Jamaal was cold, wet, and miserable. He’d never been fond of rain, and wished he were home again, back in the dry savannah that was his homeland. The little Cheetah had joined the vast Imperial Army, his mind filled with visions of returning home with tales of glory and heroism. Instead, he’d been recruited as a courier in the service of one of the larger Noble Houses. He was somewhat disappointed when he found out his job would mostly consist of carrying letters between the House’s merchant concerns. When told where his new home would be, the port of Kessellon, his fears faded. He was going to the largest port in the Empire, home to much of the Imperial Fleet. Scarcely had his signature dried on his papers, when he’d been told to carry his first letter. This consisted of a single sheet of paper, upon which was written the date, the time, and nothing else save the signature of the recruiting officer. He’d been puzzled, until given directions and told to get there as fast as he could. A test of his speed.

He’d ran his hardest that day. Normally, a trip of two hundred miles would have taken him around ten hours, but he’d made it in just over six. As well as possessing much of the speed of their wild cousins, Cheetahs were one of the few Kin breeds to be able to swap between running on two legs, and running on four. They were the masters of sprinting. Jamaal had a personal best of one minute eight seconds for a mile, though he couldn’t keep going at such speed for more than a few minutes at a time. Though he had proved he could travel at a very good rate, over a sustained period. But there had been a price to pay.

By the time he’d reached Castle Amberstar he was quite a mess. His hands and feet were cracked and bleeding. He was battered and bruised, having fallen several times as his journey neared its end. The guards at the gate had almost turned away the filthy vagrant, before one ran off for help when Jamaal produced his papers. He spent a week in the infirmary, during which time he had one visitor. Weaponmaster Morgan Amberstar, the man in overall charge of training. Firstly, he’d chastised Jamaal for injuring himself needlessly, and delaying his training. Secondly, he told him that Lord Amberstar herself had been impressed by his punctual arrival, and wished him a speedy recovery. He’d asked if the Weaponmaster didn’t mean Lady Amberstar, and Morgan had explained that House Amberstar had long ago elected to be ruled by the firstborn child, instead of by the firstborn son. Not only that, but the head of the House would always be Lord, regardless of sex. It sounded odd, but he was glad to have made such a good impression.

Once he’d recovered, Jamaal threw himself into his training. Mostly out of enthusiasm, but partly to make up for the reckless start he’d made. Much of it consisted of weapons training. He was told that while most of his work would be unglamorous merchant business, there was always the possibility he would be carrying something very important, or very expensive, and so had to be able to defend himself. Because of his size and speed, most of that training revolved around small, light weapons in order to take full advantage of his speed. It was very effective. Often, in training, he’d been able to hit several times before his opponent could react. And he’d spent hours studying maps, until he knew his way around the Empire as well as he knew his way around his home town. He’d learnt wilderness survival skills, which he loved. And he’d learnt to swim, which he loathed. All in all, he had trained for a little over a year and a half, when Morgan came to him again and told him his training was over. He was handed a badge, and a rather weighty pack. The badge marked him as a lieutenant in the service of Amberstar, which came as a complete surprise. He’d never thought he was going to be an officer. Not so soon. And inside the pack, there had been yet another surprise. He’d trained in their use, but never expected to own one, because of their cost. A wheel-lock pistol, decorated in gold, and with his name etched on the side. A weapon like this was a dream to most soldiers; it would have cost a year’s wages. Morgan had said that nobody working for an Amberstar would fail due to inadequate training or equipment.

He put his hand inside his cloak, and briefly touched the pommel. It was a treasured possession, and the memory of first seeing it often raised his spirits when he was down. He loved his work, even the mundane aspects of it. But sometimes things just wore him down. He’d only just got home from a long run, when he’d been ordered out again. He’d spent the last three hours running through torrential rain, heading east along the coast to some damn field in the arse end of nowhere. Ahead he could see the lights of a camp near the sea, and he thought he could make out some light on the sea itself. Ships? It wasn’t long before he reached it. A ring of tents squatted in the sodden twilight, surrounding a much larger marquis. He could see a large number of guards patrolling around the perimeter, so he called out a greeting.

“Hello there.”

“Stay where you are. Somebody bring a lantern.”

A guard hurried over, shining a hooded lantern in Jamaal’s direction. He put up a hand to shield his eyes. “I’m Courier Captain Jamaal, in the service of House Amberstar. I was told to report here.”

“Ah, we were told to expect a courier. If you’d please come this way Captain.” The guard led him across the camp, to one of the smaller tents, and stopped by the entrance. “Captain Amberstar, Sir?”

“Yes?”

“That courier you were expecting has arrived.”

“Show him in.”

The guard gestured for Jamaal to enter, and he did. A large Tiger, in heavy armour sat at a large round table reading through several sheets of parchment. “Please take a seat, I’m nearly done.”

Jamaal flopped into one of the other chairs, grateful to sit and rest for a moment. He looked over at the other Cat. Big bugger, Jamaal thought to himself. The Tiger was completely engrossed in his reading and had yet to even look up at him. This went on for a few minutes, with occasional muttering, until he finally put the last sheet down. He stretched, and finally turned to Jamaal.

“Captain Amberstar at your service.”

“Courier Captain Jamaal. In the service of your House.”

The Tiger grinned. “I know that name. You’re very well thought of. Highly dedicated, and our fastest courier. I’m glad you’re the first of our couriers to arrive home.” He stood.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, but I had to finish reading those reports. Now if you’ll come with me, Lord Amberstar has a job for you.”

Lord Amberstar? He’d seen her before, but never spoken, and she was waiting here for him? He suddenly felt very awake. Captain Amberstar led him over to the guards at the marquis entrance and walked straight in. neither guard challenged the pair as they walked past. Evidently they were expected. Jamaal gaped about as he entered. There were several dozen heavily armed men here, mostly Tiger and Lion. In the center of the tent stood several tables covered in maps and paperwork. At one sat two figures, deep in conversation. Jamaal’s heart almost skipped a beat. Sitting facing the entrance was Lord Amberstar herself. And in front of her, sitting with his back to the little Cheetah, was a Lion. And considering the company, and the number of guards, it could only be one man. Commander of the Imperial Fleet, and second most powerful man in the Empire, Crown Prince Nicholai. Jamaal swallowed. He was suddenly very nervous.

His escort bowed. “My prince, my Lord. The courier you’ve been waiting for has arrived. I’d like to present Captain Jamaal”.

The Lion turned and nodded, and Lord Amberstar gestured for the pair to sit. “Thank you, Captain.”

Jamaal sat and stared at his lap. “Ah, how may I, um, serve, my Lord?”

The prince pushed a couple of letters across to him. “The first is for the militia in Eledia, the second for the garrison commander in Eagle’s Reach.”

Jamaal took them, and nodded. “I’ll do my best, your Highness.”

“Unfortunately,” Lord Amberstar said, “there’s a band of Pellandrian pirates in the way. We can’t properly attack them here, because they’ve split up, and if we press on them they’ll likely just scatter. The good news is that they’ve all been moving in the general direction of the pass at Panther’s Bluff. If they reach Eledia, the townspeople will suffer greatly and we’ll be faced with a siege. Therefore we need you to bring troops from Eagle’s Reach so we can trap them in the pass. Since there may be scouts between you and the pass, Captain Amberstar here will escort you for a time, to get you past them. Sol watch over you, Captain Jamaal.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Oh, and Captain Amberstar?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

She smiled warmly. “Take care, Corwyn.”

“Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll be fine.” He stood, and Jamaal did likewise. “By your leave, my prince.”

Nicholai nodded, and watched Corwyn leave, followed closely by Jamaal. He turned back to Lord Amberstar. “Is he good?”

“He’s the fastest we have, Nick. If Corwyn can get him past the raiders, then he’ll get there in no time.”

“I hope he does, Kate. I’d hate to see what they’d do to Eledia if we can’t trap them in the pass.”



	The rain soon had them drenched. Jamaal followed Corwyn in silence. The night had been full of surprises and he was trying to think them through. It couldn’t be an ordinary group of raiders. Sure, they’d have sent out ships, but not with the Crown Prince and Lord Amberstar. And to have the Firstborn himself as a bodyguard for a mere courier meant the messages were very important. So it had to be more than it looked. Pellandrian, she’d said. It had long been known that the great island chain that made up Pellandria was home to pirates and freebooters. It was even rumoured that the ruling families there aided certain pirates, even took part themselves, though there had never been any proven connection. That had to be it, he thought.

“Firstborn Amberstar? Might I ask a question?”

“We’re both of equal rank, Jamaal, call me Corwyn. And sure, ask away.”

“Who are these raiders? Considering the company, and with the Lord and Prince both present, I can’t help but feel you’re after someone with them. Perhaps some Pellandrian noble?”

Corwyn stopped. “Very clever, Captain. They flew pirate colours, but we think they’re actually part of their navy. They’ve been preying on our ships for a time now. The first few raids netted them some valuable cargos, but casualties were light. But on the last we think someone recognized those in charge, because they killed everyone on board and torched the ship.”

He paused for a second. “More than eighty died because of some bastard’s greed. A bounty was posted and eventually one of their own gave us some valuable information, in exchange for the reward, and a promise not to punish him for his own part in the attacks. Tell me, have you ever heard of Jean-Paul Arneviste?”

“I can’t say I have, though that family name sounds familiar.”

“He’s the only son of Armand, head of House Arneviste. They’re a reasonably influential military family. We are led to believe Jean-Paul is in command of this force, and that he’s doing this to gain favour in the eyes of his father. Armand holds him in some contempt. Probably because his son is a Hybrid, and the bastard son of some court prostitute. Some accident after Jean-Paul’s birth left Armand impotent, and thus there’s no legitimate heir.”

“What kind of Hybrid is he?” Jamaal had seen several around Kessellon, though they were pretty rare, and varied enormously in appearance.

“Armand is, I’m ashamed to say, a Tiger. The mother was apparently a Dolphin. His general build is that of a cat, but with small ears. His skin resembles that of the mother, grayish, and hairless. Looks dead. He likes to call himself ‘the Grey Death’. His detractors just call him the Grey Baldy.”

Jamaal chuckled. “So how’d he end up here?”

“We sent out a ship as bait, and shadowed it. When his ships attacked, the ‘harmless merchant bearing gems’ turned into a ‘not so helpless merchant bearing bombards’. Before he knew it, one of his three ships was holed, and reinforcements were bearing down. He couldn’t risk running west past Kessellon and the fleet, and we thought we had him cornered.” He frowned.

“What happened?”

Corwyn tilted his head back. “We overestimated him. We’d heard tales of his strength and bravery, and believed he’d fight. Whether those tales were just that, only tales, or whether anonymity is more important I can’t say. He ran for the coast, knowing he couldn’t escape by sea, and beached his ships. They swam to shore and took off to the northeast. We landed further east, to guarantee we could herd them through one pass. The pass at Panther’s Bluff. We knew at least one of our couriers was likely to either be there, or be back soon. Carrier pigeons were let loose to carry word back, and here you are.”

“What happens if we get things right?”

A grim smile crossed the big Tiger’s face. “We trap them inside the pass, and we fight. More good men will die, and eventually they’ll surrender.”

“And if it is him?”

“He’ll be taken back to Kessellon, and ‘questioned’. If he’s acting on his own, in a bid to impress his father, then we’ll contact Armand. Reparations will be demanded, including the release of some of our men in their custody, and eventually he’ll go home.”

Jamaal was shocked. “That’s appalling!”

Corwyn grimaced. “Politics usually is. Worse still, if he’s acting with the full consent of his father, there’s the possibility of military action. If the Pellandrian navy is making sanctioned raids on our ships then it could mean war.”

Jamaal stared. There hadn’t been a war in a King’s Age. Sure, there were always border disputes, and so on, but war? He shuddered. Corwyn clapped him on the shoulder and he looked up. “Come on, we better pick up speed. We don’t expect them to reach the pass till some time after noon tomorrow, but there’s always the chance they have a few speedsters like you among them. It’s only thirty miles or so, and I suppose if not for me you’d already be there. But we simply cannot have you ambushed, so slow, little me has to be here to protect you.”

He began to jog off. Jamaal watched for a second, then bounded after him.



	Three hours of running had Corwyn more than a little tired, so he’d ordered a short break. There wasn’t far to go, but that just meant they had to be extra careful. The closer they came to the pass, the greater the danger of running into any possible scouts. They took shelter in a small group of trees and shrubs, knowing they’d be hidden unless someone came too close.

“Captain Amberstar, Sir?” Jamaal said quietly.

“Corwyn.”

“ Oh, yes.  Um… Corwyn? Why, of all people, is someone as important as you acting as a bodyguard? I mean, why not one of the others?”

Corwyn smiled. “I’m sure you already know the answer, Jamaal.”

“It’s because you can see in the dark, isn’t it?”

“Easy to see how you reached Captain so quickly. And you’re wondering how to ask why I can see in the dark when Cheetah, Ocelot and Lynx are supposed to be the only Cats that can.”

“Erm… yes.”

Corwyn grinned. Normally this gift he shared with his mother was something kept secret, though it’d been deemed necessary to tell whichever courier turned up. “There’s more than just Tiger in my family line.” A white lie. Corwyn always thought what had happened made him something less than Tiger, not more.

Jamaal nodded. He’d thought that was the most likely answer. “So why keep it secret?”

“Well, mostly it’s because it would lessen us in the eyes of some Noble Houses, because we hadn’t kept ourselves ‘pure’. Secondly, it gives me a great advantage against those who assume I’m unable to see at night. It’s a trait that rarely crops up, so we don’t advertise the fact. And I’ll be grateful if you keep it secret too.”

“Of course sir, um, Corwyn.” Jamaal understood that to be Mixed was to be considered socially inferior among the Nobles, even if most Kin didn’t seem to mind. It was acceptable for commoners, or even minor nobility, but for the Firstborn? No. Even the mighty Ligers were still looked down on, years after they had established themselves in their own right.

Corwyn was about to reply, when he caught a faint sound. He motioned for silence, and the pair peered around in the gloom. After a few moments they could see two figures moving cautiously. From the looks of things their path would take them very close to the shrubs Corwyn and Jamaal hid in. Corwyn tapped Jamaal’s shoulder, and mouthed the word ‘ambush’. Jamaal nodded, and both crouched, ready for action.

It was a pair of Cheetahs. Advance scouts, obviously. Both looked alert, but it was obvious they weren’t expecting anything. Jamaal thought it likely they were looking for patrols and such, rather than a pair of wanderers. Both froze, waiting for the scouts to get as close as possible. The pair had just started to pass them, at a distance of no more than twenty-five feet, when Corwyn charged. Both Cheetahs turned too see what the sudden noise was, and were startled to see the huge Tiger bearing down on them, a Cheetah coming swiftly round his left hand side. They turned to flee, but even the fastest sprinter needs time to get up to speed. As the Cheetahs turned and dropped to all fours, Corwyn knew he had time for no more than a single blow. It was more than enough. The blade caught it in the left leg, severing it neatly half way up the calf. The scout went down, screaming. The other, however, was now beyond his reach. But not beyond Jamaal’s. He turned, and as the Cheetah struggled on the ground, he casually rammed his sword into the scout’s chest.

Jamaal was on the second before he’d gone ten yards. They ended up whirling around in the mud, kicking and biting. Jamaal fought to get a good enough grip with his free hand to use his dagger properly, while the scout pushed and punched, desperate to be free. They fought too quickly for Corwyn to easily identify, the two Cats looked pretty much the same to his, covered in mud as they were. Suddenly they separated, and one stood up and took a couple of steps backward, staring. The other writhed on the ground, the knife sticking from its side. Corwyn took a step towards the victor.

‘Jamaal?”

The figure looked at him. “Corwyn, I… I never…” He was trembling, couriers rarely had to fight, let alone kill.

“And you still haven’t.” He stepped past Jamaal, and stabbed the twisting Cheetah in the heart. “I did.” He remembered how he’d felt after he’d first killed, and he wanted to spare the little courier that.

“But I…”

“Did exactly what you needed to, and stopped him escaping. We couldn’t have them get away and report activity, and we certainly couldn’t let them get ahead of us and set an ambush.” He put a hand on Jamaal’s shoulder. “That was very brave, Jamaal. You are to be commended.”

Reaching down, he took hold of the dead Cat by the belt, and hefted him off the ground. Sheathing his sword, he did the same with the other.

“Um… Corwyn?”

“We have to go, and I don’t want to leave the corpses here to be discovered. Um… could you… er… get that leg?”

Jamaal retrieved the severed foot, feeling sick to his stomach. No matter what Corwyn had done, the intent had still been there. He had still tried to kill another Kin. Numbly, he followed Corwyn away. Behind them, in the torrential rain, all trace of them ever having been there slowly washed away.



	The rest of their journey was uneventful and they’d reached the pass only a little later than intended. The pass itself wound its way for several miles through the mountains, and was one of only three safe routes. By the time they were through, it was mid morning. Corwyn hid the bodies just off of the road.

“Okay, Jamaal, I’ve done my part, now it’s your turn. Warn the garrison first, as they’ll need more time to get here. Then warn Eledia. Then head back to Eagle’s Reach, and follow the troops.”

“What about you?

He grinned. “I’ll press towards Eagle’s Reach. Hopefully we’ll meet in the middle somewhere. Go. Lives depend on your speed.”

No further incentive was needed. He turned, and without a word, took off at speed.



	It was a good twenty miles to Eagle’s Reach, and he’d done it in just over a half hour. He could feel the fatigue building. He walked in through the main gates, only to find himself blocked by a guard.

“An’ where d’you think you’re goin’ Cheetah?”

“I have a message for the garrison Commander. Let me pass.” He waved the first letter in front of the guards face.

“You’re goin’ nowhere till… Sol’s Balls!” There was no mistaking that Seal. The Seal of the Crown Prince himself! “Sorry, Sir… MILLER, GUARD THE GATE… if you’d come this way Sir.”

He was shown quickly through to a lavish office, and asked to wait. A few short minutes passed before a grizzled gray Wolf appeared.

“This had better be bloody important, and not some bloody exercise, or there’ll be bloody Hell to pay.” He snatched the letter from Jamaal, tore it open, and quickly scanned the contents.

“Fuck me sideways…” Opening the door he called out, “CAPTAIN THATCHER, SOUND THE ALARM AND MOBILISE THE GARRISON. WE LEAVE YESTERDAY.”

He looked at Jamaal. “I need you to carry a message to… no?”

Jamaal was shaking his head. “I already have orders to take a warning to Eledia and then join your troops as they march south.”

The Commander frowned, but nodded. “Then you’re dismissed, Captain.”

Jamaal took his leave.



	Corwyn ached. He’d been on the go for a day and a half now, and just wanted to sleep. Jamaal had been gone for over two hours; surely they were on their way by now. He saw movement ahead. Riders. He stopped, waiting for them to approach.

“Identify yourself, Tiger.”

“Corwyn, Firstborn of Amberstar. Take me to your commanding officer.”

Minutes later a horse, bearing it’s rider and the weary Corwyn, arrived at the head of a column of soldiers. “Sir, I have someone here who claims to be Firstborn Amberstar.”

Commander Greymane nodded. “Hello Corwyn. Been a while.”

“Sorry, Jared, been busy… any chance of a spare horse? I really need a nap right now.”

“Of course.” He gestured, and a large horse was brought over. He smiled. “I can see you’re tired, so I’ll overlook the slip, but please remember that it’s Commander Greymane or Sir in future.”

“Sorry, Commander, my apologies.” Corwyn clambered into the saddle, hunched and closed his eyes.

“Captain Amberstar, sir? Corwyn?”

He groaned. Someone was shaking him awake. He peeked. Jamaal was standing next to him. “They’re gathering just out of sight at this end of the pass, sir. Here.”

Corwyn dismounted and took the steaming mug without enthusiasm, drinking the contents as quickly as he could. He hated coffee. He thought it stank, and loathed the taste. But drink it he did, because he knew it would help him wake up.

“How long have I been asleep?” 

“Almost two hours.”

He stretched and yawned. “Okay, clue me in.”

“The first scouts appeared as we arrived, and our archers forced them back. We’ve been able to get a spotter up on the canyon wall, and he’s been signaling to us for about 20 minutes now.”

“And?”

“There’s around three hundred, mostly Tiger and Wolf, and mainly in light armour.” Jamaal paused a moment. “There are also four Dragons, though two of those appear to be prisoners.”

Corwyn groaned. Dragons were bad news. A fully grown adult could stand as tall as nine feet, and weigh as much as six hundred pounds. Their hides were very tough, and Corwyn was glad that they’d had to swim to shore, since that meant they weren’t in heavy armour. A Dragon in full plate was almost unstoppable. 

“And one last thing. They’re being led by a gray Cat. Seems you were right.”

He groaned again. The information had been correct, and they now faced a major diplomatic problem. He stood. “I need to see Commander Greymane. Can you take me to him?”

Jamaal led him over to a pitched tent, only to find their entrance blocked by two guards. “Sorry, Captain, they’re busy in there.”

“Just ask if they’ve time to spare Firstborn Amberstar a moment.” He waited as the guard went to check. He rarely cashed in on his title, preferring to stand on his own merits. Of course there were times it came in handy, and this was one of those times. It was only a few moments before the guard returned.

“They’ll see you now, Sir.”

“Thank you. Jamaal, could you wait here? I might need you again.”

Inside the tent sat two figures, a Wolf and a Tiger, reading a variety of reports. Greymane he recognized, but the Tiger was unfamiliar. Greymane nodded as he entered. “Firstborn Amberstar.”

“Lord Greymane. Sorry to throw the title about, but I need to talk.”

Greymane scratched his chin. “About?”

“I’ve been told there’s a gray Cat in charge and that there are four Dragons. Yes?”

“So I’ve been reading, yes.”

“It’s important to capture all the Dragons, and we need the Cat caught alive too, and unharmed if possible.”

Greymane just stared for a moment. “Corwyn… just what has your mother neglected to tell me?”

“The Cat in question is Jean-Paul Arneviste, Captain in the Pellandrian Navy, and son of Lord Armand Arneviste. And we need him alive to find out if he’s acting on his own, or has ‘official’ sanction. As for the Dragons, it’s rare enough to have two in any given place, let alone four. There’s something just not right about the whole thing. I realize I’m asking a lot, and that there’s considerable risk to your men in catching four Dragons, but…”

“Two. The other two are captives,”

Corwyn yawned. “Sorry, I’m pretty knackered. Still, it’s a lot to ask.”

“Hmmm.” Greymane drummed his fingers and thought. “Yes… yes, now you’ve got me wondering about their captives… Okay, I agree. Captain Thatcher, go give the order. Dragons and gray Cat to be taken alive.”

The Tiger rose. “Aye Commander.”

“Thanks Jared…” Corwyn sighed.

“They’re not caught yet. Go rest a bit. Won’t be long before they try something, what with your mother’s forces breathing down their necks.”

As Corwyn rose to go, Greymane piped up again. “Oh yes, congratulations.”

“On what?”

“On your impending marriage, of course.”

“Oh. That.”

Greymane raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound too pleased. Not looking forwards to getting some on a regular basis?”

“Jared, she’s only fifteen.”

Greymane leant back in his chair. “So? That’s the age my wife was when I married. Hell, I was only a couple of years older myself.”

“I’m not forcing myself on a child.”

“Who say’s you’d be forcing her? My wife and I were barely off each other for the first six months. Maybe you’ll be the same.”

Corwyn shook his head. “Not likely. You at least knew the girl you were marrying. I’ve never even met this one.”

“The perils of being Firstborn, eh? So, who’s the lucky lady? I’d heard rumours about white stripes?”

He nodded. “She’s Marie, the youngest daughter of the Snowmantle family. I’d rather not have to marry for political reasons, but I can’t deny how much of an opportunity to strengthen our holdings in Beregon this marriage is for us.”

Greymane grinned. “Tough life being wealthy and influential, eh? Maybe you’d prefer the easy life of a farmer, or blacksmith?”

Corwyn chuckled. “Valid point. Listen to me, huh? I’m marrying a beautiful girl in a few months, and going to be Lord a couple after that, and I’m moaning about it?”

“Oh? Your mother’s decided to step down?”

“Yes. She thinks I’m ready, even if I don’t. She says she’s going to give me a bit of time to get to know my new bride.” He frowned. “And then she’s handing me the reins, so to speak. I think she wants to retire while she still has time to enjoy life.”

“Hmmm, sounds tempting… I wonder what the rest of the family would…”

Captain Thatcher walked in. “Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but they’re on the move.”

Greymane rose. “Sorry, looks like you’re not getting any rest after all Corwyn.”

Outside, Jamaal paced about nervously. He was beginning to feel he’d drunk just a little too much coffee. He’d watched the Tiger leave the tent, and talk to a few officers. Then he paced. He saw a messenger hurry up and talk to the Tiger. He’d paced some more. He watched the Tiger hurry into the tent, and was about to start pacing again when the trio emerged almost immediately, and he almost jumped out of his fur. Corwyn said a few words before walking over to join the little Cheetah.

“Corwyn? What’s happening?”

“They’re on the move. Likely they’ve encountered the first of Mother’s forces, and have decided we’re the ‘easier’ option. Hah. We outnumber them three to two, and we’re in heavier armour. Shit, we have cavalry, for the love of everything. Still, better us than face what’s coming behind up behind them.”

“What are our orders?”

“You’re to wait here. Our couriers are far too valuable to risk as cannon fodder. As for me?” he shuddered, and a worried look came over his face. “I’m hunting Dragons.”



	Jean-Paul Arnaviste was not a happy man. For the first time in his life, it seemed his father didn’t resent him. It had taken years to prove himself as a Captain, and his recent raids on merchant ships had proven extremely profitable. He’d had to stay out of sight, of course. His unique look was too recognizable. His only regret at his last raid was being careless enough to be seen. He’d ordered the crew of the merchant ship slain, and the ship torched without batting an eyelid. He took no pleasure in the act, but didn’t flinch either. It annoyed him, more than anything else. The Grey Death should have more… finesse. He smiled.

And finally, his father had entrusted him to collect something important. He was to meet two Dragons, and take them and their ‘cargo’ with them. He was about to set out when word of a particularly rich cargo reached his ears. If the information were correct, then a slight detour in the return journey would net him a fortune in gems. One ship would have been enough, he’d thought, but he’d taken three.

When he finally arrived, he’d been met by, not two, but four Dragons, although two were obviously prisoners. The big one in charge, an enormously muscled, nine and a half foot tall, pale green brute clad head to foot in barbed plate, had enormous, forward pointing horns. They were tipped with wicked steel spikes Jean-Paul had been sure they were not for decoration. It had introduced itself as Kalisandra Brokenfang. The voice, so clear and beautiful, was a surprise. She was so intimidating, with enormous teeth and razor talons, that it hadn’t occurred to him that the Dragon was a woman. She explained that she’d obtained the ‘merchandise’ his father was paying for. Her companion, a barely seven foot male who draped his night black wings around himself as if he wore a cloak, pushed the remaining Dragons forwards. One was a slender male about eight foot tall, his vivid blue hide, shot through in many places with old, pale battle scars, with four ornately decorated horns sweeping back from his head. He’d affected his usual air of bored dilettante, turning his attention on the second of the prisoners. An adolescent girl, he’d thought, and quite beautiful. She was a glittering emerald green, fading to a much lighter shade on her face, neck, and what little he could see of her chest through her tattered dress. She stood just over six foot tall, and her small horns, curving up and back, were also ornately decorated, with sparkling citrines and sapphires. Unlike the man, who’d been defiant and proud, she’d quaked as Jean-Paul stepped up to her. When he’d stroked her face, her eyes had closed in fear.

“I can see why my father would want something as precious as you… Ah, we could have such… fun… together.”

It had come as something of a surprise when the black Dragon unfurled it’s wings, drew a sword and hissed at him.

“Keep your handssssss off, mongrel.”

He’d practically leapt back, anger flashing in his eyes. Common sense, however, prevented him responding.

The Dragon continued. “We will not allow any taint of our bloodlinessss. Thesssse two might be from a rival clan, but we will not allow you to touch her again. Even if we weren’t coming with you for payment, we’d be coming anyway to keep her sssssafe.” Kalisandra lowered her head onto his shoulder, and he’d reached up, and gently caressed her cheek. She’d smiled and he’d grinned.

“Why such concern for your enemies?”

“Who ssssaid we were enemiessss? We are only rivalssss. If we let you have your way with the girl we’d be giving them a reasssson to become enemiessss. If our posssissssions were reverssssed, he’d do the sssame for usss. Issssn’t that right Lord Valkosssssss?”

“Of course. Dragons do not torture or molest their prisoners, like members of the Lesser Races.”

He’d fumed for hours after that insult, but he didn’t let on. He had to show them they were nothing to him, by ignoring their attempts to goad him. Well, he’d thought, they can rob me of my ‘fun’, but they won’t rob me of my profit.


	Kalisandra lifted a sword and Lord Valkos took it gratefully. The three adults had been talking for hours, although young Pahele hadn’t heard a word. She could tell they were planning something, but she was too young to use Quietspeech, and so she wasn’t able to take part.

‘So it’s agreed. When battle starts, we form a circle around Pahele and defend until the Imperials close, and we offer terms. In exchange, Pahele and I will agree to go back with you to negotiate with the Mongrel’s father, yes?’

Kalisandra nodded. ‘Agreed. We were supposed to be there by now. Damn this idiot for dragging us into some stupid personal fight. I’m tempted to cut his fucking head off here and now.”

‘Now now, my love, calm down. You can’t really kill the guy ‘in charge’ with all these fools around us and not have them react in a way we wouldn’t like.” While his mood was as dark as his scales, Branin Brokenfang was no fool.

‘You’re right, as always. It’s just that… fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.’

He put his hand on hers. ‘Later. Let’s concentrate on getting out of here first.’

Valkos gestured in the direction of the Imperial troops. ‘Look. They’re coming for us.’ “Stay in the middle Pahele, we’ll keep you safe.” ‘Let’s try not to kill too many Imperials defending ourselves. I’m not in the mood to be confined to some backwater prison.’

The trio took up a defensive stance around her, and stood their ground. Let the fools around them rush to meet death. In the center, her face in her hands and quaking with fear, Pahele started crying. She’d heard tales of what the Lesser Races did to their prisoners. Tales of cruelty, rape and torture. It had been obvious that the gray Cat wanted her, and would have had her, if not for the presence of the three adults. But how could they protect her if they were all captives. She sat, and folded her wings around herself. There was nothing she could do but wait.


	The Fog of War, they called it. The moment a well organized and ordered army meets another. When all plans eventually become every man for himself. It was turning into a rout. Heavy cavalry had split the Pellandrians, and in their light armour, and wielding mostly short swords, they were no match for the heavily armoured infantry. Corwyn looked around. Many had fallen. Mostly Pellandrian, but here and there he could see fellow Imperials. Suddenly, he found himself facing off against a pair of Tigers. One was armed with a dagger. The other had a saber.

“You could surrender, you know…” Corwyn said, though he knew it was unlikely, particularly given that the usual sentence for piracy was a stretched neck. They split, to come at him from different directions, but he was having none of it. As the saber was the more dangerous weapon, he leapt for that opponent first. With both hands, he swung his bastard sword up and left, aiming for the ribs. His opponent desperately swung his saber to parry, but the blow was too fierce. Instead, his saber was forced back against his side, breaking as Corwyn’s sword smashed it against his ribs. That did help in blunting the impact, and a strike that would have caved in his side and burst his heart, left only a severe cut to the side. The impact knocked him over. Corwyn spun, just in time to dodge a slash to his throat. He raised his sword.

“One last chance, Pellandrian.” He took a couple of steps to the side, so he could see the downed Tiger. He didn’t want a surprise from behind.

The enemy Cat narrowed his eyes. “I’d rather die fighting than at the end of a rope, you bastard.” He charged, a mixture of fear and hatred etched across his face. Corwyn thrust as he closed, the sword taking his opponent in the stomach. The dagger thrust he batted aside with his off hand. The Cat staggered, and clutched at Corwyn. For a brief moment their eyes met. A defiant smile crossed the Tiger’s face.

“A clean… death, on the battlefield…” His eyes flickered, the smile faded, and he slumped to the ground. Corwyn stared down for a moment, before the sound of the other one caught his attention. He was trying to rise, but having difficulty. It looked to Corwyn as if some ribs had gone, from the way he moved. He put his sword to its neck, and it froze.

“You’re weaponless, and crippled. Stay down, and you’ll at least see tomorrow.”

He looked around. Nearby, he could see an injured soldier, pinned under an enemy Wolf. The pair were struggling with a dagger that the Wolf was trying to force down into the downed soldier’s chest. Corwyn ran over, sword ready.

There was a sick wet crunch, and the Wolf fell, blood and brain spilling from the ruin that used to be its head. Corwyn stepped over it, reaching down to help its intended target to his feet. He gazed around, looking for another target. Seeing nothing close, he made sure the infantryman, a young Panther, wasn’t too badly hurt, before running off in the direction of the remaining fighting. Most of the remainder had surrendered. The last knot of fighting was likely to be the Grey Death’s last attempt to escape. Someone else’s problem. He had Dragons to see to. He loped past, towards a second group of soldiers.



Pahele shuddered. She could tell they’d been surrounded, but so far the brutes hadn’t dared to attack. Then again, faced with three Dragons, who would be brave enough to go first? Still, sooner or later someone would, and then they’d all be dead or captured.

“Back off, dog.” Kalisandra growled. The mounted Wolf reined in his horse.

“I am Commander Greymane. Lay down your swords, and surrender.”

“Are you in charge here?”

Greymane nodded. “Until Lord Amberstar or the Crown Prince arrives, yes.”

Kalisandra snorted. “We’ll wait for one of those to arrive. But we won’t surrender to you until we speak to someone with more authority than a mere commander.”

Greymane bristled. He’d heard of the overtly superior attitude Dragons tended to hold. He glared for a moment. They weren’t attacking, or trying to escape, at least so far, and he didn’t want to throw any of his men’s lives away fighting a monster wielding a ten-foot sword. Fine, he thought, we’ll wait. “Have it your way, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you about your part in this anyway.”

‘Damn things never know their place.’

Valkos shook his head. ‘Ma’am, we are all Kin. Don’t condemn them for not having our advantages.’ She snorted again. Some minutes passed before she spoke again.

‘Valkos, there’s a Tiger talking to that Wolf. He’s talking to him as an equal even though he’s obviously a much lesser rank. Think he’s this Lord Whatever?’

‘Probably.’

Corwyn yawned. “Ok, I understand. But I’d better try anyway. If they try that attitude on Mother, she’ll probably just order them shot.” He chuckled.

Greymane smirked. “True enough, she does have a temper.”

“Ho there,” Corwyn called, “I want to talk. If I leave my weapons and come unarmed will you allow me close? After all, that is a very big sword.”

Kalisandra nodded, and Corwyn disarmed. He slowly walked towards the trio, arms held out to his sides. They looked each other over. She was huge, he thought, and powerful. Clad in light leather, he could see she was very muscular, but still had a reasonably feminine shape. In turn, she thought him tiny, but there was something not right. His proportions were just not quite right. His hands were too big, and for his size seemed extremely well muscled, though not a match for a Dragon, of course. She met his gaze… and gasped. His eyes glittered like butterfly scales, emerald green in the sunlight.

“Holy shit…”

Corwyn was startled, and looked about. “Something wrong?”

‘Valkos, look at his eyes, I think the bastard’s Bonded…’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

All three turned to look at him.

“Would you be Lord Amberstar?” Valkos asked.

“Sorry, I’m Corwyn, the Firstborn. My mother leads the house. She’ll be here soon enough, but has a rather extreme temper, and I’d seriously advise you to stand down before she gets here.”

“As ‘firstborn’, do you have any authority here?”

“Yes.”

“And would your mother honour any agreement we came to?”

“Absolutely.”

Valkos took a deep breath. “Alright. We’ll stand down, if you agree to meet us as guests, and not as captives. We have nothing to do with this rabble and their piracy.”

Corwyn thought for a few moments. “Yes. However, until I’m sure of your intentions, I’ll have to assign escorts. You will be free to go wherever you will, though.”

Valkos paused. He wanted to make sure, and spoke quietly. ‘Then we’ll stand down.’ A few moments passed, and it seems he hadn’t heard. “Then we’ll stand down.”

“Thank you. I greet you with open arms, and weapons sheathed.”

Valkos nodded. “So where do we go from here?”

Corwyn smiled. “First, I’d like to know who my guests are.” As he spoke, the trio had relaxed, and furled their wings, with the tall blue one crouching beside a huddled figure.

Kalisandra spoke first. “I’m Kalisandra Brokenfang, and this is my husband, Branin.” Branin bowed slightly.

“And I,” Valkos said as he stood, “am Lord Tethion Valkos. This is my daughter, Pahele.”

“I’m pleased to meet you all. To answer your question, first we’ll head back to camp, and wait until my mother arrives. Most likely, we’ll then head back to Kessellon, where we can properly question everyone.”

Kalisandra’s hand tightened on her sword. “Just what do you mean by that, Tiger?”

Corwyn edged back slightly. This particular Dragon seemed to have as quick a temper as his mother. “No more that that. We’re interested in whatever dealings you might have with Arneviste. Actually, we’re just as interested to find out why there are so many of you in one place. But that can wait till later. I’m sure you’re all tired and hungry.” He gestured to a few of the gathered soldiers. “If you follow those men back to camp, they’ll find a place for you to sleep, and something to eat.”

Valkos nodded, and with his daughter clinging to his side, set off with the others.

Greymane rode up and stopped by Corwyn’s side. “Glad to see them co-operate like that. They’d have done some serious damage if they’d resisted.”

“Tell me about it. I was worried we’d have to fight them, and I’m not mad enough to think I’d have any chance against something like her. I hope they keep co-operating too. Odd, I thought two were supposed to be prisoners…”

“We’ll worry about that when your mother arrives, Captain Amberstar. For the moment, let’s concentrate on our little gray Cat.”


	The prisoners had been separated into two groups. The ordinary crew and soldiers in one, surrounded by a large number of infantry and cavalry, the officers in another. Corwyn was very relieved to see a gray Cat amongst the officers. Had he been killed, things would have been complicated. After all, he thought, you can’t make a corpse confess to piracy, rape and murder. Greymane rode over to the latter group.

“Attention. You have all been charged with piracy. Additional charges will wait until Lord Amberstar and the Crown Prince arrive. Any attempt to escape will be met with lethal force. Captain Amberstar, can you identify anyone in this group?”

“Yes, Sir. The gray Cat is Jean-Paul Arneviste, also known as the ‘Grey Death’, a rising Captain in the Pellandrian Navy. He needs to be kept separate from his officers until the full facts are known. Permission to place him under guard?”

“Granted. Take him away.”

Corwyn walked over to the sneering Arneviste. “Come with me, please.” Jean-Paul yawned, and gave Corwyn a bored look.

“You will address me as Firstborn Arneviste, cur, or not at all.”

Corwyn sighed. “I’m too tired for this… fine. You want formal? Okay, I am Firstborn Amberstar, and I place you under arrest. The charges are as follows. That you have committed several acts of Piracy against Imperial ships. That on your last raid, on the Kessellon’s Pride, you participated in the massacre of its crew. That you participated in the murder of six male passengers, and the rape and murder of four female passengers. Further, that you are wholly responsible for the kidnapping and rape of a fifth female passenger, a thirteen year old maid currently believed to be imprisoned on your family’s estate.”

A cold chill ran down Jean-Paul’s spine, and he glared. “How could you…?”

“A big reward often brings results. Fifty thousand Crowns bought us your name. And you.”

“Who was it? Who betrayed me?”

“You’ll never know. Now come with me.” Corwyn walked off, gesturing for a couple of nearby men to come as an escort. Jean-Paul followed, though they’d only gone a few steps when Corwyn paused.

“One more thing. That girl had better still be alive. Because if she’s not, I’m going to feed you your balls.”

Jean-Paul gave a derisive snort. “And ruin valuable ‘merchandise’? Don’t make me laugh. As if any member of the famous Kessellon Grocers cared for anything other than money. Hmm?”

Corwyn turned and glared, fists clenched. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

Corwyn shook slightly, eyes tightly shut, and Jean-Paul knew he’d pushed as far as he could, at least for now. “Arneviste,” Corwyn said quietly, “even if you’re right about your relative value to us, nobody’s said you have to go home in one piece.”

Jean-Paul shrugged. “I… see. Then lead on, Firstborn, and let us be out of this damnable rain.”

Wordlessly, Corwyn turned his back on the gray Cat, and led him off to the camp.



Characters and situation/setting are copyright Graham W Robertson.

This is draft one, of the prologue, and as such, all helpful critique is appreciated.