Chapter 189: The Pride Of The Lion Tribe

The Lion section of Varghelm was awake. Training areas had been set up and cleared in between the guest houses. Warriors were sharpening their weapons under the light of mana lamps, mages were whispering battle incantations and younger soldiers were practicing their strengthening exercises under the watchful eyes of older warriors. There had been no official declaration of war, but the Lion tribe had learnt long ago that waiting for a declaration would get you killed.

Garrath stopped in the middle of the largest courtyard. He was noticed instantly. The clanging of metal slowed down and incantations were whispered one after the other until only the crackling of the training braziers could be heard. The death of Darrok Flameclaw still loomed over them and several of the warriors had black strips of fabric tied around their arms. Some of them looked angry, others impatient but most of them looked ready for battle.

A senior warrior stepped forward. "King." Garrath nodded. "How many are injured?" "Seven, none are seriously injured from the fight in the prison." "What of the others?" "Ready." Garrath glanced around the courtyard. "For what?" The warrior hesitated. "War." A few of the Lions mumbled in agreement. Garrath let a pause occur. He pulled off his cloak and handed it to an attendant. "Good." They were surprised by the answer. A few of the warriors stood up straighter. Garrath walked over to the weapon rack and grabbed one of the training swords.

They were heavier than normal weapons as they were used for practicing strengthening exercises. He spun the sword around once before looking up at the warriors. "I won’t have us stumbling into a war half trained because we spent the night screaming about revenge." No one said anything. "Get your weapons ready."

A few of the warriors exchanged looks. "Get your armour strengthened, incantations practiced so you can do them whilst running, bleeding or carrying an injured person. Strengthening mages will be working with the front line, fire mages will be practicing their control and each squad leader will go over the signals for their formations." The courtyard sprung to life. Not with cheers, but with purpose. Garrath pointed at a group. "Weapon practice." He pointed at another. "Incantations." And another. "Defensive formations."

The warriors didn’t argue. Within minutes the courtyard was filled with the clang of weapons, the screech of boots on stone and overlapping incantations. Fire magic flared between targets marked out and strengthening incantations made their muscles and bones stronger under the watchful eyes of senior instructors. Garrath walked around the training area correcting the positions of the warriors and stopping more than one from trying to overpower their technique.

One of the younger warriors was swinging their weapon too much. Garrath caught the training sword with one hand. "Again." The warrior gulped. "King I-" "Again." The warrior adjusted their stance. Garrath let them swing. "Better." He moved on. Pride didn’t mean recklessness. Something he had been teaching his people for years. By the second hour sweat was dripping down their faces and mana fatigue was showing on several faces.

Garrath wouldn’t let anyone stop completely but he rotated the groups into shorter practices to ensure they wouldn’t collapse before morning. If the Tigers attacked the Wolves, the Foxfolk retaliated or another faction got involved they needed to be disciplined enough to know the difference between an enemy and a scared civilian. This was more important than anger.

A senior mage approached during a short break. "Your highness, some of the warriors are asking if we’re supporting the Tigers." Garrath looked over at the training area. "No." The mage frowned. "So are we supporting the Wolves?" "No." The mage was even more confused. Garrath finally turned to face him. "We’re supporting the Lion tribe."

The mage fell silent. "If the Tigers attack civilians we will stop them. If the Wolves are abusing their power we will stop them. If the Foxfolk retaliate to those who had nothing to do with Veyra’s death we will stop them. But don’t let another rulers sadness dictate who our enemy is." The mage bowed. "Understood." Garrath watched him walk away. He wished the rest of Bravelm knew this.

Near midnight Garrath called the entire Lion delegation. The warriors were gathered in the largest training area. They were standing on the steps, balconies and walkways around the area. Mages were standing next to spearmen, scouts next to heavy fighters and attendants next to nobles who would usually never stand in the same line. Rank wasn’t as important as being ready. Garrath climbed onto the stone platform. He wasn’t wearing a crown or ceremonial armour, just training gear and golden bracers. That was enough. "People." Silence fell over the courtyard. "Darrok Flameclaw is dead." A few heads dipped.

"He came to Varghelm under my banner. He came into this city thinking that all rulers and warriors invited here would be protected by the laws of the Wolf Crown. Someone murdered him in his own quarters, left false evidence next to his body and expected us to roar without thinking." Garrath’s voice was calm but carried through the courtyard. "They almost succeeded." A few of the warriors clenched their fists. "They almost did." More attention was drawn to him. "We wanted to spill blood. And some of you still do." No one argued. "So do I." The words spread through the crowd. "But I won’t spill the wrong blood."

Garrath pointed out of the courtyard towards the city. "Look at Varghelm. The Tigers are threatening war, the Foxfolk think they’re being hunted and the Wolves are struggling to keep their kingdom together. Every death makes their power weaker. Somewhere in all of this someone is watching us, waiting for us to become exactly what they need." His fist slowly clenched. The Lions listened.

"They want us to be angry so we don’t ask questions." His voice became harsher. "They want us to charge in first as everyone expects us to use our strength to solve problems." A few of the warriors looked uncomfortable. Good. Garrath wanted them to feel uncomfortable. "Pride isn’t shouting louder than everyone else." He took a step forward. "It’s knowing what you’re capable of and not letting someone else decide when to use it."

Silence fell over the courtyard. "If war breaks out tomorrow we will be ready." Weapons were gripped tighter. "If the Tigers attack the Wolf Crown and threaten civilians we will intervene." A few of the warriors nodded. "If the Wolves try to crush every clan who questions them we will intervene." More nodded. "If the Foxfolk retaliate blindly we will intervene." Garrath’s amber eyes scanned over his people. "And if someone attacks us again we will show them why we’ve survived every war Bravelm has thrown at us."

A low growl rumbled through the courtyard. This time Garrath let it. "Get your weapons ready." The growl grew louder. "Get your bodies ready." Mana started to rise. "Get your spells ready so your mouths are bleeding." Fire flickered around a few fists. "But remember." Garrath raised a hand. Silence fell. "We don’t fight because we’re scared." His eyes darkened. "We fight because we want to." The courtyard exploded into life. Weapons hit the ground. Fire magic roared. And the Lions roared back with one voice. "For the Pride!" Garrath watched them. Ready. Disciplined. Angry. Just how they needed to be.

Far from the Lion section a Catfolk watched the fire magic glow from their upper window. Maelor Sableclaw leant against the window frame as distant incantations from the Lions echoed through Varghelm. The Tigers had already given their ultimatum, the Wolves had refused to give up Lynessa and now the Lions were preparing for the chance of war.

No matter how cautious Garrath was, his warriors were getting their weapons ready. That was enough. The assassin next to him pulled his hood down. "Should we strike tonight?" Maelor smiled. "No." He watched another flare of fire magic erupt from the Lion section. "Let them get ready." The assassin said nothing. Maelor’s smile grew. His plan was going well. Soon Bravelm wouldn’t need anyone to start the war, they would do it themselves.