Weasel Presents

Jherik’s tail twitched when he was bored. It twitched when he was angry, and it twitched when he was excited. Lately, his life had been a cycle of those three moods. When he was bored, his thoughts inevitably turned to the last meeting his father had held with him and his brother. Then he got angry, and stalked down to the practice area to work off his anger in sparring with whatever soldiers happened to be working out there. When he’d beaten them all, the excitement of battle would wear off, and he slowly grew bored again.

Marhik, by contrast, was the very model of a cougar noble. When sitting in their father’s study, his posture was impeccable, ears canted at just the proper angle to show respect for his father and the pride of his own heritage. His paws rested easily on the arms of the chair, and no matter what their father said, he never
ever
accidentally scored the wood with his claws. And his tail remained perfectly curled around his knees as he sat, motionless.

His brother had always been that way, as long as he could remember, and Jherik had always been the one with his fur askew, claws prone to extending at the slightest provocation, disrespectful ears, and uncontrollable tail. By his nineteenth birthday, he had given up on the idea that he would grow into his brother’s demeanor. Six would-be instructors had despaired of ever making a proper noble out of him. The last had told his father that it didn’t matter anyway; as the second son, he would be either a soldier or a priest.

Never a priest, Jherik knew. He could barely keep his attention on the cantor every Gaiaday when they sat in services. There, as everywhere else, his brother put him to shame with his perfect posture and his focus that never strayed from the speaker.

He could have been in services as they waited for their father to explain why he had called them to his study this time; his eyes never left the older cougar behind the desk. Jherik couldn’t keep himself from looking all around the study, from the large wooden desk that was weathered with the marks of a dozen Barons (a gift from the neighboring barony in the fourth year of the reign of King Xarric) to the bookshelves that had been built in the time of Jherik’s grandfather, who’d tried to encourage the printing shops in the local town to expand their line and had still only been able to fill half his shelves.

When his father spoke, he looked at Marhik. “You heard about the messenger from Caril.” Marhik nodded, a small nod. Exactly the right nod, Jherik thought. “The Crown Prince has been murdered.”

He gave them a moment to assimilate that. Jherik’s tail froze and then started lashing behind him. The Crown Prince? They were second cousins to the royal family, though he’d never actually met them nose-to-nose. The closest they’d come had been at a royal celebration for the birth of the king and queen’s third child, ten years ago. Jherik vaguely remembered the crown prince, a stocky cougar just starting to grow into his adolescent frame. Marhik, closer to his age, had talked to him, and Jherik turned to his brother to see how he would be affected by the tragedy.

“Who did it?” Marhik’s tones were clipped and precise. His ears and tail didn’t appear to have moved an inch.

“I don’t have that information.” Their father sighed and rubbed at his muzzle. “All I know is...we may be at war.”

“I’ll have to take some troops to Caril.”

“Yes.” Their father nodded gravely. “I want you to pick the best fifty soldiers we have and bring them to Caril. It’s not much, but we’re a small barony.”

“I know the soldiers better than Marhik does,” Jherik burst out impulsively.

“Consult your brother if you want to,” their father said, still to Marhik. “But have them ready to march tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Marhik nodded again while Jherik seethed.

“Jherik, I want you to recruit replacements. We may not be able to get fifty, but get as many as we can.”

Jherik looked at his brother, then back at his father. The request didn’t seem to make sense. “How can I recruit if I’m going to be marching to Caril tomorrow morning?”

His father and brother both looked at him as if he were a beloved house pet who couldn’t understand basic commands. “You’re not going to Caril,” his father said.

Jherik laughed. “You think there are fifty soldiers in our army better than me?”

“You can’t go,” Marhik explained patiently. “Both of us can’t go.”

“Then you stay, and I’ll lead the soldiers.”

Their father shook his head. “Marhik has to lead them.”

“Why don’t you lead them, and I’ll go along, and Marhik can stay here?” Jherik leaned forward, digging his claws into the arms of his chair.

“Because,” Marhik said patiently, Marhik who always understood everything and never complained, “I have to gain experience in leading the soldiers. I’m of age now. If Dad came along they would defer to him and I wouldn’t gain their confidence and respect. And because it’s not an actual war yet, Dad doesn’t have to go himself.”

“Cougar grant there may not be a war,” their father said heavily.

“It’s not
fair!
” Jherik said.

He didn’t miss the glance that his father and brother exchanged, the one that said,
no use talking to him when he gets like this
. He sank back into his chair, all attempts at good posture gone, and lowered his ears sulkily.

“The Barony of Limorra is on the way to Caril,” Marhik said. “Can we rest there?”

Their father brightened. “Excellent idea. You and Viana can have a small wedding before you go on to Caril, and we can put on the larger ceremony later. At least, we should not lose the chance to make that match sooner rather than later. The alliance will be a good one.”

They talked about politics for another few minutes, while Jherik sank deeper into his sulk. When their father dismissed them, he stormed outside without a word, brushing aside his brother’s attempts to talk to him, and headed right for the practice area.

Corrif, a large wolf who was one of the senior leaders of their little army, was training two younger soldiers, a bobcat and an otter. Jherik had to search for their names and could only remember that the bobcat was called Pexi. They were both about two thirds the size of the wolf, their heads coming up to the bottom of his chest, but Jherik knew that size didn’t determine the skill of the fighter. He was larger than any of the soldiers in the army and he had been beaten once by a weasel half his size.

“Good, good, watch your paws, Trikka, don’t get stuck in one place. I’m moving around to your left, so don’t just turn your torso. Pexi, don’t follow me; anticipate me. Both of you stay crouched down, that makes it harder for me to hit you. When you’re attacking a larger opponent, you’ll want to hit the knees and feet. Defend upward and strike low--yes, like that, good!” Pexi had swung the wooden practice sword and clipped the wolf on the knee, but the stroke left him open and Corrif flicked his practice sword expertly into the crease between the bobcat’s head and shoulder. “But don’t forget to defend. You’re dead now, and your partner is all alone against a larger opponent, albeit a hobbled one.”

He turned around Trikka, and caught sight of Jherik. He stepped back from the fight and lowered his practice sword. “All right, take a break.”

The otter and bobcat saw Jherik then, too, and padded off to the side of the practice area, where they sat down, panting.

Corrif met Jherik by the sword rack. “Regular swords, m’lord?”

By way of answer, Jherik grabbed a narrow metal longsword from the rack. Corrif nodded and took a heavier weapon. He was about six inches shorter than the cougar, but just as well muscled, and there wasn’t a weapon Jherik could handle that Corrif couldn’t handle as well.

While Jherik warmed up, Corrif, already limber, donned a leather breastplate to replace the padded armor he’d been wearing. It left his arms and legs unprotected, and the sleek, tough curves of his arms and legs as he flexed and stretched would have been imposing to any other soldier.

Jherik, however, matched him curve for curve, and his shorter fur showed off his musculature more effectively. He was well aware of this, and even in a practice match, he took his time taking off his shirt, more for the benefit of Pexi and Trikka than Corrif himself. He knew the wolf would be mostly amused by the display, but for the day when he would be sparring against the bobcat or otter, he wanted them to remember and be intimidated.

He squared off against the wolf. They bowed, touched swords, and began.

Of all the soldiers, Corrif was Jherik’s least favorite sparring partner. The wolf knew him well, having initially trained him, and their fighting styles were so similar that Jherik sometimes thought he was fighting himself. As a result, their sessions were often long and tiring and frequently ended in a draw.

He brought his sword down and around. Corrif parried and feinted to his right, but Jherik wasn’t fooled. He parried the real attack, which came a moment later from the left, and slid his sword along Corrif’s, trying for a quick touch. The move left him open to a quick return stroke, but he knew the heavier weapon would slow the wolf. Corrif stepped aside and pushed Jherik’s sword away with his paws, then thrust forward, not even trying for the quick return.

So it went for several minutes. The bobcat and otter passed into and out of Jherik’s field of vision several times as he and Corrif circled and sparred, but he barely noticed them. Only when he glanced up over the wolf’s shoulder and noticed Marhik standing at the entrance, arms folded, did he lose his focus.

It was only a second’s hesitation, but Corrif noticed and took advantage, swinging his sword in a short arc that buried the tip in Jherik’s leather breastplate. “Match,” he said, smiling.

Beaten. Not only beaten, but beaten in front of two young soldiers. Beaten in front of an impassive Marhik, who was just starting to let the corners of his muzzle turn up in a smirk. He brought the flat of his sword back hard, smacking into the back of Corrif’s paw as the wolf was lowering his weapon.

With a yelp, Corrif dropped his sword and clutched his paw, doubling over. Jherik knew that what he’d done was unfair and unwarranted, but he wrapped his growing shame in a cocoon of anger, dropped his weapon, and stalked over to his brother.

“What do you want?”

Marhik looked at Corrif, who was just straightening up. “I suppose I’ll be taking him with me. If you haven’t crippled him, that is.”

“What do you want here?” Jherik repeated, panting from the exertion. “You want to fight?”

The question was ludicrous. Though he was two years older, Marhik was shorter and lighter than his brother. He had a sleek runner’s build, smooth muscles playing under his fur rather than pushing out of it as Jherik’s did. Until Jherik had turned fifteen, they were able to wear the same armor, though they each had their own, but Jherik’s constant sparring and working had broadened his chest to the point that Marhik’s armor no longer fit him. Marhik had turned his energy to his political duties, a task that Jherik felt neither the obligation nor the inclination to share. He took great pleasure in working out while his brother sat in long sessions with his father and other nobles.

Marhik deflected the question with a smile. “You know, you shouldn’t make the soldiers afraid to lose to you. Fear is not the proper motivator.”

“Get to the point.” Jherik felt his heart rate slow, but his tail was still actively lashing.

“I just wanted your recommendations for which soldiers should go to Caril. But maybe you should cool down first. Corrif, are you okay?”

Jherik turned. The wolf had straightened up and was massaging his paw, hiding it from the two wide-eyed soldiers sitting on the bench. He nodded slowly, a dignified gesture. “I’ll see the healer about it, m’lord.”

“Will you be ready to travel tomorrow?” Marhik said past Jherik.

“Tomorrow? Of course, m’lord.” Corrif’s ears tilted to one side, but he restrained his curiosity and turned back to the bobcat and otter. “Come on, you two. Clean up the swords here and then take the rest of the morning off.”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused, and ran to pick up the dropped swords as Corrif walked by the two cougars, bowing his head as he passed.