Daniel Klein

King Rawls stood at the cave’s mouth. Sleep had eluded him the night before. Thoughts of the battle were still clinging to him heavily. He turned fitfully on the ground, unable to settle well for a long time. His wife lay there next to him worried at the state of her husband. For the first time, she was seeing the stress of leadership take effect King Rawls.

A human may have been slightly annoyed at the glow of the blue vines overhead, but a Thezian beast was more than acquainted with the constant illumination. The slight hum the vines even made for distinct comfort. It would be difficult for any beast to imagine a world without the pulsing blue at night. 

The source of Rawls’ anguish was purely mental. The disturbance was caused instead by his constant worry that the battle was lost due to his own failings. His soldiers had fought with his plan in mind. Rawls thought that no one else could be blamed for the loss besides him. He had made the choices and now he had to live with the consequences. He chose to forgo his typical strategy of deceit for a more direct approach.  The decision was now haunting his thoughts. Before the battle, his idea was now is the time to step out of the shadows. All of his political success before was something he thought possible to replicate far into the future – but, the glory of the charge was something the Thezian beasts would remember fondly when retelling how the sacred cool was conquered. In his mind, the gods of the planet should be pleased with his direct approach. Rawls thought their appeasement ought guarantee victory. This lack of results made him very reticent to trust the words of Mathkar – a prophet who he heard evoked the gods as the determiners of results.

His wife tried to offer solace to Rawls in his restlessness, but her words failed to accomplish anything. The weight upon Rawls was too large to be pushed aside by the love of his wife, for he feared for her safety should anything happen to him. Her care had ironically only served to drive him to further discomfort. 

Thezian tradition held that a queen’s role leaned toward governance. Usually, a queen was responsible for facilitating the mating for the entire tribe – sometimes her duties included medicine, but this was a role diminishing in popularity for centuries now. Many mates in beast’s culture were not romantically motivated. However, Queen Wallader was an exception and cared deeply for her husband, even despite the marriage being arranged. She had never met Rawls before the ceremony and only knew him through the recommendation of her mother. He was a tribal chief that her late father had become quite fond of. With her father’s insistence, the word of a respected warrior, Wallader’s mother negotiated the marriage with Rawls. The union helped to make the now-king a more respected figure, compensating for his family’s earned reputation of being dishonorable. This doubt of his dubiousness was something that allowed Rawls to meet with a weaker king named Dulthac. A few months of swindling later and the five counties that once belonged to the sovereign were now under the rule of Rawls. Dulthac was not someone who could be left around to claim his territory back and Rawls had him summarily killed.

Rawls, as his name claimed, did wield deceit with ease against all but his wife. He took his name to be practical instruction from his father on how to behave in the world. His family was a cohort of swashbucklers for as long as their family history went back. To Wallader, he was always willing to show his true self. He considered it a great honor to be chosen to marry her. His family line was not as distinguished as the other candidates vying for her betrothal. His life’s mission was motivated by the trust Wallader’s father had given him. 

Wallader used all her energy the night after the battle to convince Rawls to sleep some. Despite all of the encouragement, he did not accept her claim when she stated that the failure to achieve victory was not his fault. 

Morning broke over the jungle, and the brief attempt at rest concluded. King Rawls had no room for delay in chasing their goal. The coolness of the spaceport still was calling. Even from such a distance away, Rawls could sense the presence of the building. Every Thezian beast certainly had that same feeling. The cool was a beacon that took a very strong will to look away from.

The king descended into his underground keep, its cave walls were slick with moisture from the rain. His first task was to check on his warriors’ health. The cave stretched narrow until a flatter open area was revealed. The air was thick with the scent of sweaty fur. The beast’s blood was purple, but the color could hardly be seen on the cave floor with absence of light. The lack of illumination was no issue for the predatory beasts, at least in matter of seeing that their was a thick liquid spattered on the floor. Their eyes held the capability to see well in the pitch black, although the occasion rarely happened where they needed such an ability. The electric vines usually kept the whole world alight, even in the dead of night. The warriors had recovered more than he had dared imagine the night before. While a few soldiers remained incapacitated, many of his soldiers were ready to make war again. Mumbles could be heard among the soldiers of their desire for revenge. 

As Rawls passed and assessed what remained of his army, each beast rose from the cool rocky floor. They offered salutation  with low polite howls. All were honestly eager to see their king once more. A young warrior started to speak to the king, “I am sorry my lord for our failure yesterday.” Rawls had no response. He did not wish to appear weak by blaming himself, but also did not want the warrior to feel at fault. The best solution, he thought, was to ignore the remark.

Rawls completed his rounds among the wounded. Once content with his assessment he climbed out of the cave’s coolness, stepping into the faint light filtering through the gray clouds. The weather was cool, occasional drops of rain were being felt by the beasts outside of the cave. He sought his commanders and allies. The search for news after the defeat was frantic. Rawls was worried he had missed something during the time he was attempting to sleep.

The prophet Mathkar approached first as Rawls emerged from the shallow depth. The elderly beast dipped his gray-patched head to motion a bow. Behind him came Raltham, a senior warrior. His muscly body emerged quickly from some ferns on the edge of camp. Raltham was a trusted figure who had fought by Rawls’ side since the very beginning of his ascension. The king’s gaze slid past Mathkar, more eager to hear from his commander. Raltham’s voice was something welcome to hear indeed. King Rawls was fearful of asking the question the night before of whether his most loyal soldier had survived. The prophet’s words could wait until after he spoke with Raltham. The warrior stepped closer, his claws visibly sharper than the prophet who stood next to him.

“I’ve got news from the scouts tracking Viscount Mallaw’s troops,” Raltham relayed. Rawls was confused as he had ordered no one to follow Mallaw. Before he could question Raltham, the warrior clarified the situation,  “I ordered them to follow his contingent after you began your rest. They’ve kept a steady watch. Just now, three of Mallaw’s warriors clashed with a soldier and some other figure of the same species – maybe a woman. The Thezian beast’s physiology did not differentiate much between the two sexes – women were slightly smaller and their mane was slightly less red. The beasts, however, recognized the differences between sexes, as their prey varied sharply in form depending on whether it was male or female.

“The second one wore strange garb, not like the combatants we have seen. Mallaw’s forces lost the fight and were met with death,” finished Raltham. Rawls’ jaw tightened to not express any emotion. He pictured the viscount’s forces being eager to attack, but stumbling into the occupiers of the building so immediately was still an unexpected surprise. The death of Mallaw’s men was something that Rawls was ecstatic about. Despite being reticent to show the extent of his emotion, he was still furious with the betrayal. The more he processed the words of his faithful commander the more joyous the king became. Rawls shook his head to hide the positive emotion he was now feeling. His mind was already turning to the next move. 

Rawls raised his head while pondering his exact words. “Gather,” he called. His voice rumbled deep, cutting through the low conversation inhabiting the camp – mostly concerned with the call of the cool. “I have words to share. Viscount Mallaw fights the invaders who hold the cool. The cool remains our objective. I will not forget it. His choice to leave our ranks displeases me. Yet I won’t hinder his attack. He pursues the same end as we do. For now, we need to plan well given that the pressure is still on our alien enemy” The speech was over and the party began to disperse. His gaze swept over the gathered beasts, their black fur blending with the shadows of the ferns well. Rawls began to ponder what possessed him to have shadowy hunters charge down a forced with no cover. Despite his perceived failure, the other viscounts and tribal chiefs were eased by his words that no civil war was coming. They dreaded a split. Infighting would benefit nobody in their minds. Still, they would be bound by honor to follow Rawls to the end. A clash among their own that might diminish their ability to seize the spaceport. The coolness of that human den still beckoned. Rawls knew that Mallaw’s boldness could serve them yet, even if it galled him to admit it. He let the silence settle, before turning back to the prophet to finally talk. 

Rawls faced Mathkar. “Prophet,” Rawls began, his tone sharp, “what can you give me? Forgive my bluntness, but your courtesy in waiting doesn’t change my desire to know your plan. I am aware you carry some scheme. I too am knowing that you will claim the gods whispered this course of action to you.” He paused to make sure no one was eavesdropping. He resumed after deeming the noise of all the other beasts sufficient in covering their conversation. “I am no devout creature. I speak a prayer before my meals, but I have no wish to bow to any priest’s rule or rule in the name of a religion.” His eyes narrowed, emploring Mathkar to get on with the conversation. 

Mathkar understood the King’s pragmatism in his dealings. He tailored his reply to what he believed to be most effective given the circumstance. Religious motivation was only touched upon briefly. “The gods urge you to ally with the most powerful king of the coast,” he said. “King Melsar awaits your visit later today. I’ve arranged the meeting.” His voice remained calm despite the great risk that was being taken.. 

Rawls was shocked at the admission, “You’ve planned for a king without his knowledge?” he asked. “That’s a daring move. For a beast your age, your recklessness borders on absurdity.” He found the thought of an old beast acting so foolishly to be amusing. A deep laugh rumbled from Rawls’ chest.

Mathkar stood firm, unfazed by the possible consequences for his deceit. “King Rawls, I’d struggle to sway a beast as pragmatic as you to my gods without proof,” he replied. “Attend that meeting with your army behind you and I promise an alliance with Melsar’s fifteen counties will be your reward. If I’m wrong, banish me from the sacred cool forever. You shall never see me again.” The gambit was laid bare, an intriguing result for Rawls. This alliance could be what was needed to save face from the disaster the day before. His current organization was a tentative union in the mind of the king, but the addition of Melsar would help to shore things up in Rawls’ opinion.

Rawls summoned his forces. His voice was now a resonant bellow. He strode before the cave’s maw. The cool exhalation of the air hidden from the sun was a cool balm against the now returning heat with the rain’s absence. “March with me once more,” he commanded, “this time north to the domain of Melsar.” They gathered swiftly, a line of jet-black fur and glinting claws, their numbers a testament to Rawls’ sway. There was little question in the crowd why they would march away from their objective.  If any doubt lingered that Rawls had lost his alliance’s favor, the evident loyalty of his soldiers to his latest command should have dispelled that notion. A total of 90 Thezian beasts formed their marching column and were prepared to follow Rawls’ northward. 

Queen Wallader joined Rawls leading his men before he left the territory. She walked alongside him to strike up a final conversation before the journey north. The queen was to stay behind to care for the wounded that still resided within the keep. When approaching the king, her worry was outwardly visible, “Do you think it is right to leave the wounded here unprotected? I fear Viscount Mallaw might attempt to attack us here if he gets word of you heading north.”

“My dear wife, I do not think he would attempt such a misguided maneuver. If he were to move away from the coolness, I think his few remaining subjects would be quite upset. He knows I will come for him if he dare to attack my keep while I am away.”

“Still, I do not feel right about staying here without guard. You may hunt him down, and I know you would avenge me, but I would miss you terribly so” she replied.

“Stay strong, we are close to eternal glory. Mathkar might be a blessing to our situation. The gods may have rescued us, not spiritually, but maybe politically.” The queen gave a rub across Rawls’ shoulder. She then left the march and returned to the keep. 

Rawls led his troop toward Melsar’s territory. To a human, the jungle might seem uniform. The beasts, however, were able to differentiate and identify every area with ease. They had hunted these same lands for countless generations. Tales of notable events were spread and eventually almost everything under the sweltering sun had been described.

As the column continued their march, Mathkar trailed somewhere in the column. For someone who had schemed this meeting, he was not ready to take credit for tis completion. Still, Rawls could hear his voice occasionally, it was always a low murmur speaking of the cool’s sacred nature. The coastal cave lay two days off at a brisk pace. Their food, a meager stash of meat, wouldn’t last the trip. They’d need to halt one night to hunt. The delay in their expedition was something the king was quite comfortable with. Rawls figured six days away from his keep might give Mallaw enough time to wear his own forces thin. 

The march followed the well-kept paths. If not for a cleared road underfoot, the coolness of the ocean would have eventually led the army down the right path. Rawls imagined this march being talked about in the future. An unlikely partnership organized by a strange prophet was to yield the force that conquered a holy land. 

In the Thezian beast’s culture, no pact bore weight without a display of strength. An alliance needed more than words; Thezians demanded the visceral proof of might. Rawls knew this well. His gait was resolute as he marched closer to the edge of Melsar’s realm. 

Rawls did not trust Mathkar, but a break of his promise could easily prove as a worthy justification for a war against his tribe in the east. However, should the alliance come to fruition, Rawls would be able to conquer the sacred cool and cement his name among legends. The young king knew that the only way for him to fail now was in his own hands.

The march halted as Rawls’ column reached the boundary of Melsar’s domain. Scouts emerged from the sides of the trail to meet them. It appeared as if the warriors were expected guests. The scouts’ fur blended well with the shadows of the coming night. The beasts’ ability to sense heat had tipped Melsar off to the exact time of arrival a day ago. The warmth was overwhelming, a welcome sign to Melsar, who eagerly anticipated the cementation of an alliance. 

Melsar was not surprised by Mathkar delivering Rawls as promised. The coastal king worshipped the gods devoutly. His days revolved around worshipping the cool, only sometimes paying attention to his kingdom. Often, Melsar would perch on beach, gazing at the water’s motion. The breeze would sweep over him, cool and steady, brushing his grizzled mane. Older than Rawls by decades, Melsar had watched countless young leaders build themselves up only to crumble. He relied on Mathkar to fetch him an ally with backbone, not some frail pretender.

Rawls trailed the scouts toward Melsar’s position, his army being told to wait near Melsar’s keep. The air grew sharper as it became increasingly laced with salt. The trees of the jungle had stopped growing only a few yards away. The coastal king loomed ahead, standing solid on the sand with his rib cage visible. Despite his skinniness, his frame was unbent despite his years, or at least that was what was proclaimed from his pose. Despite such strength in posture, King Melsar was skinny for a Thezian beast. Melsar’s vision of Rawls matched what he predicted: a younger beast carrying himself with a quiet dignity. Melsar felt the approaching King’s intensity. The older king stayed still, studying him, his mane continuing to ripple on the windy beach. Few beasts ever earned the privilege of walking on the beach.

Rawls closed the gap between him and the pondering Melsar. His claws were touching sand for the first time. “I’ve come to join you in seizing the cool from the alien forces,” he stated after finally comfortably grasping the ground underneath.The ocean’s waves pounded the beach, a low roar rolling up the shore. Rawls stood square before Melsar, his intent plain. He had no room for games or hidden plans. Taking the spaceport was all that drove him at the current moment. What came next didn’t concern his mind. Dodging the issue was not some political ploy to the southern king. Rawls just wanted the glory of victory and not necessarily the spoils. He kept his eyes on the older sovereign, waiting for a response.

Rawls banked on Melsar’s faith to seal their pact. The coastal king’s devotion to the gods ran apparently deep. Rawls figured that zeal alone could bind them, no elaborate promises were required. If Melsar asked for complete control of the spaceport, Rawls would agree without a moment’s hesitation. He stood steady, waiting for Melsar’s reply.

Melsar broke his silence at last. “The gods call me to stand with you. I can hear their words being spoken out there in the ocean” he said with hints of craziness. His voice continued with all due zealousness, “I’ve weighed my decision long enough. Mathkar asked me for this alliance with you awhile ago. He’s been at my side since my earliest days. I consider him a friend, though his counsel often serves my ends well regardless.” 

Rawls was glad that Mathkar had told him the truth, but his curiosity was piqued. “How long have you known him?” he asked.

Melsar’s gaze drifted briefly to the sea. “Since I first led a tribe,” he began his reply. “Thirty wars I’ve fought against rival clans in my time. I handle things through power. I’ve heard tales of your cunning, how you outmaneuvered King Dulthac to strip him of his lands. I prefer taking what’s mine with raw strength, but results are indeed results.” He paused, clearly not wishing to divulge anything more about Mathkar. “Now, these invaders in the cool land. How strong are they?”

Rawls stepped closer, his fur was cooling down significantly. The novelty of this amount of cool served only as momentary interruption to his thoughts. “At first, we took them for behaving like our typical prey. Their blood was very warm,” he answered. “Once they were alerted to our presence, they would not go far beyond their walls. It, however, seemed only a matter of time before we could enter the holy building. Things changed during our last attack. Something lifeless struck us down – weapons with no soul behind them. It was a soldier inorganic. They cut through my ranks with such terrifying ease. My warriors broke and ran at the sight. Facing them head-on might not work.”

Melsar nodded, his mane caught the beach’s wind – a feeling that gave him great relief from the terrifying heat of midday. “Let’s plan, new friend,” he suggested. Rawls agreed to begin strategizing, but had very few ideas to put forth. “Can we draw them out of their stronghold?” Melsar asked.

Rawls responded, “They ventured out often in the beginning. It seemed as if they were interested in finding something. Their curiosity stopped once we showed ourselves. We are proud of the fear the aliens had right before their death. It might have backfired as they no longer show their faces.”

Rawls continued to explain the incident with Mallaw’s warriors three days before, “A few days back, just before we started this march, two aliens left the building. There was no clear objective mentioned to me by my scouts. They returned fast to the cool quickly – within moments, but not before slaying three warriors of a rebellious viscount.” 

“Two aliens were able to slay three warriors?” Melsar was taken aback. No single creature on the planet Thez had been able to slay a beast in a millenia. Tales of ancient monsters were rare among the Thezians by now, but the stories persisted in some more remote counties. “They are armed with weapons – nothing like you have seen before King Melsar.  They do not kill with their claws – they have none. They use some sort of energy to instantly kill our brethren. They point their weapon at us and we just die.”

“I see, young ruler. Mathkar told me that the creatures defending the building were fierce, but such strength and unwillingness to venture out poses a unique challenge. That being said, everything worthwhile requires sacrifice.”

Melsar scratched at the sand with a claw. “I need more time to think our approach over,” he said. He looked up, his eyes steady on Rawls. “Let me feed your warriors tonight. I too must think on a solution. Join us for a meal. We’ll make it a feast, then afterwards we shall depart.”

Rawls acknowledged the request and started walking to where he thought Raltham was to update him on the plans. He didn’t get why Melsar placed so much emphasis on a feast. The older king’s frame was lean, almost bony, his black fur clinging tight to a body that didn’t look like it savored much. Rawls glanced at the coastal camp ahead, where the beasts from both camps were already gathered. The scent of meat drifted over as Rawls told his force that they would be dining here tonight.

“Do not eat too much,” Rawls said, now within earshot of all of the soldiers here gathered. “We march tonight to the sacred land. Our alliance is now set. We stand 200 strong now. A hundred fresh warriors, ready to claim what’s ours.” Melsar was now walking behind Rawls, his thin frame cutting quite meager to his fellow king. Then he let out a roar, sharp and booming. Rawls hadn’t expected such volume from someone so slight. Melsar’s sound rolled over the camp, and the entire force joined in. Their howls rose toward the sun as it was slowly dipping below the horizon, its last light glinting off the ocean’s surface.

The feast passed in a blur. The warriors tore into the meal without delay, their claws ripping through the fresh meat piled on broad leaves – a tradition customary for the beasts living on the coast. Melsar’s hunters had brought down a big animal that morning, its flesh still warm and tender from the kill – perfectly timed for the army’s arrival. The scent of blood from the meat permeated the air. Each beast who had arrived with Rawls ate exceptionally fast, jaws snapping, filling their bellies after days of lean rations. The meat held just enough for all, no one left scraping for scraps. The food was fuel, nothing more, and everyone knew the march back to war loomed close. Around the camp, there was an overall eagerness to get back to fighting.

As the column reformed with the addition of Melsar’s warriors, a scout came sprinting on the trail. The speed at which he ran was extremely fast, as if prey was only a few feet away. The scout ran right to King Rawls, “I bring news. Viscount Mallaw has attacked the keep, slaughtered the wounded warriors, and the women too. Us scouts escaped, but I do not think there are any other survivors.” Rawls roared loud, knowing the implication was that his wife was dead. If he were not at the head of the formation, the king would have cried. Rawls raised his front paw and slashed the scout across the face in rage, blood now dripping down the face of the scout. The scout remained still, attempting to accept the wound with dignity.