The Shadows of Night (17 page)

She growled and crouched, refusing to move, even as the monarch bolted forward, his antlers aimed directly for her.

Behind her, she heard the clatter of Hart’s hooves as he regained his feet.
 
As the monarch lunged at her, Hart went over her in a leap, meeting his monarch’s charge with so much force that his father was knocked over backward.

Still in leopard form, Katara watched with surprise, realizing for the first time that Hart hadn’t been putting his full effort into the fight.
 
He hadn’t wanted to injure his monarch, or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to shame the older man by defeating him.
 

But he was willing to fight in order to protect her.
 
The knowledge filled her with joy.

Hart loomed over his father, his antlers down.
 
Abruptly he shifted back to human form, still standing over his father, his chest heaving with effort.
 
His dark eyes flared with anger, and every line of his muscular body radiated protectiveness and determination.

“I do not wish to harm you, Father,” he said between his teeth, “but I will kill you before I allow you to harm Katara.”

The gray-headed stag’s hide rippled, and a second later the monarch lay on the floor, looking up at his son.
 
To Katara’s eyes, he suddenly looked old.
 
Old… and beaten.
 
“Now I have more reason to exile you than ever,” he said in a low, angry voice.

“Not so,” Prong said from the side of the chamber.
 
He walked across the carpet and stood next to his brother, shoulder to shoulder.
 
“He is merely protecting the woman he loves, Father.
 
By our laws, he has the right to protect her from anyone.
 
Even the monarch.”

The older man looked up at the two younger men ruefully,
then
struggled to his feet.
 
Katara noticed he was favoring his right leg, which had obviously been twisted in the fall.
 
His naked body resembled Hart’s, she thought, although some of the weight had shifted downward from shoulders to waist.
 
But he was still a strongly built man, if no match for a young man in his prime.

“There is no precedent in our law for an Antler who wishes to mate for life with a Claw,” he said.

“How fortunate that, as the monarch, you can make a new law,” Prong said wryly.

Katara shifted to her human form in order to speak.
 
“I do not think that the question of whom Lord Hart chooses to mate is quite as pressing as the other matter we face,” she said in a tart tone.
 

Hart looked at her, affection clear in his eyes, and nodded.
 
“True enough.”
 
He turned to the monarch.
 
“Father, we must discuss this threat with the Claw leader.
 
Perhaps we can come up with a weapon of our own.”

Prong looked revolted by the idea.
 
“We cannot kill anyone, Hart.
 
If we were to do so, we would be as barbaric as they are.”

“We must defend ourselves,” Hart insisted, “or our people will die.
 
You didn’t see how easily the Fang killed those Claw, Prong.
 
I did, and I can see in my mind’s eye our own people lying dead in the streets.
 
The vision appalls me. Although I hate the idea of killing as much as you do, we must take action.”

“And how are we to develop such a weapon?” Prong demanded.

Katara stepped forward.
 
“It should be an easy matter for a people such as
yourself
to duplicate the weapon we recovered.
 
You have beds that heal wounds in a matter of hours, invisible
walls,
silver floating devices that do your work for you… this weapon is crude by comparison.”

Hart exchanged a look with the other two men.
 
Once again Katara had the impression they had been keeping something from her.
 
At last Hart cleared his throat.

“The fact is,” he said, sounding embarrassed, “we did not develop any of this technology, Katara.”

Katara blinked.
 
“I do not understand.”

“This keep was built by the Ancestors when they first arrived on this planet.
 
All the technology we possess was invented by them.
 
Over the years, the knowledge of how to create it was lost, probably because the Ancestors discovered their ability to shapeshift and lost interest in creating machines.
 
We have no idea how to replicate any of the machinery that enriches our lives.
 
We do not even know how to repair it.
 
Fortunately it was well-built and has worked for many years, but if it ever ceases to operate, there will be absolutely nothing we can do to fix it.”

“But the silver machines—you told they make your food and clothing.
 
Could they not make something as simple as this?”

“The drones collect and cook our food, make our clothing, brew ale, and do every menial task we could wish.
 
But their tasks were given to them long, long ago, by the Ancestors, and those are the very same tasks they still carry out today.
 
We have no idea how to use them to create something new, or how to create something with our own hands.
 
We cannot so much as carve a new
ta’rsa
piece.”

Katara blinked in astonishment.
 
For a long moment she could find nothing to say.
 
“And yet you call my people barbarians,” she said.
 
“You are as much barbarians as we are.
 
Barbarians… with better toys.
 
Toys that you do not even understand.”

The monarch’s shaggy eyebrows drew together.
 
“You dare to compare our people to the lesser Kindred?”

Hart waved him to silence, a rueful expression on his face.
 
“She is right, you know,” he said.
 
“Despite our conceit, our arrogant belief that we are the greatest of the Kindred, we are no better than the Claw and the Fang.
 
Perhaps we are even less. We are not even able to gather our own food, whereas the Fang grow wheat and vegetables in their fields.
 
The Fang have managed to invent this new weapon, but we have invented nothing in centuries.”

“Not true,” the monarch snapped.
 
“The fang was invented by us, not by the wolves.”

Hart went very still, and for a moment there was silence in the room.
 
At last he said softly, “Invented by us?
 
What do you mean?”

The monarch looked uncomfortable.
 
“A man from the village came to me with an idea.
 
He had been studying the legends of the Ancestors, and he thought he could make a fang that would
fly,
a fang to kill from a distance.
 
I charged him with the task of creating one.”

Hart suddenly recalled the odd things that had been scattered about the safe house.
 
“You sent him out to the safe house near Fang territory, didn’t you?”

The monarch shrugged.
 
“He had to go out to the woods to collect the raw materials.
 
At any rate, I was afraid that if he remained in the village, he would talk.
 
I didn’t want him to speak of this to anyone.”

“Because it is entirely against our way of life!”
Prong said sharply.
 
“A fang?
 
Something deliberately designed to kill?
 
Father, why would you want to create such a thing?”

“Because our people dare not walk the forest after dark,” the monarch growled.
 
“Despite all the technology we possess, we cannot protect ourselves against predators.
 
We should be able to enter the woods without fear.
 
We are the greatest of the Kindred, yet we must cower behind walls.
 
Such an invention would allow us to walk the shadows of night without fear, just as the predators do.”

“I understand your motives, even if I disagree with the notion,” Hart said.
 
“But if it was an Antler who designed this shaft, how did the Fang obtain the weapon?”

“I know not,” the monarch admitted.
 
“When the villager did not return at the appointed time, I went to the safe house myself.
 
He was gone, and so were many of the materials he had been using.
 
It was obvious he had been gone for some time, but there was no smell of the Fang in the safe house.
 
I suspect he was attacked by the Fang in the forest.
 
They took his feathered fangs and learned to replicate them.
 
Perhaps even to improve them.
 
The fang he was developing had a stone tooth.
 
This one has an iron tooth.
 
And this--
”
 
He
pointed to the other implement.
 
“He was trying to construct it with rope.
 
The Fang seem to have used sinew.”

“But it is similar to the fang he had envisioned?”

The monarch looked at the flying fang a long moment.
 
“Yes, it is very similar to the drawing he showed me.
 
This is very like the fang I charged him to make.”

“Then this crisis is of the Antler monarch’s own making.”

At the new voice, they all turned.
 
Katara’s mother stood in the doorway in her human form, the black-maned lion growling behind her.

“My people are dead because of you, Antler,” she said.
 
“Tell me why I should not kill you where you stand.”

Katara’s mother shifted to her lioness form.
 
Faced with two lions, the monarch and Prong instantly transformed to stag form.
 
Hart sighed, holding his human form with an effort.
 

It was unfortunate the lions had not remained in their chamber, but not
reall
surprising, considering the impulsive nature of the Claw. Stepping between the two factions, he held out his hands.

“We do not have time to argue amongst ourselves,” he said.
 
“Argument” was a ridiculously faint word, he thought wryly, considering he was standing between two growling lions and two angry stags.
 
He had to struggle to prevent himself from shifting.
 

The lioness snarled, and his skin rippled involuntarily.

“My father intended the fang to be used as a defensive mechanism, a way of protecting ourselves,” he said, as calmly as possible.
 
“The Fangs are the ones using it to attack.
 
They are the enemy here.
 
The enemy of both our peoples.”

“He is correct,” Katara said, stalking to his side and facing her parents, her chin held high.
 
“The Fang have attacked both Claw and Antler in the past few days, and they will likely strike again very soon.
 
We need to work together.”

The lions tilted their heads in thought,
then
shifted back into human form.
 
The stags transformed as well, although with obviously greater effort.

“Very well,” Katara’s mother said grudgingly.
 
“Have you come up with a plan?”

“Not yet,” Hart said.
 
“We need information.
 
First, we will interrogate our prisoner.”

*****

The bitch lay on the regen table, her eyes closed, her short black hair rumpled.
 
In human form, she looked very small and vulnerable, and very unlike the savage black wolf who had attempted to sink her fangs into Hart’s shoulder.
 
Her eyes flickered open when Hart and Katara entered.

“How is she?” Hart asked Otwa.

The old woman shrugged.
 
“She seems to be recovering well.”

“Is she strong enough to talk?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” the bitch said.
 
Her voice was high and sweet, at odds with her savage canine nature.
 

Otwa shrugged.
 
“She seems strong enough.”

Hart nodded and walked over to the regen bed, Katara at his heels.
 
He glared down at the bitch.
 
“How did your people obtain the flying fang?”

Her brilliant blue eyes
slitted,
and he got the impression she was trying to shift.

“You cannot transform while on this table,” Katara said.
 
She smiled slightly.
 
“Believe me.
 
I found out the hard way.”

The Fang looked at her, her eyes narrowing further.
 
“Why are you allying yourself with this leaf eater?”