“I am Quaii, warlord of the Pathran people.” He sniffed at the air as he came to stand before them, offering them the barest of nods. “You are Sha’ree?” There was surprise and awe in the great cat’s voice, the sound so at odds with the confidence his stance portrayed.
Zalee gave a shallow bow and smiled. “We are, though our companion is of Nurin.” She pointed at Cael.
All of the Pathra turned their gaze upon him and Cael felt his face warming at their unabashed perusal. He smiled as best he could and gave a tentative wave, lowering his eyes until he felt the weight of their stares lift.
“We would speak with you of urgent matters,” Zalee told him.
“Speak free. I would have no secrets from my people,” Quaii replied.
Uthul nodded as he came to stand beside Zalee. “So be it. War has come once more to Ahreele, but it is not one of steel and courage, but one of magic.”
Warlord Quaii’s eyes narrowed, the voices of the Pathra gathered about him rising up in breathless whispers. “You speak true, ancient one?”
Uthul nodded. “I do. The Grol defiled the sanctity of Ah Uto Ree. They stole items of great power from within the sepulchers of our dead. They use these items for ill, lashing out at their enemies and spilling innocent blood upon the sacred flesh of Ree.” He gestured toward the south. “The nation of Fhen is no more, having fallen prey to the Grol in their ruthless conquest, Fhenahr crumbling but days past. It shall not be the only victim, we are certain.”
Cael stared at Uthul, not certain he truly heard the Sha’ree’s words. He stood numb.
Quaii tried to silence the growing chatter of his people with a hiss, but they continued on, their voices only slightly lower. “Can not the Sha’ree bring the beasts to heel, as your people had done so long ago?”
A quiet sigh slipped from Uthul. He glanced at Zalee and the two seemed to come to an instant agreement. He turned back and met Quaii’s gaze. “Long have the Sha’ree been gone from your world, Pathran. Our absence was not by choice, and many things are not as they once were. Our people have suffered under a virulent sickness and been laid low. We number in the hundreds, and no more.” Uthul’s words did what the warlord could not; the Pathrans went as silent as the grave.
The great orange cat seemed to shrink upon hearing Uthul’s words, his shoulders slumping. “That is dire news indeed. Then there is no hope?”
“There is always hope,” Zalee answered, her voice lined with steel. “But it must be the other races of Ahreele who bear its burden, for my people can do little more than advise.”
Warlord Quaii’s gray eyes grew bright. “Tell me then: what can we do to bring the Grol to their knees?”
“The hope we offer, however disheartening it may be to speak so truly, is but a glimmer in the distance. For it to bloom upon the vine, we must find the bearers of the ancient O’hra we left behind in our haste, so many centuries ago.”
Cael felt a sense of worry settle over him. He unconsciously felt for the rod, tucked safely against his waist, and drew a little closer to the Sha’ree. If his inheritance of the relic had committed him to some Sha’ree quest, he would know of it now.
Quaii turned to his people and spoke to them in low tones, a spattering of yowls and hisses drifting to Cael’s ears, the Pathran faces providing all the translation he needed; they knew nothing of the other relics.
The Warlord turned back to the Sha’ree pair. “Neither I nor my people have possession of any such relics, much to our great chagrin.”
While their expressions showed little, Cael believed he saw disappointment on the faces of the Sha’ree.
“Then we must continue on in our quest,” Uthul said, his voice betraying nothing. “Thank you for your audience.” He nodded to Quaii and then gestured to Cael as he and Zalee turned to leave.
The warlord halted them. “A moment, please.” The Sha’ree paused. “Though I know nothing for certain, perhaps another may provide you with answers.”
“Go on,” Zalee encouraged.
“You say Fhenahr has only just fallen?”
Uthul nodded.
“Then mayhap I believe true, though I was unsure when he stood before me.” The warlord swallowed hard. “A messenger from Lathah, one Arrin Urrael, came to me with news of the Grol attack upon Fhen, just this day past. He came on the wind, having told me of the fall of Fhenahr, witnessed by his own eyes, he said. Light of foot is my daughter, Kirah, but this Lathahn was faster still. My people watched as he ran to best her, arriving with my son with breath enough to speak calm, minutes before my daughter.” He gestured south. “Had he come from Fhen, your words proving the truth of his, then to Lathah before coming here, he would have to be bred of lightning.”
Zalee seemed to smile. “What of this messenger? Would you know to where he went?”
Quaii nodded. “His heart lies in Lathah. He came to ask of sanctuary for its people, and returns to the walled city with some of my own to urge its prince to act upon his words. He claims the Grol march upon his homeland, but said nothing of magic.”
“Then it is to Lathah we must go.”
Cael’s pulse raced at the thought of marching headlong toward the Grol army, having only just fled that of the Korme days before. He was no warrior. His hands trembled and he clenched them to fists to ease their shakes. His knuckles turned white as he stared, willing them to peace, afraid to raise his eyes should the Sha’ree mistake his wide-eyed shock for concession to their plan.
The sound of foliage shoved aside roughly and the furious howls of the Pathra drew his attention back to the present. He looked up to see a dark brown Pathran warrior tearing through the trees. He came to a halt before Warlord Quaii, his breath panting, the fur at his neck and chest matted thick with blood. His cheek was seared black, the skin around his eye blistered, the fur burned away to the skin beneath.
“We are under attack,” he told the warlord in stuttered gasps.
A great roar went up amongst the gathered Pathra. Cael strained to hear more.
“The Yvir have struck at our border, just below the shores of the Barren Lake.” The warrior touched his hand to his face, his pain obvious, but he continued on, his one good eye closed. “There are like no Yvir I have ever faced. They fight as though they are possessed of the Tolen spirit, and they call fire to aid them, their blades sheathed in flames.”
Uthul was at the warlord’s side before the Pathra could even speak. “It would seem that the Yvir also wield some of the O’hra. You must not approach them head on or many of your people will die.”
Quaii nodded, asking the wounded warrior, “How many?”
“Perhaps one hundred, maybe more, but I cannot be certain. They struck fast, sailing across the lake under cover of the Tumult. They were upon us before we could take to the trees.”
“Gather our people, save for what holds the southern lines against the Korme,” Quaii told his advisors. “We must meet the Yvir before they travel too far inland and reach our villages.” Several of his warriors ran to relay his commands.
“I can help you with tactics, to counter the power they wield,” Uthul said.
The warlord paused, before nodding to the Sha’ree.
Uthul turned to Zalee. “Take Cael and travel to Lathah. You must find this Arrin Urrael and learn if he possesses one of the O’hra. I will meet you there once the Yvir have been repelled.”
Zalee stared at him in silence and Cael believed he saw fear lurking in the pinkish depths of her eyes.
“Go, child, you must not hesitate,” Uthul urged. “If we are to win through, we must do as we have discussed. There is no other way.” He waved her on. “Now go, Zalee. Go.” He cast his awkward smile at Cael, and then turned to speak with the warlord, the plans of battle on his tongue.
Zalee grasped Cael’s arm and led him away before he could hear more. For an instant, he thought about rebelling, pulling his arm free to stay with the Pathra as his father had wanted him to, but he knew there was no point. Violence was exploding all over Ahreele, and no place was anymore safe than any other. If he could know fear at the side of the Sha’ree, he could know no peace.
He let her lead him through the trees. Her hand slipped away after a short time, as if she’d remembered the relic he still carried. They walked for a while saying nothing as the angered howls and Pathran battle cries faded into the jungle behind them. When they were gone, the quiet of the trees closing around them once more, Cael hurried to come alongside Zalee.
“This Sha’ree plan: what do you expect of me?” He could think of no more subtle a way to ask.
