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The Lone Wolf Trilogy, Book I: Dreams of Shayla
Chapter 1: The Moment I Saw Her
My eyes opened gently as the first rays of sunlight began to filter in through the window. I slowly pushed back my blanket and got up out of bed. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I ambled over towards the window and looked out on the landscape. The world was still dark for the most part, but I could see the beginnings of dawn chasing away the stars in the east. The east wind swept through the plains and the mountains, over the outlying villages and across the Grand City to the Sacred Palace. The wind ran through my hair and whispered to me of good things to come. There seemed to be more, but I ignored it, caught up in the beauty of the coming sun.
I eventually tore myself away from the sunrise. It was past time to start getting ready. It had been a warm night, and I had slept barefoot and bare- chested. At least I didn't have to worry about dealing with bulky sleeping robes. I was dressed in my Warrior garb in a matter of moments. Walking over to the washbasin, I cleaned my face and brushed my hair out of my eyes. I leaned over to pick up my helmet and caught a glimpse of something in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. I quickly looked back up, but the image was gone from the mirror. My eyes darted around the room, but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Strange, I was almost sure I had seen a streak of black in the mirror. My senses almost never deceived me. Once I had made sure the room was empty, I relaxed my muscles a bit. Donning my helmet, I sheathed my Lunar Cue and exited the room.
I stepped out into the anteroom of the royal bedchamber. Walking across to the Midnight Guardians at the chamber door, I looked the one on the right square in the eye and spoke aloud.
"The Lunar Wolf rides the moonlit winds," I said.
"And the Sacred Water bubbles as he protects the midnight grove," the Guardian on the left replied, completing the traditional words of passing with the precision that came with years of practice. "How goes it Protector?" he asked casually.
"The night was good to me, my friend," I answered with a smile. "I'm assuming all is well?"
"Of course, sir, said Thalin," the elder Guardian on the right. "Although I did teach young Malin here a thing or two about Beggars and Horses."
"Just wait until next time, master. I almost had you on that last round," was Malin's smiling retort. I laughed a bit with the jovial master and apprentice. Those of the Order of the Midnight Guardians were known for three things; their nocturnal nature, their skill with halberds, and their notorious gambling habits.
"Is it alright if I check in?" I asked, turning back to Thalin.
"Certainly, Protector," answered the aging Guardian with a sly smirk. "I know how you always like to make sure she is well. Come, apprentice, the dawn has come, and it is time for us to retire. I'm sure that the Protector can take care of things from here. Right, sir?"
"I'm sure I can handle it, Thalin. You and Malin have a good day's rest," I smiled as the pair walked away, laughing and joking, like a father and son. Still shaking my head, I turned to the door and quietly opened it. As I did, my laughter stopped. I had no breath with which to laugh. The beauty I saw took it all away. There she lay, among the flower-scented pillows, her wavy light brown hair forming a perfect halo around her face. And her face, of, her face, it was the face of an angel. Her smooth pale skin and ruby red lips truly did not look like they belonged on this earth. And when her pure white sleeping robes were taken into account, she seemed just like one of those heavenly beings who had surrendered her wings to grace our humble mortal souls with her presence. Such was the beauty that was Princess Shayla.
Just as I remembered how to breathe, the Princess stirred, and I forgot all over again. She rustled her blankets and let out a small contented moan. Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed around the room, eventually bringing those sparkling chestnut eyes to rest on my lucky face. Her lips curved into a sweet smile. Then, with a flash of pearly white teeth, she spoke.
"Hello, Merrick."
I swallowed before responding, even though I couldn't remember my throat going dry. Suddenly realizing who it was addressing me, I took to one knee, bowing my head to the floor. In a moment, I dared to look back up, finding her face still looking down at me. I smiled back at her.
"Hello Princess," I said. Still smiling, she sat up in bed, and then we both started blushing once we remembered she was still in her sleeping robes. I bowed my head back down, my face flushed and warm. "Perhaps I should wait outside?"
"Very good, Protector," she answered, making a vain attempt at regaining dignity, "I'll let you know if I need you."
I turned and left the room, making sure to close the door behind me. I was still smiling and chuckling from what had just happened. It was remarkable how such a small and innocent occurrence could have such an effect on me. Just that brief time alone with her had filled me with a feeling so warm and bright that I felt on the verge of bursting. This was the feeling I woke up for each morning. This was the feeling I lived for. The feeling of being near Shayla. As I stood outside the door, I thought back to how I had first become Sixth Sacred Warrior and Royal Protector of Animaria.
It was only seven short years ago when I first laid eyes on her. I was still a boy of seventeen and had never before been to the Grand City of Animaria. My memories of that day were so vivid and so clear, it was almost as if I was back again at the gates of the Grand City.
There was a guard to either side, each wearing white uniforms of cloth, as well as armored chest plates, helmets, and gauntlets. The one on the left had a sturdy spiked mace, while the one on the right carried a finely sharpened pike. I blinked a moment. Did I say a mace and a pike? My mind must have deceived me. Now I could see clearly that they were both armed with blades. Not swords, but solid four foot long black blades, each with a handle embedded in the middle. As I stepped towards the gate, the guard on the right stepped forward and asked, "Who goes there, and what is your business in the Grand City?"
"My name is Merrick," I replied, "and I am but a weary traveler looking for a place to rest my head." The guard looked me up and down, but it was obvious I posed no threat. At seventeen, I was somewhat thinner and less muscular than I would later become, and I carried nothing but a whittled staff, a knapsack, and a few pouches for food and gold, of which I had little of the former and less of the latter.
"You do realize that I will have to check your bags to be certain you are unarmed?"
"Of course," I said, and willingly complied, knowing that to do otherwise would crush any hopes I had of entering the City. I had already spent far too many nights sleeping on the ground and was looking forward to finding a warm cozy inn.
"Everything seems to be in order here," the guard told me, returning my bags. "You are free to enter the City." He stood aside, allowing me to pass. I then thanked him and proceeded through the gate.
In a year's worth of traveling, I had visited over half a dozen cities. Liontooth, Cinaar, Sparkling Mane; they were basically all the same. After a year or more spent on the road, I considered myself a seasoned traveler. But I was wrong. Liontooth's buildings were dwarfed by these towers. Cinaar seemed a ghost town in comparison to the thriving masses before me. And even the architecture of Sparkling Mane paled in comparison to the beautiful sculptures that lined the streets of the Grand City.
I stepped out onto the main street, trying desperately to hide the look of astonishment on my face. I failed. Had anyone been looking at me, they would have been able to tell in an instant that I was new to the city. And acting new in a city this size was like walking up to a thief and handing him your gold with a smile and a thank you. It was odd, though. An hour later, when I had fully regained my composure, my bags had not lightened and not a single pouch string was undone. If this had been Cinaar, and I had responded the same way I just had, I would be lucky to still have my shoes on my feet. This place was bigger than Cinaar by leaps and bounds, and yet I had thus far come through unscathed. Strange.
As I roamed the streets, I passed dozens of people, all of different sizes, shapes, and complexions. I did not even realize that so many types of people even existed, let alone could be found in the same place. Every time I looked around me, I caught a glimpse of every extreme, every normality, and every possible part of the spectrum in between. I saw the pale, the dark, the tall, the short, the scrawny, the obese, and every possible combination. But despite my astonishment at all I saw around me, I knew better than to let my youthful curiosity get the better of me. Too much experience had taught me otherwise. The first time I had traveled to a big city, I had stayed with the big crowds, and was robbed blind. The next time, I stayed to the back alleys, and the local thugs beat me to within an inch of my life. Every city had its dark side, and until I found out where the Grand City's darkness lay, I was going to have to keep my guard up. Never get far enough from the crowd that one can't call for help, never set deep enough into it that one can't get out, and always stay alert.
Following my three cardinal rules, I soon found the place I was looking for. A peddler I had passed on the road had told me about it, once I had finally agreed to buy something. I had needed a new pocket knife anyway. The last one had been lost the last time I had to get out of a sticky situation. I just hope that the guy I gave it to would be able to use it.
If he was able to pull it back out, that is.
I've never killed anyone that I know of, but I've always had a strong sense of self-preservation, and an uncanny tendency to find trouble when I need it least. The result is rarely good. I've already seen a lot of people hurt. Most deserved it, some didn't, but I still regret it either way. I should have tried to warn them better. Blazes, I didn't even know how well I could fight until the first time I had to. Even now, I still forget my own skill sometimes, and that's when people get hurt.
I tore my mind away from these thoughts and looked up at the sign hanging above me. It showed a cartoonish wolf's face giving a smile and a wink, and next to that, in a stylish, flowing script, was the place's name. "The Wolf's Den." It was just as the peddler had said it was. Right down to the solid oak door and stained glass windows.
Inside, it was much as I expected it to be. It was perhaps cleaner than most Animarian pool halls, and smelled less of smoke and sweat, but I could tell that this was the place where I would find the worst gamblers, hustlers, thugs, and thieves. The were perhaps half a dozen pool tables, a bar, a few booths, and stairs in the back leading up to the rooms. Up there was where I had planned to sleep that night, but first I would have to earn my rent.
I gazed over the pool hall, making sure to keep my eyes wide and my mouth slightly open. On the streets it may be foolish to look young and inexperienced, but here my youthful face would serve me well. As I looked on with my dazed expression, I took in everything, instantly determining the skill and demeanor of everyone in the room. At a glance, I could tell who was armed, who was skilled, who was poor, who was lucky, and who was dumb as a post.
I set my sights on the self-proclaimed prince of pool standing near the back of the room. He was a big man, heavily muscled and almost rivaling my own height. Those around him cowered slightly, suggesting that he knew how to use those muscles in a fight. By the way he carried himself, I could tell he was not a quick man, and relied more on strength than speed. As walked to a booth near the back, I spotted numerous scars decorating his knuckles. So the knife was his weapon of choice. I would have to look out for that, since his skill at billiards suggested that even though his body wasn't quick, his hands were. At the moment, he had a smile on his face. Good. He got enjoyment out of winning. I sat down in the booth just as the game ended. My target raised his arms up in the air in a silent victory, while his dejected opponent tossed a full gold pouch down on the table and stormed out. Even better. This guy not only liked to win, but he liked to humiliate his challengers and drain them dry.
"What's wrong?" the lummox shouted. "You running back home for your mother to dry your tears? Let me know when you're ready to play with the big boys!" This aroused a chorus of laughter from the rest of the room. By the forced sound of it, they were laughing more out of fear than genuine mirth. I listened carefully, but knew that not one of them would lift a hand to help that man unless he forced them to. A good thing to know if things got ugly. In a few moments, the laughter died down, and the champion picked a new challenger, a small, rat-faced, pitiful excuse for a pool player. As they got started, a shapely young barmaid walked over to my booth.
"And what will you be having?" she asked, in a slightly tired and irritated voice.
"Just some water, please," I said meekly, knowing full well the answer I would get.
"Then jump in the Isis River," she retorted. "If you're going to drink here, it had better be something to give your head a spin."
"Some light cider, then," I replied, making sure to avoid eye contact. I smiled a bit as a watched her walk away. If any cat had heard that order, it would have thought me a tasty mouse. There was no way billiard brain would be able to resist taking a few swipes at me. I continued biding my time, sipping at the cider that the barmaid had brought me. I watched the game out of the corner of my eye, pretending to peruse my surroundings. As I eavesdropped on the players, I slowly learned more about my chosen adversary. He called himself Drord, and I believed this to be no alias. It was a simple name for a simple creature. I never once saw him win on a break, but he was always victorious by the game's end. And if the challenger couldn't afford to pay, Drord would have the poor sap do some outrageous, embarrassing stunt. They sang songs hanging upside-down, danced around wearing little more than a scarf, and were forced into doing things that earned them a few slaps on the cheek from the barmaids. I could help but laugh to myself a little bit. The man was creative; I would give him that.
After about five games, I decided it was time for me to play my part. I tugged on the small chain around my neck, pulling out the golden diamond ring that hung from it from beneath my shirt. As I twirled the shining talisman around my neck, I made sure that its sparkle caught Drord's eye. I succeeded.
"Hey, you!" the burly billiards player shouted at me. I gave him my patented "Who, me?" routine before walking over.
"Yes, you," he stated, genuinely amused. I came over and stood next to him. "Seeing as how none of these babies seem willing to face me, how would you like to have a go at it, kid?"
"I don't know," I replied, feigning uncertainty. "What are the rules?"
"It's very easy, my young friend," he laughed. "You simply take this stick, hit this ball with it, and try to knock the other balls into those holes with it. If you get all the striped ones in the holes, you win this sack of gold. Understand?"
"I guess so," I replied. "But what happens if you win?"
"Oh, we've got a smart one here!" he shouted joyfully, giving me a big slap on the back. I stumbled forward to add to the effect. "If I knock all those solid colored balls into the holes, then I win something of yours. That ring around your neck, perhaps."
"Oh, no sir," I protested. "This is my mother's ring, and I have left to remember her by."
"Well, wouldn't your mother be proud of you if you won a big sack of gold? Come on, give it a try."
"Um." I still pretended hesitation, not wanting to make it too easy for him. "Alright, but only if you promise that nothing will happen to my mother's ring."
"I swear by the Code of the Warrior," he snickered, placing his hand over his heart.
"Well, alright then, but don't forget. You promised." I then picked up a cue stick and prepared to swing it at the ball like a club. Before I could make contact, Drord snatched it out of my hand.
"No, no, no, Kid," he said, almost giddy over my ineptitude. "Let me go first." The burly thug executed a nice break, but didn't knock any balls in. "Now, it's your turn."
It was a relatively short game. I frequently missed my targets, occasionally even missing the cue ball itself. The one time I actually knocked a striped ball into one of the pockets, I celebrated like a child with his first gold coin. Drord, on the other hand, played an excellent game, and naturally won the ring. He snatched it from my neck, and I protested.
"But you swore by the Code of the Warrior!"
"Do I look like a Warrior to you, kid?" Drord snapped. This sent the entire room into a fit of hysterics. My face turned a bright red as I listened to them all laughing at me.
"Then will you at least give me a chance to win back my mother's ring? If I lose, I will give you my entire pouch of gold." I slammed my meager money pouch down on the pool table to show that I was ready to stand by my challenge. Drord wiped his eyes as he tried to hold back his laughter.
"You know what, kid? I like your attitude. And since I like you so much, I'll make you a deal. If you wing, I'll not only give back your mother's ring, but I'll toss in two, that's right, two sacks of gold." My acting skills must have been improving. My last target had only offered one sack and a bottle of wine. Before I could agree to the terms, Drord continued, "But if I win, not only do I keep the ring and all of your gold, but you have to run through the street bare-bottomed and singing the Animarian anthem. Then charm a mule into kicking you where your pants would be." Even I winced at that thought, but still accepted.
"I agree to your terms," I said. "But is it alright if I use a different stick this time?" At this point, I could tell that Drord was only playing me for the comic relief. He was laughing so hard he could barely choke out an answer between gasps for air.
"Sure thing, kid. And you know what? Since I'm such a nice guy, I'll even let you go first."
"Thank you, sir," I replied. Then, in one smooth motion, I picked up my walking stick, twirled it in the air, rubbed down the tip, and executed a perfect break, knocking all the striped balls into the pockets. Suddenly, not a sound could be heard in that once booming room but the sound of my own voice, "I guess I win."
I then calmly picked up the gold pouches, slipped them into my pack, then snatched the ring back out of Drord's hand while he stood there paralyzed, his mouth periodically opening and closing.
"Where did you learn to play like that?" he asked, still stunned.
"To be perfectly honest with you, Drord, I haven't got a clue," I told him. It was true, too. To this day I still don't know the answer. But Drord didn't want to accept that.
"You lying little slimy excuse for a badger's toenail!" I heard the sound of steel leaving cloth, then saw Drord lunge at me with his knife. Once again, in one smooth motion, I twirled my cue, hearing a satisfying ka- chunk as it caught the blade, tearing it from his grasp, then tripped him with the other end, using the heel of my boot to help him the rest of the way to the floor. Pinning him down with my foot, I tool the blade back out and help it to his throat. I then calmly and clearly told him what I thought.
"I am neither small, nor slimy, nor am I a liar. And unless we're talking about a badger with a very handsome foot, I bear no resemblance to any creature's toenail. Now, I think it would be best if you were to slowly and quietly get up and walk out of here, then politely charm a mule into giving you a swift kick in the pants." With that, I tossed the knife into the center of a nearby dart board, then got up and returned to my booth to finish my cider. I watched as Drord silently got up off the floor and walked out the door, leaving his knife behind. In the distance, I could hear a mule braying, followed by a loud groan. The entire room looked at the door, then looked at me. They all broke out cheering. Everyone wanted to congratulate the man who had finally taken down the mighty Drord. They cheered me, bought me drinks, but most of all, they wanted to see more displays of my skill. They happily bet their money to see me shoot from every possible angle. I played blind-folded, with my back to the table, even hanging from the ceiling by my feet. In an hour, I had doubled, then tripled the winnings from Drord. In the end, I begged off, too tired to continue.
With my full pack stored safely in the room I had rented upstairs, I left the Wolf's Den to get some air. My path was blocked by an even larger crowd than the one I had left inside. I asked the man next to me about what was going on.
"The Royal Family is making an announcement," he said. I wove my way through the crows, still unable to see what was happening around the corner, but just barely hearing the beginning of the speech.
"Hear ye, all citizens of Animaria," a deep, rich voice spoke. "As the King of this great nation, I proclaim that, in one fortnight, there shall be a tournament held in grove of the Wild Zords. It shall be open to all those under the age and five-and-twenty, who are willing to test their skills. The champions of this tournament shall become the new Sacred Warriors of Animaria, and thereafter be forever of royal blood." I couldn't help but snicker at this. Who in their right minds would want to be of royal blood? From the few experiences I had had with royalty, there was nothing enjoyable about it. But then I rounded the corner, and my entire world changed.
The King and Queen were much as I imagined them, dignified and handsome, with an air of grace and superiority. But behind them was the true treasure. A girl, perhaps sixteen years of age, was standing near them. She must have been the Princess. I could not imagine a commoner with her beauty. She wore a crown of flowers over her brow, and her long brown hair framed a perfect face. Her eyes held a kindness and majesty the likes of which I had never before seen, and her smile could have melted the deepest winter. Suddenly I knew my destiny. A Princess could never be with someone not of royal blood, and if this tournament would grant that, then it was my job to win it.
The Lone Wolf Trilogy, Book I: Dreams of Shayla
Chapter 1: The Moment I Saw Her
My eyes opened gently as the first rays of sunlight began to filter in through the window. I slowly pushed back my blanket and got up out of bed. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I ambled over towards the window and looked out on the landscape. The world was still dark for the most part, but I could see the beginnings of dawn chasing away the stars in the east. The east wind swept through the plains and the mountains, over the outlying villages and across the Grand City to the Sacred Palace. The wind ran through my hair and whispered to me of good things to come. There seemed to be more, but I ignored it, caught up in the beauty of the coming sun.
I eventually tore myself away from the sunrise. It was past time to start getting ready. It had been a warm night, and I had slept barefoot and bare- chested. At least I didn't have to worry about dealing with bulky sleeping robes. I was dressed in my Warrior garb in a matter of moments. Walking over to the washbasin, I cleaned my face and brushed my hair out of my eyes. I leaned over to pick up my helmet and caught a glimpse of something in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. I quickly looked back up, but the image was gone from the mirror. My eyes darted around the room, but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Strange, I was almost sure I had seen a streak of black in the mirror. My senses almost never deceived me. Once I had made sure the room was empty, I relaxed my muscles a bit. Donning my helmet, I sheathed my Lunar Cue and exited the room.
I stepped out into the anteroom of the royal bedchamber. Walking across to the Midnight Guardians at the chamber door, I looked the one on the right square in the eye and spoke aloud.
"The Lunar Wolf rides the moonlit winds," I said.
"And the Sacred Water bubbles as he protects the midnight grove," the Guardian on the left replied, completing the traditional words of passing with the precision that came with years of practice. "How goes it Protector?" he asked casually.
"The night was good to me, my friend," I answered with a smile. "I'm assuming all is well?"
"Of course, sir, said Thalin," the elder Guardian on the right. "Although I did teach young Malin here a thing or two about Beggars and Horses."
"Just wait until next time, master. I almost had you on that last round," was Malin's smiling retort. I laughed a bit with the jovial master and apprentice. Those of the Order of the Midnight Guardians were known for three things; their nocturnal nature, their skill with halberds, and their notorious gambling habits.
"Is it alright if I check in?" I asked, turning back to Thalin.
"Certainly, Protector," answered the aging Guardian with a sly smirk. "I know how you always like to make sure she is well. Come, apprentice, the dawn has come, and it is time for us to retire. I'm sure that the Protector can take care of things from here. Right, sir?"
"I'm sure I can handle it, Thalin. You and Malin have a good day's rest," I smiled as the pair walked away, laughing and joking, like a father and son. Still shaking my head, I turned to the door and quietly opened it. As I did, my laughter stopped. I had no breath with which to laugh. The beauty I saw took it all away. There she lay, among the flower-scented pillows, her wavy light brown hair forming a perfect halo around her face. And her face, of, her face, it was the face of an angel. Her smooth pale skin and ruby red lips truly did not look like they belonged on this earth. And when her pure white sleeping robes were taken into account, she seemed just like one of those heavenly beings who had surrendered her wings to grace our humble mortal souls with her presence. Such was the beauty that was Princess Shayla.
Just as I remembered how to breathe, the Princess stirred, and I forgot all over again. She rustled her blankets and let out a small contented moan. Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed around the room, eventually bringing those sparkling chestnut eyes to rest on my lucky face. Her lips curved into a sweet smile. Then, with a flash of pearly white teeth, she spoke.
"Hello, Merrick."
I swallowed before responding, even though I couldn't remember my throat going dry. Suddenly realizing who it was addressing me, I took to one knee, bowing my head to the floor. In a moment, I dared to look back up, finding her face still looking down at me. I smiled back at her.
"Hello Princess," I said. Still smiling, she sat up in bed, and then we both started blushing once we remembered she was still in her sleeping robes. I bowed my head back down, my face flushed and warm. "Perhaps I should wait outside?"
"Very good, Protector," she answered, making a vain attempt at regaining dignity, "I'll let you know if I need you."
I turned and left the room, making sure to close the door behind me. I was still smiling and chuckling from what had just happened. It was remarkable how such a small and innocent occurrence could have such an effect on me. Just that brief time alone with her had filled me with a feeling so warm and bright that I felt on the verge of bursting. This was the feeling I woke up for each morning. This was the feeling I lived for. The feeling of being near Shayla. As I stood outside the door, I thought back to how I had first become Sixth Sacred Warrior and Royal Protector of Animaria.
It was only seven short years ago when I first laid eyes on her. I was still a boy of seventeen and had never before been to the Grand City of Animaria. My memories of that day were so vivid and so clear, it was almost as if I was back again at the gates of the Grand City.
There was a guard to either side, each wearing white uniforms of cloth, as well as armored chest plates, helmets, and gauntlets. The one on the left had a sturdy spiked mace, while the one on the right carried a finely sharpened pike. I blinked a moment. Did I say a mace and a pike? My mind must have deceived me. Now I could see clearly that they were both armed with blades. Not swords, but solid four foot long black blades, each with a handle embedded in the middle. As I stepped towards the gate, the guard on the right stepped forward and asked, "Who goes there, and what is your business in the Grand City?"
"My name is Merrick," I replied, "and I am but a weary traveler looking for a place to rest my head." The guard looked me up and down, but it was obvious I posed no threat. At seventeen, I was somewhat thinner and less muscular than I would later become, and I carried nothing but a whittled staff, a knapsack, and a few pouches for food and gold, of which I had little of the former and less of the latter.
"You do realize that I will have to check your bags to be certain you are unarmed?"
"Of course," I said, and willingly complied, knowing that to do otherwise would crush any hopes I had of entering the City. I had already spent far too many nights sleeping on the ground and was looking forward to finding a warm cozy inn.
"Everything seems to be in order here," the guard told me, returning my bags. "You are free to enter the City." He stood aside, allowing me to pass. I then thanked him and proceeded through the gate.
In a year's worth of traveling, I had visited over half a dozen cities. Liontooth, Cinaar, Sparkling Mane; they were basically all the same. After a year or more spent on the road, I considered myself a seasoned traveler. But I was wrong. Liontooth's buildings were dwarfed by these towers. Cinaar seemed a ghost town in comparison to the thriving masses before me. And even the architecture of Sparkling Mane paled in comparison to the beautiful sculptures that lined the streets of the Grand City.
I stepped out onto the main street, trying desperately to hide the look of astonishment on my face. I failed. Had anyone been looking at me, they would have been able to tell in an instant that I was new to the city. And acting new in a city this size was like walking up to a thief and handing him your gold with a smile and a thank you. It was odd, though. An hour later, when I had fully regained my composure, my bags had not lightened and not a single pouch string was undone. If this had been Cinaar, and I had responded the same way I just had, I would be lucky to still have my shoes on my feet. This place was bigger than Cinaar by leaps and bounds, and yet I had thus far come through unscathed. Strange.
As I roamed the streets, I passed dozens of people, all of different sizes, shapes, and complexions. I did not even realize that so many types of people even existed, let alone could be found in the same place. Every time I looked around me, I caught a glimpse of every extreme, every normality, and every possible part of the spectrum in between. I saw the pale, the dark, the tall, the short, the scrawny, the obese, and every possible combination. But despite my astonishment at all I saw around me, I knew better than to let my youthful curiosity get the better of me. Too much experience had taught me otherwise. The first time I had traveled to a big city, I had stayed with the big crowds, and was robbed blind. The next time, I stayed to the back alleys, and the local thugs beat me to within an inch of my life. Every city had its dark side, and until I found out where the Grand City's darkness lay, I was going to have to keep my guard up. Never get far enough from the crowd that one can't call for help, never set deep enough into it that one can't get out, and always stay alert.
Following my three cardinal rules, I soon found the place I was looking for. A peddler I had passed on the road had told me about it, once I had finally agreed to buy something. I had needed a new pocket knife anyway. The last one had been lost the last time I had to get out of a sticky situation. I just hope that the guy I gave it to would be able to use it.
If he was able to pull it back out, that is.
I've never killed anyone that I know of, but I've always had a strong sense of self-preservation, and an uncanny tendency to find trouble when I need it least. The result is rarely good. I've already seen a lot of people hurt. Most deserved it, some didn't, but I still regret it either way. I should have tried to warn them better. Blazes, I didn't even know how well I could fight until the first time I had to. Even now, I still forget my own skill sometimes, and that's when people get hurt.
I tore my mind away from these thoughts and looked up at the sign hanging above me. It showed a cartoonish wolf's face giving a smile and a wink, and next to that, in a stylish, flowing script, was the place's name. "The Wolf's Den." It was just as the peddler had said it was. Right down to the solid oak door and stained glass windows.
Inside, it was much as I expected it to be. It was perhaps cleaner than most Animarian pool halls, and smelled less of smoke and sweat, but I could tell that this was the place where I would find the worst gamblers, hustlers, thugs, and thieves. The were perhaps half a dozen pool tables, a bar, a few booths, and stairs in the back leading up to the rooms. Up there was where I had planned to sleep that night, but first I would have to earn my rent.
I gazed over the pool hall, making sure to keep my eyes wide and my mouth slightly open. On the streets it may be foolish to look young and inexperienced, but here my youthful face would serve me well. As I looked on with my dazed expression, I took in everything, instantly determining the skill and demeanor of everyone in the room. At a glance, I could tell who was armed, who was skilled, who was poor, who was lucky, and who was dumb as a post.
I set my sights on the self-proclaimed prince of pool standing near the back of the room. He was a big man, heavily muscled and almost rivaling my own height. Those around him cowered slightly, suggesting that he knew how to use those muscles in a fight. By the way he carried himself, I could tell he was not a quick man, and relied more on strength than speed. As walked to a booth near the back, I spotted numerous scars decorating his knuckles. So the knife was his weapon of choice. I would have to look out for that, since his skill at billiards suggested that even though his body wasn't quick, his hands were. At the moment, he had a smile on his face. Good. He got enjoyment out of winning. I sat down in the booth just as the game ended. My target raised his arms up in the air in a silent victory, while his dejected opponent tossed a full gold pouch down on the table and stormed out. Even better. This guy not only liked to win, but he liked to humiliate his challengers and drain them dry.
"What's wrong?" the lummox shouted. "You running back home for your mother to dry your tears? Let me know when you're ready to play with the big boys!" This aroused a chorus of laughter from the rest of the room. By the forced sound of it, they were laughing more out of fear than genuine mirth. I listened carefully, but knew that not one of them would lift a hand to help that man unless he forced them to. A good thing to know if things got ugly. In a few moments, the laughter died down, and the champion picked a new challenger, a small, rat-faced, pitiful excuse for a pool player. As they got started, a shapely young barmaid walked over to my booth.
"And what will you be having?" she asked, in a slightly tired and irritated voice.
"Just some water, please," I said meekly, knowing full well the answer I would get.
"Then jump in the Isis River," she retorted. "If you're going to drink here, it had better be something to give your head a spin."
"Some light cider, then," I replied, making sure to avoid eye contact. I smiled a bit as a watched her walk away. If any cat had heard that order, it would have thought me a tasty mouse. There was no way billiard brain would be able to resist taking a few swipes at me. I continued biding my time, sipping at the cider that the barmaid had brought me. I watched the game out of the corner of my eye, pretending to peruse my surroundings. As I eavesdropped on the players, I slowly learned more about my chosen adversary. He called himself Drord, and I believed this to be no alias. It was a simple name for a simple creature. I never once saw him win on a break, but he was always victorious by the game's end. And if the challenger couldn't afford to pay, Drord would have the poor sap do some outrageous, embarrassing stunt. They sang songs hanging upside-down, danced around wearing little more than a scarf, and were forced into doing things that earned them a few slaps on the cheek from the barmaids. I could help but laugh to myself a little bit. The man was creative; I would give him that.
After about five games, I decided it was time for me to play my part. I tugged on the small chain around my neck, pulling out the golden diamond ring that hung from it from beneath my shirt. As I twirled the shining talisman around my neck, I made sure that its sparkle caught Drord's eye. I succeeded.
"Hey, you!" the burly billiards player shouted at me. I gave him my patented "Who, me?" routine before walking over.
"Yes, you," he stated, genuinely amused. I came over and stood next to him. "Seeing as how none of these babies seem willing to face me, how would you like to have a go at it, kid?"
"I don't know," I replied, feigning uncertainty. "What are the rules?"
"It's very easy, my young friend," he laughed. "You simply take this stick, hit this ball with it, and try to knock the other balls into those holes with it. If you get all the striped ones in the holes, you win this sack of gold. Understand?"
"I guess so," I replied. "But what happens if you win?"
"Oh, we've got a smart one here!" he shouted joyfully, giving me a big slap on the back. I stumbled forward to add to the effect. "If I knock all those solid colored balls into the holes, then I win something of yours. That ring around your neck, perhaps."
"Oh, no sir," I protested. "This is my mother's ring, and I have left to remember her by."
"Well, wouldn't your mother be proud of you if you won a big sack of gold? Come on, give it a try."
"Um." I still pretended hesitation, not wanting to make it too easy for him. "Alright, but only if you promise that nothing will happen to my mother's ring."
"I swear by the Code of the Warrior," he snickered, placing his hand over his heart.
"Well, alright then, but don't forget. You promised." I then picked up a cue stick and prepared to swing it at the ball like a club. Before I could make contact, Drord snatched it out of my hand.
"No, no, no, Kid," he said, almost giddy over my ineptitude. "Let me go first." The burly thug executed a nice break, but didn't knock any balls in. "Now, it's your turn."
It was a relatively short game. I frequently missed my targets, occasionally even missing the cue ball itself. The one time I actually knocked a striped ball into one of the pockets, I celebrated like a child with his first gold coin. Drord, on the other hand, played an excellent game, and naturally won the ring. He snatched it from my neck, and I protested.
"But you swore by the Code of the Warrior!"
"Do I look like a Warrior to you, kid?" Drord snapped. This sent the entire room into a fit of hysterics. My face turned a bright red as I listened to them all laughing at me.
"Then will you at least give me a chance to win back my mother's ring? If I lose, I will give you my entire pouch of gold." I slammed my meager money pouch down on the pool table to show that I was ready to stand by my challenge. Drord wiped his eyes as he tried to hold back his laughter.
"You know what, kid? I like your attitude. And since I like you so much, I'll make you a deal. If you wing, I'll not only give back your mother's ring, but I'll toss in two, that's right, two sacks of gold." My acting skills must have been improving. My last target had only offered one sack and a bottle of wine. Before I could agree to the terms, Drord continued, "But if I win, not only do I keep the ring and all of your gold, but you have to run through the street bare-bottomed and singing the Animarian anthem. Then charm a mule into kicking you where your pants would be." Even I winced at that thought, but still accepted.
"I agree to your terms," I said. "But is it alright if I use a different stick this time?" At this point, I could tell that Drord was only playing me for the comic relief. He was laughing so hard he could barely choke out an answer between gasps for air.
"Sure thing, kid. And you know what? Since I'm such a nice guy, I'll even let you go first."
"Thank you, sir," I replied. Then, in one smooth motion, I picked up my walking stick, twirled it in the air, rubbed down the tip, and executed a perfect break, knocking all the striped balls into the pockets. Suddenly, not a sound could be heard in that once booming room but the sound of my own voice, "I guess I win."
I then calmly picked up the gold pouches, slipped them into my pack, then snatched the ring back out of Drord's hand while he stood there paralyzed, his mouth periodically opening and closing.
"Where did you learn to play like that?" he asked, still stunned.
"To be perfectly honest with you, Drord, I haven't got a clue," I told him. It was true, too. To this day I still don't know the answer. But Drord didn't want to accept that.
"You lying little slimy excuse for a badger's toenail!" I heard the sound of steel leaving cloth, then saw Drord lunge at me with his knife. Once again, in one smooth motion, I twirled my cue, hearing a satisfying ka- chunk as it caught the blade, tearing it from his grasp, then tripped him with the other end, using the heel of my boot to help him the rest of the way to the floor. Pinning him down with my foot, I tool the blade back out and help it to his throat. I then calmly and clearly told him what I thought.
"I am neither small, nor slimy, nor am I a liar. And unless we're talking about a badger with a very handsome foot, I bear no resemblance to any creature's toenail. Now, I think it would be best if you were to slowly and quietly get up and walk out of here, then politely charm a mule into giving you a swift kick in the pants." With that, I tossed the knife into the center of a nearby dart board, then got up and returned to my booth to finish my cider. I watched as Drord silently got up off the floor and walked out the door, leaving his knife behind. In the distance, I could hear a mule braying, followed by a loud groan. The entire room looked at the door, then looked at me. They all broke out cheering. Everyone wanted to congratulate the man who had finally taken down the mighty Drord. They cheered me, bought me drinks, but most of all, they wanted to see more displays of my skill. They happily bet their money to see me shoot from every possible angle. I played blind-folded, with my back to the table, even hanging from the ceiling by my feet. In an hour, I had doubled, then tripled the winnings from Drord. In the end, I begged off, too tired to continue.
With my full pack stored safely in the room I had rented upstairs, I left the Wolf's Den to get some air. My path was blocked by an even larger crowd than the one I had left inside. I asked the man next to me about what was going on.
"The Royal Family is making an announcement," he said. I wove my way through the crows, still unable to see what was happening around the corner, but just barely hearing the beginning of the speech.
"Hear ye, all citizens of Animaria," a deep, rich voice spoke. "As the King of this great nation, I proclaim that, in one fortnight, there shall be a tournament held in grove of the Wild Zords. It shall be open to all those under the age and five-and-twenty, who are willing to test their skills. The champions of this tournament shall become the new Sacred Warriors of Animaria, and thereafter be forever of royal blood." I couldn't help but snicker at this. Who in their right minds would want to be of royal blood? From the few experiences I had had with royalty, there was nothing enjoyable about it. But then I rounded the corner, and my entire world changed.
The King and Queen were much as I imagined them, dignified and handsome, with an air of grace and superiority. But behind them was the true treasure. A girl, perhaps sixteen years of age, was standing near them. She must have been the Princess. I could not imagine a commoner with her beauty. She wore a crown of flowers over her brow, and her long brown hair framed a perfect face. Her eyes held a kindness and majesty the likes of which I had never before seen, and her smile could have melted the deepest winter. Suddenly I knew my destiny. A Princess could never be with someone not of royal blood, and if this tournament would grant that, then it was my job to win it.