Shylldra

“Are you sure about this?” Shylldra asked as they loaded into Hallek's cart. “Even knowing about who's after me?”

“Of course,” Hallek shrugged. “You're in trouble. Someone has to help.”

“Someday you should talk to somebody about why you're willing to defy the emperor but not willing to go out for foreman,” Shylldra laughed. Hallek grinned and cracked the reins, sending the Minmi moving...for a couple of steps. The reigns were suddenly grabbed by a burly man wearing leather armor. He wore a badge carved with a tyrannosaurus head.

“Lady Shylldra,” the man said. “I've been told not to let you leave the city until you've given his majesty a proper answer.”

“Tell him no,” Shylldra said. More men in armor were appearing from the shadows. “I'm sorry, Hallek, I should have known the temple was being watched.”

“Get out of the cart kid,” the man in armor said. “Or you'll wind up in the palace dungeon.”

“Since when does the emperor's personal guard have the power to arrest a citizen?” Shylldra demanded. “You're not the guard. Or even the legions. You're glorified bodyguards.”

“So what?” The guard demanded. “Do you think anyone's going to make a fuss about some dumb kid?”

“The temple of Maia will,” Shylldra said coldly. That was enough to make the guard pause, but he didn't let go of the reigns.

“Hey Shylldra, Is it illegal to kick a member of the emperor's personal guard in the face?”

“No more than anyone else,” Shylldra shrugged.

The man had the typical reaction of petty bullies who aren't used to their power being challenged: stunned inaction. This was always followed by fury, but Hallek and Shylldra were already moving by the time he climbed to his feet and realized he really had been kicked in the face. Hard. His nose was bleeding, maybe...no, no, not broken but how dare that little bastard! “After them!”

No one had been after Hallek in years. The emperors guards weren't mounted, but Hallek and Shylldra were dragging the cart. And minmi were bred for endurance and carrying weight, not speed. Not to mention that the streets were crowded. Hallek solved that by steering down an alley and urging the minmi on, but there was only so much it could do. They were catching up behind when he saw trouble ahead. Legionnaires this time, with armored breastplates and feathered helmets, spears at their sides.

“Soldiers,” Hallek said worriedly.

“The legions might not care about stopping us. There's nowhere to turn, just go.”

Hallek doubted so many legionnaires would be in an alleyway by coincidence but she was right, they had nowhere to turn. To his surprise the soldiers didn't move until after he'd passed them, blocking the alleyway behind. He had time to wonder what the hells before a man stepped into the street in front of them and he was forced to pull the reigns. The man was tall and powerfully built, a body of rolling muscle underneath his heavy armor. Instead of a sword at his waist there was a mace, and hanging on his back a shield made from the whole skull of a juvenile triceratops. His head was unarmored, but the flint black eyes above his bushy, graying beard held an unmistakable glint of authority.

“Grand General Fennik!” Shylldra gasped.

“Is this bad or good?”

“I don't know.”

“And that cuts me deep,” the Grand General said. “I came to collect you for your own protection. The emperor means to kill you. But then it seems you already figured that out.” His eyes turned to Hallek. “So you're the young man I've heard about? Rumors still reach me, Shylldra, even if you never come to the palace. Are you any good with a sword, boy?”

“I'm pretty good,” Hallek said, pretending a bravado he didn't feel. “In Downwind.”

“Had some good soldiers from Downwind. Where are you going, Shylldra?”

“I don't know. But I have to leave the city. The High Mothers did a Telling.”

“A Telling,” the Grand General said reverently, putting a hand to his chest. For the first time Hallek noticed the protoceretops pendant around his neck. “Then I won't stop you. Be careful, Shylldra.”

“Fennik,” Shylldra said. “I...thank you.”

“And you take care of her boy,” Fennik said. “You're mixed up in it now. Too deep in the mud to pull yourself out. If Shylldra trusts you I will too, but it's going to take grit to survive. Have you got grit boy?”

And again for a moment there was an alley, and scratching biting claws, and a screaming crying child curled up into a ball in stubborn defiance.

“Yes.” The high general blinked.

“Well look at that. Seems like you do boy, for real and true. Good hardgrit, if I haven't lost the knack to tell. You might just pull through yet. Go, get on your way now. I can't stall those guards forever. And good luck to both of you.”

Lekarik

“No sign of her at all?” Lekarik said, staring petulantly down at the Axe.

“None, Emperor,” Gwarruf said. “We've had your men searching the forest for three days but they're mostly drawn from the legions, not the rangers.”

“So send out the rangers! I want her brought back!”

“The rangers are...unreliable,” Gwarruf said carefully.

“You mean that miserable old bastard Fennik won't support me,” Lekarik snarled. “If I could only lift this Axe...” He reached a hand out to to touch the handle only to jerk away as the soul of Dakkareg snapped at him in a wave of green energy. Everything was defying him. The Axe, Shylldra, his own generals. Not to mention the Patrician's Council. When they'd told him he was going to be emperor he'd envisioned sitting in the palace all day sipping wine and picking from the endless string of concubines falling at his feet. He hadn't expected a dagger behind every doorway, people constantly challenging his authority. He...

What the hells was that?

A peppy, joyful tune was echoing down the halls of the palace. There were tinny drums and cymbals and pipes and what sounded like a xylophone. There was a marching quality to the song, like little kids with toy instruments playing soldiers.

“Do we have a band in the palace?”

“I don't know. Not that I'm aware of, your majesty.”

Lekarik followed the noise out of the room and into the main hall where those hoping to have an audience with the emperor gathered. Like most days Lekarik had ordered the petitioners kept out of the hall but the guards had obviously been too stunned to stop the strange little man and the bizarre thing he brought into the palace.

The little man wore a hooded leather robe and a leather mask covering his face with metal grills over the eyes and mouth. On his hands he wore clawed gloves with lizard skulls on the back. But odd as he was he was just background to the enormous thing of bones that followed him. It was about the size of a cart, made from the skeleton of some kind of long necked dinosaur. The bones walked as if still alive, bells jangling with every step. Fixed to its back were other skeletons, smaller creatures blowing trumpets or playing drums. One tapped tiny hammers on the main body's ribcage, creating the xylophone sound.

“What is this?” Lekarik laughed. The guards noticed he was there for the first time and fell to their knees, as did the little man in the leather hood. He patted the creature on the shoulder and it stopped playing, resting to the floor a lifeless skeleton again. “Get up, get up, it's a pain looking down at all of you.”

“I am a young infuser looking to make my name, great emperor,” the man in leather said. “I had hoped to find someone influential at the palace to sell my walking band to, and begin earning a reputation.”

“Make it dance again.” The leather robed infuser happily complied, and the “walking band” climbed to its feet and the music started again. For a moment there were almost screams beneath the joyful tune, but the cymbals drowned them out. “I think you've made a sale, infuser.”

“I couldn't charge the emperor for my work! Please, if the emperor likes it, I present my walking band as a gift.”

“And now everyone here will say the emperor liked your work, and you know how to treat a noble,” Lekarik grinned. “What's your name, infuser?”

“Dalluth, great emperor. Master Infuser Dalluth.”

“Gwarruf, prepare the Master Infuser a room for the night.”

“Yes of course, emperor.”

“This has done a great job of lifting my spirits,” Lekarik smiled. “It all seems so much simpler now. On that matter we were discussing before? Time to show my claws.”

Verris

Verris brought the jug of wine to his lips and lied to himself. I'm better off without them, that was a favorite. Even the wine couldn't make him believe it for very long. Downwind was the only home he'd ever known. He'd never been happy there, he'd hated everyone around him, but it was all he knew. And for one brief, glorious moment he'd had power. Just a tiny little bit of the power his blood was due. And it was gone now, all gone...

The jug of wine was getting light. It represented the last of his severance pay. When it was gone, there would be no more wine. The thought was so depressing he took another drink. The alley fit his mood brilliantly. It was gray and dim and smelled like piss. A little ways further into the shadows, two small bands of compsognathus were hissing at each other, arguing over the rotting corpse of some kind of rat.

Better company than I had in Downwind, Verris thought, pulling the stopper and raising the jug to his lips. It dribbled around the corners of his mouth and onto his shirt, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It wasn't any worse than the rest of them in the bag under his ass, gathering who knows what filth from the alley floor. If there was one thing working in Downwind taught you, it was that dung wasn't the most disgusting substance in the entire world. It wasn't even really in the top ten.

Verris had a feeling at least eight of that top ten were pounded into the stones of the alleyway.

I have to find a job, Verris told himself. Doing what? Stacking crates or digging holes, probably. Work as far beneath him as the work in Downwind had been, but even more humiliating. Assuming he could find a job. The shovelers of Downwind tended to know a lot of street workers and merchants. Once word got around even stacking and shoveling opportunities would start drying up. At least with any employer he'd want to deal with.

He brought up the jug again and swallowed as a pair of shadows fell over him.

The men were tall, burly, and ugly. The pristine view Verris's position gave him of their nostrils did absolutely nothing to improve things, although it did drive home the point that one of them had a truly enormous nose. He was the pale one. The one with the more tanned skin was heavier, and covered in scars all over his body.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Verris decided to think of them as Big Nose and Scars. More mental work than that didn't seem worth the trouble.

“Give us the drink,” said Scars.

“No,” Verris said, taking another swig.

“Are you deaf?” Big nose asked.

“Well obviously not or I wouldn't have just answered you, would I? Now go away. If you want it that bad you can come back in a couple of hours, when I will be pissing it out in...that corner.”

He pointed to where the compies were fighting over the rotting rat corpse. Verris planned on making a game out of seeing how many of them he could hit.

“You think this is a joke?” Big Nose demanded.

“I think I don't care anymore,” Verris raised the jug to his lips again.

Scars slammed a sandaled foot into the back of the jug, jamming it into Verris's face. Shards of pottery jabbed into his cheeks as the jar shattered and covered him with wine. The wound from Hallek's punch opened when the rim bashed into his lip, dribbling blood down the corners of his mouth. Big Nose kicked him in the side.

Instinctively Verris curled up as the two men started kicking him. At first there was nothing in his mind but abject terror, but then the sheer unfairness of it all started to sink in. How dare they? How dare they? He was worth seven of them. Twelve. If he'd had his birthright, if he'd had the money and respect his blood was due, they never would have dared to touch him.

How dare they touch him!

With an animal shriek Verris rolled over and bit Scars in the leg. Scars screamed, trying to back away, but Verris wrapped his arms around the man's calf and wouldn't let go. While Scars was struggling with him Big Nose kicked Verris in the gut, forcing him to let go. Big Nose grabbed Verris his toga and dragged him to his feet while Scars fell to the ground, his leg gushing blood.

“What's wrong with you?” Big Nose demanded.

Verris spat blood in his eye. When Big Nose stumbled back Verris leaped at him, nails raking his face like claws. The big man shoved Verris off and smashed him in the face. Scars got up, limping on his bitten leg, and the two of them started pummeling Verris, spitting curses at him.

“Get down and cover your eyes!” a familiar voice shouted. Verris obeyed on reflex, dropping to the ground and wrapping his hands over his head. There was a roar—no, a symphony of roars, as if a hundred creatures had all gone murderous at once and let out a war cry in chorus. It wasn't quite loud enough to drown out the pair of screams, and then there was a wave of heat and kind of shuddering feeling in the air that made Verris's teeth tingle.

“You may stand now, it is over.”

Verris climbed to his feet to see Ballum tucking his strange sword back in his pocket. There was no sign of Big Nose or Scars, at least not until Verris looked down the other end of the alley.

There wasn't much of them left and what was there was oddly bloodless. It was as if they'd been eaten away and drained besides a few scraps of flesh left behind. The compies and the rat corpse were gone as well but it was only a few seconds before more compies scampered out of cracks in the walls and began squabbling over their new bounty of flesh.

“Why?” Verris said.

“I killed them because you are not yet strong enough to kill them yourself,”

“That's not what I meant!” Verris snapped. “Do I look stupid? I meant why did you send them to rough me up!”

Ballum grinned widely.

“I had to see if your troubles had broken your spirit.”

“So this was some kind of test? Did my father put you up to this?”

“No. This was to satisfy myself. But your father does want to speak with you. Come and see him. I believe there is a path to your future you have not yet considered.”

Verris was brought in through the servant's entrance again. He should have been numb, but the humiliation still stabbed at his heart. Ballum left him with a pair of servants who ushered him to a bath and, to his utter confusion, gave him a toga. A very nice toga, made of eastern silks, with a jeweled broach to pin the shoulder. When Ballum returned to bring him to his father, his every instinct told him to run from whatever madness his father had in store for him.

“Things have changed,” his father said.

“Because I was kicked out of Downwind?” Verris asked.

“What? Oh, no. That's not important. No, things have changed in the council. Do you know why I kept you secret, boy?”

Verris's hands clenched at his sides.

“Because I was an embarrassment. Proof you'd lain with a woman you hadn't even thought worthy to make your concubine.”

“Good. You understand. But as I said, things have changed. My latest venture looks likely to...well, it's a little early for that. Suffice to say it, I now need a male heir. Quite desperately as a matter of fact. I have only two other children, both daughters. And both grown and married already come to that. It is my intention to announce you as my son.”

Verris blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly.

“Why now? What's different now?”

“The short version? There's someone I need you to marry. I must tie her bloodline to ours, for the good of our entire family.”

Well that makes sense. Except for one thing.

“Why not marry her yourself?”

“She must be a first wife. She would be my third. No it would never do, never do at all. It'll have to be you. Besides, we'd best focus on cleaning you up for proper company and worry about the marriage later. No one knows where she's disappeared to at the moment anyway, so until someone figures out how to find her we've got time. Your lessons in courtly etiquette will begin tomorrow in preparation for my legitimizing you as heir.”

Verris was speechless. Should he say thank you? That would be kind of ridiculous since he was still only a pawn. Besides it wasn't like he was grateful. This was the least he'd been owed his entire life. He was almost grateful when his father waved a dismissive hand and said “you may go. I have business to attend to.”

Verris turned to leave, but Ballum put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come see me after your lessons tomorrow. I have lessons to teach you too. We are Kuraga. Hate makes us strong.”

Krazzek

Krazzek hated the palm forest. Oh he'd been there before but he was a city boy down deep in his bones. Unfortunately the Patrician wanted him back out in the forest hunting that nightmarish thing again. The last time he'd done that everyone else had died. Krazzek had immense faith in his ability to run and hide but he didn't believe in tempting fate.

But the patrician was determined to complete the hunt. So there he was with a bunch of Jajess's personal guard who thought they were invincible. By Krazzek's estimation they were all going to die again. They moved like bad scouts. Probably because they'd washed out of scout training and deluded themselves the personal guard of a patrician was somehow more elite than the imperial armies. It was enough to make a good thief cry. Krazzek was considering it.

“Just lead us to the creature,” the captain said. Heshk, that was his name. He was the best out of all of them, he was just too big to creep through the palms like a scout should. Probably why he'd washed out in the army. A build like that was more suited to a legionnaire. “And we'll kill it for you.”

“I'll lead you to the creature,” Krazzek said. “And then I'll hide. It's a monster, captain. All the legends they tell about Fangs are true, and this one would be a match for Dakkareg himself. And when it's over, I'll go and tell the patrician he needs to find another batch of guards.”

“Coward.”

“Thief. I don't ask carpenters to cut stone or masons to infuse or infusers to bake bread. We all have our skills. Yours is fighting. Mine is hiding in the dark. When we find the thing we'll both do what we do best. I just think my skills are more appropriate.”

“Bah. And what's this you marked on the map? You want us to visit the forest tribes?”

“We'll be hunting near Birdfang territory. We need to at least tell them we're there. It's the law. And it'll make things easier if they find us running around off the road.”

“I've fought Scarred Men before. Even with their magic they're nothing but talk.”

“You've fought bandits and rogues. These are Birdfang. Even if the treaty didn't say we had to tell them, they're one of the three great tribes. They're powerful.”

“Bird fangs are little things,” Heshk said dismissively. “Look in the trees you'll find a thousand birds and their little fangs. Not a one of them a threat to any man...who isn't a coward.”

“Fine,” Krazzek sighed. “Whatever. It's getting late. We should make camp. There's plenty of things out here with fangs we should be worrying about as it is.”

Illeth

Troodon. The Forest Ghosts.

They were six feet from tip of the nose to the end of the tail, sleek sinewy arrows of pallid skin and pale feathers. A pair of long, thin legs with hooking claws at the toes propelled them through the palm forest night, hands with similar wicked claws held to their chests, ready to lash out at any prey their long neck and snout hadn't quite caught. The pack was eerily silent as it ran through the forest. Their footfalls were barely leaves touching the ground, and somehow they never cracked a branch or sent the leaves of ferns swaying and rattling as they passed. The troodon pack was like hungry ghosts, flitting through the shadows of the forest.

When a thief slipped into a house in search of valuables they called on Ikkek, the trickster of silence and stealth.

When a charlatan in his brightly colored clothes and baubles tried to fleece the crowd of their money they called on Iikwii, the trickster of theatrics and confusion.

When an assassin came to take a life, to slip in and out as silence itself and leave only death behind, they called on Gukkik, first alpha of the troodon, because there was no killer as swift and silent as the forest ghosts.

Mistress, one comes.

Illeth paused at the head of the pack. The only human among them she raced as swiftly and silently as any troodon. When she halted herpack halted behind her, quietly sliding into position to attack or flee as the situation—or her orders—demanded it.

All of Illeth that could be seen was a stripe of coal dark skin and a pair of startling green eyes, their pupils a pair of catlike—or troodon like—slits, peering out between her hood and the face mask she wore over her mouth and nose. The hood, the mask, the tunic she wore and the strips of hide wrapping her legs to cover them above the boots were all made from troodon hide. At her wrists, ankles, and neck she wore strings of infused troodon teeth. And underneath, where another strip of troodon skin bound her chest flat a carved diamond shape of infused troodon skull pressed against her skin.

One come or many come? She asked her pack. Many kinds of dinosaur, their souls bound through an infusion, could communicate with the item's wielder. But troodon could truly speak, to one bonded to an infused artifact of their bones. The soul in the infusion was quiet in exchange for the ability to speak to the pack.

Legend said when mammals and dinosaurs were first born from the torn scraps of Huma and Saurus, the cleverest of the mammals were humans and the cleverest of the dinosaurs were troodon. But the gods had only enough knowledge to grant one of them, so a contest was held between Gukik of the troodons and Hujal, the first human hero. Hujal won by trickery, proving his cleverness and humanity's right to be smartest of all the things that lived.

One come two come many come, her pack mate told Illeth. Smell same, don't trust.

Illeth shrugged. Familiar but untrustworthy summed up every human she knew.

Will go, talk.

Eat?

Talk, Illeth insisted firmly. Pack follow. Stay behind.

Illeth darted on her own through the forest, feeling the pack's disapproval through her link to them. As far as they were concerned an alpha should not go ahead alone. They understood having a human alpha was different, but that didn't make them any happier about things.

Illeth had become alpha of the pack when she killed the previous alpha in single combat. The old alpha had been a vision of Gukkik himself, large and silent and clever. Illeth had worn only a cloth toga and carried a single small knife. The two of them had stalked each other for three days, not daring to let their guard down long enough to do more than snatch a few berries off a tree or drink a few hurried mouthfuls from the river, until at last Illeth had outsmarted the alpha and cut his throat, catching the blood in a skin and infusing the bones and teeth as her master had taught her.

She had been almost seven years old at the time. The third apprentice her master had sent to try and claim the alpha's title. Illeth had succeeded where they had failed, and gained the right to become the Emperor's Claw. Fourteen years and many, many hunts later she believed she might be the most efficient killer in the empire. With her pack behind her she might very well be unstoppable.

It was a comforting thought.

She knew the man's name was Gwarruf. She also knew he had no business in the forest. He was a palace man, old and weak. Her troodons wanted to hunt him and sometimes she thought it would be a favor to slit the creaky old thing's throat. But that was not how her master taught her. Because sometimes Gwarruf would come with information, or to ask what Illeth needed bought from the city. There was never very much. And sometimes he would come and give Illeth a name. And the person with that name would die.

Somehow she knew he was here with a name. Maybe his smell was different. Lekarik had never called on her before, and the previous emperor only three times in the decade she served under him. Peaceful times had little need for an assassin.

It will be good to hunt again.

Looking at Gwarruf standing nervously among the trees Illeth counted fifty seven ways she could kill him. Four of those would come before he even knew she was there. His eyes darted nervously around the forest, trying to watch for her approach, as if he could ever see her coming when she didn't want him to. She slipped around behind him before she spoke, just to teach him a lesson.

“You have a name for me?” she asked, gratified by the way he jumped into the air at her voice. There was an eerie chittering sound in the trees. The pack had followed, and they also found the humans fear amusing.

Kill? One of her pack suggest.

No, Illeth commanded. He lives.

He prey, the troodon complained. Human never before smell so much like prey.

“Y-yes,” Gwarruf said. “Sh-Shylldra. Shylldra ty Imperiens.”

An emperor's daughter. Well her master had told her the emperor's claw tore into family more than anything else.

“The palace?” she asked. Just for fun, she slid into a tree branch over his head first.

“Awlp!” he said, stumbling backwards and tripping over his own feet, to another chorus of chittering laughs through unseen teeth in the trees. “S-stop doing that!”

“Palace?” Illeth asked again. She didn't like talking to humans any more than she absolutely had to.

“N-no,” Gwarruf said. “She left the city yesterday. We don't know where.”

She knows she is hunted.

“Warrior?” Illeth asked.

“No,” Gwarruf shook his head. “She's a priestess of Maia. She fled soldiers at the temple yesterday.”

The trail will begin there.

“She will die,” Illeth promised.

“Thank the gods,” Gwarruf said, obviously grateful to be done with his duty and allowed to return to the palace. Only he seemed to have no idea how to do so. He turned around, staring at the trees, before finally decided on a path that led him deeper into the forest.

If he keeps going that way I'll have to let them kill him, she thought. She sent a mental command to her pack, and as the old man approached a clump of bushes a pair of troodon leaped out, hissing and snarling in his face.

“Not that way,” she said helpfully. He didn't seem to notice as he screamed and bolted in the opposite direction, finally heading back towards the city.

Hunt now?The pack asked.

Yes, she told them. Hunt.