- Chapter 2 -

Varmo leaned back contentedly in his cushioned chair as Halron pushed his rook across the board and grunted, "Check." The beastman was quite easy to lose to; though he seemed incapable of planning more than three moves in advance, he had mastered enough general theory that his playing was less a series of struggles over capturing pieces than a sure and steady trudge towards victory. At this moment, though checkmate was still four moves away, Varmo knew that he couldn't prevent Halron's winning, even had he wanted to. He was glad that these losses were only a minimal insult to his own skill.

"Would you tell me something?" he asked. "...Why do you hardly ever go to the mock battles?" They were held once a week, and in spite of the current state of crisis, most of the guards were at that moment upholding the tradition.

Halron snorted. "I already know how to fight. I wasn't brought out of a sedate little life or farming or fishing by this war, unlike most of the little worms patrolling our ramparts."

"Mmmm," Varmo murmured. He placed his remaining knight beside his king, blocking the path of Halron's rook. He could have moved his king out of the way, but the game was more interesting this way. "But don't you think you could get better?"

"Fighting doesn't interest me."

"But you were trained when you were little? Your father must have made you. He allows your... current apathy?"

Halron chuckled. "'Apathy'? Big word for a half-illiterate like you. So long as my father's off fighting in Iom, what he allows or doesn't allow doesn't matter."

"That was rude. That 'half-illiterate' crack, I mean." Varmo considered himself a smart person, but his vocabulary fell far short of those with noble upbringing like Halron. He didn't like being reminded of that fact.

"Your election got me thinking." His feral eyes focused on the piece he fingered - to avoid looking at me, Varmo guessed. "Are you using me?"

Varmo smiled, but he could feel the line of his lips trembling. "Friends always use friends, don't they?" When Halron did not answer, he continued, "Doesn't King Nicholas consider the Guardianans he enlisted against Woldol friends?"

There was a pause. Then Halron leaned forward and growled lightly, "Are we friends?"

"Halron." Varmo's mouth had calmed, evened. "How can you think anything else? Ever since we've met, I've always been nice to you."

"But why were you nice to me?" The fading daylight shone on Halron's bristling fur. "Was it so that I would teach you how to speak like a passable noble and woo the crowd? So that I would cower them into heeding your words? Was it so that I would help make you a leader? Was it all... lies?"

In spite of himself, Varmo burst out laughing. He knew his friend was in a dangerous mood, but the way his ludicrous question broke in on the maximally tense atmosphere was too much. Loud laughs scampering from his mouth, he turned away from Halron and walked to the desk, leaning against it as his hilarity continued to run forth. Lapsing into his old manner of speech, he gasped, "Oh man... that's damn funny... that's... too damn funny." He slapped his palm against the flat of the desk.

"Are you quite through!?" Halron roared, rising to his feet.

When his laughter had run its course, Varmo wiped tears from his eyes and said, "Halron... there are no lies. Except for dark lies, that is. You know, when a woman is in love with a man, so she tells his girlfriend that he doesn't love her; that sort of thing. Nothing can make a lie of the good will we've shared, not even me. It exists, and it's true no matter the reason for it." He pulled open a drawer of the desk and dug out a bottle. "Heh. I snuck some wine out from the kitchen. Let's see, glasses..."

After pouring one glass, he handed it to Halron. "Here. This'll take some of your stress off. We were under a lot of pressure today. But we're a great team, aren't we? I've got the brains and the vision; you've got the eloquence and the strength." He took a greedy gulp from his glass, staining the fur around his lips like blood from a fresh kill.

Halron took a dignified sip of the wine. "Yes. And you followed the lines we composed beautifully - until you lost your temper with Yeesha, that is."

"What was I supposed to say?" Varmo whined. "That snooty witch was talking out of turn, turning down our ideas."

"You were very lucky," Halron said sternly. "She could have blown your words right back at you. You forget that she really does think she's better than the rest of us, and that some of the rest think the same."

Varmo smirked. "If that's the case, why didn't she tell me off?"

"You were lucky," Halron insisted. Varmo let it go. "What do you want out of this, anyway? I've gone along with you thus far because I'm your friend... but I'd like to know."

The kyantol waved dismissively with his glass of wine. "To be a leader. That's it."

"No matter what the cost to Cypress?"

"Cost? It could only help Cypress. My friend, there are two kinds of people in this world. The ones who mercilessly battle their way to the position of a leader, and the ones who are meant to be followers."

"Strange attitude for a kyantol to have."

"Is it?" He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "I guess it is, at that."

Varmo remembered when he'd first had these ideas. Woldol had passed through his hometown once. He remembered the horrors he'd pervaded. His aunt and cousins, fur shaven off, dressed in ragged clothes, paraded through the town for the amusement of the soldiers. It was a shameful spectacle. Varmo had watched them shivering in their stripped pelts, flinching at objects thrown at them.

He was good friends with his cousins, but his aunt was a mean old witch. Whenever he so much as looked at her the wrong way, she would spit disparaging words at him as though he'd desecrated the king's statue. Varmo threw a piece of moldy fruit at her as she came by. She flinched at the impact, and looked around her in fright. Varmo smirked at her, swelled with a feeling of vindication. He felt sick about it afterwards, though, and his cousins never spoke to him again.

Still, he had learned something: Woldol was a man with no restraint, and less taste. He was totally unfit to be a leader. Yet he was ambassador of Cypress, and de facto ruler. All it had taken was will, intelligence, and ambition.

And if a monster like Woldol could do it, why not a decent kyantol like himself, someone with class? He had all the requisite skills. If more were needed to take command, Woldol couldn't have done it. Let the best man win.

Halron's voice broke in on his thoughts. "But what makes you think your status as leader will be anything more than a fleeting moment? What happens when King Nicholas and General Mayfair return?"

Varmo's expression fell from daydreamy to glum. "I doubt they will return, actually. Something about the way the general disappeared... I don't know whether she left of her own will or was captured, but either way, it can't be good. And if the enemy is making problems here, things must be even worse for our king."

He pensively sipped up the last of the wine in his glass. "Of course, if they do return, I'm sure I'll have... I'll have..." He began vigorously snapping his fingers over and over, the fur on his forehead bunched in the folds of a fierce mental search. "...I'll have distinguished myself enough for some position or another," he finished at last. He let out a breath, and proceeded to pour himself some more wine. Mercifully, Halron refrained from commenting on his difficulty finding the right words.

"Aren't you more worried about the possibility of them not returning? The possibility that you'll have the command of all of Cypress in your hands?"

Varmo waved him off, taking another big gulp of wine. "Hey... I can handle it."

"No. In one sense, at least, you can't handle it." Halron quietly walked back to his seat. "You're not Nicholas's heir."

"That's a moot point. He doesn't have an heir." He paused. "Unless..."

Halron nodded. "I don't think our king is the sort who'd risk leaving Cypress without a ruler. My guess is he's named an heir in secret. In case of spies among the Cypress ranks."

"But who?" Varmo pondered. "And who are the ones who will reveal him as the heir if our king dies?"

The corner of Halron's mouth twisted into a half smile. "Thinking of rubbing them out?"

"No. Thinking of getting into his good graces."

There was a knock at the door.

"Damn," Varmo moaned, putting a weary hand to his head. "Would you mind getting that, and sending away whoever it is? I'm in no shape to -"

"I've got it." Halron finished his wine and got up. Opening the door a foot, he growled to whoever was beyond, "This is a private party."

A voice answered, "I need to talk to Varmo." Varmo made a point of knowing as many of the people at Castle Cypress as he could, and he recognized the voice as Theo, one of the incurable do-gooders of the junior squads. They were a rare breed, actually, and most weren't as pure in motive as Theo. Natasha was only trying to impress Prince Nick, and Dawn and Valen were just prigs.

"Of course you do," Halron returned. "Who would come here to talk to me? Varmo is not to be disturbed right now."

He attempted to close the door, but it caught halfway; presumably Theo had stopped it. "Hey," the human protested. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Nothing yet. But a wise man doesn't lower his guard." He firmly pushed the door closed against Theo's inferior strength and shut the latch.

"Thank you," Varmo sighed. He returned to his seat and moved his king.

"That's checkmate in one move, you know."

"Name one move that isn't."

"Good point. Well, thank you for the game." He yawned and walked to the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. "I think I'll head to bed early tonight, so I'll be fresh for the meeting tomorrow."

Varmo nodded. It was important to remember that, since every sort of established authority was gone from Castle Cypress, his new position was far from secure. The mob could tear him from his throne as quickly as they had placed him on it. Tomorrow would be critical for winning their hearts and confidence.

The thumping of books being shoved about on their shelves took him out of his thoughts. "Varmo," Halron said in a petulant tone, "...did you borrow Apex of the World from me?"

He knew the book Halron spoke of. It was a history of Cypress that had been handed down to Halron from his grandfather, and a prized possession. Halron was frequently re-reading it. Varmo had borrowed it from him once, and on reading it could understand somewhat why he loved it so. It was written with a fair amount of dramatic flair, making their nation's history into an epic saga of conquest, adventure, alliances, betrayals, and legacies. In the end, though, history was just that: history. Varmo had no interest in reading any part of it again. He answered his friend in the negative. "Are you sure it isn't in your dormitory?"

"I've been keeping it on this shelf," he answered confidently. "It looks so dignified sitting there. Blast. Where did it go?"

"It'll turn up," Varmo assured him. "I doubt anyone would take it from that shelf. You probably just misplaced it somewhere."

"Maybe," he grunted, and walked to the door. "Let me know if you see it."

"Halron... you aren't still angry, are you? About my… use for you?"

The beastman paused, his hand on the door. "No, not angry. Just... disillusioned, I suppose." He shook his head. "I couldn't stay angry with you. You're the only one here who's treated me with any compassion. That's the real reason I don't like to go to the mock battles, you know."

"I thought it was."

He pointed to Varmo's face. "You really should wash yourself off."

Varmo turned to a mirror and grimaced at his wine-stained reflection. "Yes. I guess I should."

"I suppose I should," Halron corrected. "Keep practicing." He closed the door behind him.

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Jane collapsed onto the grass, gasping for breath. Sweat had soaked her clothes. "That... damn... slave driver." She desperately took in huge lungfuls of air.

"Personally, I found the exercise quite refreshing," Vyra said, drying off her face and neck with an old rag. She held it out towards Jane's supine form. "Dry rag?"

She gave no answer, only continuing to loudly heave for breath. Vyra peered at her. "Are you alright?"

After two last heaves, she croaked out, "No."

"Well, you managed to answer." Vyra smiled. "You aren't exactly in peak condition, are you?"

Jane glared up at her. "I'm not... a centaur."

"Oh. Right." Vyra settled down beside her, grinning with embarrassment. "Sorry. But he did give us more laps to do, you know."

"Not... enough," she said, finally beginning to regain her lost oxygen. "I think I burst my insides. Why does Varmo have to push us like this?"

"We're expanding the limits of what our bodies can do in battle. Doesn't that make you feel more secure?"

"A little, I guess. But if Varmo is going to turn us into mighty-people, shouldn't we be going out to rescue our troops instead of hiding like rats?" Vyra gave no answer, and after a moment she blindly reached out with her hand. "You mentioned a rag?"

Vyra handed it to her. As Jane dried her face off, Vyra said, "How are things with you and Theo?"

"Wonderful." She sighed. "We've been talking so much now. About everything. And he... he understands me. He's always so gallant and kind." She shook her head. "I just wish he'd make a move already."

"You can't blame him for being coy. Think of it from his point-of-view: the object of his affection is the most beautiful girl in a ten mile radius -"

"I am not. There's Lana, Peppe, Yeesha…"

"That's your opinion. Besides, Yeesha is older." Vyra shifted on the ground, getting her legs more comfortable. "Anyway... He sees that you're a voluptuous goddess of beauty -"

"Oh, Puh - LEEZ!"

"...while he is the ugliest person to walk the halls of Castle Cypress..."

Jane kicked her at the base of her foreleg.

"Well, he is," Vyra persisted.

"No, he isn't." Vyra raised her eyebrows skeptically. "He isn't! The only reason people say he's ugly is his face. He's strong and lean... and his hands, you know, he really has the nicest hands. I think he's better looking than some of the fat slob nobles here, even with their pretty faces. And anyway," she finished, folding her arms, "...looks aren't important. Even if he was the ugliest person in all Cypress, I'd still say he's a total hunk." She looked to Vyra, hopeful that she'd be nonplussed by her arguments, and was surprised to see a smile on her face. "What's so funny?"

Vyra chuckled. "I was just thinking... This is the point at which Dawn would be saying, 'Are you really in love with Theo, or is he just the best fit for your idyllic romantic fantasy?'"

Jane's laughter joined with hers for a minute. It ultimately trailed off into a sigh, however. "I miss her. And Natasha. I hope they're alright."

"It rather puts your suffering under Varmo's regimen into perspective, doesn't it? They may be much worse off."

"You're not taking Varmo's side, are you? He's the one who wouldn't let us go rescue them."

"Relax. If I hadn't been having my shoes changed, I'd have voted for Irinod."

"Yeah. And if I hadn't..." She trailed off, then sat up. "I think I'll go down to the spring to wash off. Wanna join me?"

Vyra shook her head. "I have a guard shift coming up, and I don't want to risk being late."

"See you later, then."

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The instant the castle came within sight, Shriek halted the beating of his wings and trimmed them for a gradual descent. In a matter of a minute or two, he glided down to the ground before the moat. He could have easily crossed the moat, of course, but he didn't want to alarm the guards.

One was already approaching him, a female centaur. "Hello. I'm from the Guardiana army. Would you show me in to King Nicholas?"

The centaur gave him a smile that was aggravatingly contemptuous and mocking. "I think not." She turned towards a guard on the other side of the moat and called, "Hey, Garu! Could you venture to say if Varmo's ready to give an audience?"

"It's been a bit since he dismissed us from training," Garu called back. "Worth a shot."

"Now, wait a minute," Shriek protested, his feathers bristling. Aside from her rude greeting, he was beginning to pick up an unpleasant odor emanating from the centaur. "I'm one of the king's former comrades-in-arms. Just let him know I'm here, and I'm sure he'll be very eager to see me."

"Quite impossible," the centaur replied. "Now, if you'll just come with me, I'll bring you before Sir Varmo."

"What!? You lousy, ungrateful... beast! My friends and I risked our necks to free you people from Woldol. How dare you treat us like this?"

The centaur smiled. "As I understand it, sir, you risked your necks to save your own queen. And as far as I can see, we haven't slighted you in any way. Now, do you wish to discuss the war with one of our leaders, or not?"

"You're making a big mistake."

"Is that gaudy bird giving you trouble, Vyra?" Garu called.

"Nothing to be worried about," the centaur answered. "Are you coming, Sir...?"

"Shriek," the birdman said coldly. "Yes, I'm coming. But only because I will see Nick eventually, and I'm sure he'll be less than pleased to hear how his guards have been treating some of his closest friends."

"By all means, tell him," Vyra said, grinning more broadly than ever. "I'm sure he'll find this incident most amusing."

"Almost as amusing as your washing habits. In case no one else has pointed it out to you yet, you snob: You stink like a boiling kettle full of slugs."