Arrin felt his pulse sputter, unsure of why they would suspect him as a spy. “I-” he began as another of the Pathra warriors came to stand before him.
Despite the hissed warning of Waeri, she leaned her white speckled face in close and sniffed at Arrin. He held still, his hands far from his weapon as she circled him slow, her mouth open as she inhaled his scent, her long black tail held rigid in the air at her back.
“I know your smell, warrior,” she told him, coming around to stand before him.
Waeri made a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat, a clear warning, but the female Pathra ignored him.
“It has been long since I’ve tasted your scent, but I remember it. You have been here before?”
Arrin nodded. “Once, many summers ago, when I was but a young officer in the Lathahn army. The Grol had made their way into the jungle through the Dead Lands and my men and I were near. We helped to slaughter the beasts and send them running. Your people threw a great feast in our honor for our help that day, beneath the great canopy.”
The female Pathra smiled, Waeri seeming to relax a little at her side.
“I am Kirah. I too was there at that battle, young in tail, but I remember the fierceness with which you Lathahns fought for our sake.” She bowed graceful, her purple eyes locked on Arrin’s. “My people are grateful to yours and honor our word of friendship.” She gestured to Waeri. “You must forgive my little brother his brusqueness. He does only as my father wishes in his effort to guard our borders.”
Waeri glanced at Kirah and seemed to further calm when she gave him a gentle smile. He looked to Arrin. “Forgive me, Lathahn. My sister has a good memory for scents, so I trust her judgment that you are as you say.” He pointed toward Nurin. “As of this moment, the Korme mass at our southern border, just across the bank of the River Nur. They are armed for war, their horses restless at the rein. We thought you one of them.”
“The Korme?” The words were like stones cast at him. Could their uprising be coincidence? Allies of the Grol, in the loosest of senses, both dedicated to causing chaos and carnage, it seemed unlikely both nations would mass with no knowledge of the other doing so. “It seems I am not the only bearer of bad tidings, this day. I truly must see Warlord Quaii.”
Waeri’s eyes narrowed as he seemed to sense the agitation in Arrin. He hesitated, but Kirah took the lead.
“Come then, warrior. If you have news my father must know, let us be on our way.” She waved the rest of the warriors back to their positions, turning to Waeri when they scattered to the trees. “You should stay here, brother. I will lead the Lathahn to father.”
Waeri glanced at Arrin, then to Kirah. He nodded. “Be quick, sister…and be safe.”
Arrin caught the subtle warning in the Pathra’s voice and eased his hand to his belt. He undid the clasp and swung his belt free, offering his sword to Waeri. “These are dark times and trust must be earned through action. I would have you assured I mean no ill to your family or to your people.”
Waeri took the blade after a moment’s hesitation, his eyes on Arrin’s. “Well met, Lathahn. Have my sister send word once you’ve spoken with my father and I will have your blade returned. Perhaps you might even get the opportunity to set its edge against the Korme, alongside my brethren.”
Arrin gave the warrior a smile. “It would be an honor.”
Waeri gave a short bow and turned away, leaping gracefully into the nearest tree to disappear within its clustered foliage.
“Can you run?” Kirah asked when her brother was gone.
“I can. Lead the way and I shall be upon the shadow of your heels.”
Kirah laughed, as though taking it as a challenge, before darting off into the jungle. Arrin willed the collar to life and chased after. True to his word, he stayed close behind her without falling behind, his breath easy in his lungs.
After running for nearly an hour in a north-easterly direction, away from the great canopy Arrin noted with pity, Kirah slowed and began a measured stroll. If she was surprised he had kept pace with her, it did not show on her sleek face.
“Just ahead.” She waved him on through the jungle, casting out howling cries to the surrounding jungle as she approached
Arrin could hear the shuffle of many soft-padded feet all around and was grateful for Kirah’s presence. Though he could not see them, it was as if the whole of Pathrale lurked within yards of where they walked.
As they drew closer to a natural clearing that broke apart the dense huddle of foliage, Arrin could see more of the cat-people, milling about near its center, their eyes on him and his guide. Kirah led the way toward the largest of the groups, a number of the Pathra drawing their javelins up and standing in a loose semi-circle before another of their kind whose fur shone a brilliant orange.
“Father, I bring a messenger from Lathah. He speaks of urgency.” Kirah stopped short of the wall of soldiers, looking past them.
The great orange warlord waved his warriors aside and came to stand beside his daughter, his whirling gray eyes on Arrin. While the vast majority of his race was lean and lithe, their deceptive strength hidden beneath the shine of their soft coats, Warlord Quaii was the exception. Thick with muscle, the Pathra moved with grace and power.
Though dressed as all his kind, in nothing more than the fur they were born with and the few accoutrements of war that hung on his belt of woven vine, the warlord cast off an air of regal dignity. While the Pathra people might be no less animalistic in the flesh, they were far from beasts like the Grol.
“Welcome, warrior,” Warlord Quaii told Arrin as he moved to stand before him.
Arrin gave a shallow bow to the Pathran leader. Though he remembered the great cat from his battle with the Grol, his presence unforgettable, he had not been leader when last Arrin had been here.
“Greetings, Warlord of Pathra. I am Arrin Urrael. Forgive my intrusion, but I was tasked to bring you a request from Princess Malya of Lathah. I bring grave news of the world, as well. I would tell you the news first, given your leave.”
Quaii motioned for him to continue.
“As I myself have just learned the Korme have gone on the offensive at your borders, I must warn you that the Grol too have begun a campaign of war.”
The warlord’s eyes grew narrow, his people closing to hear more.
“They have come upon a form of magic not seen in our world since the days of the ancient Sha’ree. The land of Fhen has been razed whole by the Grol army. I watched as they destroyed Fhenahr with pitiful ease, magical fire cleansing the city of life without regard.”
Snarled chatter broke out amongst the Pathra in the clearing, their voices clearly tinged with uncertainty despite Arrin’s inability to speak their language.
“You say you witnessed this magic at work at Fhenahr?”
Arrin nodded. “Aye. They brought down the walls in but minutes. They now march on Lathah and I have no doubt the same fate awaits my homeland. That is why I have come.”
The warlord waved him soldiers to silence. “Continue, Arrin Urrael.”
“Princess Malya asks for sanctuary amongst the Pathran people, for her, her family, and for all the people of Lathah before the Grol cross our borders.”
The warlord scratched at the fur of his chin, his white whiskers pulled back tight against his cheeks. He stood in silence, his contemplation plain across his face. After a long moment, he spoke. “Why does the princess come to me with this? Is it not Prince Olenn who speaks for the Lathahns and for the ailing King Orrick?”
Kirah went to cut in, but the warlord quieted her before she could speak.
“Brother and sister though they may be, equals under our rule, it is by their own laws that the prince holds the throne in their father’s absence. If we are to be true allies to the Lathahns, I cannot step between them should this not be the will of Prince Olenn.”
Arrin sighed. It was as he thought it would be when Malya made her request of him, the game of politics standing in the way of what was best for the people of his homeland. “You are a loyal friend to Lathah, Warlord Quaii, and I respect your position. However, the prince chooses to ignore the threat to his people because of his personal dislike of me. He puts his people in danger for the sake of a petty feud born some fifteen years in the past.”
