did not take long to cook. Akuna was happy to have food in her hand and near her mouth. There was no need for utensils or plates. Their chunks of hot meat was skewered on thin rods of wood, juices trickling down to their fingers. With her first bite, Akuna yelped at the heat of the flesh, forgetting it had been slightly cooked. Being more cautious, she could still taste blood, and was even more delighted by it's smoky flavor. Half-cooked was not half-bad, she decided.

As they ate, Brunka found herself looking over the marketplace with curious cub eyes. She desired to see who sold what. Maybe some treats for dessert. She could even perhaps look at a few toys. Looking up, she tugged at her father's jacket.

"Can we go see the seller's?" she asked in the most precious way, knowing it would benefit her cause. Especially when asking her father. "Maybe have one treat?"

Rupland relayed the question back to Akuna. "Might we take a walk through the crowd and look for something to buy?  Maybe me and the cub can brave the city while the rest of you ride in the carriage.  We'll return to the keep later."

Zulca was the one to answer, his head shaking negatively. "Not a clever idea," he said sadly. "The keep's guards might have seen you leave with me, but they will not remember you if you come alone.  Best to stay together for the time being."

A slight amount of dismay came to both Rupland and Brunka, but they hid their disappointment. After they had their meal, they returned to the carriage. Next came the canyon valley.

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"If the Narulus is the heart of Wevren," Zulca began as they eyes adjusted to shade the canyon's walls provided, "then this is it's blood source."

A modest river of dark blue flowed before them as the carriage made it's way through the wooden docks. Deckhands and sailors took to their ships, ports alive with activity as more came in to anchor. Cargo was loaded and offloaded, ships leaving downstream to places elsewhere.

The river was flanked by the canyon's massive walls. On each side of the canyon was a forest of homes connected by a network of rope bridges and ladders. Places once built and filled with nevreans. Now they were occupied by the most adventurous of northerners that possessed no fear of heights.

The city's main structure loomed overhead, a patchwork stone foundations that blotted out the sun's rays. Large, stony slopes that spiraled and zigzagged downward gave the carriage passage to the rocky floor of the canyon. Down here, the city's hum of commotion was nothing, but each shout from the docks and overhead from the canyon wall edifices was accompanied with an echo.

"Goods of all sorts float down this river.  After we claimed the city, traders seemed wary to sell their wares, but once they found we had no cause to hinder them, they docked their boats without fear.  Bolts of silk and hair, gems of jade and garnet, bundles of food with armies of spices, ales hard as stone with juices that could quince any thirst.  A wet port deep in the ire of the parched desert.  That is why the southerners fought so fiercely for this city."

"I hope you don't allow southern boats to voyage unchallenged," Akuna then said to Zulca.

"There is no safe passage here, my madam," the High Officer assured her. "Not for any bastard breeds.  We have watchers spy at each ship that comes down river.  If we catch sight of even a blood hair, we capture the vessel.  We lay claim to any supplies they may have aboard and take prisoner the crew and passengers, whatever race they might be.  There is no sympathy for the sympathizers.  But there had been few incidents in current memory.  The southerners are aware of the danger here and avoid this route entirely."

"Where does the river go?" Akzla asked, seemingly more awake after swallowing a meal into her belly. The dark blue of the river disappeared around the bend many lengths down the canyon.

"Somewhere east of here.  Vica, a nevrean city, lays somewhere west.  We have a watcher squad near there to watch the traffic and warn of an attack by river.  The river itself goes on for many rekusus, but disappears and dries up beyond that."

The small ranches of the city were found on the outer rim of the city. Here, a horde of cattle and horned beasts milled about unthinkingly, feeding on pools of slop while the sun baked their backs. The stench of their combined waste stung Akuna's nostrils. It made Akzla gag.

Then came gardens incased in glass houses like Rupland had seen in Rellon. But these gardens were much more massive in scale, planets growing wildly from the layer of raw soil on the ground while Talyxian and Agundar workers cultivated the acres of plant-life.

"We import soil from more fertile grounds and we appoint Talyxians and Agundars to apply their knowledge upon the greenery.  They know which to eat, which make oils, and which make medicine.  They are even allowed to take a portion of our harvest for their work."

"I had liked the cattle ranches better," Akuna huffed. The devouring of plants was a strange act to her and she found the Agundar's sole diet of them to be even stranger. "When will we be able to return to the Narulus?  I'm itching to see your soldiers."

"I think that might be just bugs in your fur, Akuna," Akzla said with a smile. "Might need a wash."

"And you might need to clap your mouth shut before I slap it shut," Akuna sneered at her fellow captain.

"Please, Akuna!  Control yourself!  You shame us with your unchecked rage!" her fellow captain  laughed, holding up her hands in mock defense.

Akuna growled deeply, but remained quiet. She didn't want to fuel Akzla's teases.

"The soldiers can wait," Zulca spoke up, his grin ever wider. "I have something else in mind.  Susu!  To the Blood Pool!"

The Blood Pool was found further inside the city, traffic turning more and more dense. Akuna was not sure what to expect, but once Zulca had designated the structure, excitement manifested in her chest. A massive circular wall of pale wood and blemished metal rose above the other buildings, throngs of northerners flooding through it's entrances. A chorus of cheers could be heard inside, but the full force of them could only be heard when Akuna and company entered.

Rows of wooden benches ringed the inside of the coliseum, the crowd pulsing with violent cheers. They jumped and shouted, all eyes watching the onslaught in the fighter's pit. As Zulca lead his guests toward the lower rows, closer to the pit, Akuna found herself entranced by the current duel. A lone northerner defended herself within the fighter's pit. She pivoted and dodged, her feet stirring the dirt upon the ground. Akuna could see the smile craved on the female's face, the bleeding cuts on her arms. She wore nothing more than a leather breastplate and skirt. In her hand she grasped a short sword, it's blade dipped in red.

The female fighter dodged another charge, rolling away from her beastly adversary. Her opponent was a orange beast of fur and muscle, huge yellow teeth peeking over it's black lips. It gave a hiss, saliva dripping from it's yellow jaws while it walked about the pit on it's four legs. The female fighter refused to back away. Both circled, keeping each other in their forefront. The beast pounced again, the crowd cheering and gasping. The fighter jumped to the side, dodging and dancing away to prod the beast in the side with her sword. A swallow cut. The beast only hissed again, face scrunching with feral rage.

A prime view was given at a booth that apparently was reserved for soldiery. Zulca and his guests seated themselves among other officers and their guests clad in light fabrics. Akuna recognized no one, but the High Officer apparently did.

"Enjoying yourself, Sucra?" Zulca asked a black-furred female sitting on the row behind them.

"Hardly," the female officer grimaced. "Nothing but animal fights."

"What fun is there in watching witless beasts be gutted by hunters too skilled?  My head is getting heavy with sleep!" an aged male beside Sucra with a face full of scars complained.

"Just wait," Zulca smiled, waving a gesture. "They will-"  He was interrupted by the crowd's eruptive cheers. The orange beast tried for another strike and succeeded, but only slightly. A slash of it's claws had caught the fighter on the leg, stunning her. The beast attempted to cut her again, but she jumped out of the way before it could. Again, they were sizing each other up, waiting and circling.

"Kill it!  Gut it now!" a male officer in front of Akuna screamed out, waving his arms about erratically.

"They will have the champion bouts later," Zulca turned back to Sucra's guest. The old warrior seemed pleased to hear that.

"Champion bouts?" Akuna leaned over to ask the High Officer.

"Northerner against southerner.  From the slaves we own, we pick the strongest and tallest.  These few are more likely to cause trouble and rally the weak.  Allowing such malcontents to live would bring a revolt."

The match between the beast and female was near an end. After charging four times more at the female, the beast's orange coat turned redder with each cut added it's body. It's legs shook, it's gait unstable. Finally, with a defiant growl, it collapsed to the dirt. As it continued to blood and take in shallow breaths, the female circled around it, sword held high in victory. The crowd applauded gleefully.

"Kill!  Kill it!  Kill it!" the officer below Akuna yelled again, jumping from his seat excitedly. Despite the calm demeanor she put on in front of the High Officer, Akuna could feel herself come under the crowd's spell of exhilaration. She watched the female warrior circle around the fallen beast, blood coating her attire and fur. Finally, after pleasing the crowd, she faced the animal, her blade cocked back for the death stroke.

"No!  You damned fool!" said someone from the audience, franticly calling at the female. "Not from the front!  Not from the front!  From the back!"

But the fighter was already two steps away from the animal, closing in. She had been arrogant to approach the animal in this fashion.

Finding the last of it's desperate strength, the orange-furred beast leaped at the fighter and brought it's weight down on the female. All throughout the crowd, people gasped. Next came the ripping of the female's hide, jagged teeth sinking into flesh. Thrashing, the female tried to escape the creature, but it just pulled her back under. As she screamed, the beast painted it's feral face with her blood. It spent it's last moments of life swallowing down mouthfuls of fur, racking it's claws across soft flesh.

"Amateurs," Zulca grunted as three guards came into view through one of the pit's entrances. After piercing the beast with two arrows, making sure it were truly dead, they dragged the remains of both sergal and beast out of sight.

"The bitch was so close!" one member of the audience barked out irately. "Damn her ancestors!  I pray she is violated in hell!" His friends had no sympathy for him. His hands we made empty, his bet lost.

Then came three more matches between beasts and sergal. A male dodged the harrowing charges of a wide-horned black-hide animal. He seemed more intone with skill, slashing at the beast's sides with a long sword as it passed by with another charge. Like the female, he played with his prey until it could no longer hold itself up on it's own legs. But unlike the female, he did not approach his kill from the front. Instead, he gave the animal it's death by walking to it's side to pierce it's jugular.

The next was less invigorating. The beast seemed less feral and more docile. The mouth was not full of teeth and the feet devoid of claws. Instead there were hooves. It possessed long legs of running, galloping around the arena franticly while it's young male opponent gave chase. The crowd surged with laughter, but Akuna did not. She was fully displeased with the bout turning into a show of comedy. Surely, only a fool would believe such an animal would be fit for combat, she thought to herself. Finally, with the animal cowering against one side of the pit, the male purged his blade into the creature's chest.

The last bout roused both the crowd's excitement and Akuna's thrill. When she saw Brunka showing the same enthusiasm towards the match, she smiled with pride at the child's interest in combat.

Another female appeared to face an animal opponent. The creature she was to fight was many times her weight and height. It trotted into the pit upon it's four huge legs with power, it's back scales shinning in the sunlight. It's long reptilian snout opened to show little, sharp teeth. It hissed at it's opposition, a thin silver-furred female that might have been nothing more than ten years of age. But the youth did not show fear, not even when the beast came at her, ready to maul. It appeared it was not her first time facing such fiends.

The creature's gait boomed like drums as it sought to trample the little female. It tried, but it was too sluggish. The fighter indulged herself a few moments of play with the animal, allowing it to chase her around the pit, dodging it's snapping jaws with professional ease. Then, when she grew bored, she cut at the beast's huge legs with delight. The creature was robust, shrugging off such assaults, but after a few dozen more, it left trails of blood all around the pit. Many minutes of this transpired before the beast could not walk any longer. The fighter was not merciful like the rest. Her blade drove into the beast's belly and opened it up. Organs spilled out in a torrent of blood. Reaching into the beast's carcass, she cut away it's heart. It was as big as her head. She took one large bite, chewed, and threw the organ away onto the bloodied dirt. This had only been an appetizer of the main fights to come.

The stands and benches were now overwhelmed with a new audience. Males, females, and children, the young and old, some with wealth and some that wore only ragged cloaks, packed themselves together shoulder to shoulder.

The bouts began with the appearance of their first northern champion. The crowd firstly clapped and cheered the female, but then chanted her name for all ears to hear and know her.

"Vicris!  Vicris!  Vicris!" the crowd yelled out in unison. Their champion, by Akuna's eyes, was unnaturally thin. A slender frame was a blond-hair trait, but oddly, she was also tall. Akuna wondered if they were unknowingly cheering for a half-breed. She was not sure, but the dark purple-furred female showed a gratefulness for her applause. She bowed her lightly-armored body, her tail swaying relaxingly behind her as she trotted around the entire ring of the pit. As she passed by where Akuna and company sat, her weapons could be spied. A long leather whip dangling on her belt. Her right hand gloved in iron, fingertips sharp as daggers. Across her chest were many little knives, each shining silver. And on her left side, Akuna could see the gilded scabbard of her sword.

"Vicris of Talrun," Zulca provided as he watched the female move onward to greet her fans. "During the war she was a grand squad leader.  Now she looks to quench her bloodthirst here in the Blood Pool.  She hates the thought of allowing her number of southern kills to go stagnant.  I hear the males have dreams of her and wake up with their sheets wet with seed!" He gave a strong chuckle.

After Vicris had completed her one full circle around the arena, her southern prey came into the sunlight from the pit gates. He too was greeted with an applause, but it was far less welcoming. The people around Akuna hissed and cursed at the southerner as he made his way opposite of the northern champion. He ignored the jeers of the crowd, looking only at Vicris. He understood his fate was not to please the onlookers, but to save his blood by drawing another's. His body was thick with muscle, chest encased in iron while a cloth kilt hung around his hips. In one hand was a mace and in the other was a simple sword. He held them both with ease.

The crowd then quieted as the two fighters stood off at a short distance, leering at one another. A powerful drumming began, vibrating the seats underneath like a thunder, and Akuna realized it was the combined effort of the entire crowd stamping down their feet. The drumming increased it's pace, the two fighters continued to stand still as pillars. Then, with the drumming reaching a climax, the audience screamed out, "Vos!  Vos!  Vus!" Even Zulca was compelled to yell out as the southern fighter dashed at his northern adversary.

Vicris refused to move, standing her ground as the hefty southern charged. Then the whip at her side was in her hand, unraveling. It cracked once in the air, an attempt to put some fear in the southerner. The blond-hair didn't decrease speed. He swiped at her middle with the mace, but missed. Ever light on her feet, Vicris retreated back. The southerner ceased his steps, his body tensing. They circled each other now, Vicris dragging her whip in the dirt while the southerner still held his mace and short sword.

Akuna didn't understand why the northern champion had chosen a weapon as ineffective as a whip. The most it could do was leave a bloody gash across your hide, but she was intent to see how this show of deathly combat would turn out.

Vicris kept her distance from the southern. She watched him calmly, like a huntress eyeing her kill. Then with a flash of her hand, the whip's tail flung at the southerner, but it did not meet flesh. Instead, it wrapped around his mace. Tightly. The southerner attempted to pull his weapon free from the whip's grip, but it would not do. Yanking her whip, Vicris wretched the mace from the southerner's hand and away from him. The southerner looked surprised, but he didn't show the expression for long. He still carried his short sword and if he was skilled enough, it would be all he required to survive.

Vicris flashed her whip at the southerner again, aiming to disarm him fully. But the southerner had been quicker this time, catching the whip's tail with his empty hand. With sharp alertness, Vicris tried to pull back her whip, but the southerner's hold was too great. Using his short sword, he severed the whip into two. The weapon was of no more use to Vicris, rendered to no more than a nuisance. With no delay, she tossed it away. Her hands drew near to the small knives on her chest. She had two in each hand in the next second, slotted between the spaces of her fingers.

The southerner grew impatient and sought to remove Vicris's advantage of distance. He pounced at her, swinging his sword with the swiftness of a veteran. "The inbred has good form," someone behind Akuna observed.

"Old soldier.  Reono.  Or maybe a bandit," someone else added.

Without any distress, Vicris moved around or out of range of the southerner's attacks. While she couldn't safely stab the southerner with her tiny knives, she needed no effort to aim. Flicking her wrist, a blade left her hand. The southerner tripped in pain, the knife embedded into his ankle. Vicris moved around him, throwing another into his back. A taunting laugh echoed through the pit. Removing the silver blades from his body, the southerner tried to rise up to a fighting stance again, but Vicris was upon him at once. She tossed another blade, aiming for his chest, but he deflected it with the steel of his sword. Another knife came for his face, and dodged it. Rolling away from her, the blond-hair hurryingly found his stance again, sword held up at the ready.

Vicris waited now, circling the southerner while she took more knives from the sheaths on her vest. She threw one and the southern dodged. Throwing another, he blocked it with his sword again. She was toying with him, Akuna saw, testing to see how much weight he put on his uninjured leg.

The northern champion decided to rapidly throw four knives in succession. Three the southerner dodged, the fourth found the bicep of his sword arm. He cried out, giving Vicris ample time to charge and unsheathe her blade. The southerner was quick enough to block her strike. Then quickly, Vicris moved around to his side, their blades scrapping against one another. Vicris's blade danced off and added another gash to the southerner's sword arm.

Gaining distance, Vicris walked around her opponent. She waited with her blade lowered, knowing the southerner would have to limp forward if he wanted to attack.

The southerner's right arm came awash with blood, his wound bleeding profusely. His sword traded hands to his left and pointed at the circling Vicris. She ran around him then, smiling as the southerner attempted to keep her in his front. With each revolution, she came closer and closer to him. Suddenly she ran opposite and pounced with her opponent caught off-guard. Mercifully, she gave a non-legal cut on his thigh. But the wound had been deep, cups of blood washing down the southerner's leg. He knelt to the dirt with a pained grunt.

It wasn't good enough for Vicris. With another slash of her sword, she cut off his right arm. The southerner toppled to lay defenselessly on his chest, blood pooling around him. The crowd called out joyously, Brunka covering her ears at the uproarious sound. Akuna watched with pleasure as Vicris further humiliated the southerner, knocking away his weapon and nailing him down with her foot against his back. Like the southerner had done to her whip, she did the same to his tail.

The sight of the severed tail brought back thorny memories for Rupland and Akuna. Of the General, her ultimatum, and that rusty dagger. "Show me your loyalty," she had commanded. Both quickly willed the memory away.

Vicris's iron-glove hand was reaching and grabbed the southerner's head with her metal claws. The southerners screamed out with such pain and the crowd did the same with such joy. She pulled savagely and ripped the hide from his scalp, revealing bloody bone of his skull. Vicris lifted the southerner scalp above her head as she encircled the ring of the pit. The southerner laid dead, bled out from his wounds. His mane was tossed into the crowd and three members of the audience fought over it. Vicris made her leave along with her victory.

"A great start," Zulca said, watching the southerner's body dragged off uncaringly like the animals' had been.

"So it was," Akuna nodded. "I pray the rest are just as engrossing."

The next champion appeared out of the gates, the crowd boasting their cheers again.

Akuna was quickly taken aback with the sight her eyes were given. They were actually cheering for a nevrean. An orange-feathered Nevrean. Female. Clad in a red sleeveless jacket. She strolled around the inside of the pit with a relaxed and proud walk. She didn't gave a wave to the crowd or an obliged bow, just a glance that Akuna thought had an air of arrogance.

"Nessles!" the crowd chanted. "Nessles!  Nessles!"

"Why the hell is a feather-bottom here?" Akuna looked to Zulca, her anger and disappointment fully shown. "What warriors do they have to show that aren't cowards at heart?"

Zulca let out a little laugh, disregarding the rage she displayed. "Though cowards they might be, they know how to entertain.  Nessles is never expected to risk her blood and flesh like us, but she is expected to maim and ravage any southerner she faces."

"Any southerner she faces dies knowing we cheated him," Akuna retorted. "I would rather have them die by our hands, knowing with their last breaths they are the weakest race."

"In battle, we will do that ourselves," and Zulca assured her. "But for now, let's strain their bones with labor and disfigure them for play." The High Officer's words were punctuated by a malevolent smile. Akuna found herself reassured in both.

Nessles weapons were four pistols, two on her hips and two holstered on the side of her torso. Akuna gave a sneer of distaste at the sight of the firearms, even though her fellow Shigus didn't seem to share the same opinion. They continued to applaud the nevrean before they turned sour at the appearance of the southern opponent.

A female blond-hair, but this one seemed more skittish towards the ire of the surrounding northern horde. Her ears twitched at the sheer volume of their heckling. A rain of trash flew towards her. Like the one before her, she had been donated armor and weapons. A clay cup shattered across her copper helmet, liquid running over her silver breastplate. She held up one hand in defense while the other was occupied by a single spear. After the crowd ran out of trash to throw, her eyes found the exotically-colored nevrean. Immediately, she was at the ready, spearhead pointed at her adversary.

Akuna felt Rupland lean against her. "Seems unfair," he observed. "Gun against spear."

"The southerner might have some tricks hidden in her fur," Akuna retorted, favoring neither of the two fighters.

The bout began with the southern female rushing at Nessles before she could pull out one of her guns. The southerner swiped at Nessles in a wide arc with her spear, maybe hoping to disembowel her. But the nevrean jumped out of range, her little bird feet reeling back as the southerner advanced for another attack. Using the end of her spear, the female tripped Nessles to the dirt. The spearhead rose and fell, diving for the chest, but Nessles had already rolled away to safety. Akuna could see the nevrean's hands go for her chest, frantically grabbing after a pistol. Black metal shined in the sunlight as she leveled it at the southerner. The blond-hair readied for a thrust of her spear, paying no mind to the Nevrean's weapon.

The concussion of gunfire echoed throughout the coliseum, Brunka's hands quickly slamming down on her ears. Even Akuna's ears rang from the volume of the weapon. The southerner had not completed her attack. Now, she kneeled to the ground, one hand on her face and one still grasping the stem her spear. The Nevrean hurryingly rose to her feet, backing away with pistol aimed squarely on the southerner.

"Is that it?" someone below Akuna asked aloud. "Is it over?"

No, it wasn't. The southerner took on her fighting stance again, spear aimed forward. A gash on her cheek produced a steady drip of blood down her face and neck. The bullet had only grazed her, stunning her in the process. Now with her advantage stolen from her, the southerner moved around Nessles. The Nevrean remained still, spinning in place as she continued to point her pistol at the blond-hair. Slowly, her left hand reached for a second pistol.

Another pop of gunfire went off, Brunka hissing with annoyance at the sound. The southerner ceased her circling, but had not been hit. A small cloud of dirt had been kicked up when the bullet pierced the ground, mere spaces from her left foot. Leveling her second pistol, the nevrean fired again at the ground, this time close the southerner's right foot. With each shot, the southerner jumped back. Crack. Crack. Crack. More and more the southerner leapt away from the gunfire. Between each shot, Akuna could hear another sound, a sharp chuckling flowing on the wind. It was Nessles, laughing as she played with the southerner. With a swiftness, the nevrean angled her pistol upward and fired. The southerner's spear was shot in two, sliver spearhead falling to the earth.

A look of fear and confusion was upon the southerner's face as she peered at the spear tip at the ground and then at the nevrean. Nessles only smiled with both her pistols leveled at southerner. Then with one pistol descending, she unsheathed a dagger at her side. She tossed the blade and it landed at the southerner's feet. The blond-hair eyed the weapon with suspicion, but took up the blade when Nessles gave a small gesture at her.

They then returned to their standoff. Nessles holding both her pistols up and the southerner crouching in defense, dagger held tightly in her right hand. And then, steadying her arm, Nessles shot off another round. The southerner's head convulsed, but she lived. Her other cheek was now red with blood. An enraged roar went through the blond-hair's throat. "Fight me!  Fight me!" she cried out for all ears to hear. She banged her empty fist against her armored chest, hissing with anger.

Nessles waved her on, taunting her as she began to laugh. With a roar, the southerner abide her request. The dagger flashed and jabbed, but found only air to stab at. The nevrean was quick, Akuna saw. There was no hurry in her step, no delay in her movements. Grabbing hands were also easily avoided. In the midst of a wide-arcing slash, Nessles's gun sounded again. The southerner ceased attacking, one hand reaching to a new wound at her hip.

"Mother of a whore!" the southerner barked at Nessles, teeth flashing with rage in her eyes. "Coward and tramp!" Still, the southerner held her dagger with the potential to harm.

Nessles's response was a simple shrug. And then, another gunshot. This time, it pierced the southerner on the upper arm. Her hand went to hold the wound, face heavy with pain, but her injured arm still held her dagger. Came another shot. The dagger flew from her hand and landed somewhere behind her. Once again, the southerner looked dumbfounded. A rapid succession of gunfire was let out, each bullet hitting a different part of the southerner's body. On the elbow. At the knee. The bicep. The shoulder. The foot. Upon the helmet which nearly took it off the southerner's head. All this had occurred while Nessles had juggled her two pistols, popping off a shot when one came into her hand and the other was in the air.

By then, one of Nessles's guns was empty. The southern remained kneeling, rivers of blood washing over her fur and darkening the dirt. The crowd was uproarious, laughing and adding only more shame to the southerner. Then, it was time to end this match.

The crowd's volume heightened as Nessles's leveled one pistol at the southerner's lifted head. The female would look her executioner's face with bold hatred, she would not coward with death so close. And then...click. Nothing. Again, Nessles tired. Click. Click. Click, but her pistol remained empty. Nessles made no move to reload. Instead, she simply holstered her pistol with a shrug. Turning her back on the southerner, she walked a few steps away. Angered jeers ran through the audience, asking why had their champion had not finished the deed? Was it mercy? Only cowards hand down mercy, Akuna thought.

Then, with a cruel smile, Nessles spun back to the southerner, taking one of the pistols on her chest into her hand. She leveled her arm, aimed, and...crack! A pink cloud of blood splashed forth from the southerner's head. She no longer knelt. She fell over, sprawled on her back, limbs without animation. The crowd was overwhelmed with cheers of approval, laughter melding with curses.

"Amused?" Zulca leaned his head toward Akuna.

"I was more amused when they fought on equal terms.  And at least one of the fighters were of my own race."

"Tell me, Rupland," he gained the attention of her mate. "Is Akuna this difficult to please between the sheets?"

Rupland looked between Akuna and Zulca, figuring out how he should answer. "Pleased or not," he smiled to both, "I still end up with a hide raw as if I were shaved."

Zulca's throat convulsed with a long laugh and Akuna had to admit to the humor of the jest.

With her hand carefully reaching over, Akuna groped her male near the rear, gaining a surprised yelp from him. When his eyes were upon her, she leaned her muzzle close to his ear. "So you do like the little beatings I give you," she said with a playful tone. "I'm more inclined to give you more next time."

A low laugh hissed through Rupland's mouth. "The more love taps, the better."

Once Nessles disappeared and the southerner's body carried off out of sight, the next match began. The crowd was at it's loudest and Akuna could have sworn the wooden bench she sat upon rumbled with each chant they gave. Brunka once again covered her ears to the wailing of the audience. Even Rupland could not withstand the sound, hands placed over his long ears.

The northern champion appeared in the pit. The crowd gained volume. For a brief moment, Akuna could not catch the name they were cheering, but once everyone called in unison, the name came clear as spring water. "Nistron!  Nistron!  Nistron!" There was a weight to each syllable, Akuna noticed. As he passed by, cries turned feverous, females looking with hungry gazes as if ready to pounce into the pit after him.

The parts of his body not covered with armor were packed with muscle. Akuna gave an impressed expression at the girth of the warrior. Rupland saw the face she gave and his own face turned with jealousy. "I hope you're only looking," he said to her.

"I might be doing more than that," she joked and her mate gave a roll of the eyes at her. His envy will drive him to gain my approval, she smirked inwardly.

Armored thighs and chest glittered in the hot sunlight as he strolled around the pit. Unsheathing his sword of perfected silver, he gave the audience a show while he pivoted on his feet and swung wildly as if he were defending himself against invisible foes. Despite his heavy body, he possessed a dancer's lightness. His smile was wide, arms open to the cheers like a much-needed rain began to fall from the sky.

Then came the southern warrior, fur the color of clay with a mane cut modestly short. Like his now dead comrades before him, he only possessed light armor. In his left hand, he carried a short sword like his northern counterpart. Most particular about him was his left ear was absent, perhaps severed by a Shigu combatant. But instead of being given thankless yells of disapproval, the crowd seemed to have a liking of his blond inbred.

Confused, Akuna consulted Zulca. "Are my brothers and sisters truly giving cheers for this light-furred creature?"

"Only because he has survived the fights long before this day.  He has fought eleven times, this is his twelfth fight and each match he has trounced our fighters.  His name is Kron and it's a mere guilty pleasure to cheer for this southerner.  Today, we hope to see his blood split.  He is a legend among the slaves.  The destruction of that legend will cripple their already injured moral."

The crowd was bursting with cries of ovation once the two fighters came face to face. While the southerner, Kron, remained still like a dead tree, Nistron continued to flaunt his skill of the sword. He tossed his blade with one hand, the weapon turning in the air, and caught it in the other. The southerner didn't seemed impressed. Then without waiting, Nistron pounced into a charge.

Without a flinch, Kron parried the attack and Nistron gave another slash, and again, it was blocked. The two traded strikes for a moment of time, their blades singing with each strike. Both gave a good cut to one another. Nistron gained a gash across the forearm while Kron was kissed by the northerner's blade at the shoulder.

Akuna was lost in the melee, watching as their two blades crossed and ringed. She enjoyed each dodge and counter, the two fighter's hisses and taunting bellows only adding more excitement to the tense air. Her heart leapt when Nistron was stabbed at the stomach, but her smile showed when Kron's knee and bicep were sliced open. The southerner could not stand any longer, his good knee put against the ground while he still held his weapon.

Nistron moved forward to end the bout, his own sword rising. His mouth was open with joy as he swung his sword in a flat horizontal arc, hoping to open Kron's skull and see his brains. But somehow, Kron had the foresight to see the attack coming and he ducked down. The attack flew over his head and back. Nistron was left open. The southerner rose with an attack, sticking his northern opponent through the abdomen with his short sword. A bark of pain left Nistron, but he had enough vigor to strike out at Kron. The sword's swing was too slow and Kron easily backed away from it. Again, Nistron left himself open and Kron was very much willing to donate another attack, this time at the legs. Nistron ignored his injuries and pounced forward with an overhead cut, but only missed once more. It would seem to be his last strike. His neck was bared for Kron's sword. The southern champion's blade slammed savagely into Nistron's throat. The cut was severe, blood leaping from the wound. Kron was not satisfied and gave three more cuts to lope Nistron's head from his shoulders.

The crowd shuttered as Nistron's body toppled down, watching the decapitated head roll over in the dirt. Everyone was silent and the southerner did not give a cry of triumph for his deed. Akuna gave a growl of disgust. Both to Nistron's arrogance and to Kron's victory.

"What now?" Rupland's voice pierced the silence. Kron lifted his eyes to the crowd surrounding him. The audience answered Rupland's question with another chant, their words laced with deep discontent. "Deny!  Deny!  Deny!"

Akuna looked to the faces around her, seeing only frustration and wrath. "Deny!" they continued to cry out. "Deny!  "Deny!"

"What are they doing?" Akuna turned to Zulca.

"They are pleading for the death of the victor," the High Officer answered. "Kron has finally lost favor.  Our brethren is unhappy to see the lost of the undefeated Nistron."

Guards funneled through the pit's doors, surrounding Kron with spears pointed forward. The southerner's face was overcome with surprise. Death was close, but then the Blood Pool gave another cry, one that overtook the chant currently pulsing through the audience.

"Burn!" they demanded. "Burn!  Burn!"

"Oh, their displeasure is much greater than I thought," Zulca laughingly observed.

"Burn!" everyone around Akuna spoke. More guards came through the pit's gates, carrying with them buckets slouching with liquid clear as water. The horde of guards gave way to the ones that heft the buckets.

The liquid was thrown and before long Kron's fur was fully doused in it. Staggering, the southerner wiped his eyes, coughing. Three more guards appeared, each with a torch in their hand. Kron then began to slash angrily at the guards that imprisoned him, but he only cut empty air as they backed away. The torched-bearers came before the southerner. Kron was stunned still now, blade shaking his grasp. "Burn!  Burn!  Burn!" the crowd screamed with more power. The guards smiled. And the torches were tossed.

The wet ground leapt alive with flame, the fire carrying itself to find Kron. The scream he gave was unworldly as the flames engulfed him completely. Tongues of red and orange licked away Kron's fur and hide. The guards retreated back to the pit's gates as the southern champion ran to and fro around the pit with a coat of fire. Soon, he could run no longer and fell to the dirt. Now he burned like a pyre, smoke leaping from his carcass. The crowd gave laughs and curses, throwing what trash they had at the corpse.

While Kron smoldered and turned to ash, the crowd dispersed and exited the coliseum in droves. The sudden quiet was strange to Akuna as she and the rest of the company piled into the carriage. She still felt the twinge of excitement tingling in her limbs when north and south ravaged one another's flesh. Her throat was raw as well, having combined her roars with her brothers and sisters.

"A bittersweet end to the day," Zulca said gloomily, contrary to his smile. The carriage rocked as it melded into the traffic on the street. "But sweet, nevertheless."

"Pity for Nistron," Akzla said, Cagost nodding in agreement.

"Pity?" Akuna spoke up with a questioning glare. "I have no pity for him.  The fool brought it upon himself for showing no prudence."

"What faults in form did you see, Captain?" Zulca asked of her.

"His strikes were too wide and he reached too far," she told them, hoping to educate Brunka on such follies. "Each of his swings had a delay.  Yes, they were powerful, but they were also exaggerated.  He focused more on entertaining than preserving his own life."

"Good eyes," Zulca admitted. "And little Brunka," he turned to the child, "what did you think of the melee?"

"It was too loud," Brunka said, massaging her ears tenderly, sparking much laughter from the adults.

=
=====================================================================

Whatever Zulca decided to show Akuna and Akzla the next day was not for the eyes of Rupland and Brunka. Today, the two captains and High Officer would be prowling the Narulus, touring it's maze of common rooms, halls, and studies. Perhaps they would know even it's secrets. Such knowledge was not for a simple soldier such as Rupland, or a child like Brunka. They were made to stay in their chambers.

But the two would not be forced to wait for their matriarch in their room. They were free to pace through the keep's halls, sit in it's studies, and mill about to look at the curious paintings and tapestries hung from the walls. Where the father went, the child was to follow. Rupland was happy to have his cub shuffling at his side. For Brunka, she didn't have much of a choice. She wished Niyi and Budio's cubs came too, Jala and Meel. She knew no one within this place, no other children she could make play with. This dark place still frightened her, but when her hand lifted to clutch at her father's as they walked through it's corridors, she forgot her fear.

The gardens. Yes, the gardens would be a nice place to visit, Rupland decided. And so after braving dozens of stairs to find the ground floor, he then tasked himself with finding the green foliage between these walls of black. He nearly lost himself within the labyrinth of exits and entrances of the Narulus. But with the assistance of a resident of the keep, clear directions were given.

Entering the garden, the sunlight was blinding, almost heavenly. Leaves of green and petals of blue and white glowed, and everywhere there was a floral scent. Rupland could not escape it's allure and it invited him closer. When he set foot into the gardens, he immediately noticed the strange, but familiar sensation tickling his underfoot.

"Father?" Brunka asked, noticing the strange sensation the ground provided. "Is this...grass?"

"By the gods," he giggled to himself. His toes pressed to the cool carpet of green under him, claws digging into the dirt. "It is."

"It's soft," she observed, rubbing her foot pads against the grass slowly.

"Yes, it is." He couldn't help but give a light purr, mind heavy with recollection. "Feels like home.  Like the north," he grinned, walking with Brunka at his side.

"Is this everywhere on our homelands?" she asked, allowing her heels to drag, enjoying the grass's texture.

"As far as your eye can see, child," her father said relaxingly. "Field after field.  Hill after hill.  Cold grass against your foot, sometimes cool dirt, sometimes chilled mud." For a moment, he closed his eyes and remembered, sunlight washing over his face. "If only there was a frigid wind, then it would be perfect."

"A sign of appreciation," a voice came at their backs. "A rare sound."

Coming around a long-leafed bush, the servant smiled at them quaintly, a sprinkler sloshing with water in her hand. Rupland noticed the sign of maturity in her fur, hairs of gray peeking through black. "You have no idea of the strain and delicacy one must give these plants.  No one seems to know.  Rain is very rare for these dead lands and so I must always be here, watering and moistening.  The grass under you," she gestured with a bony hand, "is indeed from our northern homelands.  A few of the trees and bushes are as well," she waved again, "but a few are from elsewhere.  That one," she pointed to a tree with bark as pale as bone, "is from the mountains the nevreans call home.  Some of these plants were breed by the Agundars to survive such scorching light and dryness.  The vines," she looked to where the greenery coated a black wall, "are from lands more eastern, from the forests of the Talyxians."

Her eyes returned to them, a sickly blue, Rupland then noticed. "Each needs a certain amount of water," she continued. "Too much and you drown it.  Too little and it starves.  It is strange, as I once held true, that the blood of our enemies do not bore well with most plants." The servant's eyes then looked to be deep in remembrance. She blinked and gave a sour growl as she limped around father and daughter.

"I must be watched over a vindictive spirit," she spat. "I once held a blade hard in my hand!  Now the only thing I hold hard is this pitcher of water!  Instead of blood on my fingers, there's just the shit of bovine when I fertilize the dirt!" The old servant became silent, breathing out a sigh as she came near the pale tree and pressed her palm against it's trunk. She flexed her fingertips and her claws dug into the bark. "Apologies," she then said, limping away. "Please disregard the ravings of an old  and invalid warrior.  I have watering to do...as I always will."

Rupland and his cub stood there for a slight moment, staring at the old servant tilting her hand to have water flow from her pitcher.

"Do you think mother will be like that when she's old?" Brunka suddenly asked, looking up at her father.

Rupland turned his head and laughed heartily. "Gods, I pray not," he answered, taming his laughter. "If so, I might have take up a miner's work under the hard ground to escape her ravings.  Oh, uh, let's not speak such words around her, yes?" He put two fingers across his lips playfully.

The child grinned knowingly and agreed.

=
=====================================================================

Zulca saw fit to turn their attention from expansive Wevren to the immense Narulus itself now. There was no need for the carriage. Today they were on their feet with the High Officer leading them down dozens of halls, braving walkways, and hundreds of stairs. They scouted it's outer walls and through it's yards upon the very ground the keep rose from. Then they climbed up to one of it's highest towers to look down at Wevren and it's northern population like a god in the sky.

Even though not built by hands of her brethren, Akuna was ever impressed with the scale and complexity of the keep. The stones of it's walls were well-placed and strong, designed by a brilliant builder. She saw despite it's beauty, it was a place of great defense. Wooden bridges that gave passage to the outer walls could be retracted if a siege overwhelmed them. The inner yards were vast, no place to hide if the enemy pressed to attack the main body of the keep.

Akuna's legs were turning sore after treading over floors of stone and wood for most of the day. Her fatigue displeased her deeply, remembering she hadn't sparred in more than a fortnight. Brunka hadn't as well, which displeased her more greatly. There must be no more delay in our duties, she thought. A solider must be ever attentive, muscles hard as stones, senses sharp as blades. If time permitted, she would have her and the cub fight in the yard today.

Now they were within the Naralus's foundry. Where molten metal became iron and steel and unwieldy shapes were hammered and folded into swords and spears. The high ceiling room of stone rang with metal and industry. The smiths tended to their work, their fur scorched and blackened by the fires of their hearths. Sparks flew from their hammers and steam rose from water when searing metal was dipped.

Black metal, Akuna saw. From the swords pilled on the tables to the spears and arrows stored in the barrels. To her, they did not shine like good steel. Instead, they gleamed with a less glorious light.

"So tell me, Akuna," said the High Officer as they walked through forge, "what do you say now about the black metal when you see northern hands manufacturing it?"

Heat washed over Akuna's face when they passed an open hearth, a smith extracting burning metal carefully with his tongs. "I am still concerned, High Officer," she said with a heavy tone. "Even if the weapons are not with ill-will, how can you be sure that the General will not condemn us for disobeying?"

The High Officer showed his signature smile, taking no heed from the question. "We show how cleanly our new weapons cut southerner hide, bone, and armor.  The General will look a fool to refuse such an advancement."

Akuna's jaw clenched at the last statement the High Officer gave. "Are you saying Rain was a fool to ward off the use of such weapons in the first place?" Akuna said, trying to hide the anger in her words.

Zulca looked back at Akuna as he leaded them out of the forge. "You misunderstood me, Captain.  Weapons forged from evil hands surely bear evil purposes.  Our Mother General possessed the senses to know it.  She is far from a fool and she will see the good in our intentions.  She must."

"I pray that she does," Akuna mumbled.

"Will black blades be donated to our squads in Rellon?" Akzla then asked over Akuna's shoulder.

"Indeed," Zulca answered. "We already possess a surplus if I am told correctly.  Our charity is great and your squads will not go without it.  Hashin has promised many the same and we have no fear of any shortage in supplies.  The southerners had no chance to destroy their full armories before we brought them under the slaughter.  Of course, we've had to melt down a portion of the armor to rework them to fit our large girths.  Laughs were had once we saw how small their breastplates were."

"Small enough to fit a babe?" Akuna asked, feeling a smile bring itself out on her face.

"Indeed," Zulca chuckled.

Again, Zulca was leading them down to places unknown, each corridor a new venture for both captains. The dungeon came next. Cold and dark, a farcry from the light and heat of the forges. Each cell was small, containing a heap of hay that served as a bed. Some laid empty, but all smelled of piss and dung.

Akuna had expected only southerners to occupy the prisons, but she found herself shocked to see northerners behind the bars. They were all ragged, dark fur unkempt as they huddled against the stone walls. Before Akuna could ask, Zulca answered.

"Look at them all," he waved a hand as they walked down the row of holdings. "Makes my stomach churn with bile at the sight of them.  Rogues and outlaws." He spat at female in one cell and she hissed as they passed. "Why they have abandoned their banners is beyond my comprehension."

"Why are they left alive?" Akuna said, leering at each prisoner as if he or she had done something ill against her personally. "I would see them shaved, hide striped, and flesh burned.  Let them die with their regret still fresh."

"They are to endure a new dishonor," Zulca said. "They will serve as slaves with the rest, but they will be even lower than the most crippled of southerners.  They are scolded twice as harshly and trounced twice as hard.  They are even treated as cruelly by the blond-hairs.  They will suffer with no allies to name."

Akuna thought such a fate merciful.

"But what disheartens me most of all," Zulca continued, "is that I've seen dissenters who were once fine spearlancers.  Squad leaders.  Even captains.  Tell me, and be most honest.  Would you denounce Captain Kusno if he descended into the madness of treason?"

For a brief moment, Akuna forgot how to walk and stammered over the stones of the prisons.

"Careful!" Akzla sneered behind her, bumping into Akuna's tail.

Akuna opened her mouth, but the words would not come to answer the High Officer. In her mind's eye, she saw her captain, Kusno. And then, she saw the traitor Kusno, fur roused in rage, armor painted with the red of comrades. It was an image difficult to fathom. "Captain Kusno would not fall from grace for such a folly.  His loyalty is as dense as ancient Agundar steel."

"I believe the same.  Even so, I want you to answer.  If he abandoned his honor, would you denounce him?" The High Officer looked back at them, eyes full of intrigue.

Both the captains were silent now, Akzla stunned as silent as Akuna was from the question. But Akuna knew she had to answer, lest she look less full of devotion. "If I must," she finally said, the words hard to bring forth. "If Kusno would throw away his duty, I would go against him.  I am honor bound to our clan, not him solely."

"As am I," Akzla agreed.

Zulca stopped after passing the last prison cell. He turned back, moving around the captains to take the lead towards the exit.

A light-furred male in the last cell rose with power. He watched them at the back of his cell with a face full of ire. "I had been honor bound as well, fool of fools!" his voice echoed through the dungeon.

"Swallow your corrupted tongue, traitor of traitors!" Zulca warned, hand reaching for the hilt of the sword on his belt.

"Honor bound to my clan, my vow of loyalty as true as any!" the prisoner cried out, his wrath alive. "But I never vowed to an usurper!"

Zulca revealed his sword, but the prisoner saw no threat in it.

"Usurper!  Usurper!" he screamed, his voice shrill against the echoing stones.

"Gods damn you!" The prisoner had pressed himself away to the back of his cell, but he was not far enough to escape the reach of Zulca's sword. The blade plunged into his breast and again in his shoulder and once more in his side. The prisoner no longer stood, curling into a ball behind his bars. The dungeon grew silent.

"A fool blind to sense!" Zulca sheathed his blade. "I should prick your eyes out if you refuse to use them!" They left the traitor shaking on the floor, his shallow cuts leaking blood.

"And if you must," Zulca lead the way to the exit, voice calm as a pond as if nothing happened, "would you also regain your squad's honor, by releasing him of his life?"

Akuna allowed no hesitation in her answer. "If I must," she said again, her words full of conviction. "A traitor abandons his life when he abandons his clan."

"As would I," Akzla said.

Leaving the prisons behind, Akuna felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Then they were back to wondering the keep's corridors. The new hallway they started down was full of fresh air, sunlight shining at the end. "Now that we removed the more mundane locations of our excursion," Zulca said as they exited into the burning sunlight, "let's indulge in the more arousing aspects."

Akuna's heart quickened once they exited out into the vast courtyard, the towers of the Narulus looming above them. Off into the courtyard came the clatter of activity, the sound of growls and clash of melee. Finally, Akuna would get to see the strength of Vok's battalions. Her scrutiny would not be light.

=
=====================================================================

Rupland was near sleep, rump placed on the ground with his back against of the largest tree in this small garden. His eyes closed to the world and his mind was for once free of all thoughts of worry. His ears listened to the stillness around him, the shuffled of leaves and the old servants tending to her labor. Then there was a scratching above him. Something tiny fell and landed to his left. He looked and saw a twig in the grass. Tilting his head up, he watched Brunka bravely climb the tree's branches. She placed her feet on the limbs warily, arms wrapping around the branches above her, claws digging into bark. She climbed further up.

"Careful, child," her father advised. "Your mother will have my hide turned into a tunic if I allow you to hurt yourself.

"I won't," Brunka atoned without any concern. "I almost never fall.  And I never seen a tree like this before.  At home, there are just dead ones, little ones." The child's jovial tone was very evident to Rupland. But the quickness in her ascent did not help reassure him of her safety.

Oh, how Akuna would have a fit, he thought to himself. He imagined the curses she would throw, demanding her child to abandon her play and climb down from the tree. Rupland would not voice his worries. Instead, he would remain down on the ground, silent while his cub sat upon a branch and looked over the garden with childish merriment.

For a time, they remained there in the green glow of the garden, waiting for Akuna to return. It might be dark before she appeared again, but Rupland would rather be here in the sunlight instead of waiting in the darkness behind cold stone. Picking at the grass, Rupland found himself thinking of his mate more and more. With it, came his pride, his worry, his fear. The war still had a beating heart and now Akuna would be ever occupied with it's workings. She would never allow herself a moment's rest. That would be true for the child as well. Brunka's childhood would be sacrificed to breed her into a true blood warrior. Please play now, child of mine. These moments of joy will soon be washed away under a tide of bloodshed and havoc.

But the child would soon find climbing that sole tree dull. The walls that surrounded the garden did not have the footholds to climb and the vines that crawled over black stone broke when she tugged on them. Now she was full of boredom, like when they had spent hours sitting in that carriage with the High Officer. She hoped some idea from her father would remedy her tedium on this day.

Rupland thought that over and quickly happened upon a thought. "Let's go see the markets today," he said and watched the cub's ears pricked up with delight. She bounced with joy now, ready to have the treats she was denied yesterday.

Rupland took a quick trip back to his room, filling his jacket's pockets with coin and finding his dagger. Regardless of the population, anyone might possess a thief's greed. His only attire was his jacket and the kilt around his hips while the child required only a skirt for her little frame.

Exiting the Narulus, with it's layers of chambers and tangle of hallways, was an easier task than Rupland had believed. Once they gave their names to the guards after crossing the expanse of it's yard, the gates were opened. Finding the markets, on the other hand, was a different ordeal.

Venturing through the sprawl of the city, Rupland could not recall how they had found the markets the day before. At first, he was too stubborn to ask for directions, making random turns down unknown streets, switching paths, going in circles. Finally, after an hour, he asked a true citizen where he might purchase his wares from the local market. His consultant was an elderly female and despite her age, she gave clear guidelines.

The entire marketplace occupied a wide, circular street that overflowed with activity. The smells and sounds of the bazaar seemed more distinct. The air was heavy with the familiar northern tongue as sellers hollered at those that came within earshot. Steam and smoke of baked bread, cooking meat, and boiling soups rose from the cookeries. Fragrances flowed from the stands that sold perfumes and affectionate musks. Rugs, tunics, breeches, skirts, and kilts sown with vibrant threads of silk and wool and hair caught many eyes. There was the clamor of metal as weapon sellers displayed their arsenal of spears, swords, maces, iron claws, crossbows, and the like.

Every stall was full of wonder, bursting with objects of allure. Rupland was enticed by everything his eyes graced, and had to remind himself that he possessed a very limited budget. Brunka didn't care for such a fact.

"What is that?" the cub would ask. "What about that?  And this?  What about over there?  Here?" She gasped, smiled, and gawked at all the things she saw. The toys caught her attention for some time, amazed at the detail put into the dolls and the figures of soldiers and animals whittled from wood and stone. And it broke Rupland's heart to have to see her face lessen in spirit when he advised her only one item of her desire could be purchased on this day.

"You have to be selective with your choice," he insisted. "Your want will lead to greed and your greed will lead to waste." He prayed his words would find her and teach her a most important lesson.

But Brunka was still heavy with yearning. She wanted everything she saw, but it was not possible. Her father did not have the coin for it. After debating her choices, she finally scurried up to the dollmaker's stall. Her father permitted her wish with his own coin.

The little sergal doll was soft to the touch, it's flesh knitted with care. If it's fabric body was truly fur, it would be blue with a belly of white. The tiny button eyes were black, a smile stitched across it's face with black thread. Sniffing at it, Brunka could only smell dust, but she knew the doll had been the right choice. It would last much longer than a cup of berries.

Her father had been moderate with his share of the coin. He bought only two Bugalus, fleshy heart-sized, blue-green fruits. Small snacks. He desired a new dagger for his mate, but the weight of his pockets were too light to allow such a purchase.

The return to the black keep of the Narulus was a simple task even though Rupland had difficulty retracing his steps. He felt his daughter's fingers twitch in his soft grip as they both moved from street to street, giving acknowledging nods to their northern bothers and sisters as they went by.

"What are you going to name it?" Rupland asked his cub, genuinely curious.

"Name what?" Brunka asked, looking up at him innocently.

"The doll," he said. "What are you going to name it?"

Looking down at the doll held close to her chest like a babe, the child contemplate the question, but she could not bring forth a name from her mind. "I don't know," she confessed.

"Might I suggest a few?"

"Okay," she said, delighted.

A vocal list was given to the child. Voca, Smeal, Shink, Ros, Bolo, Cren, and many others. Finally, after much deliberation, Brunka spawned a name of her own: Joos.

"I heard it once before," she said. "I like it a lot." And so the doll was honored with the name of Joos, declared to be of the male sex. Rupland could not help but smile down at his child as she began to sing gleefully to the doll. "Joos, Joos, your name is Joos.  Joos of Wevren!  Warrior of the burning desert!" It took much reluctance for her father to hold back his laughter.

After a few more turns, Rupland was beginning to regret his sense of direction. On these new streets, the traffic became lighter and lighter. Everywhere, there was the reek of waste and decay. The homes looked to be without warmth, gutters full of trash. No city watch was in sight, only the ragged bunch of five tramps up ahead, bodies clothed in soiled fabrics. Maybe I should turn back, Rupland reckoned with Brunka's grip tightening around his hand. But he carried on. He prayed the derelicts would not see them. But soon their heads were turned towards them, eyes watching. He then recognized the narrowness in the muzzle, the short height, and the light color of their cropped fur: Southerners.

One of the five rose and approached the father and daughter. The blond-hair female was thin with hunger, her gait little more than a hobble.

"Pardons, sir," she spoke lowly. "Might I ask for a coin?  Just something for a bite of food." She was very close now. Rupland could see the dry mucus caked around her left eye, his nostrils filling with the scent of her unwashed fur. He wanted to disregard her, but his compassion would not allow him to. His hand fished a few coppers from his pocket, the rest of his coin, and provided them to the ragged southerner.

Looking from the coin in his palm to his face, the female appeared dissatisfied with the offering. "I know you got more than that," she accused, the hint of an accent in her words. "With all those little pockets, I know you got more!" Anger spread across her face and the four other derelicts behind her were drawing nearer. They crowded around the two northerners, and Rupland could feel their hostility growing. "Let me see the coin in those pockets, dark fur!" The female grabbed at his jacket, claws digging into the cloth of a breast pocket.

Rupland slapped her hand away and leered at them with a growl. "I had good reason to bite that hand from your wrist," he spoke coldly, forgetting his previous compassion. He hoped to scare them, but there was little fear in their numbers. "Brunka, go find mother," he told his cub, pulling her away from the tramps. He disengaged his hand from hers, hoping she would leave, but the child was still with fright.

"Father...," she whimpered, trying to hold onto him.

The southerners were closing in and Rupland unsheathed his dagger, blade illuminated by the sunlight. "Run, Brunka!" he pleaded as the southerners revealed their own weapons. A shiv of broken glass, a small club, a leather thrashing-rod. The rest would use their claws. The biggest one of them all, a hulking male of a southern, looked ready to bash at Rupland's skull.

"Go, Brunka!  Now!  Find mother!" The largest southerner tried to snatch at the arm Rupland held his dagger. He retreated a step, giving a southerner a cut on his forearm. Another southerner cracked his club across him cheek. He reeled back, stunned, but was aware enough to kick away the shiv-wielding male as he pounced. "Brunka!  Damnit!  Go!" he pleaded and the cub's legs were put into motion by the desperation she heard in his tone.

A hand grabbed at her mane, pulling her hair savagely. Joos was dropped to the street and she whirled herself around. Her claws slashed at the tramp's face, over his cheek and across his blue eye. His grip relented and she was gone, feet slamming against the stone street.

Two southerners pursued her. They were fast like her. She randomly turned down another street, blind with fear and flight. She blinked the tears away that blurred her vision. Behind her, among the enraged hisses and grunts, a scream cut the air.