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Battle Brothers
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Sarah
Wagner
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The fetid swamp closed in around him, a thick fog bathing his scales in warm moisture. Even though the tree canopy blocked much of the Wyalatian sun, the swamp was warm enough to keep his cold blood moving, to keep his large body limber and mobile. There were still many days before the valley’s cold season. He had plenty of time to complete the task assigned him before the snows came.
It was a mission of great importance. The clutch elders had chosen him to gather the information they needed, to put the feelers out and lay the foundation for future discourses. It had been six cycles of the northern moon since he said goodbye to his wife, his sons, his eggs, and left their comfortable mountain burrow. He would miss the hatching of his newest children.
A myriad of life-scents assaulted him from every angle, overpowering the darker scents of rot and decay, building a vibrant scent image in his mind. The yellows of decay, the greens and blues of cold-life, the oranges and reds of hot-life.
Pachec focused tightly on the brightest thread of orange - breathing in deeply, processing the available directional details. He turned his massive bulk to track the animals, hunching forward, this thick tail behind him, up out of the water - to keep it quiet, out of the water, and provide ballast.
Noting the late hour and empty weight of his stomach, Pachec set to work tracking. From a pouch on his broad belt, he took out three etcheps - sharply spiked stones - and his sling. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, repainting the scent image, searching for the violent orange thread of the shrej, a flightless bird that had always been a staple of the Carraine diet.
Shrej weren’t the brightest animals so it was easy for him, trained as he was, to kill two of them. With dinner in hand, Pachec sniffed at the air, searching for the pungent green, brown, and cream scent of the Tjah-vec tree, a large tree the Carraine had been using for generations as a travel shelter. Their root system grew in such a way that a small burrow occurred naturally and with a little bit of Carraine digging, the burrows were serviceable quite quickly. Slender fingers of root clasped together to make walls and it could be made to be as deep as a particular Carraine wanted. The biggest trees made the broadest rooms. The particular Tjah-vec he smelled for was marked with Carraine scent - meaning all the work had already been done for him.
Leaning his bulk against the broad trunk, Pachec longed for the herbs and cooking pots of home. To many Carraine, especially the older ones, shrej were best raw and freshly killed. Pachec preferred them hot or, he tried to convince himself that he did. He had too much contact with the other people of Wyalat not to conform to their ‘civilized’ ways. But, a fire wasn’t safe in the root-rooms or in the swamp so near the Rousl villages. So, raw it would be regardless.
He shook off the small primal thrill that rushed through him.
Pachec had finished the first bird and was busy cleaning the second when the bright orange and red of hot-life found its way into the root-burrow. He breathed in deep, separating each scent thread. Twenty men. Six Ellatians with fear and anger in their blood. One Ellatian with guilt. And Thirteen Rousl males running high on adrenaline. The Ellatians were oddly far from their mountain homes - like him.
Dinner forgotten, he braced for combat. Could they have been tracking him? Was it possible he’d been so careless?
Slowly, taking great care to keep his long tail close to his body, Pachec crept through the tunnel. He peered out from behind a curtain of roots. Several large, dark skinned men were swarming a few of their paler kin. Pachec squashed the urge to join the fray. At least until he understood the politics of the situation.
The sharp clang and bang of metal on metal and matched strength echoed in a muffled way through the dusk. The Rousl were merciless, conniving and masterful but the Ellatians appeared to be holding their own, backs to each other, linked, brothers in arms. He wondered how long they could stand like that against such odds.
One of the Ellatians took a killing blow and fell. It wasn’t the death itself but the sacrifice that caught Pachec’s attention. The one who had fallen had stepped between another man and a sword. One of the men was so important that another met death for him.
The Carraine were working to gain the trust of the Ellatians - if there was one among the party worth dying for, perhaps he would be useful in bridging the divide in beginning the treaty processes. If it got to be too much for the Ellatians, when it got to be too much for them, if the important man still stood, Pachec would help. It was calculating, the decision he made, and he knew it.
Pachec untied his belt and shrugged out of his robes. His sling and his claws were all he took with him as he slithered silently up from the tunnel, from behind the screen of roots. He moved instinctually, as his kind had been doing for as long as they’d existed, since the first of them stepped out of the swamp to find a better way.
From a distance, he shot an etchet into the throat of the Rousl who stood, attacking the important one. The moment of shock and pain gave the important one the opportunity to strike the killing blow. To his credit, he didn’t squander it but claimed it. Pachec dropped from sight, creeping closer to the battle. There were still eight Rousl men but only three Ellatians. And one of them a guilty one. A Liar. Without his help, the important man would lose his life. The Carraine had no need for Rousl treaties so he could step in and only good could come of it. Unless he got himself killed.
He aimed another vicious etchep and let it fly, a keening wail exploded from deep within Pachec as the spiked stone struck a Rousl in the eye and Pachec leapt from the cover of cool-life into the thick of battle. His thick scales helped to deflect a glancing blow from a Rousl blade even as his long first claw sliced through the soft, dark skin, releasing a rush of blood, of thick ropes of intestines, over his long fingered hands - nearly blinding him with the hot-fire-blood scent.
Pachec extended the powerful first claw on both hands, gave a Carraine shriek and gutted a second Rousl man. Blinded by blood-scent, Pachec opened his eyes to see the battle instead of smell it. His thick tail whipped out, striking a Rousl in the legs, causing a stumble as the important man drove his sword deep into his black neck. The other Ellatians fought together, back to back. Pachec and the important man fought side by side as if they’d trained together.
Bloody, bruised, and exhausted, the four victors stood in weighted silence. The two older men were wary of Pachec, respectful but wary. The younger man, the important man, seemed more curious than afraid and much younger than Pachec had originally thought. The hair on his chin made him look older, until one got close enough to see the innocence in his eyes.
“Thank you for your help.” The important man’s voice sounded deep and clear. “I don’t even know if you understand me.” He sighed, his blue eyes huge with questions. He pointed to himself. “I am Riordac.”
“Pachec.” He extended his hand with the long-claw held flat against his palm. “You are most welcome.” He spoke Latian, the common tongue of Wyalat, in a lipless, garbled but understandable fashion. “You fought well, Riordac. You have been taught well.”
“My father would disagree.” He smiled.
“It is late and the swamp is not a good place for good folk at night. I have a shelter - if you’d like to join me.”
“And get sliced up for your breakfast? I don’t think so,” said an older man. He had hard eyes and glared cruelly; his words dripped with deceit and manipulation.
“Suit yourself.” Pachec had difficulty not showing his disgust. “There are worse things than me in the swamp at night.”
“We’ll go with you, Pachec,” the boy spoke. “Thank you.”
“But Prince!” A look passed between the older men, one that seemed to go unnoticed by Riordac, but Pachec saw it. He wasn’t certain he understood it, but he saw it.
“Prince?” Pachec reassessed the boy, doubly glad he chose to step in.
“Yes. My father is King Dolleric. It was something I’d hoped to keep to myself as it isn’t safe to travel otherwise.”
“No. That is true.” Pachec led the way back to the Tjah-vec tree and his root-burrow.
“You are far from home as well.” Prince Riordac spoke to him as if he were an Ellatian, not an unknown.
“Yes.” Pachec paused beside the tree. “This tunnel goes a short distance, only about as far as I am tall.”
“I am not going in there! How do we know there’s not another one waiting to eat us in there?” the Liar protested.
“If he were going to kill us, he probably wouldn’t have helped us. Would you?” the one who was not a liar said.
“Probably not.” Pachec agreed. “I will go first. You do what you want.” Pachec crept into the tunnel trying to ignore the raised voices behind him as they argued over his intentions. It wouldn’t do to get involved in the strange politics of accomplished liars. It was a side benefit of having such a strong, honed sense of smell. Pheromones, hormones, brain and body chemicals in the blood. He could smell them all.
When the prince stumbled into the root-room, Pachec immediately held out his hand. “I am sorry, Prince. I forgot that your kind cannot see in the dark. Allow me to assist you.”
“You can see in the dark?” he asked.
“It is more that I can smell. Scent builds up a picture for me. Sometimes it is better, more acute than sight. I have a full 360 degree view instead of the limited field of my eyes.” He guided the boy to the back corner of the room, far from the tunnel. “Sit. Rest well. I doubt very much that your companions will be joining us.”
“They aren’t all bad, Pachec, just stuck in their perceptions. It’s only been until recently that my people will even admit that your people are more than just animals.”
“Your perceptions are still wrong, Prince, but I won’t fault you for it. You’ve never really been introduced to a Carraine properly, in a better situation.”
“Yes. Well.” The boy sighed. “What brings you this far from your home, Pachec?”
“I imagine something very much similar to what brought you from your own gate.” Pachec caressed the air with his sensitive tongue. “Word reached us of a surge of Monsayd activity. The tribes are gathering.”
“My patrol and I were sent to ask the Rousl for more information. They have the best ties to the Monsayds. We never made it to Cetclau to ask.”
“I see.” Pachec crouched to sit in front of the room’s entrance. “We have stayed to ourselves in times past. We felt it better for everyone if we stayed on our mountains, in our burrows. We may have been wrong. The peoples of Wyalat, they fear us and we’ve never once given them reason to. The Carraine are good people, Prince Riordac. I am going to meet with the Monsayd and begin building ties. Things are spiraling out of control.”
“Why? What else is happening?”
“Your father and uncle did not come to the Ferrintal treaty meeting for starters; they did not even send an explanation. Rousl attacked you. They are bounty hunters. Mercenary. They do not kill unless it pays well. The Monsayd are gathering and are at peace with one another. For the first time that any of the Carraine can remember, and we have a long memory, the tribes are at peace. No war-fires are burning. That can only mean one thing. They have found a common enemy.”
“Would they have hired the Rousl to harm any Ellatian who came near the border?”
“I doubt that.” Pachec’s voice was stern. “You should go back to your home. Have your father send a large delegation to the Rousl. To the Ferrintal and Monsayd as well.”
“And what will you do?”
“Continue on my way. I have work to do.”
“Pachec, I would very much like to join you.” Pachec could taste his curiosity, his keen need to know.
“We will talk about it in the morning. Go to sleep.” Pachec hunkered down and forced his body into a rest-state. He could thrive without sleep so long as his body rested. His mind would not rest, could not rest. Outside the Tjah-vec room, there were two Ellatians. One of them a great liar. Inside the Tjah-vec room, he had a boy who would someday be king who looked at him as if he were a trophy, a prize, or a specimen to be studied but who talked to him as if he were an advisor.
Unfortunately, it was a great opportunity. He had the chance to make a real, solid connection with a future king, find a way to make him see past the Carraine’s exterior differences, look past his people’s shape and skin and see them for what they were. Pachec had no choice. What the prince wanted, the prince would have.
###
Pachec waited in the dark for the boy to wake. He could smell the two men outside the tunnel. They were still sleeping. The boy was very quiet. Awake, certainly, but feigning sleep for some reason. “Riordac.” Pachec put an end to it. “Would you care to go out into the morning first?”
“I can’t see.” There was some small bit of shame in his voice, as if it were his fault he couldn’t see with his other senses.
“Ah, again, I forget. I am sorry.” Pachec took the boy’s hand, soft, fleshy and small, in his. “Have you thought about what you would like to do?”
“I would like very much to go with you.”
Pachec sighed. “I thought you might. I have one condition. You must send back the liar. I will not travel with a spy.”
“A spy? I assure you, you must be mistaken!” Righteous indignation flooded the boy’s voice. There was no hint of knowledge or suspicion on his part. He truly did not know.
“I am a great deal older than you, Prince. I have experience that you do not. Not to mention that he positively reeks of deceit.”
“And if I send him away?”
“Then you and your other companion may come with me to the Monsayd territory.” Pachec put the boy’s hand on the edge of the tunnel. “Allow me to go first. Don’t follow too closely.”
“I won’t.” Pachec was stunned; awed by the trust he’d been given, by the fierce urge to protect that he felt.
The light wasn’t quite full strength as Pachec exited the burrow, taking note of the Liar first. He kept a cautious eye on him as Riordac climbed out from behind the roots. “Lauc.” The prince stepped towards his companions. “Feroh.”
Both men stirred, still groggy and tired. Pachec wondered how long it had taken the Liar to fall asleep with blood so thick on his hands. “Yes, Prince?” They asked nearly in unison.
“I want for you both to return to Rehjat. Tell my father that I am traveling with a Carraine to negotiate with the Monsayd. Tell him that, if I am successful, we will have two new allied neighbors. That we will have need of trade negotiators.”
“We can’t leave you with this...” the Liar started.
“I trust him, Feroh. If I’m wrong, I’ll be the only one who suffers.” Riordac smiled. “Lauc? Do you have anything to say?”
“Not to you my boy.” He glared at Pachec. “I will talk to you though.”
“Of course, sir.” Pachec motioned him away from the others, just so far as not to be readily overheard by the Liar. “You have your concerns I’m sure.”
“Of course I do. I am charged with that boy’s well being.” Lauc’s voice was both stern and hurt. “I’ve sworn my life for him.”
“I appreciate that. I did not tell the boy to send you home. Only the Liar.”
“I’m sorry, Pachec. I cannot leave him. I won’t. If that means that we will be relieved of your company, then so be it. I will find a way to deal with the prince.”
“You care for him a great deal.”
“I have been chief of his guard for all the twenty years he’s been alive.” Lauc sighed. “He is my charge, as I’ve said.”
“Your pup is a good one. I’ll not make him choose between his curiosity and his loyalty. Just keep the Liar away from me.” Pachec shook his head from side to side, clearing his mind and his nostrils.
“You judge Feroh too harshly.”
“Do I? I have senses that you do not. Think what you will, time will tell the tales.” Pachec adjusted his robes and picked up a long walking stick. “There’s no point in wasting time. We’ll gather a meal on the way.”
“Where? Where do you intend to lead us?” Lauc eyed him, still not completely trusting.
“Out of the valley.” Pachec pointed into the light of morning. “I have business to attend to in Monsayd country, Hegarl lands in fact.”
“Is it safe for Prince Riordac to join you? Truly?” Lauc asked.
“I won’t let anything happen to him. In fact, he may be safer in my company than in his current council.” He glanced over to where the boy and the Liar were talking.
“But the Hegarl are cannibals!”
“Are not we all? When need is great enough, you eat what is available.” Pachec turned his great head to pin Lauc with a steady eye. “You judge survival very harshly and yet, you condemn me for speaking truth. It is no wonder your kind are so frightened of my people. You have never known desperation. You are soft.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps we simply have a different definition of it.” Lauc did not shy away from the practiced glare but he did change the subject. “You speak Latian very well. May I ask who taught you?”
“As we journey.” Pachec called out, a short sharp bark to get Prince Riordac’s attention. “Come! We have a long travel and we are losing light!” He tightened his belt and started walking, poking his long staff into the soft ground. “It wouldn’t be good to get caught in a sinkhole.”
“You were pretty deep in conversation with Lauc.” The prince caught up to him, blue eyes as clear as the sky above them. What they could see of it through the canopy of trees. “Have things been settled then?”
“You knew they would be.” Pachec chuckled. There was silence between them for several steps. “Four generations ago, the Ferrintal King Jurok came to us with his eyes open and his arms wide. As a friend. He laid out the first treaties between our people, showed us the politics of the world around us. Showed us people we had never known existed, places we had never seen. It was clear very early on that, if we were going to be a part of the proposed Wyalatian Council, we needed to be able to communicate.”
“How did you bridge that initial divide? That very first language barrier. I’ve heard Carraine speech and it’s enough to give most Ellatians nightmares.” Lauc stepped forward into the conversation.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” Pachec paused for a moment. A barely noticeable orange scent thread from far the left of him tickled him. Rousl. The swamps, while bordering on the Rousl hunting grounds, were rarely frequented by stray males and the scent was decidedly male. A woman he would expect to be there, gathering medicines and herbs. But they were strangely absent, as if they knew to be in another part of the swamp.
“Tell me, Riordac, what do you make of the Council the Ferrintal propose?” Pachec closed his eyes, preferring the detail of the scent-image, and fell back a step to walk beside the young prince. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“No one has ever asked me before.” The shock in Riordac’s voice was plain. “I need to know more first. There are some finer points that I don’t understand.”
“Like what?” Pachec paused again so that Riordac was a step in front of him.
“For starters, what it would mean to my people’s autonomy. What would we have to give up?” Riordac barely paused in his step. “How far away are they?”
“What?” Pachec opened his eyes for a moment.
“You put yourself in the position of my guard. Why?”
“You are very observant, Prince. I underestimate you, I think. Our paths will converge just up ahead here; they will come from my side of the path. They’ll hope to ambush us.”
“Why are we walking into a trap then?”
“I wasn’t certain it was one until just a moment ago,”
“What?” Riordac stopped suddenly, nearly tripping Pachec.
Pachec shoved the prince forward as he whipped his tail in a broad sweep to his rear and swung around to hold the sharp end of his walking stick in the soft, flesh of Feroh’s throat. “Drop the blade.” His voice was a hoarse growl.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m just a small part.” Feroh whistled sharply. Pachec cut the sound short, driving the staff into his throat, into the soft ground under it.
“Be ready, Riordac! They are coming. Five men. If it gets to be too much, run. Don’t think twice.”
“I’ll do no such thing.” Riordac picked up Feroh’s sword and drew his own, holding each at the ready.
“Fool! If I tell you to run or if I fall, you get yourself back to your homeland where you stand a chance at survival!” Pachec’s whole body tensed.
Lauc moved to stand on Riordac’s other side. “I’d so hoped you were wrong about him, Pachec.”
“Sorry, old man.” Pachec said with the respect of old warriors. “Be ready. Here. They. Come.” At that moment, five men burst into the clearing. For a half step, they stumbled on seeing Pachec. They had not expected him and that put them at a disadvantage. They knew better than to fight with Carraine. Many years of skirmishes had taught them well. But, the Rousl were contracted. Pachec could see the decision being made before they realized they’d made it.
The initial clash was violent and huge - three of them attacked Pachec at once, each of two others occupying Riordac and Lauc. The clang, whisper, thud of sword against sword against scale, claw, and tail filled the mid-morning air.
Pachec had given up his walking stick in favor of his extended first claws and opened his eyes to see the battle better. The scent of blood, of fresh kill, made him salivate. Later, if he had time to analyze it, he would be disgusted with himself.
Pachec could see Riordac out of the corner of his eye. He was holding his own against two Rousl. Lauc was dead on the ground, his blood still warm and smelling like hot-life. A Rousl blade came down over Pachec’s face too fast to deflect - a hot searing pain and sudden blindness as the metal slit his eye. Primal rage and pain drove him - blinded by blood, by the hot, red scent of theirs and the cold, fogged, gray of his own.
Teeth, claws, and tail thrashing wildly, hot blood pouring over cold fingers, hands slick with gore. He felt the sting and bite of blades cutting into him but the animal rage was too much to control. Screams stirred his fury, blood and flesh sating him slowly.
“Pachec!” A voice penetrated his rage-thickened mind. “Please, Pachec!” Panic and familiarity struck through to him. He stopped suddenly, wiping the blood from his good eye. Riordac was bleeding a little, frightened, and looking at him as if he were a wild thing, a mad thing.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Pachec reached out to the boy, pained by the fear he saw in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand you!” The boy had tears in his eyes as he backed away.
“I’m sorry.” Pachec said again, finally realizing he was speaking in the screeching, wild speech he was born to instead of Latian. “I forgot myself. I said I am sorry. I am not sorry they’re dead but I am sorry I frightened you.” He looked down at his feet, at the ruined dead, tasted their flesh in his mouth. “Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
“Are you all right now?” Riordac’s voice was tight with fear.
“I am sorry, Prince. I do not know what happened.” Pachec stumbled towards the swamp’s edge, to the water. “I have never felt pain like that before.” He plunged his hands into the water and then over his face, careful around his ruined eye.
”Is there something I can do for you?” Riordac stepped nearer, placing a tentative hand on Pachec’s shoulder.
“Do you know what a swamp feather looks like? What sponge weed is?”
“Yes. I’ll find some.” Riordac nodded his head and darted quickly into the swamp.
Pachec kept a scent-watch over the prince as he cleaned himself up - washing his skin, his robes, ridding himself of the stench of death. Shame clung to him, a greasy film on his scales. How easy it had been to go back, to devolve. Maybe they weren’t so far from the animals they had once been. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the forests and swamps reclaimed them.
He scrubbed at the gore caked on his claws, on his scales. He scrubbed until he could feel pain and still - guilt clothed him. Pachec counted the nicks and gashes, checking their severity. His eye was not a complete loss. The blade did not completely puncture it. He might never see properly, as acutely, but he might still see. Above and below his eye, the brow and cheek were gashed deeply. He could touch bone.
“Here.” Riordac appeared at his side with his hands full of leaves, moss, mushrooms, and vines. “I know a bit about wounds. Pachec; will you allow me to treat you?”
“You can see the damage better than I.” Pachec sat back, tucking his tail under him. “Thank you.”
“If it were me who was wounded so badly and you with the scrapes, you’d do precisely the same.” He nodded. “Sit still. Please.” Riordac picked up the sponge weed, dampened it with swamp water and started to clean the wound. “I think I’m going to need to stitch this closed. I found a grey spot mushroom. Chew it. Don’t swallow it.”
“Grey spots don’t work for Carraine. I appreciate the thought but I don’t need anything to deaden my senses.” He saw the fear swoop back into Riordac’s eyes. “I promise you, what I did today was an aberration.”
“What you did today was save my life. Again.” Riordac continued gingerly daubing the sponge on the wound, trusting the antiseptic to do its job.
“You’re afraid of me now.” Pachec tried to keep his voice level. “I didn’t want that.”
“I can’t help it, Pachec. I wish I could.”
“I’m taking you back to your people. No arguments.”
“Under normal circumstances, I would argue with you simply because you told me not to but I don’t have the energy.” Riordac shook his head as he took the thorn of the swamp feather between his teeth. He used his fingers to strip the meaty flesh from the center column of the thorned fern until only pulpy sinew was left. “This is going to hurt.”
“Just do it.” He growled, sitting on his hands to prevent them from lashing out. Riordac hesitated but pushed and pulled the thorn and plant-fiber through the Carraine’s thick, scaly skin, stitching it together.
“It’s not the greatest but I can’t see your bone anymore.”
“That’s something then.” Pachec stood. “We should go. There is no telling how many Rousl are waiting on the border. I need to get you back to your home.”
“I hate to agree with you but it is for the best.” Riordac sighed. “I was looking forward to seeing my first Monsayd.”
“After we know what is going on, if your father allows it, you may come with my delegation.”
“Thank you but I am sure he will put a stop to that idea. After this,” Riordac motioned towards the scene of their last battle, “I doubt I will be going anywhere.”
“For now, we should rest. Tomorrow, we move. Can you keep up with me?”
“You’re the wounded one. The question might be better the other way round.”
Pachec laughed richly.
###
Nine sunrises and nine long marches later, Pachec and Riordac were less than a day from Rehjat, home of the Ellatian king. First the battles and then the journey had made friends of them, brothers. The prince pleasantly surprised Pachec, by his intellect and his compassion. His hope for a diplomatic future between their peoples grew daily.
Pachec studied Rehjat as it came into view for the first time. The city was built up from the ground. Clumsy, fake structures that barely provided shelter jutted up at strange angles. It looked to be a cold place. Not like his home, comfortable, cozy, and underground. Walls of chopped down trees surrounded the village leaving only one entrance. A guarded one.
Pachec felt the guards’ eyes on him, felt the tensions thrumming in the air. “Prince, I believe it best if I stay here, outside the walls, until introductions are made.”
”What? Why?”
“Call it instinct?” Pachec shook his head. “There is too much fear. I must be invited in by the king, by your father, for there to be trust.”
“Very well. I’ll return to you soon.”
Pachec leaned forward just slightly, breathing in deeply to catch hold of the prince’s scent. “I will be waiting.” He watched uneasily as the boy passed through the gate, calling to the guards, greeting them, speaking as friend to one of them. Instinct had kept him hidden, kept him from entering the city. Instinct and fear but not the Ellatians fear. His own. There were horror stories told to the children of his kind about the terrible things that befell Carraine children who were caught by Ellatians.
The first hours passed uneventfully and without much concern. No doubt the king had much to say to his son. It gave him a chance to rest against a wide tree trunk. He had not had nearly enough rest since the journey to get the prince safely to his home began. If he had failed to return the prince to his home, there would have been no hope at all of ever finding peace.
Dusk was falling, sliding seamlessly over the Wyalatian landscape as it did every night. Concern had begun to poke at the back of Pachec’s skull, tapping like Carraine claws on stone. When the commotion began inside the walled-in city, Pachec was already creeping towards the gate. His hearing was the least acute of his senses but he could hear the anger in the voices, the outrage. The tornado of scents moved steadily closer to the gate, the scents of a wide variety of people in a wide variety of emotional states swarmed him. Pachec opened his eyes and watched from his position in a stand of old trees, ready for something to happen.
The angry swarm of Ellatians spewed from the gates of the city with hard words spoken too fast for Pachec to translate. He smelled their fear, their anger. At the center of it all stood Riordac. There was blood on the air - fresh wounds. After all they had been through together, Pachec couldn’t let him die alone. If it ruined the chance of diplomacy, of peace, it would be on his head.
Riordac was shackled and surrounded by a small band of men dragging him towards the forest. Pachec stayed hidden, watching them. There were too many soldiers for just the two of them to take on. Especially with Riordac unarmed.
“Bind him to that tree.” The soldier in the lead pointed at a large tree out of sight of the city walls. “The traitor is thus exiled. Left to the strange and horrible creatures that are roaming our forest on this night.” Pachec felt that the soldier was obviously talking to him, in some secretive way. “By morning, the traitor will no longer be of concern to us.”
“Long live King Dolleric!” The crowd called back. “A curse on all traitors! Long live King Dolleric!”
The chanting went on for a short while, until darkness fully claimed the forest and all but the bravest men and boys stayed behind to watch. They would not leave him, not until they knew what happened to him. Pachec understood this. A show it would have to be. His parents always had told him that he was a performer at heart.
With a bone-chilling shriek, high and piercing, Pachec leapt naked from his hiding place. He thrashed his tail and snapped his jaws, chanting a young Carraine’s marching song. The Ellatians didn’t have to understand him, only to fear him. To fear him and turn away. He rushed through the shadows towards the prince. With a hard pull, Pachec broke the chains that bound his friend.
Pachec flung the weak prince over his shoulder and ran. There were voices behind him, some frightened, some excited. Only two males were chasing them, following them. Two he could handle. One of the followers stopped, went back towards the city but the other pair of feet kept coming, dedicated. It would be futile to keep running. The feet would chase them all the way into the mountains. Pachec stopped and laid the unconscious prince on the ground.
“Come on then, flesh-worm.” Pachec snarled. “You want a fight, come!”
“You have it wrong!” The Ellatian voice was strong and unafraid. “I am Chav. Riordac is my friend. You saw us together at the gate. I came to make sure nothing happened to him. As much as he said you wouldn’t hurt him, I had to know. The others, they didn’t know of his alliance. I wasn’t certain of it.”
“And now that you are?”
“I come to thank you.” The man stepped out from behind a tree. “His father believes that he tried to kill him. I don’t know who or how, but someone has the ear of the king and is making a mockery of everything we’ve ever held true.”
“It’s a clever plan - to their credit. Unfortunate though in that it hurts the prince.” Pachec’s head bobbed slowly.
“You are not what I was expecting.” Chav tried to laugh but it came out in a clipped, hoarse bark. “I need you to take the prince with you, back to your home until it is safe. Until I come for him.”
“You think it will be safe for him again?” Pachec sat down beside the prince.
“I will make it so.” He nodded. “Once I find the traitors, I can eliminate them and then all will be right with the king again. He is not himself.” Chav’s his scent was full of sadness, of heartache. “Will you help him?”
“I will. He will be safe with me until it is time for him to return to his own kind.” Pachec bowed slightly. “When you reach Carraine lands, just say my name to any Carraine you find - Pachec. Repeat it, no matter what they say - Pachec. Even if the Carraine speak Latian. Say only Pachec and they will bring you to me.”
“I will do so as soon as I can.” Chav looked at the Prince. “When he wakes, tell him what has been decided. Tell him I’m sorry it couldn’t be more.”
“I will.” He would care for the prince, and not just for his people’s future alliances but because he was a friend. Pachec watched as Chav departed, fading through the woods; he hoped that the soldier did indeed find the answers.
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