Disclaimer: I do not own Thundercats 2011
Betaed by: ZimsMostLoyalServant & Trackula
Collar
Chapter II:
Masks and Brothers
"What!?" Wilykit shrieked, fur standing on end. She stared wide-eyed down from the ladder she was perched atop, rag clenched in a fist, her chandelier cleaning quite forgotten. Lion-O winced at his desk, turning away from the new piece of tech resting atop it to cast her an annoyed look.
"You might want to breathe a bit deeper, the whole palace might not have heard you," Lion-O remarked. Bottom lip sticking out, Kit put the rag on the top ladder step and leapt down. Lion-O was trying to be very focused on the tech as she walked up to him.
"You met a woman, in the slums," she reiterated. Lion-O sighed; pulling out a drawer, he extracted one of the labeled pieces of metal scrap. At first glance it looked similar. If tech worked like tools and weapons, common metals might determine common purpose and point of origin. Even if it did not have power, he was certain there were valuable secrets to be taken from these artifacts.
But right now Kit was staring at him.
"That's what I said. A cheetah woman helped me," he told her. He paused, holding the sample to the tech. Oh, that was a slip there, Lion-O realized.
"Help? You almost got mugged again," Wilykit sighed, fiddling with her collar. He turned an annoyed eye on the fourteen-year-old slave. There were days he missed when she was too quiet, but she had grown well into a role as his handler, despite the class difference. Sometimes he wondered if Jaga had plotted that from the start.
The old jaguar always seemed to be one step ahead in a race no one else realized they were in. He wondered if that was a regular trick for priests, or just clerics?
"They weren't after me. They were going after some old dog. He was dirt poor Kit, those cats weren't looking for money," he told her. Kit was from the slums; she would know what it meant when the attack was not over money or food.
When she stayed quiet, he thought she had decided to let the matter lie. Should have known better, he admitted when she spoke up.
"And this cheetah just helped you in your chivalry? People in the slums look out for themselves, my Prince. It's a requirement, not a choice," the slave told him.
"She wasn't a thug or a beggar, she was pretty," Lion-O retorted, before he could stop himself.
'Pretty woman in the slums? Oh no,' Kit thought, the image forming. She could just picture that long hair of the other breeds, probably displaying all that speckled leg and chest fur. Or worse, wearing those tight pants that hide most things while letting males see all the shape!
She should have seen this coming.
"She wasn't a prostitute!" Lion-O protested, seeing her expression.
"They never are, Prince Lion-O. How well dressed was she?" she asked.
"Well she…"
"Oh, my Prince. Tell me you checked your wallet at least?"
"She did not rob me, I bought this afterward."
'Well, that is odd. Oh no! It must be one of those long schemes like Kat talked about the others doing! She wins his trust then either robs him or gets pregnant with his child to blackmail the royal family! The King will blame me if this goes too far!' Kit thought, eyes darting around.
"I showed her the tech shop. Maybe I can meet her again next time. She was not as dismissive as most cats," Lion-O, said looking off wistfully.
'That look… oh no. Some slum hussy with tight pants has him around her finger! She may even be the leader of that gang he fought,' Kit thought, her stomach growing ever queasier.
A cheetah… she had seen their women before. Long legs for running instead of climbing, and big chests, because the Sky Cat hated Ferralis. Using their speed to justify dressing indecently. Those ears, and hair… the Prince probably didn't stand a chance.
"Talking about ladies? Well, maybe there is some hope for you," a cat chuckled. The Prince and the slave turned in surprise to see Prince Tygra leaning against the open doorway. It had been shut; Kit had made sure of that.
The adopted prince entered the room like he did most, as if he had every right to. She saw him note the state of the desk, and the grin slipped slightly. His eyes fell on Kit.
"Wilykit, you have had a busy day tending to my brother. I think he can look after himself while you treat yourself to a good dinner and the bathhouse," the tiger said politely.
She knew a dismissal, but Prince Tygra was not quite the King. Kit looked to her actual master, who kept his eyes on his brother.
Giving a bow, she excused herself. The brothers waited until she had put the ladder away and left. She did not hear a word of their conversation.
XXX
"Collaring that one was a good idea. A waste to leave a good young molly in the slums," Tygra commented after Kit had left.
"Makes you wonder if that old treatise on addressing poverty through enslavement might have some merit. Though personally I say she is an exception," Tygra continued the small talk. He was leaning down now, an uninvited hand resting on the desktop.
"You're not here to talk about slaves. What do you want, Tygra?" Lion-O asked.
"What do I want? Oh, I could fill a book with what I want, little brother. But unlike you, I am not interested in wasting time, so I will focus on what I want from you," Tygra said. There was no more playfulness in his voice. Lion-O pushed his chair back to better face him, but remained seated.
"You know, I was actually happy you were scaring your slave with an interest in girls. After that display today I thought maybe, just maybe, you were only behaving like a tomcat, if not a proper cat to make you late," Tygra said.
"Wow, so your dream for me is Kit's nightmare? Who knew?" Lion-O joked.
"This was the first time you ever held the Sword of Omens, Lion-O. For all the privacy it is a big deal, and it will be talked about. Being late was disgraceful; it's as good as saying your duty is a secondary concern to whatever you were doing.
"Your slave showed more concern. They are already saying that, and they will keep saying that," Tygra explained.
"I'm not arguing I messed up there-" Lion-O tried to cut in. Tygra did not let him.
"Enough people doubt your fitness to be king. This stunt gave them another reason. And it could have laid so much to rest.
"The sword accepted you, Lion-O. The lightning came when you called and the seal glowed in response to a king. Even father was pleased, until you made a mockery of it," Tygra ground out. Lion-O got up from the chair; Tygra did not change his position.
"Weren't you just saying you preferred me to be chasing tammys?" Lion-O said.
"Father isn't pleased at the thought of a son of his being a tomcat. But that's only because that kind of scandal is acceptable; I saw a silver lining.
"Cats shake their heads at a young cat neglecting his duty for the chase. But they also half expect it. Especially with the elites – the ladies do not mind the thought of the likes of us chasing them," Tygra said. For a moment, he gave a wink, and Lion-O gave a smile in return at the thought they were brothers sharing a common enjoyable vanity. It passed quickly.
"But instead you're still chasing mythical tech," Tygra said, snatching the new item from the desk. Lion-O bit back an objection as his brother looked at it like it was something foul peeled off his foot.
"This isn't scandalous, this is just embarrassing. When kittens collect junk and call it tech, parents humor them. Same as playing warrior with sticks or magic with, whatever, they think. It's just something they will grow out of like believing ghost stories of Mumm-Ra," Tygra said.
"Plenty of cats believe in Mumm-Ra, brother," Lion-O pointed out.
"Peasants with no education and backwater cats who think the next mountain over has ancient monsters hiding behind every tree. Thundera is better than that, and it expects its royalty to be better," Tygra declared.
"What do you want?" Lion-O demanded. He tried to snatch the artifact back, and growled when his brother effortlessly pulled it away without even shifting his feet.
"For you to grow up. Father backs you despite all the whispers. When you mess up like this, it makes him look like a fool in front of the kingdom. It's time you stopped obsessing over junk and started acting like a real cat," Tygra declared. He smacked the tech back onto the desk.
Lion-O glared at the abuse of his property before looking to his angry brother.
"If that means being like you, adopted brother, I may have to pass," Lion-O said to Tygra's face. He was happy to see the look of shock in Tygra's eyes, before teeth were bared in a deep-throated growl. Lion-O shifted his footing, ready to fall into a stance.
Then Tygra's teeth were hidden again, and the older prince's posture forcefully relaxed. He gave Lion-O an empty smile.
"No, little brother. If pounding sense into you worked, Grune and Panthro would have made progress years ago. Besides, I would not want Father to have to deal with both of his sons disappointing him in one day.
"Now, how about you use those brains you brag about and think about what I said. I think you know I'm right. Just trying to look out for my foolish little brother here, you know?" Tygra said. He let himself out without asking to leave, just as he had entered without so much as a knock.
Still, the anger dissipated quickly, to Lion-O's disappointment. He looked to his desk and saw not only the current piece, but all the other specimens that had passed under his claws over the years.
"I know there is something there," he said.
'But can I blame them for being like this when I still have nothing to prove them wrong?' he thought.
He found his empty chambers were not appealing at the moment, and Kit would be a long time getting back. Few cats seemed to like bathing like that one.
Unbidden, the face came to his mind. Diseased, even rotting, flesh hanging limply, white fangs in neat rows upon a maw of a mouth. It was like a cave, with the certainty something horrifying lurked within. But most of all, those eyes. Red, glowing with more hate than he had ever imagined.
What was that? Some vision from the sword, a rejection of him? The sword expressing its feelings in images? A simple "no" would suffice.
But that didn't feel right. He regretted not saying anything, but come on, like seeing things in the blade would get anything but rolled eyes. Probably just add another entry into the Crazy Prince Lion-O story: Oh why can't he be like his brother?
He went to the door; time to leave the room and such thoughts behind. Focus on other matters. Like, Cheetara.
XXX
'It is an ill thing when you look upon the past with greater pleasure than the future,' so had written one of the scholars of Thundera, Claudus could not remember which. His torch's warmth was welcome against the chill of the mountain.
It was odd that this chill would exist here as much as the boneyards of the Lizards he had led armies through so many times. The "desecration" nearly always inspired their greatest foes to make foolish mistakes.
But the Halls of the Dead held no remains; Thundera was not so savage as to revere bones. They did not even retain ashes in vessels like the Dogs. These statues stood for memory against the passage of time, to guard over the discarded vessels of the departed.
He could have found it without the light, but he wanted to see it as well. Lifting the torch, he stopped, standing before the life-size likeness in its alcove. Forever garbed in her finest dress, fashioned of the same stone as the face. But unlike the real thing, even if he could lift the dress it would just be stone beneath, not the soft fur and warm flesh heavy with that unforgettable scent.
"Leona, I am failing," he said to his wife's memorial.
It had been a triumph of sculpting. The artist had not needed to be commissioned; that old cat had adored his lovely patron, sharing Thundera's grief at her passing. The sculptor had begun his work supposedly an hour after word of her passing was proclaimed, tears falling upon uncut stone.
But it was still hard for Claudus to look upon. In the stone was captured every detail one could hope for with chisel and hammer. But those tools could not capture her warmth, how very she loved anything she did.
Not like an eager kitten, full of energy, but rather a weight. As if every act she did was done somehow more than any other cat could think to do it. He could no longer remember the moment he had decided she was the one that would be his queen.
At Lion-O's age, he had dueled his own father to first blood for the right to choose his own bride. His father had seen his only cousin a poor choice of all the lionesses.
She wasn't even a true cousin, but simply the closest living scion to the royal line. All lions had Leo's prized blood in them to some degree, but for most the claim was so old as to be nearly mythical, from the days before the kings of Thundera began to conserve the sacred blood, fearing its dilution.
A foolish move, Claudus could admit in private. Where other lines had twin and triplet litters as the normal outcome, the royalty had become a line of single births. He, like Lion-O, was the only son of the blood in his generation.
Sterility, poor health, miscarriage… his father had sought to break tradition by wedding his son further afield. But Claudus had wanted only one lioness, and he had won her through fury and steel, as he had most things in his reign.
Yet victory, he had come to see, often failed to win you what you wanted.
Leona had been a fine wife, but as Queen, she had been too kind and too quick to indulge. Too given to romantic ideas of governance and the world. And unable to bear him a child, and despite his love, those failures had reached and tormented her.
The King remembered her asking once, if he waged war so persistently because he did not want to return to her. A falsehood, but would it have been better to tell her the kingdom she loved was held together through blood and claw?
He was certain that was why she had latched on so hard to Tygra, his distance and disappointment. Still, he should have intervened …
He had stood listening outside the nursery as she told Tygra that story again. One of his favorites, right up there with ThunderCat stories. The tale of the king and queen who had no son to continue their sacred line. How the queen prayed to the Great Sky Cat to grant her a son for her husband the noble king.
And one day on a hunt they had found a cub in a strange basket in the forest. No tracks led to it but their own, and the forest canopy was broken above where the babe rested. So the queen had known her prayers had been answered. A destined child sent to bring a new era to the kingdom with a new bloodline to succeed the old, as a father does a son.
He had thought it an ill thing, to tell a child a story with itself as the hero. Too many grown cats were overly fond of songs about themselves, even if they had been noble before it was sung. Leona had laughed at his concerns, and made him feel silly and overly worried.
After all, it was just another way of preparing their son to be king, she had said time and again.
How could she have foreseen a second miracle? She had hoped for a girl, to his displeasure. Not because he wanted another son so badly, but she believed it would be "perfect" to wed a lion queen to the future tiger king, the new line ruling while the old line would live on still.
Foolishness; it was not a mortal's place to wish such things so sincerely. And it had left her in fear when Lion-O was born onto that bloodstained bed.
Had she realized then the tragedy that might come of the paper crowns placed by her on a kitten's head? In that moment when her nurses helped her hold the future king?
He had not asked. When Jaga himself told Claudus to prepare for the parting, grief had taken much of his sense. She had asked him to take care of their sons.
And he was failing.
Claudus had hoped rivalry would draw out a warrior in Lion-O. With Tygra, there had been no challenge, he had every sign of greatness in him. The ease of charisma even as a child, his energy and courage. It had seemed he needed only be presented with the obstacle and he would begin making progress in overcoming it.
Tygra had not prepared him for Lion-O. And he had likely failed first in turning to the like of Jaga and the generals to fill his inadequacies and absences. But he was also a king; he could not have neglected the kingdom, even for his heir.
"Our son will be a great king. But I do not know how to guide him there.
"I had hoped Tygra could be the great warrior Lion-O won't be. The king not needing to be a master of war because of the strong right hand that he has in his brother. But their differences, they are not complimenting each other. They are dividing them.
"If the gap becomes an abyss, all of Thundera is imperiled. The sword is only one weapon, however great. It cannot hold up our kingdom unless it is held by the hands of a strong king. If only Panthro and Grune…
"Would you have known what to do, Leona?"
'Sky Cat have mercy. Would you still have favored Tygra over even your own blood?' he wondered. Tygra had been jealous of the pregnancy, but with her talk of daughters, Claudus had wondered if her assurance to the tiger were not just comforting words.
'You will always be my tiger king,' the words carried so clearly he looked to the statue's face again in alarm.
Nothing, only dead cut stone. Of course.
There was still time, he was not yet truly old. Before he left this world, he would find a way to forge the bond needed between his two stubborn sons. Brooding with memories of the dead, however, would not aid that.
The answers would be found among the living, not the dead. Hmm, did a scholar write that, or was it just good sense, the King wondered.
Emerging back into the night, he didn't manage to suppress a shiver. Strangely for summer, a very cold wind was blowing in. Peasants would call it an omen of dark days, he recalled. A king had to be above such, many things portended trouble and a bit of odd weather was not one of them.
Thundera, Military Frontier:
A guard paced his route atop the walls of the fortress. Perched on high ground dominating the Campaign Road, the stone structure with its two tall curtain walls stood as a grand deterrent to any invader. And a staging ground to aid any raids into enemy territory.
All of which mattered little to the shivering, scrawny panther walking atop the outer wall. The bright moon slipped in and out of the scattered cloud cover. The landscape he was meant to keep a wary eye on was moving at an annoying pace from being tinted black to bathed in the moonlight.
So many other races needed torches to see well by night; their night-vision was another sign of the Cats' supremacy, the young soldier thought, his old lessons lazily rising to the front.
He had expected something more exciting when enlisting. With no battle pay, he might serve his stint and come out no better than if he had stayed working the fields.
And this wind… it was unseasonal, and the darkness seemed deeper somehow to the east. Not a storm, he knew what a storm looked like.
Yes, it all came down to wishing more than usual he was not on duty.
Pausing in his progress, he squinted down the road. Was that something?
Movement? Yes, what then? Big, caravan? From that direction?
He pulled the horn from his belt and gave a blow. The horn sounded deep and loud, the fortress springing to life before the sound had faded.
XXX
The riders came down the road, the commander leading them on an armored mount. Spears held ready as they approached, kicking their steeds from trot into gallop, making from the road to surround the caravan at an ambush point.
A slave pulled caravan? Lizards with their backs bent into the pulling of the five carts, and figures on foot around them, wearing hooded cloaks against this wind. He watched one whip a lizard across the back alongside the lead wagon.
Traders? Well, if they had proper papers, all to the good. If not, these dogs would see the penalty of entering a cat's lair without permission. The commander grinned, assessing the wagons and the goods likely within. The squad galloped up the path's cut, so as to make it seem to the outsider like they were scaling the sharp incline with ease.
He and three others took the road before the caravan, rearing up their mounts. Setting his horse as the caravan halted, he looked to the squad, spears raised and held at ready to tear the intruders apart with their feline strength. And survivors of that would feel claw and sword in short order.
All was as it should be. He turned his attention back to the strangers.
"Who would dare try and enter Thundera under cover of darkness?! Be warned, ill-chosen words could well be your last!" the commander shouted. The wind shifted as if in answer to the words, letting him catch the scent of those before him.
"What?" he muttered. His men were not shaken from their positions as he frowned at the inconvenient revelations.
"Cats, identify yourselves!" he demanded, drawing his sword. A massive cloaked figure rose from his spot sitting atop the lead wagon. The commander gulped; it had been a bit since he had met a cat larger than him. And he could see this one had nothing resembling a gut.
"Has it been so many years I must introduce myself to a fat cat whose growl is worse than his fangs to get respect?" a gruff voice carried clearly and easily over the road.
The cat threw back his hood, and the moon broke through the clouds revealing his mane and face, the light gleaming off a single saber fang and catching in golden eyes. More than one spear clattered to the ground.
More fangs were revealed as a grin spread across the great cat's face.
"What? Six years and not so much as a 'welcome back'? You cats should feel honored you get to bear witness to the beginning of a new era!" he laughed. The other figures joined in pulling down their hoods, revealing the gaunt but strong visages of eight more cats. One of the guards attending the commander found the words.
"Welcome back, General Grune."
XXX
The wind whipped through the King's mane, the feel of saddle and equose beneath him; Claudus was pleased the thrill of the ride had not diminished like so much. Their pace was slow now, measured for the trip, however short.
In his younger days, Claudus knew he would have wasted speed on the mere thrill; glancing to his sons, he knew they were thinking much the same thing. Perhaps Lion-O more so than Tygra, the son of his blood was a fine rider. A race upon equoses was one of the only contests of the field where the brothers' rivalry was nearly even.
Even the presence of the two clerics and the squad of soldiers could not detract from the simple rightness of riding with his sons. It had been too long since they hunted, allowing the roles of royalty to dwindle some and be cats living off the land and prey with the simple glories of the chase and the kill to bind the pride together.
But just as even such sport could only diminish and not dismiss their status, duty prevented him from indulging himself or his family such.
Or it had, how might things change now?
He reached into the pouch at his belt and pulled out the medal. Silver cast into the shape of an open book. Thirty such medals had been forged, and given to thirty noble cats set forth on a sacred quest.
No message had been sent with it, save that they would meet him on the Royal Highway.
'Panthro, Grune, after all these years,' he thought. Thundera's mightiest warriors, he had never dared dismiss them as dead, but six years without even a ghost of a rumor… He knew many had come to fear the lands beyond the mountains and the Desolation, certain the legendary Generals lay dead somewhere in those strange lands.
But now at least one of the Thirty was back. Surely only one of the Generals would be so bold as to summon him like this? But perhaps any cat would be so bold… if they returned with the Book of Omens?
His sons had still been kits, Tygra only truly starting to grow into duties under Grune's tutelage. Claudus had often regretted ending Panthro's tutelage of Lion-O in the name of the Quest. Perhaps Panthro would have been the cat to set Lion-O on the right path to unlocking that potential.
True, that student-teacher bond had never been as strong as between Grune and Tygra, but perhaps that had been for the best? Tygra, with his talent, had needed encouragement and direction. As for Lion-O, well, Panthro had faced a… more difficult task, and the panther had never possessed the easy charm of the sabertooth.
'To have those two back, a blessing with or without the Book,' Claudus thought.
He spotted the caravan, peaking the top of the hill, lizard slaves pulling in teams. Not as good as an equose team, but cheaper. He recalled his discomfit when his tutors had told him such practices were also a benefit, as using slaves like this kept them too exhausted to effectively rebel when traveling away from civilization. The Lizard Wars had taught Claudus well to never grant an enemy a chance to strike if you could help it.
He kicked his mount into a gallop, and heard the others do likewise. He noted Wilykit yowling in distress. The young slave was sharing a mount with a guard, her first journey as a rider. Her presence was not necessary, but this was a historic moment; it seemed appropriate cats of many castes be present to witness it.
The caravan stopped, awaiting them as they reached the top of the hill.
The lizards slumped in their chains, breathing hard amidst the dust and sun. Claudus looked over faces of cats recalled from the departure celebrations and ceremonies to honor their bravery that had over the years showed their worth.
He spotted the cat he wanted standing atop the lead wagon, already grinning and wearing scarred but solid plate armor, his great mace strapped to his back.
"Claudus, my king. It has been a long time!" General Grune shouted, striking his fist over his heart in salute. Claudus returned his smile, and the salute.
"Grune!" Tygra called in undiluted excitement. The sabretooth looked on the prince with clearly mock surprise, as if he had not already realized who he was.
"Well, greetings, young warrior. But I must admit I was hoping to see my student here to greet me. A certain tiger lad of promise, but instead I see a warrior who clearly already stands as an elite amongst elites.
"HAHAHAHA!" Grune laughed, stepping down from the wagon. The royal party shared in his mirth dismounting. General and king met halfway, embracing each other as battle forged friends.
"And where is Panthro?" Claudus asked, pulling out of the embrace. He glanced past Grune, expecting to see the gruff panther coming up from guarding the rear.
Grune closed his eyes and inclined his head.
The lump of ice fell squarely into Caludus' stomach. He had lived with this possibility, and endured much loss. But still. Grune reached into a pouch and went to one knee before his king.
He held up Panthro's nunchuks. A rare weapon, and styled in the image of the Sky Cat, per the traditions of the Pantheran shrines. Raised to the mysteries of the clerics, Claudus had received only polite education on the sects of his people, and hardly any of it on those who revered the so-called teachings of Leo's Queen.
Masters of the sect who chose a warrior's vocation adorned their weapons with the Sky Cat's image as a commitment to one of their core tenants. To not pray for aid, but instead to be God's instrument by which prayers are answered, and divine wrath unleashed.
The three of them had drunk and made merry when Panthro had received his topknot signifying his mastery, and received this anointed weapon. Scarred and battered now with years of heroic service, the weapon was more beautiful than it had been that night.
Claudus took it delicately; it seemed far too light in his claws.
"He fought bravely. You should have seen him. It was through his sacrifice that we nine could live to return to Thundera," Grune said somberly.
"…The Book?" Claudus asked. It felt wrong to ask, but Panthro would have focused on the mission. To do otherwise would be an act of disrespect.
"Five years we searched. Following signs from the old scrolls and rumor after rumor. We encountered all manner of wonder and horror, our numbers dwindling. Panthro's will was iron, but when we met a foe even he could not overcome…
"It took us a year to make our way back, my king, with these spoils as both proof of what we have seen, and a token of deepest apology for our failure. Without Panthro, we could not see the Quest succeeding, the best we could do was return so at least others might learn from our travels and losses," Grune reported.
"Rise, my faithful General, one never needs to apologize for giving all one has for Thundera.
"Come, let us return to the capital. We shall prepare to welcome back the living, and honor the dead with the appropriate spectacle, but for now we will host our returned heroes," Claudus assured the sabretooth.
Grune smiled and gave a small cough.
"Your pardon sire, riding in these wagons one does not outrun the dust of the road well-traveled," Grune remarked.
"Kit, a drink for the General," Claudus called. Wilykit swung down from the equose she was sharing and pulled the bag on her back off. She withdrew the small steel tray and set a trio of matching goblets on it. Pulling out a small bottle well wrapped in reeds into her free hand, she walked up to the great cats.
Grune raised an eyebrow looking the fourteen-year-old Feralli over as she dislodged the cork with her thumb claw. His eyes settled on the golden collar on her neck.
"Relaxed some of those stances while I was gone?" Grune asked, while Kit filled the goblets.
"Wilykit is a special exception; Lion-O's personal slave," Claudus told him.
"Ha! Well, I suppose if anyone needed one," Grune laughed, taking the first filled goblet. Claudus took up the next one and looked at the remainder. He had her bring three in anticipation of Panthro; foolish of her to not just leave it in the bag. The way she wilted under his look showed she realized this too.
"Panthro would not want good wine to go to waste. Come over here Tygra, join us in the first toast to Panthro," Grune declared, beckoning to the tiger. Tygra grinned, before leaping from his mount, leaving his brother to stand with the King and General.
Wilykit tucked the tray under her arm when Tygra took the final goblet and backed away eight steps like she was trained for such a situation. Far enough to not impose, but not too far to quickly serve.
"To Thundera's great Generals!" Tygra declared, raising his goblet.
"To the brave living and the honorable fallen," King Claudus said.
"To the future built by the sacrifice of a great cat!" Grune finished. All three drank deeply on the dusty highway in the sight of cats, slaves and kin.
XXX
The banquet was a modest ad impromptu affair, but Grune was being honest when he said it was quite sufficient. It really was the little things you missed, he thought, savoring some fine purple grapes.
Thankfully no one served him raisins. He could never abide by those shriveled up, ruined grapes.
It was nostalgic to sit in this banquet hall, the feast attended by the elite warriors currently residing in the city, and those state officials that were of rank enough to enter on virtue of their office.
With Lion-O absent, having yet to shed blood in battle, it allowed Grune to be conceded the place of honor by Tygra. It felt good, being here, admired and adored by these other cats for his feats and strength.
A shame to sacrifice most everything he had spent years building. But he would come out as King of Cats, and perhaps even greater prizes could be seized by the clever and the bold in the turbulent times to come.
Jaga was not here either, thankfully. He had never liked the old conjuror. The Rat Bane, they called him in the Wild Lands. The savages had often never heard of Grune the Mace, but Jaga was a legend to all, and a curse to Rats wherever that breed of vermin nested.
Yet Jaga had never demanded proper tribute; Ratilla was more a rumor than history to the people of Thundera. It only affirmed the man was dangerous, as those who truly bought into spirituality could be. Those who follow no rational motive of self-advancement and self-interest.
Grune had moments where he felt that for as incomprehensible as the jaguar could be to him, behind that wrinkled visage, Jaga comprehended him completely.
But no Jaga to worry about right now, and no scrawny lion cub under foot. Only the kind of cats all too eager to celebrate a cat that embodied what had built the empire of Thundera.
He smirked, recalling the familiar mosaic of Leo and his ThunderCats, with Leo's queen Panthera by his side. If only they knew their great heroic savior was a runt like Lion-O rather than a large heroic alpha lion.
Heh, Panthera had been at least three heads over Leo, judging by the images he had been shown. She had looked like just the kind of cat Grune would charm into his bed before leaving her on the doorstep in the morning. The strong, smart ones were the most satisfying to seduce and leave. And it never hurt your reputation, because a cat's pride would ensure they never admitted to being shamed so.
Yes, he expected the impressive stature of the dynasty came from her. And the Old One suspected her of being the one to convince Leo to rebel.
Ha, more like it was a Panther King and a Lion Queen! Grune had always known the supremacy of the lions was a sham. Such a shame Panthro had not lived to see the Queen he respected so, validated as the true warrior forger of the empire.
Ripping off a leg of poultry, Grune looked over likely prospects. He recognized one. A puma who kept stealing glances at him. Pumyra, yes, a promising warrior according to Claudus. A hick by birth, still dressed like a barbarian.
She was interested, of course she was! But leery. Partly his age, and perhaps also guessing that a powerful cat would not be dominated, but would dominate.
Ah, that would be a fine hunt! But there was no time. Just like going easy on the wine, Grune would have to limit himself to purchased companions of the evening. There was no time to give seduction the proper focus, and she would likely die in eleven days anyway.
A shame, but worth it.
XXX
Grune hated the slums, and he was certain they had only grown larger since his departure. Apparently Claudus had not been able to curb the consequences of the increased slave labor since victory in the Lizard War, after all.
The place reeked of weakness; this was the fate of those who failed to master and harness the system, as he had.
But there was a hierarchy here – beyond the wretches, there were predators. And he required their services to ensure an empire's swift collapse.
Much had been prepared already, plans hatched and set in motion long before he revealed himself to Thundera. But some pacts could only be truly sealed face-to-face, cat-to-cat.
And so here he was, walking cloaked through the filth to meet the Boss of the Slums, El-Dara.
The name tickled something in Grune's memory, but he could not place it. A scrub out solder from the old days, maybe? It wouldn't be the first soldier who turned to leg breaking after discharge, honorable or otherwise.
Getting out of the palace had been simple. The guards had been all too happy when he implied without saying he wished to visit the Red Lantern District. Claudus was a bit of a prude, so they thought nothing of him wanting some discretion as well as some company. And they would keep quiet for a while, feeling awed a living legend had asked them to have his back.
The General had cut through the district, just to shake any tail Jaga may have placed. He was too close and too deep to take foolish chances.
Though the hardest part had been to find the right whiskering tavern!
As if summoned by his indignation, the next turn revealed the door sign displaying three silver coins over an overflowing tankard.
"At last," Grune rumbled. When he pushed on the door, he discovered it was bolted, quite securely too, he judged. A slot opened, revealing two pale cat eyes.
"Password?" the lower cat asked.
"The Ancient One demands," Grune answered.
"The Forsaken answer," the cat supplied the response. The slot closed, and the door opened, spilling light onto the street before Grune's bulk filled the doorway.
He scowled at the odor of the place as the doorcat secured the entrance anew: cheap sour drinks, vomit, urine, and worse.
Looking around, he saw plenty of explanation – it was a Feralli bar. The lower cats leaned against walls or huddled at tables in near rags, only about one in five of the males being properly dressed. And of course, an overabundance of kits under tables watching and sneaking from shadow to shadow.
Filthy vagrants only good for manual labor a slave could do better, or cutting purses. The perfect malcontents to groom for high treason, he admitted.
He made his way to the second level, hood still raised to provide some concealment. The smaller cats made way without him having to do a thing. A female with three claw scars on her face blocked the top of the stairs, sitting, shamelessly nursing a brat, before being pulled up by her ears by a monkey of all things.
The mother hissed at the monkey as her kit cried. The monkey just barred his large teeth and opened his eyes very wide. Her fur went back down and she scurried back to her kind. The monkey, his dark grey fur partly covered by leather armor, turned his pale eyes on Grune. He crossed his arms, grinning.
Grune broke him down as a tricky fighter; he had a whip coiled around his left forearm. Hmm, an effective weapon when mastered, but not good for killing. Knives concealed on his person?
"The hero appears! Come now, El-Dara awaits you at the table," the monkey laughed as his kind was wont to. Few animals were as disquieting, amusing, and sadistic as the lower apes. It was fortunate the great apes were passive for the most part, Grune admitted. They would still not be worth fearing, but it made things easier.
He reached the table, it's singular status declared by the wide berth everyone gave it in the crowded space. A Feralli youth sat on the table, sampling from a large pile of skewered meat on the platter. Gutsy or stupid kit, Grune thought. His attention quickly shifted to the massive figure seated at the table.
The dog he saw would be at least a head taller than him standing. The sleeveless tan jacket revealed some of the thickest arms Grune had ever seen. The thick torso and neck were deep old muscle, a challenge in purely physical contest, Grune guessed.
The dog had a blunt, jowled face. It did not look good with his reddish brown fur, and the floppy ears reminded Grune of dried meat. The black beady eyes watched him intently as the dog plucked a skewer of meat with surprising delicacy.
'Well, I suppose it takes more than a brute to master the slums. Why did no one mention it was a dog?' Grune wondered. Even Feralli, he thought, had more pride than that.
Grune stepped up to the table and planted a hand on it.
"Evening, El-Dara is it? You know why I am here. So what's say we get to finalizing an era's end? Though first, perhaps you can tell me how a dog becomes boss of the slums of Thundera City?" Grune asked.
The dog ripped a chunk of meat off the skewer and seemed to consider his words while chewing. He swallowed before finally speaking.
"Red," the dog said.
"…Excuse me?" Grune asked. Behind him, the monkey laughed, clapping his hands and even hooting.
"Red is a dog of few words. Well, one word, actually," the young Feralli on the table snickered.
"Red?" the big dog asked, looking to the teen.
"Just stay alert, big guy," the Feralli said.
"Red," the dog answered, resuming his meal.
Grune took a moment, and realized that beneath the ragged cloak, the boy was wearing good quality – if not fancy – clothes. The General glanced around at the cats and the monkey watching the scene, following their attention.
"You… you are El-Dara?" Grune asked the young cat; he couldn't be more than fourteen.
"Very good! I guess that General rank really does mean something," the boy snickered, tail swinging behind him. The boy got up to stand on the table, which put him at eye level with Grune.
"Name's Kat, but that's not the kind of name that gets noted. So I lifted one from a story," Kat said, crossing scrawny arms over his thin chest.
"…The city of treasure," Grune muttered. Yes, he recalled that story now. He hadn't thought of those old books in years. Hadn't heard that tale since his mother died way back when.
"Right, there is always treasure to be gotten from cities, and Thundera is the ripest fruit, if the most dangerous one to pick," Kat said. At a snap of his fingers, a Feralli serving girl that might have been old enough to be his mother came forward and gave the young cat a bottle of wine.
The deference to this boy, it was strange.
"Care to tell me how a young cat like you ends up running the slums of Thundera with no one outside seeming to know your age?" Grune asked.
"…No.
"Now, you have promised me big things, General, and we are quite pleased those toys you sent us worked as described. But there are certain details we need clarified for such a high-risk venture.
"In particular – while it's understood this venture will cost us a number of long term assets, there are certain assets and persons whose security must be ensured," Kat stated. Uncorking the bottle of wine, the young boss took a swig of the contents, before offering it to Grune. Grune noted the gesture of the younger cat taking the first drink.
"Well, any soldier could tell you that once the battle starts, things can take unexpected turns, despite planning. What if I tell you this is too far along and you need to suck it up about these assets?" Grune asked.
"Then you disappear without a trace. We use that tech you provided to pad our pouches, and then skip town and see how matters turn out," El-Dara said casually. Grune glanced at the sound of the monkey snickering, and saw it was grinding a pair of curved daggers while staring at him. Not to mention the big dog and all the Feralli.
He would still favor himself, but needless risks were just that. Needless.
"Now, now, there is no need for threats between friends. Just so long as you understand that failure, if it happens, is merely the misfortune of war and not a break of good faith," Grune said. The young Feralli smiled, and the monkey sighed sheathing the daggers.
"Well, General. It so happens there is only one true deal breaker I require your guarantee on. In fact, you are in an excellent position to ensure its security.
"Which is why you will be informed what it is later, shortly before the Ancient One makes his move," Kat said.
"What, don't you trust me?" Grune asked, finally taking the bottle.
"Not even a little," the boy said with a smile. Grune laughed at the answer and grabbed one of the meat skewers from the dog's plate.
"Kat, I think we will work together just fine," Grune told him.
In Memory of
Calico
1994-10/03/2014
"Our Top Cat"
AN: Thank you for reading.