A Lion's Heart (16 page)

Behind them carrion birds began to settle on the body of the fallen weretigress.

Chapter Sixteen
 

It wasn't easy traveling the desert. The heat and the ever blowing sand made landmarks impossible. Kyrill seemed to have an ability to scent his home, though. A questing nose was always in the air and a smile was ever present on his face as he took the lead, his tail ring glinting in the sun. Lormar and Shakra were at their center, limping and wounded, yet determined to keep a fast pace for their lives sake. Tamarind and Shang helped them, but there was only so much they could do in a wasteland of sand.

Tamarind's ears were down a great deal of the time. “I hate sand,” he mumbled more than once. His short mane was full of it and he hated having his tail drag through it. He had annoyed everyone the first few miles, by continuously trying to dislodge sand from between his toes.

“Too hot,” Shang declared near mid-day and simply stopped, crest down and eyes hooded with weariness.

There wasn't an argument. They could pant and get rid of their heat, but Shang didn't have that luxury. He buried himself in the sand on the lee of a sand dune and only his crest was visible. The others were left to bake without any shade. They sat in misery, until the sun began to slant down towards evening. Only then would Shang emerge and travel again.

“He's going to do the same thing when night falls and it grows cold,” Kyrill warned. “We have to keep moving.”

“We can keep him warm,” Shakra replied. “I'm not sure if his pride will suffer it, though.”

Shang glared. “Pride has no place where necessity reigns.”

Lormar snorted. “Meaning, you'll do what it takes, werelizard?”

Shang nodded.

“Good,” Kyrill said in relief. “There is water after another day of travel, and my people beyond that.”

Lormar suddenly scented and everyone looked at him, puzzled. He grinned like a true wolf. “It's only the prospect of seeing so many werefoxes with tail rings, earrings, and tattoos.”

Kyrill bristled. “My people are beautiful, but remember,” he warned. “I am your mate.”

Lormar grinned and licked one of Kyrill's long ears. “No other,” he promised. Kyrill made a small sound of pleasure and smiled as Lormar continued to lick. Their scents grew heavy on the air. Kyrill nuzzled Lormar and his tail flicked and twitched upwards as if of its own accord. Lormar suddenly shivered all over and began to take hold of Kyrill by his ruff. He started and yelped when a reptilian fist connected sharply with his nose. It wasn't hard, but it was enough to get his full attention.

Shang glared. “Don't any of you practice self-control?”

Lormar glared back, but he was backing away from Kyrill, who was looking disappointed, his ears drooping. “You're young too,” Lormar pointed out. “Your self-control comes only from being alone.”

Shang looked angry, but then uncertain when Kyrill said thoughtfully, “There are werelizards among my people. They're sand colored, have dark stripes, and they're smaller than you are.”

“Sand lizards,” Shang replied derisively. “They are not werelizards.”

“I think they would argue that,” Kyrill warned. “They offend very easily.”

Shakra was battling the scent of sex in the air and he could see Tamarind looking just as uncomfortable. “Enough!” he growled. “We need to walk, not sit and talk about mating.”

“You're right,” Kyrill agreed and began to lead them again.

“I wish we had time,” Tamarind sighed under his breath.

Shakra nuzzled Tamarind and sighed as well. “So do I, love. We will have time, once we reach Kyrill's people.”

Tamarind shook sand out of his toes with a grimace. “He promised no sand.”

“Some sand,” Kyrill amended, his long ears catching their conversation. “There is more rock, though, and a wide riverbank.”

“A perfect place for sand lizards,” Shang grumbled and Shakra gave him a surprised look.

“Have you ever seen one?” he asked.

“No,” Shang admitted. “But my people do not associate with them. They are primitive, uncultured, undisciplined.”

“Fun and carefree?” Lormar wondered with a snort of amusement, “instead of sour faced and arrogant?”

“I've heard that they have no honor,” Shang replied as if that were enough to turn every mind against them.

Lormar blinked. “I suppose we'll know what they're like once we see one.”

“I think you will be surprised,” Kyrill interjected, but didn't elaborate.

The desert was harsh, but true to Kyrill's word, he knew where water was to be found and the easier paths through it. At night they walked as close as possible to Shang, warming him, but during the day, after a certain time, he was forced to burrow and escape the intense heat.

Lormar snorted.

“What's wrong?” Kyrill asked anxiously, looking back over his waving tail.

“If you continue to do that, I'm won't be able to control myself much longer,” Lormar warned him. “I don't think that would make a good first impression on your people.”

Kyrill looked about them. “Do you sense something?”

“I have eyes,” Lormar replied with a chuckle. “They are forgetting to hide their large ears.”

Shakra looked ahead, squinting, and saw several pairs of large ears disappear behind a dune.

“A hunting party, I think,” Kyrill surmised excitedly. “No one else comes out into the desert so far.” He called out to them and the ears cautiously reappeared first, then, even more cautiously, werefoxes revealed themselves at the top of the dune.

They made Kyrill seemed conservative in his appearance. There were four of them and they were all covered in golden jewelry that tinkled together and glinted from every point. One had six tail rings, intricately carved with symbols, while another fancied dangling earrings in abundance. All of them wore sheer cloths at waist and neck, but it was more for ornamentation than for any modesty.

“They have so many tattoos,” Tamarind marveled and Shakra remembered what tattoos meant to his people.

“Just for beauty,” Kyrill told him with a smile. “We like making art out of our bodies.”

“You are with a werelion, werewolves, and a werelizard, Kyrill!” one of the werefoxes called nervously. “What does this mean?”

“It means that we have new friends!” Kyrill called back.

His word that they were friends seemed to be enough. The werefoxes came running up to him, tails waving, ears flicking excitedly, and mouths running as they demanded a full accounting of where Kyrill had been all at once. They were never still, each one of them a blur of motion, with Kyrill dancing in place at their center as he tried to greet them.

“Enough!” Shang hissed.

Everyone froze. Kyrill laughed lightly. “It's all right,” he assured his friends. “He doesn't approve of excitable werefoxes. We'll speak when we reach our tents. Is father well? My sisters?”

“Well enough,” one of them answered, “Except that they have all been very worried about you.”

Kyrill frowned then. “Father's biggest concern has been finding dowries for all of my many sisters.”

A werefox with pale ears shook his head. “You're wrong. He's missed you, Kyrill.”

“Even after my last letter?” Kyrill wondered skeptically.

The werefoxes all looked at Lormar. “He'll speak to you about that, I'm sure, Kyrill,” one said diplomatically.

“I'm very sure of that,” Kyrill growled.

“Is there trouble?” Tamarind asked.

All of the werefoxes crouched with ears flat and eyes wide.

“It's all right,” Tamarind assured them. “I don't eat werefox.”

They didn't look reassured. Tamarind was small for a werelion, but they were even smaller.

“My father didn't approve of my journey,” Kyrill explained, “or my choice of mate. Being the only male heir of my family, in a sea of sisters, made his disappointment that much keener. That's my worry, though. You don't have to concern yourself with my family's squabbles. It's the Chief that will greet you and give you hospitality, not my father.”

The sun was low in the sky, but Shakra was eager to get out of its heat. “Can we continue, then?” he almost begged, though he wouldn't admit how exhausted he was.

“Of course,” Kyrill replied contritely and led the way over the dune.

Stretched out along a wide, flowing river, bordered by reeds, trees, and crops, was a sea of colorful tents and more permanent buildings. Werefoxes moved about it, glinting in the sun with gold and adorned with fluttering scarves that made them look almost like butterflies from that distance.

“Home, for now,” Kyrill announced with a wide smile. “My people are nomadic. Once the crops are in, we move away from the seasonal floods and return again at planting time.”

Tamarind suddenly took the lead, feet eager to find a place where there was no more sand to irritate them. The others followed, Shakra at his side.

Shakra observed, “They won't be able to stop the werelions. Look at them... small and lightly armed. They don't have any defenses either.”

Shang surprisingly said, “They have a reputation as great fighters, my Prince. Don't be deceived by appearances.”

“If my people were weak,” Kyrill said proudly, “Then this would be werelion lands already. We are very fierce fighters, Shakra. They won't come to our home without a costly battle.”

Shakra hoped that the cost wouldn't be paid in werefox lives.

The met the Chief in a colorful tent filled with carpets and pillows for sitting. Those assembled around the Chief, were mostly female werefoxes wearing beaded scarves and very intricate earrings. The few males looked to be guards, ranged behind where the Chief was standing.

The Chief of the desert werefoxes was an old creature, grayed and missing part of one ear. He wore a knife on a belt around his waist, but didn't bother with scarves or jewelry of any kind. A grizzled veteran, Shakra thought as he approached and bowed low.

“Yaine,” Kyrill introduced him, bowing low himself, “Chief of my tribe. This is prince Shakra of the forest weres.”

“I'm sure there is a story to tell,” Yaine snorted and rubbed at his bad ear as if it pained him. “You are marked by claws and one of our enemy walks among you.” He nodded to Tamarind. “I will greet him as a guest for now, until he proves himself an enemy.”

Tamarind bowed, but he was tense, his shoulders twitching nervously.

“Your father has been missing you, young Kyrill,” the Chief continued. “Your absence brought sorrow to many.” He smiled, though, and added, “I understand wanderlust. I had a good dose of it myself when I was younger, much to my father's dismay.” He looked over Lormar, fascinated by his dark bands of color. “I can see why you were so enamored of this one. He is... very striking.”

Kyrill grinned. “He is not only handsome,” he chuckled, “but brave and honorable as well.”

“I hope that your father sees and honors those qualities, then,” the Chief replied. His eyes rested on Shang. “We have your close kin, here, werelizard. They will be pleased to have news of their cousins in the north.”

Shang looked disdainful, but inclined his head marginally.

“We will continue pleasantries later, I think,” the Chief said as if everything had been formality and required up until then. “Now I must know if you are bringing war to our tribe, Kyrill. You are wounded, marked, and weary. You are without your guards and supplies. Everything about you and your companions speaks to me of a hurried flight across the desert. Who chases you, Kyrill?”

“The king of the Savannah werelions, Katze,” Kyrill replied. “With me is his adopted son, Prince Tamarind. Katze wishes his return and wants our deaths.”

The werefox raised an eyebrow. “Is Prince Tamarind your captive, then?”

“No, he's my mate,” Shakra replied.

Both the werefox's eyebrows rose now in shock. “Is such a thing possible?”

Shakra looked embarrassed, but answered readily enough, “Yes, it is. Tamarind has decided to be with me, not with his kind on the Savannah. He doesn't want to join Katze’s war.”

“Commendable,” the Chief said and then looked thoughtful. He turned to one of the females. “Yahla, gather the guard and put them on alert. Lila?” He turned to another. “Make the tribe ready for travel. This is not a defensible place.”

“He may not be moving his army here,” Shang protested.

“We have seen scouts,” the Chief replied. “We have been waiting for Katze to attack us. It is better to leave the field workers behind and take the most vulnerable to safety in the hills as a precaution. The Prince's defection may be the impetus Katze needed to move his forces in our direction. I will send warriors into the desert to give us early warning.”

“Better than those who we met there earlier, I hope?” Shang grumbled.

The Chief narrowed eyes at Shang. “I have heard from your desert kin how arrogant northern werelizards can be. I see the proof of it before me. Don't underestimate the skill and bravery of my tribe.”

Shang bowed, automatic apology, but an apology wasn't in his eyes. Shakra knew from long experience that the werelizard didn't give compliments or respect easily.

“You are my honored guests,” the Chief told them. “Our homes are your homes. Kyrill?” He gave the werefox a level look. “I entrust them to your keeping, for good or ill.”