By Abigail Falanga
The windship settled in the clearing beyond the edge of the village. Grruha cut the engines, then sat in absolute stillness with his paws still on the controls. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the savannah from the viewports.
The village stood eerily quiet.
“Let’s see what emergency summons us!” Larru was already opening the ship’s door.
“Wait, Larru!” Grruha raised a paw. “Something is amiss.”
“Of course there is,” the lioness grinned over her shoulder. “Why else call us?”
Grruha followed her into the sunlight that smelled of warm grasses and—blood?
“This direction.” Larru rechecked the pad, striding toward a small, richly decorated hut that stood some distance from the rest of the village.
“I smell blood on the wind. Tread carefully, Commander.”
Larru’s whiskers stiffened and she nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The hut’s dim interior was empty, as if its occupant had stepped out—except for the toppled stool beside a table, on which lay a damaged communicator. Beside it, a paw-sized medallion of ivory surrounded by red and blue beads was half covered by loose papers. Its carvings echoed the markings in Larru’s fur—old familial ripples of tawny and gold.
More than mere jewelry, the pendant revealed everything.
Grruha could not quell a growl. “You have betrayed us, Larru! How could you have given our enemies the secret of our protection?”
Before she could react, he snatched the medallion and rushed into the open air, throwing a gleaming disk from his belt to the ground. Larru followed close behind, ears back and snarling.
The disc sounded a horn-blast as a dome of energy enclosed them, its iridescent hexagons creating a barrier as impassable as steel. The images of other Pride Rangers appeared on the hexagons’ displays.
“Why have you summoned us?” demanded Mroka, Grruha and Larru’s battle-scarred mentor.
Grruha opened his mouth.
“I challenge Grruha, king of the Pride, to trial by combat!” Larru’s voice rang out. “He dared accuse me of treachery. Only combat will settle this matter. You will bear witness.”
Grruha’s pulse pounded—but the deed was done.
“So it shall be,” Mroka growled. “Trial by combat has not been declared in the Pride for centuries, but the tradition stands. King Grruha, prepare to defend your claim.”
Mutters of agreement came from the other Rangers.
“I am ready,” Grruha said, releasing his outrage with a long breath.
His sword flashed as he drew it, its white light growing to defend him. His armor—regal blue-and-silver—was imbued with the strength of his forebearers and had served them for generations, but his trust wasn’t in that. His trust rested in the truth.
Larru crouched, fierce in the copper-and-red armor of the Pride’s elite fighters, designed to enhance their most formidable warriors and strike fear in the heart of their enemies. She was his protector, and more than a match for him.
She charged, drawing her sword—straight, magenta, and longer than his.
Grruha parried and shoved her backward, flinging back his mane. “You did not hesitate,” he said, filled with unexpected sadness. “You truly mean to kill me, as an enemy would. How long has this has been in your heart?”
“What do you know of it?” she snarled, and attacked again.
He’d always been cautious and sure, she fierce and reckless—especially since they’d arrived here.
Grruha met her blows with all his skill and strength. “You knew this village had already been destroyed and the raiders gone. Why else ignore my cautions?”
“Because you’re a coward, Your Majesty.” There was no ignoring Larru’s sneer.
“You were my dearest friend and closest companion,” he said with a blow at each word.
A flash of guilt flickered in her eyes and she staggered over a tussock of grass.
“Confess what you’ve done!” Grruha demanded. “And why.”
“I’ve done nothing,” Larru insisted. “You have no evidence of your slander.”
“But I do!” Grruha twisted and kicked her. Then he held up the medallion.
A gasp ran through the Rangers as they recognized the ancient technology that protected the kingdom’s borders. The medallion ought to have been miles away, not at the site of a recent raid.
“How did that relic come there?” Mroka roared.
Larru scrambled for the medallion with an incoherent cry.
Grruha took the opportunity and sent her sprawling, then leveled his sword at Larru’s neck. “Confess, treacherous lioness: tell why you have betrayed your Pride.”
She gasped a laugh, scrambling away. “You’ll have to kill me, coward.”
“You despise me.”
“Yes.”
The admission felt like a blow “Why? You have always supported me.”
“Because I had to, friend.” Larru’s paw found her fallen sword. “You’re too weak and hesitant to take necessary action.”
“So you gave our enemies the medallion, and with it, access to our borders? To prove I am too weak to be king?”
She raised the sword suddenly and slashed.
Pain seared across Grruha’s thigh and he yowled, staggering backward. Larru leapt up with a flurry of blows, taking advantage of every weakness in his technique that only an old sparring partner would know.
Certainty and grief pierced him, deeper than any of her blows: he knew he had to kill her.
Grruha gathered himself and roared, then returned her attack with every particle of strength, forcing her to retreat.
“See?” Larru bared her teeth. “The only way to awaken strength is to challenge it.”
“More than challenge—you would destroy!”
“Better than how things have been.”
Larru lunged for his throat, reckless in her rage—which opened her defenses.
Grruha lifted his sword and drove it in deep.
He watched her slip to the ground, and sunk beside her, resting a paw on her shoulder. As the light dimmed from her eyes, he became aware of roars from the screens.
“King Grruha is vindicated!” Mroka’s voice overrode all. “Larru has fallen, revealed a traitor by her own false claim. Her guilt is proved. The combat is ended: long live the king!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Excellent story! Very sad but a fitting ending. I love your Lion King vibe!
I love the anthropomorphic lions!
I like the idea of sentient lions. That’s cool.
Good story, very creative, and sad.
Good stuff!
The wordplay in the title just got me… very cool story!
Sadness. That had to have been hard for him. And then to be praised for killing her. Must have hurt him to the core. Great story!