A Lion's Heart (4 page)

Shang looked troubled. “I don't know his plans, my Prince.”

Shakra felt doubtful of that, but Shang had never lied to him or spared him the painful truth. “The werelion is coming with us,” he ordered firmly. “I will deal with Warden Kol.”

Shang gave a small bow that was stiff and disapproving.

Shakra tried to see the werelion, but he was too well hidden in the ferns. “Come with me,” he called to it. “It's your only hope of getting home.”

The werelion slunk out of the ferns. Shakra was startled. He had been very close by, almost within pouncing distance. The werelion kept his ears down and his tufted tail twitched. It was obvious that he wasn't happy, but he saw the necessity of following Shakra. When Shang and Shakra began walking, he paced behind them. Shakra couldn't help feeling relief. To say it was about honor and being noble was a lie, and Shakra suspected that Shang knew that. What really compelled him to help the werelion, though, was something Shakra didn't fully understand yet.

They entered the city, passing through a bustling crowd, and Shakra feared he would lose the werelion then and there. Tamarind's fur was bristled and his ears were flat. Shakra took up a position beside him, both to protect the werelion and the curious people he was eyeing dangerously, as they followed Shang to the Keep.

The Keep was a lodge of dark stone from the mountains and ancient forest wood that was as hard as iron. It looked impenetrable, formidable, and ready for any kind of attacking force. The city sprawling at its feet was a marked contrast, looking as if it had never known a moment of strife or feared attacking forces of any kind. It was a place build for peace, to house a thriving population more concerned about the latest fashions and the new merchant courtyard, than any threat from invading forces. They had known peace for a long time and Shakra wondered if his warden was about to end that peace.

Entering the Keep, they passed unchallenged through a huge main hall built for gatherings and audiences, and into a warren like section for the royal family and their servants. Hearth fires and many weres living together gave the air a familiar, heavy scent that was welcoming to Shakra, but clearly distasteful to the werelion.

Shakra put on a persona he had put aside when he had decided to play commoner in the market. He couldn't be the errant young werewolf here. In this place, he was Prince Shakra, highly trained warrior and heir to the leadership of the forest weres. His face went hard and his eyes glared at the people who looked ready to question his right to bring Tamarind into their midst.

“What is the meaning of this, Li’Won Shang?” a voice asked and a very large, strikingly handsome werewolf, with a general’s sash tied around his waist, came up to them hurriedly.

“My Prince,” Shang said aside to Shakra. “Perhaps you should take your
guest
to your rooms until I explain the situation?”

Shakra nodded and took a side corridor with the werelion slinking close to his side. “Stay away from that one,” Shakra warned. “He's General Armandu. He would like nothing better than to see any creature that isn’t a werewolf in a cage.”

**************

Once in Shakra's spacious, well appointed rooms, the werelion felt even more claustrophobic. There was a dead fireplace, but before it was a thick fur and Tamarind couldn't help curling into it. He glared at Shakra and thought about his words. The pride leader, Katze, had the same opinion of other weres as General Armandu, but he had expanded that desire to include scrawny orphans who looked as if they would never reach the promise of a werelion's full size or strength.

Shakra watched Tamarind for a few minutes and then he moved to light the fireplace. When it was crackling warmly, he chose a low lounge covered in sable furs to rest on. “Is there anything you need?” Shakra asked.

“Freedom,” Tamarind growled and the werewolf nodded. Tamarind had thought that he was a stupid cub, bumbling about like a new born impala, but Shakra had shown a harder side, a warrior's training, and an ability to kill with ease. Tamarind wouldn't underestimate him again. He was in a land of enemies, but his own land had hardly been better. A werelion didn't wander from his pride if he expected to live. The other prides didn't accept trespass into their territories. That was why it was odd to hear that the head of his pride had been plotting to bring them together for war.

Tamarind crouched, ears flat and snarled, “I don't like this!”

Shakra's tail curled up around him, but his ears were up and alert for trouble. “I don't blame you,” he replied. “You're probably used to wandering the savannah and sleeping under the open sky. I've heard that werelions don't build or-”

“We are NOT animals!” Tamarind protested hotly.

Shakra bristled. “No, that's what the werecheetahs thought,” he agreed.

“We weave shelters from bramble bushes and wander our territories,” Tamarind corrected him with a growl. “We have pits for making tools and weapons.”

Shakra looked intrigued. He began to ask questions, but there was a knock at his door. He opened it and a tan werefox darted in. “Where is he, Shakra?”

Kyrill N’jhaleen was a desert werefox. Very large ears were nestled in his golden hair and his eyes were very large and blue. His tanned, tightly knit, body, blended smoothly into tan fur and he had a very bushy tan tail with a white tip. A large, black tattoo adorned his entire back in fanciful swirls and he wore golden armbands, leg bands, and a golden circle at the base of his tail that had been the talk of the more spartan werewolves. Son of a wealthy chieftain, he had traveled extensively before falling in love, creating a scandal, and befriending the prince of the forest weres.

Kyrill darted towards the werelion faster than was wise. Tamarind raised hackles and made a low warning sound. Unperturbed, Kyrill danced in place excitedly and gushed, “It's been ages since I've seen a member of the Sun Pride. How is old Bukinia? My father spoke volumes about him. He saved my father's life when he was stranded out on the plains by an unscrupulous caravan owner.”

Tamarind regarded the werefox cautiously and then replied quietly, “Dead.”

Kyrill flicked his ears, stunned. “I'm sorry to hear that. Was he your sire?”

Tamarind looked from Shakra to Kyrill and then he grumbled, “No.” and edged closer to the warm fire. It was too strange to find someone who knew his family here. He had almost convinced himself that he had stepped out of his world entirely.

Kyrill understood a reluctance to talk when he saw it. He turned his excited attention to Shakra instead. “Did you buy him? He has a chain!” He looked very reproving.

“No, I helped him escape a werecheetah merchant,” Shakra admitted and then winced, probably remembering his obligation to pay the werecheetah.

“Very admirable,” Kyrill beamed. He eyed Tamarind again. “So, he was kidnaped from the Savannah?”

“I believe so,” Shakra replied. “He will need an escort to return. I've promised him safe passage.”

Kyrill blinked at him and then smiled warmly. “Shakra.... I... this is so unlike you. I was beginning to think that your mother had birthed a stone and now you're showing compassion for another-”

Shakra's ruff bristled and he cut Kyrill off. “Shang taught me honor. A thinking creature should not be caged and sold. It was nothing more than that. After going to such trouble to free him, I don't want him to fall into the werecheetahs hands once more.”

“I sense a favor about to be asked,” Kyrill surmised with a look that someone reserved for very small cubs that weren't lying very well.

“You are returning to your father's court, “Shakra reminded him with a glare. “I request that you allow the werelion to accompany you.”

“Request?” Kyrill laughed but his eyes glinted too. “Are you insulting me? I am indebted for your hospitality. It is my duty.” He made a curious motion with his hand over his heart.

“I assume that means yes?” Shakra asked him sourly.

“Most certainly, my Prince.” Kyrill grinned and then he turned his attention back to Tamarind, tail bristled excitedly.

“You will be very safe with me,” he told Tamarind. “I have a veritable army of werefoxes to protect us on our journey. Father may not approve of me, but he is careful with my skin all the same.”

Tamarind hunched in on himself, tail wrapping tightly around his body.

Kyrill sighed. “I can see that trust is not something you've learned to indulge in. I hope that I earn that trust and we become friends on our journey.”

Shakra frowned. “You are the one who is too trusting, Kyrill. You would make the entire world your friend, even a mountain werewolf with his teeth at your throat.”

Kyrill walked to the door, laughing over his shoulder, “Once that particular mountain were found out there were more interesting things to do than eating werefox...” but he didn't elaborate and he was gone, closing the door behind him.

“You can trust him,” Shakra assured Tamarind. “He isn't as foolish as he seems and his werefox guard is very fierce.”

Tamarind wanted to snarl and claw, express his anger and alienation in a tangible way, but the werewolf prince short circuited that desire by asking, “Are you hungry? We could go down to the hall. They should be serving food there now.” Tamarind was off of his fur rug at once.

“Yes,” Tamarind said and the rumble of his stomach punctuated that word.

Fresh meat was what his body needed. Once he was fed and strong again, he would see about finding his own way out of that place. Perhaps Kyrill N’jhaleen wasn't a fool, but neither was Tamarind and, once he could get the scent of home, he could return to depending on the one person who had never failed him; himself.

Chapter Four

There were many weres seated on low divans next to low tables near the big hearth. Servants were laying out platters of cooked meats along with vegetable and fruit delicacies. Mugs of wine and cider were being poured liberally.

Tamarind stiffened at the doorway, but Shakra was already nodding to greetings and raised mugs to his health. His presence next to Shakra was instantly noticed. There were fearful and challenging looks equally peppered among purely astonished expressions.

“They won't dare harm you while you are under my protection,” Shakra assured him.

He ushered the werelion to a divan that was raised higher than the others and he sat down. Several house cats descended on him, purring excitedly and wanting handouts. Shakra handed them off the table. “Damn cats,” he muttered and then looked at Tamarind, who was hunched beside him, apologetically. Tamarind glared and growled. He wasn't going to be insulted, even by a Prince who didn't seem to know that a werelion was nothing like a cat.

Werewolves served them their meal. Shakra dug in quickly, using his hands, but Tamarind looked at his platter in confusion. It smelled almost like meat, but it wasn't fresh. It smelled like the animals that died in plains fires.

Shakra noticed his hesitation. “It's perfectly safe,” he assured Tamarind. “We have good cooks here.”

“Why isn't this creature locked up?” an old voice demanded crossly.

Shakra put down his food and scowled at a grizzled werewolf who had a patch over one eye, a chewed ear, and was missing part of a hand. “Warden Koll. This is Tamarind of the Sun pride. He is not a servant. He is my guest.”

Warden Kol skewered Shakra with an icy, blue eye. ”If he is a free were, and a guest, then why was it necessary for me to pay a werecheetah slaver for him?”

“I freed him,” Shakra replied, not backing down.

“A savage from the Savannah, let free to threaten law abiding weres?” Warden Kol sneered. “It seems I have failed in my lessons to make you a caring ruler over your people.”

“Tamarind hasn't harmed anyone, even though he had very good reason to,” Shakra informed his guardian. “In fact, I am indebted to him for my life. That alone earned him his freedom.”

Kol looked about him in annoyance as he saw that the other weres were impressed by that revelation. “And where was Li’Won Shang, your guard, that you should need guarding, my Prince?”

Shakra clenched his jaw. Shang had gone to Kol to explain. The man already knew the circumstances. It seemed that he wanted to put Shakra on the defensive to show his power over him. “Shang followed my orders,” Shakra growled.

Kol’s eye glittered angrily. “Was it your order to leave you alone in a crowded market? Was it your order to allow you to release a dangerous savage from its cage? And was it also your order to look the other way while you chased that creature into the forest, where you were attacked by mountain weres? Were those all of your orders, Prince Shakra?” He waited, but Shakra didn't answer, just panted and glared furiously. “You will be a poor protector of the peace if you cannot even protect and rule yourself, my Prince.”

Kol limped closer and pointed at Tamarind. “That creature is a savage without manners, without speech, and without respect for laws. It should not be at table with your people, but locked up where it cannot harm anyone.”

Shakra stood up, hands clenched into fists and nails digging into his palms. “He speaks. He saved my life. He is a were like any other and worthy of the same respect.”

“Are you sure?” Armandu stepped out from behind the tables holding a flapping hen. He tossed it into the center of the tables onto the floor and the servants scattered as it landed with a loud squawk. Almost faster than the eye could follow, Tamarind was leaping from his seat, bounding over the tables, and latching onto the hen with hands, claws, and teeth. He bit into steaming hot blood and juicy meat and began tearing the hen into chunks, swallowing quickly before anyone could react.

“Are you sure he is the same as any were?” Armandu repeated with a smile.

Kol looked disgusted as the blood and feathers began to spread away from Tamarind's graphic meal. Shakra stared, astonished. It was Kyrill who stepped forward gingerly, tail band flashing and a bright smile on his face.

“The prides enjoy a bounty of fresh meat on the Savannah and they like the challenge of the hunt,” Kyrill explained. “I think it shows their strength and grace, don't you? Of course, it's messy, but go to the kitchens sometime and you will see it is not much better there before the meat is cooked and served to you.” His tail waved gently. “Because their ways are different from ours, it does not make them savages.”

Bones crunched loudly between Tamarind's sharp teeth as he finished off the bird. He sat up then and began cleaning himself with his tongue as he watched everyone warily.

Armandu smiled and said. “All the pretty words in the world won't make a lie of what our eyes see, Kyrill N’jhaleen.”

Warden Kol looked pointedly from Tamarind to Shakra and then he ordered, “Guards, take the werelion and confine him.”

“Ignore that order,” Shakra snapped.

The guards hesitated, uncertain. Kol and Shakra faced off. Kol saw something in Shakra's face that was unbending. He frowned, not sure what to make of it, and then his expression went guarded as he gave a small bow and said, “I'm sure my Prince will keep him in order. I suppose there is precedence for princes keeping exotic... pets.”

Kyrill looked uncertain and then he was suddenly confident. “Tamarind is starved. He's probably been in captivity for days without his accustomed food. I think we can all forgive him his eagerness?”

There were a few sympathetic nods, but for the most part everyone was looking wary and sickened.

“Come, Tamarind,” Shakra ordered as he walked around the tables. “We can eat in private.”

Tamarind left behind a pile of blood and feathers as he licked his sharp claws and followed Shakra. Once they were away from the hall, Shakra turned and confronted Tamarind.

“Why did you do that?” Shakra demanded hotly. “I can't believe you didn't know better. Do you pull down water buck and drag them into your home to tear apart?”

Tamarind wasn’t embarrassed. “The little werefox was right, I haven't eaten in days. The werecheetahs thought weakening me would make me easier to handle.” His eyes glowed with temper. “They were wrong.”

“Now you speak!” Shakra seethed. “What was it that kept you from speaking to Shang, to Warden Kol, to me?”

“I didn’t trust any of you,” Tamarind replied simply.

“And now you
do
trust me?” Shakra wondered.

Tamarind's ears flicked in annoyance and then he replied, “You defended me when it wasn't to your advantage.”

“Don't make me sorry that I did,” Shakra warned, but then relented. “Come with me. One hen can't have filled your belly. Are you that opposed to eating cooked meat?”

“Cooked... I've never had meat... cooked,” Tamarind replied uncertainly.

“Can you at least try it before I try to find a place where you can slaughter my cook's chickens?” Shakra asked.

Tamarind thought about it, recalling the disgusted looks of the others weres. “Alright, I'll try.”

“Good, I'll have the cook send food to my rooms,” Shakra told him in relief. “I think you made enough of a public appearance today.”

Back in Shakra's rooms, he gave Tamarind a rag and some water to clean himself. Tamarind did so with the fastidiousness of any house cat, seeming not to like too much of the water on his skin, but liking to be clean all the same. When he was done, he curled up before the fire. He looked at Shakra expectantly, as if he was the prince and Shakra was his servant.

Shakra scowled, but he ordered their food and, when it came, he served the werelion himself and sent the servant out of the room. Putting cooked chicken on a plate and plain water in a cup, he placed it before Tamarind on a low table. Tamarind sniffed at it curiously, but his ears were back.

“Try it,” Shakra urged as he began to take a small piece himself. He almost pulled back a stub as Tamarind clutched at the plate possessively and showed fangs threateningly. “All right, pig!” Shakra growled back and stepped away to give the werelion his space.

Tamarind sniffed the chicken again, wrinkled his nose, and then tentatively gnawed, not using his hands at all. It was very savage looking and Shakra winced, wondering if Armandu might be right about some of what he had been saying.

“It tastes strange,” Tamarind complained. “It doesn't taste fresh and it's hot.”

“You'll get used to it,” Shakra told him.

“I don't want to get used to it! I am not a carrion bird!” Tamarind suddenly shouted and tossed the entire chicken at Shakra's head. Shakra ducked and it slapped soddenly against a wall. Tamarind yanked at his collar and chain. “I am not a beast. I am not a cat! I will not be chained. I will not eat meat that has been left from someone else's kill! I may be an orphan, but I was of the Sun pride and I will not shame the females who raised me!”

“You are an ungrateful savage!” Shakra snarled back, short ruffed raised. “I saved you. I protected you! I fed you!”

“You have enslaved me,” Tamarind said in a quiet, dispirited voice. “I am just as much a captive now as I was a captive of the werecheetahs. If your Warden has his way, I will be someone's rug soon enough or caged for their amusement.”

Tamarind was lying down now, face turned towards the fire, chain snaking away from him and reddish brown fur fiery in the light. His sides were heaving and Shakra wondered if he were crying. He couldn't imagine the tough, fierce werelion doing that, though.

“I promised that I would help you return to your home,” Shakra told him. “I keep my promises.”

Tamarind replied sullenly, “I heard that you were not in any position to make them.”

Shakra went blind with anger. He kept very still, letting it boil through him, letting the tension in his balled fists and his nails driving into the skin of his palms take the brunt of his need to retaliate. If Shang had taught him anything, it was not to strike out in anger, especially when a blow from him could all too easily kill.

When Shakra trusted his voice again, he said, “There are people here who think that they rule, but I am the Prince of this land and it is my word that is law. They will find that out very soon.”

“In the prides,” Tamarind told him, “The strongest male leads the pride and mates with the females. I don't think it is any different here.”

“I am strong,” Shakra told him, “Stronger than Warden Kol realizes”

There was silence. The last of Shakra’s anger left him. He looked regretfully at the mangled chicken and then settled on a cushion near the werelion. “Do you think that your people are looking for you?” he wondered. “I could send a messenger to them-”

“No, they won't be looking for me,” Tamarind replied shortly.

“No?” Shakra was puzzled. He tried to piece together the few things that Tamarind and Kyrill had said about the prides. “If they knew, if they could send people to meet Kyrill's caravan, it would hasten your return home.”

Tamarind's tail flicked in agitation. It was a long moment before he said, “If what you say is true, and I am allowed to return home, I would not be returning to the Sun Pride. I was driven out by the pride leader, Katze.”

“Driven out?” Shakra echoed.

The tail curled about Tamarind, the tufted end near his nose as if he wanted to hide behind it. “I did not challenge his right to the females. I don't know why he drove me out of the pride.”

“Were there other males your age?” Shakra wondered.

“Yes, when I left,” Tamarind replied thoughtfully. “Kiva and an older male named Geden. Kiva had Ruth, one of the females, but Geden was too old to want any of them. I don't know why Katze would let Kiva stay and make me leave.”

Shakra considered that and the anguished tone Tamarind tried to hide. “Perhaps your politics were not what he desired.”

Tamarind did look at him then, frowning. “I don't understand.”

“And that might have been the problem,” Shakra told him. “Did this Kiva talk about anything outside of the Pride?”

Tamarind nodded. “Many times. He thought we were backward and that we should stop living in the tall grass.”

“And what did you think about that?” Shakra wanted to know.

Tamarind scowled. “It was stupid!” he growled, flexing claws. “What's better than open sky, a warm sun, and the Savannah?”

Shakra understood political intrigue and bringing allies close. “You're lucky that Katze didn't kill you.”

Tamarind hissed in contempt. “The females wouldn't allow it. Katze can lead, but they would kill him to protect their cubs.” He blushed and looked away. “Even grown cubs.”

Shakra thought about that, but he didn't stay silent long. It seemed that a meal made Tamarind relaxed enough to talk. He had to take advantage of that. “If females are so protective, then what made you an orphan?”

Tamarind curled up as if to protect his heart. “I don't remember. The females told me that they saw me wandering with a gang of older males, but starving for milk. One day, they found me without them and that's when they adopted me into their pride.”