Chosen One, page 15
Kahla's blood ran cold from the blatant threat and she hastened from the area, Rexus's taunting laughter ringing cruelly in her ears.
Chapter Ten
King Rexus was pleased as punch. He was reviewing the assembled Killjaw Army, Luthos at his side with Festur a tail-length behind. Sunrise was a scant quarter hour away, evidenced by the cloudless eastern sky streaked with orange and gold bands. A brand spanking new carnosaur age was dawning and the tyrant-king was the one orchestrating it.
'How many have we got, Captain?’ he asked eagerly, striding along the disorderly ranks of the predatory throng parading in the centre of Killjaw Clearing in a ragged two-deep phalanx.
Festur struggled to supply an accurate answer. Numbers had never been his forte, which happened to be a generic failing, as most hunters were incapable of counting past two. ‘A fair number, Sire,’ was all he could manage.
Rexus overlooked his attendant's inaccuracy. He was too contented on this breaking morn to rebuke anyone—yet.
There were in fact fourteen carnosaurs arrayed before their overlord, roughly divided into near equal strengths with six of the mammoth Killjaws supported by eight of their dwarfish cousins. The cows outnumbered the bulls three to one, since males were a natural scarcity in the predatory realm. Egg-layers took precedence over mere sperm donors. Hardly a sizable force compared to the armies of yesteryear, but adequate for today's task.
'Majesty, um, the troops are restive,’ Festur gingerly reminded his weirdly delighted king.
'I trust they followed my command not to hunt before journeying here.'
'Yes, Highness.'
'Outstanding. Hunger will give them more of a ferocious edge when the time for battle comes.’ All the pleasantness evaporated from the monarch like a cloudbank blotting out the sun. Hatred was to be the ruling emotion on this day. ‘Pay attention, son. Learn how a king truly behaves,’ he growled instructively to Luthos.
'I'd rather eat,’ complained the Killjaw prince. ‘I'm wasting away to a shadow, Pop.'
'For once, stop thinking about your stomach and concentrate on royal matters.'
The grumbling heir to the throne sulked behind his remonstrating father.
'Welcome, you pack of scummy ratbags!'
The king's unflattering reception was greeted with a mix of catcalls and hollers of respect. Whilst the smaller Killjaws showed deference to their titanic regent, the like sized meat-eaters had ego-driven rebellious streaks and jeered good-naturedly.
'Alright, quiet down!’ barked Rexus. When a semblance of order prevailed over the unruly mob he addressed his subjects properly. ‘This day we stand on the verge of greatness.'
'I thought we stood in the middle of Killjaw Clearing,’ one of the mob cajoled.
Rexus shot the mouthy interrupter a levelling stare that firmly shut the other's flapping jaws. Continuing, he intoned in an attention-grabbing bellow; ‘We are poised to recapture the glory of our forebears so wrongly snatched from us by the loathsome plant-grinders—our mortal enemies, the Thunderfeet.'
A chorus of boos and snarls met that pronouncement.
'To that end have I summoned every one of you to my ancestral throne for but one purpose. Come sunup, we will embark on the greatest of all hunts. History is yours for the making, and before the Life-giver sets this day you lot will go down in the spoken Killjaw annals as the mightiest blood-letters of all time!'
'Oh do get on with it, you longwinded bag of bones,’ Tank mumbled from the sidelines. In typical Clubtail fashion he had ambled in late to oversee the gathering. Despite his mockery, the Adviser appreciated that Rexus had a gift of the gab when he applied himself. The orating king could probably exhort the gentlest of breezes into a whirling tornado if the mood took him. But it was oh so tedious listening to that dribble!
'Every last Thunderfoot must die this glorious day. By ambush will we purge Fernwalk of the infestation of Thunderfoot herds and forcibly claim Mother Forest as the Killjaws’ own once and for all!’ Rexus vowed with a throaty roar.
Whipped into a frenzy by the rousing speech, the Killjaw army took up their leader's call to fight and reclaim lost status and glory. They began chanting ‘Death to the Thunderfeet!’ over and over. A derogatory bellow abruptly quelled the canticle of the tumultuous horde.
'Don't start your little fracas without me, kingy!'
Rexus gazed hard at the terrifyingly huge female Killjaw loping across the glade toward him. She was easily his match in size and ferocity and her fellows hastily parted ranks at her approach.
'Madcow,’ grumbled the tyrant-king. ‘You're tardy. Are you sure you're not part Clubtail?'
'I ran into a Duckbill pal of mine on the way over,’ she snarled happily. ‘He delayed me while we caught up on old times.'
'You were instructed not to eat.'
'Who said I ate.'
The king's ugly maw broke into an unrestrained grimace of admiration. Madcow deserved her notoriety as an insane huntress, as she more often than not killed for the sheer pleasure of the bloody deed than from any real desire to dine. That trait made her particularly alluring during the mating season. Rexus even contemplated a liaison with what was incontestably the most desirable cow in the region. Tempting as a lustful roll in the ferns might be, giving in to such an impulsive desire was totally unrealistic. A union with Madcow was fraught with danger. She imparted vicious love bites, having killed two suitors outright and permanently maimed several others. Attractive as the battle-scarred femme fatale might be, she was the black widow of the Killjaws.
'You're looking provocative, Madcow,’ complimented Rexus. ‘Killed any mates recently?'
'Not lately, but I'm always on the lookout for fresh meat,’ she replied, casting an appraising eye over the Killjaw prince. She vainly considered herself the unofficial queen of Mother Forest. A warning growl from Luthos's mighty father cooled any amorous thoughts in that direction.
Festur had a quiet word in his king's ear. ‘Sire, Yellow Fang is supposed to be with Madcow. I ventured across him hanging outside her range during my roundup. He reckoned they would be making the journey here together.'
Rexus exhaled dolefully. ‘I'll ask this only once,’ he cautioned the mentally unstable cow. ‘Where's Yellow Fang?'
'We had a falling out, kingy.'
'Yet another rejected wooer?'
'I-If I might explain, your Majesty?'
The king swung inwards to face the stammering enquirer from the parade lines of the summoned carnosaurs. He was the smallest of the remaining Killjaw bulls, the runt of his brood. How he managed to survive the rigours of chickhood was an utter mystery to Rexus. The monarch himself had murdered, then devoured, his own runty sister, goaded by the fierce competition of sibling rivalry. Somehow One Claw had beaten the odds stacked against him and survived, albeit with a forearm bitten off at the elbow in some teenage squabble. That missing arm had earned him the unflattering nickname of Stumpy.
'What do you know about it?’ demanded Rexus.
'I-I was visiting Yellow Fang at the time of his run-in with Madcow.'
'Keep talking.'
'T-Their dispute was not over Yeller advancing his affections. Nope. They scrapped over territory. As you're aware, Madcow's range lies up at the northern tip of the Uplands, while Yeller staked a recent claim to a strip of forest just south of hers. Q-Quite good hunting grounds up round there ... loads of cover with plenty of game an’ all.'
'Stick to the facts, Stumpy!’ snapped the king. He preferred concise, uncomplicated explanations to the ramblings of a witless buffoon.
'Cer-Certainly, Majesty,’ grovelled the cripple. ‘Like I was saying, Yeller's range slightly overlapped Madcow's southern boundary. He took ownership of the borderland in question and she objected.’ A portentous growl from Madcow abruptly silenced One Claw's account.
Rexus turned back to the accused. ‘Tell me that you drove him off and he's hiding out someplace nursing his injured pride and whatever body parts you mangled.'
'If that's what you want me to say, kingy.'
Rexus sighed exasperatedly again. ‘Let me hear the truth then.'
Unrepentant, the killer cow confessed, ‘Yellow Fang met with an unfortunate end—he kind of died in my jaws.'
The interrogating king threw a sidelong glance at the brother of Scarb: he knew all about ‘tragedies’ that befell incautious Killjaws.
He spun about to address his troops, his eyes inflamed with gushing wrath. ‘Listen up, rabble! We cannot afford to lose another pair of jaws to this constant infighting. The enemy is stomping out there on Fernwalk. To that effect, I now decree that all personal territories are hereby abolished.'
Roars of umbrage avalanched that ghastly proclamation.
Rexus bellowed his own response. ‘I am your liege and you will do as I command, even if I'm forced to chew you up and spit you out one at a time!'
The group outburst subsided.
'Long ago a forebear of mine graciously granted his subjects, the self same servants who spawned the ancestors of you sorry lot, individual lands as reward for faithful service. I'm taking them back as punishment for your insufferably bad neighbourliness. All private holdings in the realm revert to being my property. If any one of you wishes to dispute my decision, let him or her charge forward and we'll discuss the problem civilly.’ Rexus gnashed his dagger teeth promisingly. Oddly enough, there were no further protestations from the sullenly quiet body of landless hunters.
The king's mood had darkened considerably. Yellow Fang's ‘accidental’ death thanks to Madcow's unchecked aggression meant a valuable lieutenant was lost to the cause. There was a bright side to his pall of gloom. The deranged female was an unstoppable terror when running amok and worth her weight in Thunderfoot bones as a berserker in the upcoming struggle.
'Tank, you have the clearing floor,’ he said brusquely. Outline the attack plan and we'll be underway.'
There was a frustrating pause to the proceedings as the Clubtail did some quick mental arithmetic.
'What's the hold up?’ the despotic regent barked.
Dawdling, the Adviser informed his irked employer, ‘Simply making revisions to my strategy in light of unforeseeable absences in your soldiery.'
'Just hurry up with your sums, cos daybreak is round the corner and I'd like to start this genocidal campaign sometime before noon.'
Tank annoyingly expounded at his leisure. ‘The assault is divided into three waves. For the benefit of the numerically challenged amongst you simpletons who cannot count beyond the number of their feet, that's two attack parties plus one extra.'
'Think of two legs and a tail,’ interjected Rexus, putter it into plainer terms.
'Where's this ambush taking place?’ a particularly precocious Dwarf Killjaw cow wondered. ‘I've travelled a long distance. I'm footsore and starving. I don't fancy traipsing halfway across the wood again just to nibble on a Thunderfoot steak.'
'Our foes lie a quarter day's walk from here,’ Rexus supplied. ‘We'll quick march there and lurk in wait until midday. Now shut your trap, numbskull, and let Tank spell it out for you. He's the brains around here, not any of you mindless calf-killers.'
The Clubtail blinked ponderously with his armoured eyelids. The Killjaw king seldom dished out praise and never without cause. Rexus was undoubtedly up to something. Tank let the acclamation slide. He would have to fathom it later without tipping off his scheming boss. The tyrant-king was more pliable when he imagined himself cleverer than all other reptiles in or outside Mother Forest.
'The main force will be split in two and flank a smaller, elite group spearheaded by King Rexus,’ Tank filled in the army. ‘Due to Yellow Fang having been scratched from this shindig, the logical replacement to captain his squad of the supporting contingents is Madcow.'
Without a better eleventh hour alternative Rexus grunted his committal to the promotion, allowing Tank to finish up.
'Command of the other squad goes to Festur, who'll have the added company of the Killjaw prince.'
'Aw, Pop, I want to be put in charge.'
'Luthos, don't whine,’ Rexus snarled at his bitching son. ‘You aren't fit to dominate a dung pile. Treat this as a learning experience and follow Festur's lead implicitly. That is final.’ Making a snap decision, the grouchy regent roared, ‘Gather round, vermin!'
The Killjaws huddled around their monarch.
'Not too near,’ he warned them off. Rexus shunned closeness.
They drew back into a wider circle.
'I've had enough of this interminable waiting. Tank can complete the briefing on our way to the ambush site. This is easily the most crucial battle in the entirety of Killjaw hunts. Succeed and you'll redeem our tarnished name. Fail and we all might as well munch leaves for the rest of our shameful lives. Come now and seize victory, my brothers.’ A correcting growl issued from Madcow. ‘And sisters,’ amended Rexus.
The impassioned Killjaw Army was headed from the clearing by the thudding Clubtail detailing the finer aspects of the attack along the game trail out. Festur, clearly troubled, joined the bull royals lagging behind in the emptying glade.
'Quit chewing on that bone stuck in your craw and spit it out,’ Rexus told his ranking captain, watching the troops filing into the dusky trees become revengeful wraiths. ‘Something's plainly distasteful to you.'
'Sire, my job is to guard the royal person. I should be stationed at your side during the melee.'
'You think me incapable of defending myself?'
'I didn't say that, my liege. You are by far the most capable Killjaw in Mother Forest. That doesn't stop me being your appointed paladin.'
'Your concern is touching, Captain, if wasted. I don't need protecting. Your charge is to ensure the safekeeping of Prince Luthos. I am loath to risk my son, but every chomper at our disposal is needed for us to win this day. Even so, the most carefully thought out plans can go astray in the heat of battle, so it's imperative that my heir emerges unhurt. Your life depends on him not sustaining even the slightest scratch.'
Festur swallowed hard.
Rexus addressed his only offspring with exaggerated slowness, making sure his simple-minded son fully understood: ‘Stay close to Festur when the charge begins, Luthos. He'll guide you through the attack. Stick by his side like a tick on a Shieldhorn, or by God I'll send you to the Hunting Wood myself.'
'Okay, Pop,’ the imbecilic prince acknowledged with a resigned growl.
'There'll be meat aplenty soon enough for you, boy.'
The royal dullard's eyes lit up from that promise.
Festur remained bothered by some niggle. ‘Can we really trust the Thunderfoot traitor?'
Rolling his eyes in vexation, Rexus took his captain to task. ‘Don't be so naïve. I'd no more turn my back on Kahla than mount Madcow. With that turncoat so ready and willing to betray her own family and herd, she would not hesitate to stomp me in the back. That's why I've had her tailed by day and night since the evening of her proposal. I'll use her treachery to our advantage then turn it against the bitch. She'll die alongside her contemptible kin shortly. Whoever heard of tamed Thunderfeet paying homage to the Killjaw king? I'd become the laughing stock of the whole forest. That reminds me, are there any fresh reports from my spies?'
'Not yet, Sire. Orn left to relieve Shadower on dayshift a short while ago. He'll deliver an update the moment the army arrives on scene prior to you positioning the troops.'
Rexus gnarled. ‘Kahla had better pray to the Originator that she manoeuvres the Thunderfeet to the spot where she swore to Shadower they'd be. I don't want to front up and find a shortage of plodding snacks. That mob of ours will become totally unmanageable if robbed of a meal at this late stage.'
'Timing is critical in this,’ agreed Festur.'
The worrying monarch looked pointedly at his captaining cohort. ‘What of the other matter?'
'There's been no sign of the giant floating egg reappearing anywhere.'
The tyrant-king did not know whether to feel disturbed or relieved by the lack of news. If Gideon popped up unannounced, his intrusion could seriously disrupt the attack. His absence was therefore a welcome thing for the time being. However, if the outlander's whereabouts remained unknowable that might adversely affect future scheming. Rexus opted then for the usual predatory guardedness, taking events in his stride.'
'Pop, I'm getting hungrier,’ Luthos moaned in reminder.
King Rexus grinned leeringly. ‘On that score we agree, son. Let's get going and send those repugnant Thunderfeet off to their precious Spirit Forest.'
Chapter Eleven
The mood was strained.
Bronte flicked her lengthy tail fretfully, her own nervousness adding to the tension. A glorious dawn had burst upon the land, vivid splashes of radiant pink and dazzling gold washing the cloudless blue-grey firmament in a wondrous blaze of colour. The beauty of the new day did nothing to ease the young cow's worry. She was plodding alongside Darved, behind Bodiah, Kahla and Balticea, as the Grand Matriarch shepherded the two Thunderfoot herds south down Fernwalk against the grain of migrating Duckbills and Shieldhorns. Mother Forest lay fixed on their right like a navigation beacon, but that was scant comfort. The further south they ambled the deeper they trespassed into Killjaw territory. That fact, combined with the infrequent scuffles arising from the cantankerous Long and Shortfrills being compelled to give way to the lumbering behemoths pushing arrogantly through their ranks, shrouded the travelling Thunderfeet in a palpable air of rumbling apprehension.
Bronte's concern ran much colder. Her cousin was openly, even flauntingly, advising her grandmother and that chilled Bronte to the roots of her feet. Kahla was about as trustworthy as a Lizardwing and no more likable. She claimed to be guiding the Grand Matriarch and her fellows to where Chappy was reputedly loitering so that Bronte could say her final farewell, but Balticea's heir was not so sure. Her Duckbill friend would hardly dally in the vicinity of the Killjaw throne and never more so in light of his recent brush with Festur.
'You never mentioned Chappy before,’ Darved spoke, intruding upon his mate's pondering. The Thunderfoot bull had only been made aware of her unconventional friendship with the hadrosaur in the predawn gloom when Balticea had abruptly announced the short journey south and the bizarre reason for it. Bronte had not yet filled in the details for him.
