Disclaimer: I do not own Thundercats 2011
Betaed by: Zim'sMostLoyalServant & Trackula
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Chapter III
Rivals and Ambitions
The Temple of the Guardians, often simply called the Temple. Not the oldest holy site of the Cats, but the most beautiful and intricate. And also the most hallowed – only Clerics and initiates could set foot within. No servants, no slaves; the Clerics maintained it themselves. Even a King only entered with certain limitations.
The meditation chamber blazed, the mirrors beneath the skylight heating the air.
Cheetara sat clad in her order's finery save for veil and helm. She sweated, her throat was parched; noon was passing and she had been seated in the position on this spot since sunrise.
The Seal of the ThunderCats, red and black, was painted around her. It retained the heat, amplified it. Her robes, the clothes beneath them, and her fur were drenched; she could imagine the sweat puddiling around her.
Clerics never sweat, because they were trained to withstand the heat of the light.
She knew other sects preferred darkness' serenity for the search into self, but Clerics swore by the light and trusted little in darkness.
As a child, this rite would have forced her into submission; it had so often that she had seen it as a punishment. It had not been until she had seen Jaga undergo it, and not be the least out of sorts afterward, that she realized they had told her the truth.
'What am I meant to see?' she asked yet again of the light.
Her mind's eye slipped open without her quite noticing; the thirst was great upon her.
It had been hot then, the shack in the mountains, unseasonable. She had been ranging beyond her bounds thoughtlessly, risking discovery by Sabres. Cheetara had been so fast she had thought without doubt she could outrun any trouble.
She had come home to death. No murder, no warning, only the emptiness of the only other cat she had truly ever known.
The kitten she had been had no words for a funeral, so burial was followed by an awkward farewell. It was odd; she had never entertained simply staying there. She could have lived well there, peacefully isolated, the work of survival distracting and filling her days and giving her restful nights. It had been what her mother had wanted for her.
So many warnings about other cats, other animals, to only have contact when absolutely needed.
Cheetara had seen death as releasing her from such plans. She had set out into the world.
And learned quickly of its casual cruelty.
She had been arrogant, and pain had made her proud. It was the way of most cats, to place yourself against the world when it pressed on you. She never contemplated retreat. To go back and admit she was wrong. Or admit that beneath the pride she feared she would go up that mountain and never come back down. That she would never have anyone else in her life ever.
In the end an act of grace, and an act of mercy, had saved her from dark fates.
She opened her eyes, the light blinding her. A figure stepped up, his shadow relieving her eyes and much of the heat.
"Master Jaga," she rasped, greeting the elderly jaguar. He looked like an avatar of the Sky Cat, framed in brilliant light, unaffected by the oven they were in.
"Young Cheetara, what have you seen?" he asked kindly.
"My past again. My pain and blindness. My journey to the Guardians," she reported. Her throat was parched, but she did not let it hinder her.
"You are troubled," he noted.
"Yes, a sense of dread pervades the vision. But why? My story ends well, I found my home," she told him.
"Oh, my child, your story is far from over. Now go, there is nothing more you can learn beneath this light," the Jaguar commanded. Cheetara pulled herself slowly to her feet and realized the elder was gone before she had thought to question his statement.
'Water first. A cleric is many things. Invincible is not one of them,' Cheetara reminded herself.
XXX
Lion-O had expected his brother. He knew there would be repercussions to what he did. He had not considered that before acting; was it bad he was glad for that? It may have been a mistake, may have, but he was certain it was not wrong. Had he had time to consider, as Jaga taught, he may have done something smart and be regretting it now.
'Try saying that out loud and making sense,' he had thought.
When it was his father who entered his main chamber, he had the wind slack in his sails. He was grateful to be reading a book rather than bent over examining that new tech again. The book was an analysis of the distant history of Thundera, somewhat controversial in trying to peel through legend to discern historic truth.
It was one of the few serious literary works to discuss technology as anything more than fantasy. But his father could at least assume he was reading about the many other subjects in the book.
"Father," Lion-O greeted, getting to his feet.
"My son," Claudus said. He waved Lion-O back into his desk chair, and grabbed a chair by the door and set it over by the desk taking a seat.
Well, at least it looked like they were not just going to be speaking as King and Prince.
"I heard about what happened with Grune. It was poorly done," Claudus said. Lion-O looked the question at him.
"Both. You and Grune both behaved poorly," Claudus clarified, looking displeased with having to do so.
Lion-O frowned and closed his book again.
"WilyKit was doing nothing wrong. Mumm-Ra was mentioned, and she did that evil dispelling thing some clans do. It was nothing. Grune said it again just to see her do it. And a third time.
"Mumm-Ra is a much bigger deal to the Feralli, we both know that. They don't see him as the ancient enemy vanquished, they believe he sleeps and stirs at the mere mention of his name. It may be silly, but Grune should not have…
"She tried to excuse herself, he grabbed her tail," Lion-O growled.
"Yes, and laughed and called her a scaredy-wagger when she jumped. I understand it wasn't even a tug, just a pluck. Enough for her to feel it," Claudus finished.
"Everyone was laughing at her, he humiliated her for no reason," Lion-O growled.
"And you hit a General," Claudus remarked. Were he not so intense on recalling the event, Lion-O may have noted an odd rare note in his father's voice at that statement.
"Well, I know it wouldn't have worked if he had been expecting it," Lion-O admitted, flexing his right hand. He could still recall the tingle lingering long after punching that amused Sabre in the cheek.
He would never forget the small stumble as the General recoiled from the hit but quickly regained his center. The look of stunned confusion on the snaggletoothed face, as if a hippomantus had fallen from the sky to deliver the blow instead. Lion-O knew that his amusement must have shown through, because for a moment, just a moment, that smug face he recalled so well and had been seeing again had changed utterly.
He had been certain in a moment of primal fear that the large Sabretooth was about to attack him lethally. But the moment passed, giving way to Grune's laughter.
He must have been quite a sight, everyone else seeing the Prince freeze as if in shock from his own audacious act.
"Well, I suppose a slave is the only bed company you can manage for the moment. My apologies for so infringing, my Prince. No need to worry, I prefer larger, and tailless," the General had laughed, and everyone had joined in.
The only silver lining was that Kit had slipped off at some point.
"Grune is from the provinces, and of overseer linage. Being a Sabre does not help, either. He is better than most, but he was not raised to refinement. Sometimes, that common crudeness shows through. It's not like the polite upbringing you and Tygra received. It's not quite fair to judge him by your standard," Claudus said.
"So he was wrong, but it's not his fault?" Lion-O asked, scowling.
"In a way. Lion-O, being King is about seeing more than black and white. The metaphor of the Sight Beyond Sight dwells on this. Grune may have behaved poorly, but he has done too much for Thundera to be treated like a common insulter off the street.
"And your striking him… Reprimand may have been seen as noble, but that was not only lacking control, but was cowardly and to most unprovoked.
"No, you did not strike him suddenly because you feared to do so properly, I know that. But rumors travel fast, and Grune is our returned hero.
"You are very fortunate he played it as a joke. Most will only see the amusement and read no deeper," Claudus said.
"So, better humiliated than thought treacherous or cowardly?
"You gave me Kit to prepare me for the crown. Father, could a King let his people be treated like Grune treated WilyKit without objecting, and still be a good King?" Lion-O asked.
"…I will speak with Grune. But I want you to consider this matter closed. The future King does not need ill will between himself and the kingdom's greatest General," Claudus said, getting to his feet.
At the door he paused, looking back.
"One more thing. Is it true you made Grune stumble back?" Claudus asked. Meeting his eyes, Lion-O nodded.
A small smile appeared on that scarred face, and then he was passing through the doorway. Lion-O slumped in his chair, alone again.
"That… went better than expected," He admitted. He wondered if he should have mentioned that look. For a moment, Grune had been a complete stranger, a very, very dangerous one. But no, he would probably get an earful of how Cats come back from wars and all.
'Worth it,' Panthro had been fond of saying that when Lion-O achieved a training goal despite injury or inelegant execution. Nothing like the praise or instruction Grune heaped on Tygra. Panthro only spoke at length on failure.
"Worth it," Lion-O said aloud. And felt what he realized might be the first true mourning for his old teacher. He had not been a friend like Grune was to Tygra, but he had been a great cat. Lion-O could not even imagine the stoic panther casually tormenting a slave.
XXX
Kit considered the tub, its ceramic blue bottom, and her own reflection. Poking her little finger into the steaming water, she smiled; it had cooled enough. Taking a moment to check the door was locked, she untied her ears and began to strip down.
She loved the smell of the bathhouse, the oils and bathing salts and the clean scent of steam and soap. Even one of the few private lower bathing chambers was a luxury.
Normally, she would have had her clothes turned in and mingled with others towel bound before joining them in the soothing waters. But her clothes did not return well, and even among her own class there was no welcome to be found. Better to bathe alone, and give them more reason to think her pretentious than have to bathe listening to their meant-to-be-heard whispers.
She sat her clothes aside, neatly folded, and stretched. Arms raised, then down on all fours, each leg raised and stretched in turn, and of course, getting up to ease her tail around a bit.
Her fur did not strictly need to be cleaned yet, but close enough. She liked to be clean in a way few of those who wanted to make her feel small understood.
They poured too-hot water in her requested bath to annoy her. WilyKit had no trouble waiting for it to cool. She had been through too much for this bullying to be more than an annoyance.
Lowering herself into the water, she kept her head and arms dry, letting her body settle. WilyKit plucked the small bottle of oil and poured it onto her head and then into the bath. A sprinkling from the soapy powder in the accompanying bag, and it was on.
She had liked bathing when it was her mother scrubbing her in a wooden tub with buckets of fire-warmed water. And it had been amusing as well as exasperating when she had in her turn helped her mother with the younger litter getting scrubbed.
But the slums had taught her that this was a dear, dear privilege, she recalled, folding her arms and slipping her head under the water.
Even as the water raised and caressed her fur, Kit's content expression twitched.
She remembered how it had felt when Kat had smeared and practically ground mud and stink into her fur.
She had whimpered in spite of his explaining why. How he had been listening to the "big guys" and put together how the brothels would hunt pretty young girls. Ferallis weren't highly regarded, but the Clan typically meant their women did not end up in brothels, so a pretty Ferallli was a rare and potential moneymaker for a cheap brothel. They did not mind using you as a slave until you were old enough for the sheets.
So Kat had taken steps to ensure she would be dismissed as a filthy stray not worth the effort to catch.
Her brother was so smart, she smiled, before emerging to breathe.
Without her holding him back, he probably made big scores and went home with plenty of money to help Mother.
She had learned to read under her father, then again as a slave. But her mother and siblings couldn't. Well, Kat could, but that meant no answer would mean…
No, she had accepted even before she learned how lucky she was, Kit would not drag her family into her trouble. Her brother would never have been able to accept a collar; he was not like her. He was a leader, like the royals, even if he had no sacred blood.
Well, Prince Tygra didn't have that either.
Or Grune, for all that he acted like a ThunderCat with all his entitlement.
Kit wished again it had been General Panthro to return. He had been born with a tail, after all.
XXX
Grune stopped on the road. The morning mist had yet to truly break up, but the manor house was visible. It was hard to believe he had once found it so grand, the days when it had seemed the pinnacle of status to be able to claim such a place. Before he had looked on Thundera, and realized what a pathetic slice of the world this truly was.
Though, yes, with the mist and morning light concealing the flaws, he could recall the majesty he had once seen in this place.
Why had he come here again? His father was long dead. He must have been invited back while in the area. Yes, the old lord no doubt wanted to put on airs to try and claim some glory for his piece of cropland producing Thundera's greatest General.
He could indulge.
The sound of water stopped the tall Sabre on the dirt-packed tract. Looking to his right, his brown eyes narrowed, looking into the vegetation.
Grune knew this spot.
Stepping off the tract, he easily made his way through the brush. It was pathetic as an obstacle now; he had hacked his way through thicker vegetation with dulled claws for hours. He reached the pond in no time.
It was, of course, smaller than he remembered, but again this predawn light and mist seemed to restore a certain feeling of potency to this tired old estate.
His old favorite spot. His refuge, his hunting ground, and of course his battlefield of countless pretend glories.
The sound came again, and this time he saw the source. A Sabre woman, big boned and tall, as was the tendency for his breed. No songs were sung of lady Sabres, only for their strapping men. She was doing laundry.
He had never heard of the women using this spot for that. But then again, he had been gone quite awhile.
"It is so difficult to get the stains out," she said. She did not get up to greet him, continuing to it at the water's edge, rising and boarding the clothes.
"Young cat, have you come to help me clean it?" she asked. Grune frowned at that, but put on a smile and laughed.
"Clearly, you have not heard. I am General Grune, the famed one-sabred warrior of Thundera," he announced, stepping forward.
"…That is not an answer to my question. Stains come so easily; wiping them away is so hard. Sometimes, it seems impossible. Will you not help me?" she asked, still bent to her task.
"Woman, are you deaf? Your dirty laundry is beneath me," Grune scowled. This encounter was drawing him into a foul mood.
"A man who betrays everything he ever claimed to fight for, even his true friend, says dirty work is beneath him. Washing could wash some of the blood off your hands, Grune.
"It may not yet be too late," she said, as she held up a piece of dripping cloth. No, it was a leather strap, with steel spikes on it.
He seized her by the neck and lifted her from the ground.
"How do you know?! How!" he snarled into her face.
"I always saw, even when I wished I could not. Please, there are other roads yet," she told him, calm and clear despite his grip on her neck.
"I have come too far to be stopped. I will be King," he growled. She looked him in the eye then, and he knew her. The General dropped her; she crumpled to the ground like empty rags, while he stumbled back.
"Is it true? Is my son lost?" his mother asked, her face staring up dry and sad as he remembered from the half-forgotten memories.
Grune's eyes snapped open and he leapt from his bed, ready for attack.
But no, looking around, he saw he was alone, his chambers in Thundera. Richly adorned, and likely doomed.
Making his way to the balcony, he watched the sun peek over the horizon. He could feel the energy in the city. The day of the Games was upon Thundera, the last revelry of an era.
Shaking off the lingering bitter tastes of the past, Grune withdrew to make ready. His era would soon begin.
XXX
Sunset had seen the festival come into full swing. Torches and bonfires lit up the great plaza, as cats of every class made merry. Booths sold all manners of food and drink, and performers entertained the masses, holding out their hats, receiving coins generously from wine-loosened purses.
There were also tables stacked high with cheap but plentiful food supplied by the royals. Like the entertainment of the Games, the festivities were a chance to show the royal family's generosity towards all cats.
WilyKit walked close behind him. She was wearing her finest red dress, and her collar was polished to even more of a shine. Glancing back, he saw her looking around fairly, her tail flicking. Still concerned someone might try and pickpocket him. According to her, events like this brought out cutpurses and the like in force.
He supposed she would know; there were times it was easy to forget his sometimes nagging personal slave had been a stray.
As if on cue from the thought, a fat cat with grey fur and a tattered grey cloak stumbled drunkenly from behind a booth.
"Thieves! I've been robbed! Lousy little Ferrali!" he slurred. Lion-O held out a hand to stop Kit. Watching the cat stamp around only to double over and vomit, Lion-O changed his route.
He found the display souring him to the festival; Kit so clearly not enjoying herself was not helping. Well, it would be time for the Games soon, he thought.
He stopped to look at a nearby pedestal, where a golden monkey statuette was displayed, surrounded by six guards. As was tradition for a victory, and a victory is how they presented this, choice bits of plunder were being displayed for the masses.
This was all supposed to be to honor the fallen in the Expedition, but Lion-O almost found that disrespectful. All anyone other than his father talked about was Panthro. His father's efforts might be noble, but the way the evening had turned out made it seem more insulting to those fallen cats, Lion-O thought. As if they only pretended to care about the others.
Lion-O wondered if Panthro would be honored by the Games? The Cat had been a great warrior, and Lion-O honestly was not sure how far his stoic nature had gone.
And that was what it came down to in missing that great cat. Lion-O had been his student for some time, but unlike Tygra and Grune, he had never truly known him, Lion-O admitted.
The sound of un-catlike cries drew him from his reflections. They had ended up by the stocks; he saw two Lizards strapped in, splattered fruit over their faces. It would be funny if one of them did not have its eyes wide in clear fear.
The laughter of the nearby kits, lower class by their look, did not help Lion-O's mood.
"Scram!" he shouted. With gasps, recognizing an aristocrat if not their prince, the kits ran off.
Lion-O walked up to the two reptiles, reading the signs that hung around their necks. 'Raiders,' he found himself regretting sending the kits running a bit.
"Mercy! Mercy, great prince!" the nearest lizard begged. He was surprised at its high tone; he had expected some rasping or hissing voice.
"Why should I show you mercy? You'd slit my throat given half a chance," Lion-O answered. WilyKit cleared her throat behind him. He was about to turn and go when the other lizard spoke up.
"Shut up. Asking mercy from a cat is like trying to squeeze water from a stone. And lions are the worst of the lot," the other lizard rasped bitterly. Lion-O frowned at that, fixing a look on the lizard.
"Quiet yourself fool! Do you want to die?!" the first lizard exclaimed. The second lizard smiled, holding the Prince's gaze as pointed teeth were revealed.
"We were dead the moment we were caught. A clean execution is probably better than toiling till our spines crack in the mines or our backs get scourged off in the fields," the bold lizard hissed.
"You sound pretty righteous for a bandit," Lion-O retorted.
"Bandit? As if I, any of us, had a choice. You cats hoard the best of everything you can grasp. And only trade what you don't want at such odds it may as well be theft.
"Our lands barely support us. A single bad crop or a blight on the herds, and villages will starve.
"Look around – the Lizard court could never eat so well in a month as what you give away.
"We kill you, we steal from you, but it's for survival. What do you kill us for? Honor, glory, sport?! You even enslave your own kind! As bad as King Slithe can be, he would never put a collar on another lizard, much less a child," the lizard spat.
Lion-O found himself at a loss as the lizard glared at him. A firm hand clapped on his shoulder. He turned to see his brother looking at him, amused.
"You're not taking the words of this criminal seriously, are you?" Tygra asked. He turned Lion-O away from the lizards, Kit stepping quickly to put herself behind the royals again.
"The Lizards' greatest crime is simply being weaker than the cats! And it's true for all animals," the bold lizard called after them.
"Enough," Tygra declared, looking back at the stocks, "Come on, it's time for the Games."
XXX
The crowd roared, the coliseum filled to bursting with cats eager for the Games to begin.
WilyKit stood between Prince Lion-O and Tygra, holding a decanter of wine, freshly replenished after serving the royal family. Another, older, slave cat was attending to the General and the two other survivors he had extended the honor of the royal box to.
Kit was glad to be here rather than out there. As much as cats packed in eagerly, she did not think she could have stood the close quarters and rowdiness. Looking over the massive crowd, she idly wondered if her brother was out there?
Of course she hoped he was home and well, but still.
She had failed to notice the King standing until the drummers out of her sight had struck their thunderous chord to command silence. King Claudus raised his gold chalice and spoke, his booming words easily carrying trough the great arena.
"These games are in honor of Panthro, and all the heroes who gave all they had for Thundera in the quest for the Book of Omens!
"Though the Book remains lost, General Grune and his mighty warriors have returned to us! They bring with them treasure, tales of glory, and word of new lands for conquest!
"But this night we honor those who have served the Pride to the final and fullest measure!
"HAIL THE FALLEN!" the King roared. The crowd repeated the praise as the others in the royal box did, draining their cups.
The King returned to his seat and let the Master of Ceremonies set the Games in motion. For now, the water arena with the Bell of Glory remained vacant in favor of the four sand rings.
The first contests were of strength and speed. Not limited to the warriors, even the most common could have auditioned for this right. Kit felt the crowd shared much of the royal box's polite disinterest.
Admirable or not, Kit had seen in the slums and the palace both that cats were most keen when the contests were violent.
While refilling the King's goblet, she heard General Grune hum in appreciation as a sword contest to first blood reached a dramatic, and rather crippling conclusion.
"It really is the little things you miss," he remarked, before taking a large bite of a well-marinated rib of casvar.
"I am pleased you are enjoying yourself," the King answered.
"Ah, after the hardiness of the quest, you could scarcely disappoint me, Your Majesty. Though I dare say I am not enjoying it nearly as much as I think young Lion-O enjoyed the she-cats' sprint," Grune chuckled. WilyKit frowned at that, recalling the Cheetahs. There had been plenty down there for that. Hopefully not that one.
"Such a shame though, such loss and no trace of the Book," Claudus said, looking to the chair occupied by General Panthro's portrait. She had been pleased to dust the work of art and drape its frame in the black of honored dead. Watching Grune devour some grapes, she yet again wondered why the great Sky Cat would bring back one and not the other.
"Perhaps, Father, it's time you give more credence to the skeptics?" Prince Tygra spoke up.
"The early histories are fractured, and veer into religion more than fact. The Book may be nothing more than legend and metaphor like Mumm-Ra-"
He paused as Kit hastily performed the two thunders and ho. She did not care if they were staring, someone had to keep the infernal eyes of the Ever Living Darkness from fluttering open!
"…and technology," Prince Tygra finished, giving her a smile she felt was not entirely nice.
"Grune, you never saw or heard anything like technology?" Lion-O asked, setting his goblet aside. He had not been drinking much, so he must have just been feeling bold.
"Ah, Lion-O. Though I came across all manner of beast, warrior, wonders, and horrors, technology is there as here. Nothing but old stories passed down to pass time around hearths," Grune answered, swirling the contents of his goblet. Kit was surprised the Sabre was not drinking more heavily; he did not seem the type to restrain himself.
"Lion-O, you should not bother him with your nonsense!" Prince Tygra admonished. The elder prince, she had refilled his goblet a few times. The earlier near blasphemy showed it was starting to tell. She caught a motion from the King and nodded. Time to switch to a more watered down decanter for Prince Tygra.
"While you're just so perfect, aren't you Tygra?" Lion-O growled.
"Why thank you, brother," Tygra smiled.
"Of course anyone can talk, fact is you haven't done anything worthy of a song yet," Lion-O followed up.
"Lion-O," Claudus started, but to Kit's distress he quieted when Grune put a hand on his shoulder.
"At least I don't waste my time chasing childish stories Father told before bedtime," Tygra growled, getting to his feet.
"At least I know who my father is," Lion-O said, getting to his own feet. Apparently she had given him too much, too. To her relief, Tygra's eyes widened rather than his teeth baring. Lion-O, for his part, took a step back on hearing his own words.
"This… this is not the time for this!" Tygra declared. Kit breathed a sigh of relief, and Grune laughed, standing up.
"Oh, I would say now is the perfect time for this!" he laughed, pointing to the Bell of Glory.
XXX
Lion-O let out a breath, lowering himself into a starter position. The crowd had gone silent when it noticed them step into the arena, Grune accepting the Master of Ceremonies' staff. The General was giving an impromptu speech to the audience before announcing the contest.
Lion-O ignored it, raising his face to look at the bronze bell situated at the apex of the three dimensional arena. As Grune was saying, to win you rang the bell first. That was key – he did not have to beat Tygra, just beat him there.
Though it would be so good to knock that smug look off his brother's face.
Glancing to the side, he was irritated by the mere fact Tygra was not looking around, easily holding himself to the start position.
"I am going to ring that bell," Lion-O declared.
"And I'm going to ring yours," Tygra answered, never looking at Lion-O.
"Let the race begin!" Grune proclaimed. He brought the staff down, and even on packed sand he managed a good clang from it.
They were off, crossing the narrow causeway to the branches, neck and neck. Then at the last pace, Tygra leapt ahead onto the wood and went left. Lion-O, gritting his teeth at the early lead, went right.
This was no flat out race, or matter of brute strength, he could do this!
Reaching a flat section, he pulled himself up and stood only to step back instinctively as his brother leapt lashing out with a punch. Lion-O went forward to strike before Tygra could regain his balance. He saw the smile before his brother seized him by the wrist and took his momentum to send him nearly falling off the trunk.
Turning back with bared teeth, the Crown Prince saw Tygra standing on the high ground between him and the bell.
"Face it, little brother, when it comes to everything but the crown, you'll always be second best," Tygra smirked.
"Enough!" Lion-O roared, charging up at the cocky tiger. Claws extended, legs pumping, he would knock the bastard into-
The gut punch knocked the air out of him. He folded forward, one shoulder then the other seized as his own momentum carried him into the hold.
"So predictable," Tygra said.
He shoved and threw Lion-O clear of the vines. Falling, he realized there was no danger of collision, and no way to stop his fall.
The water hit him like a shock, cold to the bone. Immediately, he internally smacked himself. Rushing in like that! As if it could have gone any other way against Tygra on his own terms! Stupid, stupid!
He broke the surface and a bell rang. Treading water, the Prince looked up. Tygra stood perched on the bell, bracing himself against the swinging bronze-work on an ornamental spike with apparent ease.
He had a hand raised in salute to the coliseum, the crowd chanting his name. Lowering his hand, he looked down at Lion-O and smirked.
Looking away, Lion-O swam back towards the shore. Pulling himself out, he gave Grune a wide berth. The General, like everyone else, focused on the winner of the one-sided match.
Reaching the entrance, Kit stepped up beside him, handing her master a dry towel. He looked at the white cloth and glared at her. She flinched back and looked confused.
"You got this before I even stepped into the arena, didn't you?" he said. Her silence was answer enough. Dropping the towel to the ground, he turned away from the stairs to the boxes towards an exit. Enough games.
XXX
Lion-O leaned against the booth, taking a small bite from the spicy sausage and washing it down with a sip from his drink. The Games were letting out, and most of the vendors had gone through their wares. Only the alcohol still seemed to be flowing as other booths closed up.
'This is better,' he thought of the small meal. Things had gotten worse with Grune around, he decided. He had never liked the guy, and Tygra practically worshipped him. It made things tense. He wondered about his father sometimes. Yes, Grune was a great General, and Lion-O could not point out some specific wart, but all he had seen of Grune seemed to add up to not trusting that snaggletoothed smile like his father seemed to.
"Perhaps, you should retire to the palace?" WilyKit asked. As ever, she stood not too far off, looking more nervous than usual. Taking a sip, he looked away over the crowds milling about, taking his time to answer.
"You can if you like. Unless you think I'm going to spill this and need to dry myself off," he said. He didn't see her flinch or her tail tuck in; he was thinking back to the coliseum.
He'd thought he had nothing to lose. But he had made a fool of himself in front of the entire kingdom. Yes, him. Grune started it, and Tygra did the deed, but Lion-O could have said no. It would have been a blow to his pride, but not so much as this had turned out to be.
"In my experience, whether angry or depressed, wine hardly helps," a woman said. That got his attention. And there she was, walking up as if it was the most natural thing. Dressed in that same, nice outfit he noted. Cheetara.
"Uh, it's honeyed milk," he said, lifting the cup slightly. Cheetara smiled and glanced to WilyKit, who was staring at her.
"Keeping him on track, eh? Good job. And good for you too, Lion-O. It took courage to do that," the lovely cheetah said.
"Courage, I lost," he snapped. He took a large bite from the sausage as she smiled. It calmed him down a bit in spite of his stoking the anger.
"There is an old saying, victory bring a single lesson, while defeat brings infinite lessons. I saw a cat who is accustomed to losing to his opponent, but was still willing to try. I'd say that was worth more than the masses cheering for a winner they only love because he is a winner," she said.
Lion-O felt his cheeks warm; he was pretty sure it wasn't the sausage, especially as she joined him in leaning on the booth.
'This night, might not be a total disaster,' he admitted.
XXX
WilyKit repressed a desire to yowl in despair and irritation as the scanty dressed cheetah flattered her prince.
It was worse than she had feared. Just look at those legs! And even a long mane; hers couldn't even grow that long if she wanted to. And those nicely shaped cat ears, unlike her breed's.
And those light red marks over her red eyes, even her facial fur was enticing. She probably dyed it. Yes.
She had him just by walking up. She was probably hoping to get a royal bastard in her belly before sunrise to extort some boon from the royal family. Pussycat!
Oh, but objecting wouldn't do any good. He wouldn't even hear her past that chest! This street cat would probably ask him to dismiss her so they could talk in a minute anyway.
'It'll be my fault too, I knew I should have told the King. He could have talked to Lion-O about this type. Then it would be his fault, not mine!'
But now?
She needed help. But the King was probably deep in something with the nobles by now, as planned. Grune? No. Jaga? Intimidating but good, but who knows where? Oh dear, that left only one option…
'Lion-O is going to hate me for this,' she thought, before slipping away.
XXX
WilyKat watched her go. He had been watching her as best he could throughout the festival.
His twin… even here on the plaza, boundaries unseen separated them. With the group of Feralli he was blending with could he breach the barrier to her? Of course, he controlled the City Feralli clan; these cats followed him.
But it would still be pointless.
She was so pretty. Well-dressed, and not having to hide prosperity like their breed had to when they managed to get it. To be lower than them was unacceptable to other Cats. His father had gone to the boonies for that as much as to escape the Clan obligations.
No, he could not steal back what the "Great" Cats had stolen. He had tried only once to do that. And his rise in the slums was due to three facts – he learned how best to get what he wanted before striking, he learned from his mistakes, and despite the first two he did not easily give up.
Sneaking into the palace had been simpler than he had thought. But his fur was still practically standing on end. He had snuck in at dusk, Cats being less wary than at night and the palace not as busy as daylight called for. And he had hidden, and watched.
Night was in full force now, but this was a rich place. And if rich cats reflected their homes, they would assume their status shielded them from trouble. The eyes would be outward, not expecting that a clever cat was inside.
It was exciting; the palace was beautiful. He could almost imagine he was in El-Dara.
But treasure was not on his mind for once. He had to rescue Kit.
Father was dead. Much as the thought still squeezed cold juice into his stomach, that made him the family head. Mother had to look after WilyFrizz and WilyFrazz, so it fell to him to provide.
He should have made Kit stay, he realized now. It had been selfish to accept her company. Father had been a real Cat; he had put himself in danger for his family.
Though that same dark voice as before still whispered.
With father gone, they had lost both the crop and the "farmer" the landholder had leased the land to. The old cougar hardly saw the rest of them as potential earners and seemed to think a tornado was somehow no excuse for missing payments. Father had rolled the dice by severing ties with the infamous Clan, and pouring all their money into a farm they wouldn't even own till years of paying up to a landholder.
And despite years of making good on debts, now…
No! Focus on the task at hand. Get Kit back.
The palace was beautiful, even sneaking through these corridors from shadow to shadow did not hide that.
It was all so clean! He could not help but wonder how many cats had to scrub and polish to keep it like this when so many passed through here.
But there was no time for gawking, or even wonder. He had a sister to save, and a problem.
He had no idea where to look in this big palace.
Whiskers. Great, long, bristly whiskers.
WilyKat was exhausted, and hungry. Day had come and gone as he snuck about the palace.
He had found the dungeon, and taken the risk of asking an imprisoned Feralli for any news. The prisoner had told him there had been no kits in the dungeon. But rumor had it a slave girl had been given to the Prince.
Which prince was uncertain. Prison gossip was secondhand bored guard gossip.
There was no way to sneak about when the palace had started to come to life before dawn.
So he had hidden and tried to sleep. Tried, being the key word. The slaves and servants had been far more dangerous than the guards. Was there any part of this huge palace that was not attended to?
And now it was finally calm enough that he could make his way to the royal wing. Exhausted, and anxious, but finally drawing toward his goal.
Then a slender and very hard arm slid under his chin.
"You do not belong here. But you're alone and little threat, so I will give you a chance to offer some excuse before I turn you in," a teen cat girl whispered.
"Give me back my sister," he growled. There was silence, and next thing he knew his back was being slammed against the wall. A short Guardian was pinning him with one hand.
He glared at her, but he couldn't see her eyes in the shadows.
"Yes, perhaps. Her name?" the warrior cat said.
"WilyKit," he spat. He should be terrified – these cats wielded magic and could kill a larger cat with both arms behind their back. But he was too angry to care.
"…What would you do if you reached her?" the Guardian asked.
"Free her, take her back," he said. What a stupid question.
"You will not be doing that tonight. But if you agree to remain silent and obey me until sunrise, I will show her to you. Is that fair?" she asked. How he would laugh at that question now.
This had clicked for him. Favors for favors were a system he had quickly discerned in the slums. That such a thing would apply in the palace had only surprised him for a moment. He nodded and she seemed to accept that.
Being practically carried had been humiliating, but he had focused on trying to lay the route as a map in is head. Even if he only got a rough picture, it would be of great value when he returned.
Then she opened a small hole in the wall, and raised him up to look. Clearly this had not been designed with younger cats in mind. And he saw her.
And her quarters. The urge to call out squelched itself before he had to. He was lowered and the hole was covered. Was this a hidden hallway, he finally thought, looking around. The Guardian spoke again.
"You're smart, so you already see. Good.
"It's noble to seek to free your sister. I myself think little of slavery. But freeing her would return her to the slums. Here she will be well cared for. The Princes are kind cats, the Prince of Blood in particular. The collar may bind her, but with such a master it can also shield her.
"Can you say the same of the freedom you would give her?" she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I could try," he protested. It sounded pathetic even to his drooping ears. This could have been a trick, nice quarters and his sister cleaner looking than since they left the farm. Not wearing ragged clothing either. But why bother with a trick?
"You are not a slave, you have a choice. I would not think less of you if you did return to try again, but I will not be so merciful then. Will you risk yourself simply to return her to poverty?" she asked.
He had no answer. He forgot to even be surprised when she dumped him outside the palace and did not call in the favor of "obedience until dawn".
He had not gone back. Kat had thought about it, resolved to save her anyway several times. But that resolve drained away each time before he reached the edge of the slums.
Because yet again a truth had been shown to him. He could not compete with even the scraps from the royal tables. He could not even match his father's ability to provide. As always with the Great Cats, they won without even having to really try.
Kat had gone home, defeated. Not a hideaway in the slums, back to the farm. With every intention of asking his mother guidance. Hoping she could tell him what to do.
But of course that journey had revealed fully how the world worked. That fairness was a lie, that the only real justice was what you had the power to impose on the world, and especially the Animals who lived in it.
He had come far, and he had left WilyKit in a safe place while he took the necessary risks. He had worked the system in his favor, turning a liability into an asset.
He cherished the burning of the old resentment as he walked away among the distant kin who he had broken to his leadership.
'I have come a long way. Do not worry Kit, soon. Soon I will begin to make them all pay for what we have had to endure. Just a little while longer,' he thought, fire and screams flitting through his mind.
When the way of the world is your enemy, aligning yourself with the enemy of the world was just good business. It was just another piece of evidence, proof that he would indeed go far enough for what was his to make up for the unfair hand dealt between him and that prince.
No, dwell on it and it will just lead to a need to cut it loose. There is no need; soon there will be no more hiding. The Darkness approached, and he would stand by its side as it swept the world up. And he would smile while holding her hand.
He spared a glance back at the Prince. He could almost pity the ignorance. Almost.
XXX
"By the way, who's your little friend?" Cheetara asked him.
"Oh, this is-" he said, only to realize Kit was gone.
"WilyKit?" he said, looking around.
"She left, looked to be quite upset too," Cheetara said. Lion-O pressed a hand to his face.
"Oh, whiskers. My fault. Listen, I need to, apologize. So…" this night was a disaster after all. Gets the girl, but then sends his friend off with hurt feelings and has to leave the pretty girl. Yes, another entry in the saga of Lion-O, he who stumbles from failure to failure.
"I'll help you look," Cheetara said.
'What?'
"What?" he asked.
"It's sweet, most Cats wouldn't think twice about a slave's feelings. I think there is more to you than you think," Cheetara said.
Not a disaster, for now. Night was not over yet.
AN:
A little gift to readers on my birthday. Sorry it's not one of my more popular stories. Though I am getting close to finishing an update for a PDJ story.
Well, that does it for the prewritten stuff. I considered going ahead to the mob incident, but I concluded that would serve better to open the next chapter.
No idea when that will be. In the meantime I hope you continue to enjoy this fic.
Long days and pleasant nights.