M’krah
Ghorah Khar
Kruq’nov nar M’krah extended a claw to attack an itch along his side. Even after being free of Repleetah all this time, he could still feel the fleas much like a person deprived of a limb swore they still felt its presence. Itch defeated, the former Second Claw stretched out across the bed he lazily lay upon and gave a mighty yawn. As he looked out the window at the rapidly rising sun he decided it was to be yet another good day.
Every day for the past quarter of a Kahrik since he and his sworn brother Nrsah took control of the M’krah Pride has proven to be a good day. Even though his time with the Pride was short, he knew two of the Pride females to already be pregnant by his doing; Ghenkril, the Matriarch’s sister expected this to be her last litter, and Shelcha, twin of Keitcha would bear more than this. Kruq’nov glanced over at Keitcha through sleep eyes; twin to her, yes but far from identical.
Keitcha, sitting before a mirror and brushing out her light golden hair, paused as her eyes caught Kruq’nov watching. Of all the females Kruq’nov ever saw, she was by far the most magnificent specimen. He might start the night in her quarters, for siring was a chief duty of Pride kings, but every morning since his reign began he started the day with her.
Kruq’nov was unique amongst his race, for most males cared little for their females beyond the continuation of their own blood line. Throughout Kilrathi history males and females simply used each other to keep the species propagating. Taking a Pride was the most vital event in any male’s life. Sometimes Kruq’nov wondered if war was not invented simply to give rouge males something to do until they were ready to become kings.
Keitcha returned her brush to its table and walked towards Kruq’nov. The old veteran watched her tail sway beneath her firm fitting robes. She stopped at the edge of the bed and looked down at the content Kruq’nov. “Are you going to lie there all day? If you spend any more time in here, my sisters will begin to talk.”
Kruq’nov growled in amusement. “Let them talk.” He knew talking was one thing females did in great abundance. They were fond of the sport and cared not if anyone else knew. There were only two bonds in Kilrathi society stronger than that between sisters; those between males whose brotherhood was forge in battle and that between mothers and cubs. Mother and cub bonds were strongest of all. Though it might have cost him in the eyes of the people, Kruq’nov’s decision to spare the male cubs after taking over won him some favor with his females. It was not that he cared for the spawns of the previous males, but rather than the Apes were so proficient at killing off his own kind that Kruq’nov refused to aid them in their endeavor. Instead, they were exiled under pain of death.
“What of your brother?” Keitcha asked in a soft purr. “He will talk too.”
Kruq’nov snorted. Brothers spoke, but nowhere near as constant as sisters. What the two brothers had to say to each other were easily compressed into a few sentences instead of lofty speeches. Though he would fight and die for Nrsah, sometimes the elder of the brothers would like to toss his younger comrade out the front door. “He already does. No matter how many times I smack him upside the head he still calls you my lair-mate.”
“Am I not?” Keitcha tilted her head, displaying a hurt feeling upon her face.
Kruq’nov saw through her feint. “If I were a high and mighty Lord of the Eight, then of course.” Lair-mate was a term for the Eight Prides and Imperial Pride. It was a term used by the reigning king of the Pride to designate the mother of the heir. Like any other males, those thick-headed kings would mate with all the females in the Pride, but seeing as their ranks are inherited, a way was needed to designate heirs. Thus the practice of selecting a chief female among the Pride was adopted.
Kruq’nov did not care to be compared with those males. How many Kilrathi died in the trenches of Repleetah just because they refused to abandon an already dying world?
“Even if you were, you still duties to perform as king,” Keitcha reminded him, as she did every morning.
“Ah, but my Queen, I do not neglect my duties.” Kruq’nov replied, much in the fashion he usually gave when Keitcha chided him. “Once they are complete, I return to your chambers for it brings me great pleasure to have your face the first sight I see in the morning.”
“Such pretty words,” Keitcha said with amusement. The previous kings were never given to poetic speaking. They simply did as they pleased and took what they wanted. Keitcha would be supremely surprised if even one of them gave a thought to her as anything more than an incubator for their offspring. “Alas, I was not speaking of genetic donations.”
Kruq’nov let out a heavy sigh. He knew full well what she meant, and Kruq’nov never had any problems displaying the colors on Ghorah Khar’s field of battle. Less Apes here to snipe at him. Even one of humanity’s numbers upon this world was one too many for Kruq’nov’s taste. He tried to get the few Terran slaves owned by the M’krah Pride out of the house, but Gherelith, the Pride Matriarch reminded him in no uncertain terms that how the females ran the Pride was none of the males’ concern. Rebuked by the Matriarch, Kruq’nov vented his displeasure on the Apes whenever one crossed his path.
Kruq’nov stretched and reluctantly rolled off the bed. “I better go find Nrsah.”
“I wonder whose chamber he spent the night in this time,” Keitcha mused. “He has taken a liking to all of my younger sisters.”
“Sisters, nieces, cousins—“ Kruq’nov began to list the relations of all the Pride’s younger females. The brothers had little difficulty in dividing up their reproductive duties; Nrsah dealt with the younger females and Kruq’nov with the older. Fortunately, the young Nrsah considered anyone much more than two Shrik to be too old.
“I have never seen a male take to his new duties with such enthusiasm,” Keitcha shook her head in amazement.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Kruq’nov laughed as he climbed to his feet. He did not bother adding that Keitcha would never see a male so young in the role as King. Under normal circumstances, Nrsah would have to wait until he was twice his current age to even have a chance at securing a Pride. Since the takeover, the cub has been living a dream. Each day, Kruq’nov had to wake the cub from his dreams so the two could roam M’krah and make their rounds.
As expected, Kruq’nov found Nrsah fast asleep. Instead of secure within one of the younger female’s quarters, his younger brother lay reclined in a chair, his feet kicked up and resting on a small table. Kruq’nov found his situational awareness pathetic. Had any warrior lain so casual in the trenches, his NCO likely would have killed him outright, assuming Ape infiltrators did not beat him to the punch. The gnarled warrior could hardly harm his brother, at least not permanently. He told Keitcha more than once that he was content to let the cub have his fun.
Of course, enjoying life was no excuse for lounging around after the sun rose. With a sharp kick to the leg of the chair, Kruq’nov sent Nrsah crashing to the floor, crushing chair and overturning the table in the process. Nrsah hissed when his head slammed into the stone floor, knocking him into consciousness. One of the M’krah’s Terran slaves rushed into the common room upon hearing the crash. He just as quickly made himself scarce when he saw the two Pride kings.
Rubbing the back of his head, Nrsah slowly rose to his feet. He stood as tall as Kruq’nov, though was not quite as broad at the shoulder or mane. If anyone back in the trenches ever told Kruq’nov that such a shaggy mane male would be King of a city’s Pride, the older male would have called him a liar to his face. “Can’t a male get any rest?”
“It’s hardly my fault you spent your nights fooling around,” Kruq’nov said in his authoritarian older brother voice. “The way you lounge about, other males might see our Pride as an easy conquest.”
“They will be mistaken!” Nrsah declared with confidence of both youth and of a veteran. Though fewer scars marked his face, Nrsah knew more about tooth-and-claw combat than most. He still bore the scarring upon his hands where his youthful exuberance allowed his claws to extend from their sheaths and right through his environmental suit.
He might be learned of war, but Nrsah still left much to be desired when wisdom was concerned. “Let us make our rounds, brother. It is better for the other males to never get the idea of challenging us into their head in the first place.”
Unlike back in the warzone, neither male minded patrolling M’krah. Unlike Repleetah, this city they now patrolled they also owned. Or rather the M’krah Pride owned, as Gherelith never tired of reminding them. Nrsah looked around the lavishly decorated common room. “I believe this room could use with a new rug, perhaps one made from the hide of a large prey beast.”
Kruq’nov thought the room had more than enough rugs, both made from hides and plant fibers. The same could be said of the tapestries that hung upon the walls. They added much in the way of color—too much in the male’s opinion—and a few of them he could not identify. He knew the shapes and pictures upon them, but had no idea what they were made from. Like with any Kilrathi home, paintings and tapestries of hunts and wars adorned the walls. Kruq’nov eyed the pictures of wars with rye amusement. The romanticized versions of war looked nothing like any battlefield he ever graced.
Hunting down the prey beast was something Kruq’nov agreed heartedly with. Taking down dangerous prey and parading down the streets with its carcass told the whole world that both kings were in their prime.
Streets of M’krah
The crowd parted before Kruq’nov and Nrsah as the two brothers marched down the street, the carcass of a buffalo filling the gap between them. As usual, Kruq’nov led the way. He took some pleasure in watching the crowd move aside. Many of the people upon the street dipped their heads in a slight bow. When he first saw this, shortly after taking over the Pride, the action puzzled him. He never saw his fellow Kilrathi act in such a manner, at least not to him. The looks on their faces, their postures—it took a few days for the veteran to realize they were signs of respect.
As a common Kilrathi, Kruq’nov was never privy to such treatment while with his birth Pride or as a rogue youth. He certainly never received any respect from the officers appointed over him in the army. The replacements were another matter. Those that lived through their first few days looked up to their NCOs in both awe and fear. To see an entire city showing respect was a shock, something Kruq’nov never dreamed possible.
Kruq’nov wondered if it was as much fear as respect. He and his brother did kill the distant relations to high-borns in the arena. Two common males managed to dislodge their social betters and take their place. Climbing from one’s station in life was rare amongst his kind, and an accomplishment in itself. In the back of his mind, he knew it might give would-be kings ideas of their own, like challenging Kruq’nov and Nrsah for control of the M’krah Pride. He eyed the males in the crowd, checking for any challenge in their eyes.
Today, as with all other days, he saw no desire to kill in the eyes of any passing males. They all dipped their heads to the two kings as they cleared out of their way. When they took over the Pride, Nrsah questioned Kruq’nov decision to continuing hunting. After all, what was the point in taking over a Pride if they did not let the females deal with such things? Kruq’nov explained to him that it was not the food, but the kill itself that was important. All of M’krah’s populace should know the brothers were still able to take down dangerous game. As such, they only hunted prey that could fight back, killed them with only what weapons nature provided Kilrathi and took their carcasses as trophies.
The sight of two males hauling a carcass on their shoulders that was larger than their combined mass and had horns that could gore made challenging them seem a reckless course of action. The scars on his face proved to the world he survived far more than hunts. The few veterans out on the streets on fine, sunny day ever saw combat as vicious as the trenches of Repleetah. There was nowhere in the Empire that did not know the name, despite Imperial media insisting there was no battle in that system.
Kruq’nov growled whenever he thought about Imperial propaganda. Nobody on Ghorah Khar believed a word of it. This close to Repleetah, the battle took on near mythical status. Few who were sent to that world returned. Did any of his comrades still survive on that planet? Had Kruq’nov and Nrsah not deserted, their bones would likely now be littering the dying world. So close to the front, Kruq’nov wondered when war would visit his new home.
All thoughts of a dismal future were brushed aside when the brother reached their destination. Kruq’nov pushed through the doors of the tannery and was greeted by the stench of dead meat and chemical baths. Shar’eik the Tanner, a male with no Pride, looked up to see who dared enter his shop. Upon seeing Kruq’nov, the tanner dipped his head. “Greetings, Lord Kruq’nov, how can I serve today?”
Kruq’nov always smiled at the honorific. The M’krah Pride did rule the city and its surrounding countryside with many smaller Prides their vassals, so technically Kruq’nov was a lord. “We bring work for you,” he said, struggling to fit the buffalo carcass through the doorway. Nrsah could be heard outside cursing the doorway, the buffalo and snapping at another Kilrathi who apparently stared at him for too long.
Shar’eik eyed the specimen approvingly. “A mighty kill, lord.”
Kruq’nov ignored praises and platitudes. “I want the hide and horns delivered to my estate. I offer the usual pay of one eighth of the meat.”
“A generous offer, lord. It shall be done.” Kruq’nov’s offer was generous indeed. One eighth of a buffalo would feed the tanner for days. Some thought he was too generous, but the truth be told, Kruq’nov did not even need the meat. As he explained to his younger brother, they were not hunting for food but to prove a point to the world.
“Yes, it shall—as soon as somebody pushes it through the doorway!” Kruq’nov hissed through the blocked entry. Nrsah replied with hisses of his own. The buffalo was stuck fast and would not be moving anytime soon. Kruq’nov joined in Nrsah’s cursing of the door.
Shar’eik moved from behind the counter and approached the carcass with a knife in hand. “Allow me to aid you.”
Kruq’nov’s attention instantly whirled on the approaching male wielding a blade. Battlefield instincts threatened to take over, as the drive to kill raged within Kruq’nov. He eyed the butcher’s knife with deep mistrust. Only when he was convinced he could ripe out the tanner’s throat before the knife could mortally wound him did he relax. So great was his tension, he failed to notice his claws extending from their sheaths and biting deep into the buffalo’s hide.
“I shall have to butcher the carcass right here,” Shar’eik muttered apologetically. “I saw do my best to preserve the hide. If my lordship pleases, the backdoor will be a much easier exit for the time being.”
“Very well. I shall hold you to your word concerning the hide,” Kruq’nov might be generous, but that did not mean he would tolerate any transgression. It was a holdover from his time as Second Claw. He tolerated no slacking from those he commanded. He headed for the back, calling to his brother. “Brother, stop making a fool of yourself and meet me at the saloon.” The hunt might be over, but his patrol still had the better part of day ahead of it.