With Cresh leading the way, Drake and his chosen bodyguards strode into a forest clearing that was much larger than the clearing where he’d met Kel. It was easily double the size of the courtyard in the middle of Gloomwood Manor, and also developed. Feral packs lived here, and Lord Mistvale’s prime—Elaran—and his chosen ferals took prime real estate.
The rest of them, it seemed, were now throwing a massive kegger.
While there were no visible buildings on ground level, multiple wooden houses were hung high in the trees, along with narrow vines connecting them. Not something he’d ever want to trust his footing too... but ferals had better balance than he did.
The clearing held more ferals than he’d ever imagined he’d see in one place, and all of them seemed to be fighting, laughing, drinking, or just generally horsing around. Ferals that were much smaller than the others, likely children, sped in and out of the crowd so fast Drake could barely follow their movements.
Seeing everyone so relaxed (and seeing actual children running around) made him feel a bit better about his choice to go ahead with this scrap. If the feral packs had brought their children here, none of them anticipated any bloodshed at this meeting. No one brought their kids to a battlefield when they thought a fight was going to start... he hoped.
Drake had only sent Sidori back with word that he challenged Elaran’s claims a few hours ago, but word traveled fast in Lord Mistvale’s woods. Drake suspected every feral pack in travel distance had turned out for today’s “scrap”... what ferals called an honor duel, or trial by combat. Whoever kicked the most ass was judged in the right.
Apparently, this was simply one event in a very busy day. According to Samuel, there were only a few rare occasions where all the feral packs in an area could gather without fear of being attacked, and a scrap was one of them. Which meant drinking and partying.
Whether all these packs had turned out to get plastered or because they wanted to ensure Drake didn’t weasel out on his obligations was an open question. If Sachi lost this fight, he wouldn’t just lose her. As the lord who’d demanded the scrap, he’d have to grant the other manor lord—in this case, Lord Mistvale—and request he wished, within reason. By comparison, if he’d won, all he’d get was justice.
Kel and his pack cleared of all charges of treason.
In addition to Cresh and six of his zarovians, including Korrag, every one of his battle maids save Emily had come to support him... and it had taken awhile to talk Emily out of demanding someone carry her to the scrap. He also had his mother, Samuel, Gaby, Carl, and Darion with him. Sky and her people were protecting the vanguard, and without her to ensure the rest of his people remained safe, he’d have been hesitant to bring this big a force.
Samuel had been clear that a show of strength would be the best approach. Drake had expected the old man to be pissed when he found out what Drake and Sachi had decided, but Samuel had demonstrated a surprising amount of calm when he heard the news. It felt like he’d expected something like this. Still... Samuel did know a lot about ferals.
A male feral Drake had never met approached his party, then hesitated as Cresh set his feet and bared his teeth. The feral’s eyes widened noticeably. He swallowed.
“Lord Gloomwood?” the feral called hesitantly. “I will lead you to your circle.”
“Don’t kill him,” Drake called up to Cresh. “At least not yet.”
The feral’s ears went flat against his head. He took another look at the forces standing before him and swallowed. Still, he stood his ground. Drake had to respect that.
“Lead on,” he called.
The feral turned stiffly and led them deeper into the clearing, easily slipping past the other packs that freely stumbled into and out of their path. Drake walked behind his wall of zarovian muscle and casually swept his gaze across the ferals they passed. Most didn’t look at him at all, and those who did looked curious, not angry.
At least he wasn’t surrounded by a bunch of ferals hoping to kick his ass. That desire remained confined to the pack he now knew was personally chosen by Lord Mistvale—the Granite Pack—which were the same folks who’d attacked him in the forest yesterday. The rest of these ferals looked neutral at worst, and neutral feral packs he could live with.
In feral culture, according to the books he’d read at least, every pack had its own leader and made their own decisions, but only one pack leader could be chosen as prime. That person swore allegiance to whatever manor lord owned the land on which they lived and spoke with the authority of that same manor lord... even when the lord wasn’t present.
That was why Drake had to attend this scrap in person and Lord Mistvale didn’t. These were Mistvale’s lands. Had Kel’s pack already moved to Drake’s silverwood, and had Lord Mistvale wanted to challenge Kel’s ruling, he would have had to show up in person.
Drake spotted the “circle” set aside for his party soon after. It was a raised round platform of earth hemmed in by stone and dotted with worn wooden stools, one of four situated at cardinal points around a circular arena dug into the clearing. That arena, below, was where the scrap would take place. As his champion, Sachi would fight down there today.
Once it was clear Drake was headed in the right direction, the feral who’d greeted them hurried off with a fearful glance back. In retrospect, Drake felt guilty about frightening him, but he’d expected to have a better day than this. He would be careful not to take his ire out on anyone else save those who deserved it... like Elaran and everyone who served him.
There were no chairs in his circle, only stools. Ferals didn’t use chairs like humans, since they weren’t great for tails. He hadn’t been surprised to see many ferals squatting on their stools with their hands clasped firmly on the bottom of the round top.
Cresh and his zarovians stepped onto the circle and took up defensive positions around the perimeter, though they couldn’t do that without leaving lots of space. If every feral in this clearing decided to pull out their bows and start shooting, even zarovian bulk and muscle wouldn’t save anyone. Still, so far this seemed like a big party, not an ambush.
Drake motioned for the rest of his people to spread out and took a better look at the arena below. It was, to put it charitably, a hole in the ground, but so far, ferals didn’t seem all that hung up on showy architecture. When it came to a fight, a pit was enough.
He didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. A large group of ferals left those milling about the outskirts of the clearing once his people had arrived. All strode briskly and confidently for the opposing circle as others cleared the way. Leading them was the tallest and beefiest feral Drake had ever seen. That, he suspected, would be Elaran... Lord Mistvale’s prime.
Elaran, like Cresh, was a walking mountain of muscle, though being a feral, he was only a bit taller than Drake instead of twice his height. Even so, the way Elaran moved felt far too graceful for a catman of his size. Drake had no illusions that Elaran’s size and muscle made him slow. It probably just made it so he could more easily rip his enemies apart.
He soon spotted Kelarin and a smaller number of ferals that were obviously being hemmed in by Elaran’s much larger group. At least twenty. He recognized Sidori, though he didn’t recognize any others. He’d hoped Kel’s pack would be bigger, but it seemed this small number was all they had. Was he really going to go to all this trouble for twenty ferals?
If all of them could fight and track as well as Sachi, he absolutely was.
Elaran’s pack settled around their circle in a loose formation that felt more like people choosing stools or ground at random than any attempt to protect their pack leader. The Silent Pack—Kel and his people—all crowded together under the watchful eyes of the others. Drake was surprised to see none of them were bound, but arrows would take care of runners.
He was also glad to see that none of Elaran’s pack looked to be mistreating their captives. They obviously intended to stop them from running off, but they also maintained a respectful distance. He also saw no signs of violence on those gathered.
It was also obvious that Elaran and his followers were completely comfortable facing down a manor lord and his chosen protectors. It was too bad these ferals had already sided with Lord Mistvale. Other than Elaran, who was obviously an asshole, the rest might be all right.
Once his people were settled in, Elaran stepped to the forward edge of the circle and spoke. “I, Elaran of the Granite Pack, speak as prime for Lord Mistvale. Who calls this scrap?” His voice was as deep and commanding as Drake would expect.
Drake strode confidently from between Cresh and Korrag and raised his voice. “I, Lord Gloomwood, speak on my own behalf. I call this scrap.”
He’d read and re-read the language expected of him as well as conferring with Samuel and Sachi, and he was determined to stick to the script. Deviating would simply delay things or, worse, end any chance he had to challenge Kel’s fate. It might also get his people shot.
“What grievance do you have with Lord Mistvale?” Elaran asked.
“My grievance is with you, Elaran of the Granite Pack,” Drake reminded the feral leader calmly. “You falsely claim Kelarin of the Silent Pack is guilty of treason. I refute your accusation. Kelarin has not betrayed Lord Mistvale.”
“And so you seek a scrap to prove your claims?”
“I do,” Drake said. You haven’t left me much of a choice, asshat.
“Who do you claim as your champion?”
“I claim Sachi of Gloomwood Manor. We’re her pack now.”
Drake had tried to wring more information out of Samuel about everything that went down with Sachi before she left, but all he’d been able to get out of the old man was that Sachi no longer had a pack. Samuel simply claimed it wasn’t his story to tell, and as for Sachi, she’d just laughed when he asked her to explain... and then warned him not to ask again.
At his summons, Sachi stepped from the mass of ferals that had all gathered around the pit once Elaran began to speak. He was surprised to see her no longer wearing her armor, and, in fact, not wearing much of anything at all. She wore a tight cloth binding over her breasts and what he’d charitably describe as gym shorts... with a hole for her now swishing tail.
Armor would slow down the battle. It would also slow down Sachi. Given how fast she was in full armor, he couldn’t imagine how fast she’d move without it. And without her armor, it was all the more obvious she was absolutely ripped.
Elaran glanced at Sachi with visible distaste. “You stand for Lord Gloomwood?”
“I stand for the Silent Pack!” Sachi called loudly.
Elaran’s ears flattened. “You no longer walk our path. You cannot stand for a pack.”
Sachi answered with a wide, taunting grin. “Try and stop me!”
The cheers and boos that followed Sachi’s bold claim surprised Drake, but perhaps they shouldn’t have. He was glad to hear as many ferals cheering Sachi on as those booing her. Elaran’s pack might be the biggest, and the rest of the ferals in this clearing easily dwarfed even his eighty-two followers. Drake doubted even Elaran wanted to piss all of them off.
Elaran returned his focus to Drake. “Kelarin of the Silent Pack committed treason when he conspired with an opposing manor lord in our lord’s lands. This is irrefutable. Lord Gloomwood, I offer you one last chance to renounce your challenge and leave unopposed.”
“My grievance stands!” Drake shouted. This performance was for the crowd as well as the enemy. “Having a simple parley is not treason, and executing a respected pack leader because he doesn’t suck your manor lord’s teet makes you the weak one, Elaran!”
Elaran’s ears flattened against his head. The boos and jeers from the crowd burst out loudly at that, but not all seemed directed at Drake. In fact... a good number of those jeers were directed at Elaran and his Granite Pack. The big feral glared at the crowd around them.
Drake had judged the crowd correctly. In his experience, especially in a society with this many different groups, no one liked the biggest kid on the block... especially if that kid was a bully. Having the largest pack meant Elaran and his people probably threw their weight around when dealing with smaller packs, which would build resentment over time.
Every last one of Elaran’s pack members rose and extended their claws. That was more than a little terrifying. Still, the way his zarovians squared up and hissed with their mouths open and their tails raised made him proud. He and Sachi were already winning the crowd to their side. That had to count for something.
“I accept your challenge, Lord Gloomwood,” Elaran said.
“And who will you choose as your champion?” Sachi shouted. “Which of your pack is most eager to embarrass themselves in front of all gathered here?”
Elaran looked to his right. “I choose Valarn of the Granite Pack.
A tall, slim male feral with deep brown fur and golden eyes stepped forward and smoothly stripped off his tunic. That revealed sculpted muscle and a boxer’s body that Drake recognized from his time boxing for fun in the gym ring. This feral would be no pushover. Drake got a bit worried when Valarn also stripped off his pants, but he was wearing a loin cloth.
The feral bared his teeth in a wide grin, spread his hands, extended claws that had to be at least a finger length long, and then leapt into the arena by doing a totally unnecessary ninja flip. The bit of showmanship suggested Sachi would be all right. In his experience, people who spent all their time on flashy moves did it to psyche themselves up and hide their worries.
And Drake wouldn’t ever want to be the one going into a ring against Sachi.
With Cresh leading the way, Drake and his chosen bodyguards strode into a forest clearing that was much larger than the clearing where he’d met Kel. It was easily double the size of the courtyard in the middle of Gloomwood Manor, and also developed. Feral packs lived here, and Lord Mistvale’s prime—Elaran—and his chosen ferals took prime real estate.
The rest of them, it seemed, were now throwing a massive kegger.
While there were no visible buildings on ground level, multiple wooden houses were hung high in the trees, along with narrow vines connecting them. Not something he’d ever want to trust his footing too... but ferals had better balance than he did.
The clearing held more ferals than he’d ever imagined he’d see in one place, and all of them seemed to be fighting, laughing, drinking, or just generally horsing around. Ferals that were much smaller than the others, likely children, sped in and out of the crowd so fast Drake could barely follow their movements.
Seeing everyone so relaxed (and seeing actual children running around) made him feel a bit better about his choice to go ahead with this scrap. If the feral packs had brought their children here, none of them anticipated any bloodshed at this meeting. No one brought their kids to a battlefield when they thought a fight was going to start... he hoped.
Drake had only sent Sidori back with word that he challenged Elaran’s claims a few hours ago, but word traveled fast in Lord Mistvale’s woods. Drake suspected every feral pack in travel distance had turned out for today’s “scrap”... what ferals called an honor duel, or trial by combat. Whoever kicked the most ass was judged in the right.
Apparently, this was simply one event in a very busy day. According to Samuel, there were only a few rare occasions where all the feral packs in an area could gather without fear of being attacked, and a scrap was one of them. Which meant drinking and partying.
Whether all these packs had turned out to get plastered or because they wanted to ensure Drake didn’t weasel out on his obligations was an open question. If Sachi lost this fight, he wouldn’t just lose her. As the lord who’d demanded the scrap, he’d have to grant the other manor lord—in this case, Lord Mistvale—and request he wished, within reason. By comparison, if he’d won, all he’d get was justice.
Kel and his pack cleared of all charges of treason.
In addition to Cresh and six of his zarovians, including Korrag, every one of his battle maids save Emily had come to support him... and it had taken awhile to talk Emily out of demanding someone carry her to the scrap. He also had his mother, Samuel, Gaby, Carl, and Darion with him. Sky and her people were protecting the vanguard, and without her to ensure the rest of his people remained safe, he’d have been hesitant to bring this big a force.
Samuel had been clear that a show of strength would be the best approach. Drake had expected the old man to be pissed when he found out what Drake and Sachi had decided, but Samuel had demonstrated a surprising amount of calm when he heard the news. It felt like he’d expected something like this. Still... Samuel did know a lot about ferals.
A male feral Drake had never met approached his party, then hesitated as Cresh set his feet and bared his teeth. The feral’s eyes widened noticeably. He swallowed.
“Lord Gloomwood?” the feral called hesitantly. “I will lead you to your circle.”
“Don’t kill him,” Drake called up to Cresh. “At least not yet.”
The feral’s ears went flat against his head. He took another look at the forces standing before him and swallowed. Still, he stood his ground. Drake had to respect that.
“Lead on,” he called.
The feral turned stiffly and led them deeper into the clearing, easily slipping past the other packs that freely stumbled into and out of their path. Drake walked behind his wall of zarovian muscle and casually swept his gaze across the ferals they passed. Most didn’t look at him at all, and those who did looked curious, not angry.
At least he wasn’t surrounded by a bunch of ferals hoping to kick his ass. That desire remained confined to the pack he now knew was personally chosen by Lord Mistvale—the Granite Pack—which were the same folks who’d attacked him in the forest yesterday. The rest of these ferals looked neutral at worst, and neutral feral packs he could live with.
In feral culture, according to the books he’d read at least, every pack had its own leader and made their own decisions, but only one pack leader could be chosen as prime. That person swore allegiance to whatever manor lord owned the land on which they lived and spoke with the authority of that same manor lord... even when the lord wasn’t present.
That was why Drake had to attend this scrap in person and Lord Mistvale didn’t. These were Mistvale’s lands. Had Kel’s pack already moved to Drake’s silverwood, and had Lord Mistvale wanted to challenge Kel’s ruling, he would have had to show up in person.
Drake spotted the “circle” set aside for his party soon after. It was a raised round platform of earth hemmed in by stone and dotted with worn wooden stools, one of four situated at cardinal points around a circular arena dug into the clearing. That arena, below, was where the scrap would take place. As his champion, Sachi would fight down there today.
Once it was clear Drake was headed in the right direction, the feral who’d greeted them hurried off with a fearful glance back. In retrospect, Drake felt guilty about frightening him, but he’d expected to have a better day than this. He would be careful not to take his ire out on anyone else save those who deserved it... like Elaran and everyone who served him.
There were no chairs in his circle, only stools. Ferals didn’t use chairs like humans, since they weren’t great for tails. He hadn’t been surprised to see many ferals squatting on their stools with their hands clasped firmly on the bottom of the round top.
Cresh and his zarovians stepped onto the circle and took up defensive positions around the perimeter, though they couldn’t do that without leaving lots of space. If every feral in this clearing decided to pull out their bows and start shooting, even zarovian bulk and muscle wouldn’t save anyone. Still, so far this seemed like a big party, not an ambush.
Drake motioned for the rest of his people to spread out and took a better look at the arena below. It was, to put it charitably, a hole in the ground, but so far, ferals didn’t seem all that hung up on showy architecture. When it came to a fight, a pit was enough.
He didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. A large group of ferals left those milling about the outskirts of the clearing once his people had arrived. All strode briskly and confidently for the opposing circle as others cleared the way. Leading them was the tallest and beefiest feral Drake had ever seen. That, he suspected, would be Elaran... Lord Mistvale’s prime.
Elaran, like Cresh, was a walking mountain of muscle, though being a feral, he was only a bit taller than Drake instead of twice his height. Even so, the way Elaran moved felt far too graceful for a catman of his size. Drake had no illusions that Elaran’s size and muscle made him slow. It probably just made it so he could more easily rip his enemies apart.
He soon spotted Kelarin and a smaller number of ferals that were obviously being hemmed in by Elaran’s much larger group. At least twenty. He recognized Sidori, though he didn’t recognize any others. He’d hoped Kel’s pack would be bigger, but it seemed this small number was all they had. Was he really going to go to all this trouble for twenty ferals?
If all of them could fight and track as well as Sachi, he absolutely was.
Elaran’s pack settled around their circle in a loose formation that felt more like people choosing stools or ground at random than any attempt to protect their pack leader. The Silent Pack—Kel and his people—all crowded together under the watchful eyes of the others. Drake was surprised to see none of them were bound, but arrows would take care of runners.
He was also glad to see that none of Elaran’s pack looked to be mistreating their captives. They obviously intended to stop them from running off, but they also maintained a respectful distance. He also saw no signs of violence on those gathered.
It was also obvious that Elaran and his followers were completely comfortable facing down a manor lord and his chosen protectors. It was too bad these ferals had already sided with Lord Mistvale. Other than Elaran, who was obviously an asshole, the rest might be all right.
Once his people were settled in, Elaran stepped to the forward edge of the circle and spoke. “I, Elaran of the Granite Pack, speak as prime for Lord Mistvale. Who calls this scrap?” His voice was as deep and commanding as Drake would expect.
Drake strode confidently from between Cresh and Korrag and raised his voice. “I, Lord Gloomwood, speak on my own behalf. I call this scrap.”
He’d read and re-read the language expected of him as well as conferring with Samuel and Sachi, and he was determined to stick to the script. Deviating would simply delay things or, worse, end any chance he had to challenge Kel’s fate. It might also get his people shot.
“What grievance do you have with Lord Mistvale?” Elaran asked.
“My grievance is with you, Elaran of the Granite Pack,” Drake reminded the feral leader calmly. “You falsely claim Kelarin of the Silent Pack is guilty of treason. I refute your accusation. Kelarin has not betrayed Lord Mistvale.”
“And so you seek a scrap to prove your claims?”
“I do,” Drake said. You haven’t left me much of a choice, asshat.
“Who do you claim as your champion?”
“I claim Sachi of Gloomwood Manor. We’re her pack now.”
Drake had tried to wring more information out of Samuel about everything that went down with Sachi before she left, but all he’d been able to get out of the old man was that Sachi no longer had a pack. Samuel simply claimed it wasn’t his story to tell, and as for Sachi, she’d just laughed when he asked her to explain... and then warned him not to ask again.
At his summons, Sachi stepped from the mass of ferals that had all gathered around the pit once Elaran began to speak. He was surprised to see her no longer wearing her armor, and, in fact, not wearing much of anything at all. She wore a tight cloth binding over her breasts and what he’d charitably describe as gym shorts... with a hole for her now swishing tail.
Armor would slow down the battle. It would also slow down Sachi. Given how fast she was in full armor, he couldn’t imagine how fast she’d move without it. And without her armor, it was all the more obvious she was absolutely ripped.
Elaran glanced at Sachi with visible distaste. “You stand for Lord Gloomwood?”
“I stand for the Silent Pack!” Sachi called loudly.
Elaran’s ears flattened. “You no longer walk our path. You cannot stand for a pack.”
Sachi answered with a wide, taunting grin. “Try and stop me!”
The cheers and boos that followed Sachi’s bold claim surprised Drake, but perhaps they shouldn’t have. He was glad to hear as many ferals cheering Sachi on as those booing her. Elaran’s pack might be the biggest, and the rest of the ferals in this clearing easily dwarfed even his eighty-two followers. Drake doubted even Elaran wanted to piss all of them off.
Elaran returned his focus to Drake. “Kelarin of the Silent Pack committed treason when he conspired with an opposing manor lord in our lord’s lands. This is irrefutable. Lord Gloomwood, I offer you one last chance to renounce your challenge and leave unopposed.”
“My grievance stands!” Drake shouted. This performance was for the crowd as well as the enemy. “Having a simple parley is not treason, and executing a respected pack leader because he doesn’t suck your manor lord’s teet makes you the weak one, Elaran!”
Elaran’s ears flattened against his head. The boos and jeers from the crowd burst out loudly at that, but not all seemed directed at Drake. In fact... a good number of those jeers were directed at Elaran and his Granite Pack. The big feral glared at the crowd around them.
Drake had judged the crowd correctly. In his experience, especially in a society with this many different groups, no one liked the biggest kid on the block... especially if that kid was a bully. Having the largest pack meant Elaran and his people probably threw their weight around when dealing with smaller packs, which would build resentment over time.
Every last one of Elaran’s pack members rose and extended their claws. That was more than a little terrifying. Still, the way his zarovians squared up and hissed with their mouths open and their tails raised made him proud. He and Sachi were already winning the crowd to their side. That had to count for something.
“I accept your challenge, Lord Gloomwood,” Elaran said.
“And who will you choose as your champion?” Sachi shouted. “Which of your pack is most eager to embarrass themselves in front of all gathered here?”
Elaran looked to his right. “I choose Valarn of the Granite Pack.
A tall, slim male feral with deep brown fur and golden eyes stepped forward and smoothly stripped off his tunic. That revealed sculpted muscle and a boxer’s body that Drake recognized from his time boxing for fun in the gym ring. This feral would be no pushover. Drake got a bit worried when Valarn also stripped off his pants, but he was wearing a loin cloth.
The feral bared his teeth in a wide grin, spread his hands, extended claws that had to be at least a finger length long, and then leapt into the arena by doing a totally unnecessary ninja flip. The bit of showmanship suggested Sachi would be all right. In his experience, people who spent all their time on flashy moves did it to psyche themselves up and hide their worries.
And Drake wouldn’t ever want to be the one going into a ring against Sachi.
