Dawn of War (23 page)

“It has been long since I’ve tasted your scent, but I remember it. You have been here before?”

Arrin nodded. “Once, many summers ago, when I was but a young officer in the Lathahn army. The Grol had made their way into the jungle through the Dead Lands and my men and I were near. We helped to slaughter the beasts and send them running. Your people threw a great feast in our honor for our help that day, beneath the great canopy.”

The female Pathra smiled, Waeri seeming to relax a little at her side.

“I am Kirah. I too was there at that battle, young in tail, but I remember the fierceness with which you Lathahns fought for our sake.” She bowed graceful, her purple eyes locked on Arrin’s. “My people are grateful to yours and honor our word of friendship.” She gestured to Waeri. “You must forgive my little brother his brusqueness. He does only as my father wishes in his effort to guard our borders.”

Waeri glanced at Kirah and seemed to further calm when she gave him a gentle smile. He looked to Arrin. “Forgive me, Lathahn. My sister has a good memory for scents, so I trust her judgment that you are as you say.” He pointed toward Nurin. “As of this moment, the Korme mass at our southern border, just across the bank of the River
Nur
. They are armed for war, their horses restless at the rein. We thought you one of them.”

“The Korme?” The words were like stones cast at him. Could their uprising be coincidence? Allies of the Grol, in the loosest of senses, both dedicated to causing chaos and carnage, it seemed unlikely both nations would mass with no knowledge of the other doing so. “It seems I am not the only bearer of bad tidings, this day. I truly must see Warlord Quaii.”

Waeri’s eyes narrowed as he seemed to sense the agitation in Arrin. He hesitated, but Kirah took the lead.

“Come then, warrior. If you have news my father must know, let us be on our way.” She waved the rest of the warriors back to their positions, turning to Waeri when they scattered to the trees. “You should stay here, brother. I will lead the Lathahn to father.”

Waeri glanced at Arrin, then to Kirah. He nodded. “Be quick, sister...and be safe.”

Arrin caught the subtle warning in the Pathra’s voice and eased his hand to his belt. He undid the clasp and swung his belt free, offering his sword to Waeri. “These are dark times and trust must be earned through action. I would have you assured I mean no ill to your family or to your people.”

Waeri took the blade after a moment’s hesitation, his eyes on Arrin’s. “Well met, Lathahn. Have my sister send word once you’ve spoken with my father and I will have your blade returned. Perhaps you might even get the opportunity to set its edge against the Korme, alongside my brethren.”

Arrin gave the warrior a smile. “It would be an honor.”

Waeri gave a short bow and turned away, leaping gracefully into the nearest tree to disappear within its clustered foliage.

“Can you run?” Kirah asked when her brother was gone.

“I can. Lead the way and I shall be upon the shadow of your heels.”

Kirah laughed, as though taking it as a challenge, before darting off into the jungle. Arrin willed the collar to life and chased after. True to his word, he stayed close behind her without falling behind, his breath easy in his lungs.

After running for nearly an hour in a north-easterly direction, away from the great canopy Arrin noted with pity, Kirah slowed and began a measured stroll. If she was surprised he had kept pace with her, it did not show on her sleek face.

“Just ahead.” She waved him on through the jungle, casting out howling cries to the surrounding jungle as she approached

Arrin could hear the shuffle of many soft-padded feet all around and was grateful for Kirah’s presence. Though he could not see them, it was as if the whole of Pathrale lurked within yards of where they walked.

As they drew closer to a natural clearing that broke apart the dense huddle of foliage, Arrin could see more of the cat-people, milling about near its center, their eyes on him and his guide. Kirah led the way toward the largest of the groups, a number of the Pathra drawing their javelins up and standing in a loose semi-circle before another of their kind whose fur shone a brilliant orange.

“Father, I bring a messenger from Lathah. He speaks of urgency.” Kirah stopped short of the wall of soldiers, looking past them.

The great orange warlord waved his warriors aside and came to stand beside his daughter, his whirling gray eyes on Arrin. While the vast majority of his race was lean and lithe, their deceptive strength hidden beneath the shine of their soft coats, Warlord Quaii was the exception. Thick with muscle, the Pathra moved with grace
and
power.

Though dressed as all his kind, in nothing more than the fur they were born with and the few accoutrements of war that hung on his belt of woven vine, the warlord cast off an air of regal dignity. While the Pathra people might be no less animalistic in the flesh, they were far from beasts like the Grol.

“Welcome, warrior,” Warlord Quaii told Arrin as he moved to stand before him.

Arrin gave a shallow bow to the Pathran leader. Though he remembered the great cat from his battle with the Grol, his presence unforgettable, he had not been leader when last Arrin had been here.

“Greetings, Warlord of Pathra. I am Arrin Urrael. Forgive my intrusion, but I was tasked to bring you a request from Princess Malya of Lathah. I bring grave news of the world, as well. I would tell you the news first, given your leave.”

Quaii motioned for him to continue.

“As I myself have just learned the Korme have gone on the offensive at your borders, I must warn you that the Grol too have begun a campaign of war.”

The warlord’s eyes grew narrow, his people closing to hear more.

“They have come upon a form of magic not seen in our world since the days of the ancient Sha’ree. The land of Fhen has been razed whole by the Grol army. I watched as they destroyed Fhenahr with pitiful ease, magical fire cleansing the city of life without regard.”

Snarled chatter broke out amongst the Pathra in the clearing, their voices clearly tinged with uncertainty despite Arrin’s inability to speak their language.

“You say you witnessed this magic at work at Fhenahr?”

Arrin nodded. “Aye. They brought down the walls in but minutes. They now march on Lathah and I have no doubt the same fate awaits my homeland. That is why I have come.”

The warlord waved him soldiers to silence. “Continue, Arrin Urrael.”

“Princess Malya asks for sanctuary amongst the Pathran people, for her, her family, and for all the people of Lathah before the Grol cross our borders.”

The warlord scratched at the fur of his chin, his white whiskers pulled back tight against his cheeks. He stood in silence, his contemplation plain across his face. After a long moment, he spoke. “Why does the princess come to me with this? Is it not Prince Olenn who speaks for the Lathahns and for the ailing King Orrick?”

Kirah went to cut in, but the warlord quieted her before she could speak.

“Brother and sister though they may be, equals under our rule, it is by their own laws that the prince holds the throne in their father’s absence. If we are to be true allies to the Lathahns, I cannot step between them should this not be the will of Prince Olenn.”

Arrin sighed. It was as he thought it would be when Malya made her request of him, the game of politics standing in the way of what was best for the people of his homeland. “You are a loyal friend to Lathah, Warlord Quaii, and I respect your position. However, the prince chooses to ignore the threat to his people because of his personal dislike of me. He puts his people in danger for the sake of a petty feud born some fifteen years in the past.”

“And what does this tell me of you, that he should hold such a grudge for so long?”

“Father,” Kirah howled. “This Lathahn has shed Grol blood to protect our land. He is an honored friend of the Pathra. You should not question his motives.”

“I do not question his cause, daughter. I can smell his desperation thick in the air and can hear the honesty of his words, see the conviction in the depths of his eyes. I question only his right to carry this message to me. By his own confession, he has not the prince’s leave to speak for his nation.” Quaii turned to look at Arrin, a hint of pity in his eyes. “I am honor bound to speak only to a rightful delegate of your land, Arrin Urrael. I mean you no disrespect, warrior, but soldier’s creed aside, I cannot grant you what you ask.”

Arrin felt the rejection heavy on his shoulders. He doubted the warlord would turn aside the Lathahn people were they to come streaming into his land with the Grol at their heels, but that was an unlikely scenario. With no place to run to, Malya would not leave Lathah and there would be no people left to seek asylum in Pathrale should the Grol find them still within the walls when they arrived.

He was at a crossroads, with no path clear of sorrow for his people. “Is there nothing you can do?”

Kirah drew closer. “If what he says is true, we will need the Lathahns help to battle the Grol. We cannot simply abandon them.”

Warlord Quaii hissed at his daughter. Kirah backed away, her chin down. “My daughter speaks true, if out of turn.” He sighed as he met Arrin’s gaze. “My decision stands; I can offer no official word of asylum at this time. However, it is in the best interests of the Pathran people to know the truth of this warning you deliver.”

Arrin fought back a grateful smile and nodded solemn at the warlord.

“I will send a delegation of my people with you back to Lathah, where they will judge the nature of the threat Pathrale faces from the approaching Grol horde. Should it be warranted, we will provide a safe haven for the people of Lathah who would rather flee than face the Grol, regardless should the prince ask it of us or not.”

“I wish to go with the Lathahn, father,” Kirah told him, her stare boring into the warlord.

An easy smile broke across his face. “I had expected no less of you, my child. Gather a cadre of warriors to accompany you, and take your brother, as well. I would have one representative who speaks with the words of his mind and not only those of his heart.”

Kirah laughed and stepped to the side, calling out in the Pathran tongue for what Arrin believed was for volunteers for their trip to Lathah. As she did that, the warlord drew Arrin’s attention.

“I pity you your position, warrior. Bound as I am by the leash of politics, and with the Korme scurrying about our borders, I am sorry I cannot offer you more than a pittance of my people in your quest to defend your homeland. I hope you understand and that it is enough.”

“I do understand, Warlord Quaii. I too hope it is enough, but I have little faith. It would take Nu’ree falling from the sky at my behest to convince the prince I speak true, but perhaps Kirah can succeed where I fail.”

Quaii smiled. “My daughter is quite the persistent one, though I believe my son to be more gifted in tongue.” The warlord leaned in close as Kirah rallied her forces. “Free Kirah to speak only if Waeri has failed, unless it is a fight you seek with your prince.” He grinned broad, the sharpened points of his teeth glistening in his mouth.

Arrin laughed. “I thank you for your kindness, and your honesty.”

“Do not thank me yet, warrior.” He gestured toward his daughter as she came to stand beside them. “You have yet to suffer the journey ahead, trapped as you will be with the two youngest of my brood.”

Kirah hissed at her father as he laughed.

“Travel well, all of you, and be safe.” Quaii ruffled the fur at his daughter’s neck, his face turning serious. “I would see my children again.”

Kirah smiled and hugged her father.

“I will protect them with my life,” Arrin vowed, adding, “Even against each other.” He smiled as Kirah broke her embrace with a chuckle.

“Let us go, Lathahn. You ran well earlier, but the true test will be your endurance.”