Winter Star

The grey figure stood at the edge of the forest. Driven by the biting wind, his hooded cloak flapped wildly behind him. One end of the rough fabric caught on a low branch. "I hate winter," Panthro muttered, freeing himself. His breath came in frosty puffs. "Damn the gods for giving my race such short fur!"

A massive feline shape grew out of the rocks beyond the wood. "Ah, home to Cats' Lair and a hot meal," he said happily. "And if I can coax her to my bed, fiery Cheetara for desert." His face flushed with the warmth that came each time he imagined joining with the historian. Although only 60 suns into her pregnancy, her slender form had already begun to thicken in a way he had found surprisingly alluring. Shaking off the spell that his thoughts had created, he grumbled, "I hope Tygra's cub doesn't make her grow too big, or I will spend all of my time worrying about her health."

Panthro kicked some frozen soil off his boots, then continued toward the fortress. The night was clear and bright with the strange constellations of their adopted world. A faint noise caught his attention. Halting, Panthro listened carefully. So shrill. Almost like the whine of our skycraft, he decided.

The ground beneath him began to vibrate slightly. A bright object suddenly streaked across the sky. An explosive sound followed in its wake and rattled the panther and his surroundings. The object, which had originally appeared in the east and had headed directly west, unexpectedly veered to the north.

"Name of the Gods!" Panthro howled in astonishment. "Only a skycraft could make a maneuver like that!" His mind reeled with the possibilities that the anomaly presented. Forgetting the cold and his discomfort, the panther raced across the plain.

*****

"Do you want to see the trace again?"

Panthro shifted his gaze from the monitor and back to the tiger who had spoken softly. The tall architect stood with his arms folded and waited patiently for his response. "No need. I trust your calculations. That ship probably landed on one of the islands in the sea. But one question remains: should we check this possibility?"

The striped Thunderan removed his glasses and tapped them gently against the back of his right hand. "There is no way to tell if the craft landed safely," he added thoughtfully. "It could have fallen into the sea. All I can tell you is that from the moment it entered the range of our sensors, it was on a course of descent. The change in direction that occurred only increased its rate of fall."

"What do the others think?"

"I honestly don't know. You were the only one who actually observed the object. I happened to be on watch, and recorded the information. The others were scattered about the Lair and only heard the sonic explosion."

"Weren't they in the least bit curious?"

"Certainly. The only way that I could get everyone out of the control room was to promise an explanation at dinner. I had hoped that you would return from the unicorn master's house by the evening meal, so that I could show you the trace, and verify my initial suspicions."

The panther considered his friend's words. The architect had left one thought unvoiced: with the information at hand, there was no way to confirm if the craft was of a hostile nature. "Tygra--"

"I can't tell you if it is another Mutant vessel."

"Mind reader," Panthro grumbled.

"Statistically, the odds are against it."

"That's what you claimed some six moons after we landed on Third Earth. The Mutants proved you wrong, and dropped in for an extended visit. Despite the vastness of space, they still managed to find us. How in the seven hells they did that, we will probably never know."

The tiger did not refute his claims. He sat on the chair next to the console, and after donning his glasses once again, began to strike the keys on the control board. "I'd better set the systems on automatic, so we can discuss the problem at dinner without worry for our security," he said.

The panther tried to gauged how many moves ahead of him in thought the architect was. Noting the growing tension on Tygra's face, the warrior wondered whether the evening meal would last until dawn.

*****

The dining hall resounded with heated debate. Everyone seated around the great wooden table eagerly exchanged ideas concerning the unique sighting. The cacophony resulting from the mix of voices matched in rhythm the painful pulses that made Panthro's head ache. "Enough!" the panther shouted above the din. "We all have had our say. The plan that I have suggested is a good one. It is time to finalize it."

"Agreed," Tygra chimed while glaring at him.

Resting his elbows on the table, Panthro massaged his throbbing temples. He didn't want a fight, but the tiger obviously did. The architect had approved of his proposal of an expedition by Feliner. He had agreed that the panther should lead it, and with his eloquent diction, Tygra had convinced the others of the plan's merit. However, the tiger had clearly disapproved of his choice of companion for the quest: White. The architect insisted that he, not his mate, should accompany the warrior, and had cited both his experience as a mystic and as a pilot of the skycraft as the chief reasons. Damn me for teaching that tiger to fly the blasted Feliner better than I do, Panthro decided grimly. Lion-o selected him over me when we finally went ahead with that ill-fated orbital test. Although Cheetara is almost as skilled as Tygra when it comes to piloting, her pregnancy will ground her. All things considered, Lion-o will probably pick Tygra over me and send White with her mate. Guess I stand to lose on all counts and will sit at home.

"The plan is indeed a good one. And I believe that the solution to this dilemma is evident," Lion-o stated confidently. The panther braced himself for disappointment. The young king turned to the architect, and said, "I need you here, Tygra."

"But Lion-o--"

"With renegade Mutants facing the arrival of their first winter and no prospect of shelter, I cannot afford to let two warriors leave the Lair on an extended mission. I have to think ahead to a possible attack on the villages that we are sworn to protect. If an attack comes, the Lair will need your strength as a warrior as well as your healing abilities. Only one mystic can accompany Panthro, and that will be White."

"What if Panthro finds that the craft is of Mutant origin? Do you think that White can fight Mutants better than I?" Tygra argued.

In addition to his harsh statement, the architect had referred to his mate by the name given to her by the locals, a blunder guaranteed to increase her ire. Better watch your footing, Stripes, Panthro thought.

"I've have stood against the enemy, Tygra, and have survived," Talitha remarked coolly. "Have you forgotten my fighting skills, or do you just dismiss them because I lack your strength?"

Excellent shot, mystic! Panthro decided. You hit him in his vanity. He'll have a tough time recovering from that volley.

The tiger's dark amber eyes flashed with anger. "How can you accuse me of such insensitivity?"

"How can you dare to be so arrogant!" the mystic retorted.

"If we fight among ourselves, the Mutants will have an easy victory no matter their strategy," Cheetara commented. Her words were a cold blast that silenced the couple.

The cheetah had not spoken much during the impromptu council meeting, and Panthro suspected that the cub that she carried had put her off her dinner. Most of the fish that Snarf had prepared still lined her plate. He lightly tapped the top of her hand. "Easy, swift one." She gave him a weak smile which suggested that she had only herself to blame for her condition, for she had sought it out.

"Lion-o, can I go too?" The meek voice that cracked on the last word belonged to Katren. "I'm not that strong, so the Lair won't need me in that regard. I have learned many healing techniques from White. Maybe I can help her if we find anyone alive." He added as a reluctant afterthought, "And--and you know that Mutants don't frighten me."

Kitra roughed the top of her brother's red mane and marred the two black stripes that patterned it. "Lion-o needs our cunning," she said in a matter-of-fact manner. "And Cheetara and I can use your help cataloguing the books in starborn Xerxes's library." Lion-o nodded in agreement with the other twin's assessment. The young healer shrugged sheepishly.

"That settles it, snarf, snarf! Now I can bring out desert. Anyone for cherry pie?"

Tygra rose from his chair and helped the snarf down from his seat. "One of my favorites. Let me assist you, Snarf." With his remarks, the tiger had diplomatically conceded the point. The architect, his shoulders slumped in defeat, disappeared with the elderly snarf through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. Lion-o gave a slight wave of his hand that signaled a formal end to the discussion.

To the panther's delight, the plan had passed as originally proposed. He and the mystic would leave in the morning. Although they would be beyond communication range, Lion-o had given them three days to search for the mysterious object before he required them to return to the Lair with a report.

Panthro regarded the mystic. Uneasy victory rested in her sapphire eyes. Shouldn't worry about Stripes, white one, he thought as he watched her and Katren clear the dinner plates. He knows how to lose gracefully. And you know how to ease his pain.

*****

"I think the turbulence has finally died down, White."

"Gods be thanked," the mystic whispered as she continued to pull the tassel on her belt.

Panthro glanced away from his controls and studied the tigress who sat beside him in the cockpit of the Feliner. Here's one Thunderan who prefers to keep her feet on the ground, the panther decided. She doesn't have the taste for flying that either Tygra or Cheetara have. I hope she doesn't get sick all over my ship.

"Don't worry. We'll be over the large island soon. I'll land, so you can have some time to relax before we continue our search."

"Firstly, the starborn call that island, which their records indicate is uninhabited, Trinacria; secondly, you don't have to patronize me. I can tolerate the unpleasantness of flight, and we have not flown long."

"Sorry," Panthro answered with a hint of sarcasm in his bass voice. He wondered whether touchiness ran in the tiger race.

The tigress put a hand to his shoulder. Her pretty face wrinkled into a frown. "It-it's just that--"

"You don't like flying much."

"When we prepared to leave Thundera, Servalla had to practically drag me into the messenger ship." She smiled, reliving the memory. "Without Tir'shan's coaxing, I'd never gotten aboard." The mystic looked at the sea beneath them and grew solemn. "I understood her reasons for assigning him to a different vessel--our craft could only support two in an emergency situation--but how I wish that she had let him come with us."

"Still miss him, don't you?" The tigress's sad expression gave him his answer. He stared at his instruments not knowing what to say to comfort her.

"How did Xerxes do with his latest nunchaku lesson?" the tigress asked, dissolving the uneasiness between them. She had shifted her mood and tone with the smoothness of a clan lord.

"He only hit himself twice with the weapon instead of the usual three times. I think he's finally improving." That youngster has a scholar's fire, not a warrior's, Panthro thought. If he ever succeeds in mastering the weapon, I'll eat thundrillium. The panther chuckled to himself as the image of a stubborn catling entered his mind. Said the same thing about Tygra, but he didn't turn out too bad. He considered telling the mystic at length about her mate's training under his tutelage, but thought better of it. Some things just ought to be kept between males, he decided. Knowing that he would capture her attention with his remark, he said instead, "After practice, we did talk about his library."

"Anymore discoveries," she asked with excitement.

"Not yet."

"Nothing indicating that Third Earth is Homeworld?"

"No more than he has already discovered."

"What he showed us was as tantalizing as Tygra's amulet," Talitha replied, referring to a piece of jewelry that the architect had found during his exile by the sea. "I just wish that he could find more evidence to verify our beliefs."

"You don't think that what he and Tygra have found is enough?" the panther responded. "We have named the great ones of the plain am'ral'im for their resemblance to our mythological ancestors. The drawings in Xerxes's books indicate that a wide variety of am'ral'im once roamed this world, and the names assigned to them in some languages--"

"Just because one word sounds like another does not mean that they share the same meaning," she argued.

"Ti'ghr'i," Panthro said, using the most formal level of Thunderan in speaking the name for her mate's race.

"Tiger," Talitha answered slowly. The words of the common language of Third Earth that she had uttered had described the striped am'ral'im pictured in one of Xerxes's tomes. "Tygra," she said, stating her lover's name in comparison. "Cheetah...Cheetara," she added, continuing the word game.

"Chi'tra'si," the grey cat replied.

"Panther--"

"I don't care to go through the whole list," the Thundercat grumbled, adjusting his controls for a landing on the triangular island that had appeared below them. "What more proof do you need? A body?"

He could sense the stinging reply forming in her mind by the tightening curve of her lip, but the declamation never came. "Look!" Talitha cried, pointing to the mountainous landscape. "A spaceship!"

*****

A strong wind blew across the coastal plain and impeded the progress of the two figures carrying backpacks. Not much further until we reach the forest at the base of this volcano and get some cover, Panthro decided, adjusting his cloak to keep out the stinging cold. He had landed their skycraft on the plain at a safe distance from the churning sea. Since they had begun their trek, the Feliner had dwindled to an insignificant shape. The glow of its security field shimmered against the eastern horizon. The warrior, bundled in heavy clothing, looked to his companion who was barely recognizable in her equally warm attire. The smaller Thunderan appeared to be a moving form of fabric and leather. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of her blue eyes peering from under her hood. They were the only part of her body not covered.

"You doing all right?" he asked.

The little mound nodded affirmatively.

Hope she's telling me the truth. This is the easy part. We have one hell of a climb before us, and I want to do it quickly. We need to set up a base camp. I'm not going to investigate that ship in the dark no matter what she says. Whether there are injured or not, it can wait until the morning, and until I have made my own reconnaissance without a mystic in tow. The warrior shuddered. She's not going to like that idea.

The panther studied the rising land. A thin plume of smoke rose from the cone of the volcano. An unnatural plateau scarred one face of the colossal mountain as if an insane wizard had chosen to sculpt it to his own needs. By luck or design, and having felled many pines in its passing, the skycraft had come to rest on the unique feature. The reflective metal was scarcely visible owing to the density of the surrounding forest. From the observations they had made before landing, only two things were certain: the uniquely arrow-shaped craft was not of Mutant origin; attesting to the skill of the pilot, the ship had remained upright and intact upon landing, and had not caused a fire. From their vantage in the sky, they had not detected signs of life.

No need to get morbid yet, Panthro thought. Maybe whoever is in that thing just has the sense to stay out of this cold. They aren't Mutants, but that doesn't guarantee that they are friendly. I'll be closer to White than her own shadow. If anything happens to her, Tygra, if he survives the shock, will never forgive me.

The wind suddenly blew his hood back from his head. Panthro scrabbled to rearrange the covering. "Be damned!" he cried, his patience depleted. "We camp at the first shelter that I can find!"

*****

The piercing gale that had hounded the travelers had finally died. The trees beyond the mouth of the shallow cave where they had found refuge no longer rattled and creaked. "Now it's getting too quiet," Panthro complained to himself. The warrior shifted his weight until his back rested uncomfortably against the rock wall. "That ought to do," he said through a yawn.

The mystic lay by his feet, and slept alongside the portable heater that they had carried with them. The small thundrillium-powered unit illuminated the walls with a dreary yellow light. Panthro studied the tigress with envy. She had neither moved nor made a sound for several hours. "Can't depend on you to keep me alert. Your too damn quiet. Never thought that I would miss Tygra's snoring." The panther tried to rub the fatigue out of his eyes. "Two more hours than she can take the watch," he sighed. "Gods keep me awake until then."

His stomach rumbled, providing a momentary distraction from his boredom and exhaustion. "Be quiet. You've been fed." When the gurgles of protest continued, he admitted to himself that the light provisions of dried meat that they had brought with them had hardly satisfied his hunger.

A snapping branch brought the warrior instantly to his feet, his irritations forgotten. With nunchaku in hand, Panthro crept toward the cave mouth and peered into the blackness. He discerned nothing, yet he could not shake the feeling that something watched.

Although it was warmer by the heater, he stood guard by the entrance. "No rest for me tonight," he growled softly.

*****

Something smells wonderful. The panther lazily opened his eyes. Sunlight brightened the cave, and brought the ridges of the ceiling into sharp relief. I'm supposed to be on guard, the warrior suddenly remembered with alarm, and leapt to his feet.

"Is there a problem?" The mystic poked her head through the cave entrance, her face registering concern.

Panthro put his hand to his forehead. When had she taken over the watch? Try as he might, the memory that he sought eluded him.

Talitha approached. "You all right?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm.

The panther brushed her aside. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Just can't recall when you took over the watch, that's all. I had decided to let you sleep, and had planned to stay awake. Seems things turned out different."

"'The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray,'" she intoned. Shrugging her shoulders, she added with a smile, "At least that is what the starborn say."

"I don't give a Mutant's big zefu about what the starborn say!" Panthro snarled. "Just tell me when you took over."

The tigress retained her composure under the assault of his foul mood. "Judging by the stars, I woke up about 4 hours before the dawn." Talitha said with hesitation, "I was surprised to see you asleep by the entrance."

"Snr'y't!" the panther cursed.

"I shook your shoulder until you awoke. You yawned, then crawled over to the heater without a word. You were asleep before I could say your name, so I took over the watch. After all, we had agreed to share the duty," she added in her defense.

The panther sat on a large flat stone. He stared blankly at the dirt floor. The cobwebs of sleep that still bound his mind dissolved slowly. He realized with amusement that the weather had grown warmer, for the petite tigress had shed her heavy cloak and gloves. Framed by the soft light of morning, her delicate beauty warmed him more than the compact heater.

"Did something happen last night," the mystic asked, unaware of his appraisal.

Don't miss a detail, do you, little one? I'd wager Tygra can't get anything past you either. He answered her honestly, for although destiny had set her on the path of healing, the tigress had the resolution of a warrior. "I heard a noise. I couldn't be sure whether it was the wind, a beast or my imagination. However, I can tell you this: I couldn't shake the feeling that something watched us."

The healer rubbed her chin. "Didn't hear anything unusual when I kept guard. I didn't feel the threat that you did."

The panther rose slowly to his feet. Every joint ached from the cold and the exertion of the past day. "Then it was probably my imagination," he admitted reluctantly. Hoping to ease his stiffness, Panthro methodically flexed his fingers.

"Care for some breakfast?" Talitha asked, ending their discussion about the night. I know a male of your size needs to eat more than strips of leathery meat. I did some hunting."

"That was stupid! Who said that you could leave? We have no idea what dangers lurk in this wood," Panthro thundered.

The mystic's wide eyes became angry slits. "I know better than to wander off!" she said in rebuke. "The Goddess of Fate favored us. Only the ground bird that stumbled into our camp was stupid." Raising a cloud of dust in her wake, Talitha stormed outside.

Panthro quickly followed the tigress. "Wait! I'm sorry," he apologized, hoping that his admission would suffice to reduce her anger.

"Words!" she shouted back as she reached the campfire that she had built.

The spitted bird had browned nicely over the flames. The delicious odor that it emitted made the panther's mouth water. "Truce, please!" the warrior implored, hoping that the tigress in her rage would not toss a good meal into the brush.

A powerful, masculine voice blasted through the wood. "Si'ya, bi'i'til, co'ma'trin!" The unseen intruder had repeated the panther's request with the subtle overtones inherent in the dialect of Thundera's eastern lands.

Panthro kept a steady hand on the nunchaku hitched to his belt. The startled tigress raced to his side. Her long fingers clutched a small dagger that she had apparently hidden from him. The bristling of her fine mane indicated that if the need arose, she was quite ready to gut the intruder as easily as the carcass that she had prepared with the knife. That she would chose to do so was unthinkable, but dangerously possible in a moment of self defense.

Ultimately, he decided that Talitha would not betray her mystic teaching.

"Easy, little one," he said to the tigress, amazed that he had found the words to utter, for he had never anticipated an encounter with a stranger that conversed in their tongue or a knife-wielding mystic. "He spoke of peace, not war. There will be plenty of time for blood letting if he betrays us. For now, just stay close." Talitha gave him a curt nod, but kept her weapon at the ready, looking deadly. As if by magic, a huge shape suddenly appeared among the pine trees. "If you are truly a friend, come forward. Let us get a better look at you," Panthro shouted.

"I thought that all easterners were friends, or so the proverbs suggest," the shape remarked in more formal speech. Huffing with each step, it lumbered into the glade and the light. "Gods, but this beast is heavy." The stranger dropped the deer that he had carried over his shoulders. "I am called Ba'sir," he added nonchalantly.

The black fur of the stranger's pleasant, but plain, face gleamed in the daylight. Thunderan and of my race, of that there can be no doubt, Panthro decided, quickly setting aside his astonishment and assessing the individual who stood before them. But I have never seen a panther so tall or so fat! Scant silver in his fur, from what I can see of it, so he is probably in early middle-age.

With a grunt, Ba'sir seated himself on a nearby rock of a dimension not that much smaller than his own. He wore the clothing of an eastern merchant. His bright multi-colored tunic and trousers consisting of layered silk rustled when he shifted his great weight. Like all males of the panther race, he possessed neither mane nor ruff. A yellow turban kept his head warm. He hooked his thumbs into the broad cloth belt that encircled his vast waist, and scrutinized them with the air of one used to power.

Shaking off the disconcerting effect, Panthro said, "What in all the seven hells is a merchant from Thundera, a planet that no longer exists, doing on Third Earth?"

"Getting tonight's dinner," Ba'sir replied with a droll chuckle that made the pad of fat of under chin vibrate slightly.

"That's not amusing," the mystic said.

The smile on the merchant's face faded. "Humor has served me well in the dark times, fair one. And I owe you and your handsome friend no explanation."

"We'll see about that," Panthro said, brandishing his nunchaku for emphasis. "I haven't endured wind, cold and wood for nothing. The spaceship that has scarred this mountain must have transported you to this world."

Ba'sir rose quickly for one of his size, and under Panthro's watchful gaze, retrieved the carcass. Nodding toward the upper slope of the mountain, he said, "You are correct. My ship rests not far from here. My companions await my return." Glaring at Panthro, he added, "I have both sick and injured to attend. Stop me if you dare."

*****

Stunned by the intruder's challenge, neither the warrior nor the mystic had impeded the progress of the departing figure, who had gone further up the mountain and had disappeared. They quickly wrapped their meal in a piece of linen, and stored it with their supplies. After dousing their fire with water from a canteen, and gathering their packs, they followed his trail at a discreet distance. Not much longer before we catch up with that sack of fat, Panthro decided, glimpsing a metallic hull through the trees. I'd like to know where in the seven hells he got that ship. It is certainly like nothing that was ever built on Thundera.

The panther's mind reached back into the past. For many generations, the most devoted servants of Irri'in, god of knowledge, had possessed the honor of maintaining the ark ships that had brought King Dera's people to the world given his name. In the passing seasons, the Thunderans had not built any new ships, for the decrees given by each succeeding king had forbidden it. Each one had decided that the people should concern themselves with only one world, Thundera. Technology had become a rare commodity mostly limited to those who had dwelt in the cities. Many had conjectured that misuse of science had brought on the war on Homeworld that had split the people and had driven one group into exile. Although prepared for the possibility of another exodus by keeping the ark ships functional, the rulers of Thundera had no desire to repeat the mistakes of the past. When Claudus had become king, he had broken with long-standing tradition. The Mutant invasions had begun during his kittenhood, and the violence the evil ones had inflicted had cost many lives. In time, as the raids worsened, it had become increasingly clear that the Thunderans, because of their beliefs, would never match the enemy's superior technology. The king had eventually come to the conclusion that another exodus of the people was inevitable. Under his decree, the engineers had built smaller messenger ships to be used during the new voyage as scouts. He had also ordered the construction of a royal cruiser to hold the greatest treasures of Thunderan culture.

When the Council of Worlds had learned of the existence of Thundera from those who had secretly crossed into Mutant space, they had sent a representative to judge the people's worthiness to join the galactic federation of planets. The preparations that Claudus had made and the wisdom that he had displayed had impressed the agent. However, at the crucial vote, the Council had refused membership to Thundera because of the continuing and long-standing aggression the rebellious northern tigers had perpetuated against their southern brethren. Claudus had reminded the Council's agent that the clan war had not been of his choosing, but had been necessary to protect his subjects from King Sartren's forces. He had reiterated his hope to one day end the blood feud honorably and with compassion despite the stubbornness of his enemy. The federation had not heeded his pleas, for they had considered the clan war a sign of barbarism. They had ignored the king's request for assistance against the Mutants until it had become too late. In the end, the Mutants had destroyed Thundera and, ultimately, all but two of the ships in the departing fleet.

Although the gods have only allowed eight of us to survive the last exodus, I'm glad we have found our own way, Panthro decided, his thoughts returning back to the present. Who knows what the Council would have done. May each world that rejected Thundera burn in the seven hells!

"Shall we take a chance and just walk right up to his ship?" the mystic asked, breaking into his reverie. "From what Ba'sir has said, it appears that his companions require the services of a mystic."

"I know the sense of urgency that you feel, but we should look to our next move with caution," Panthro replied.

She furrowed her brow, and unexpectedly declared, "I must tend to my duty." The mystic dropped her pack, and with quick steps, eluded the startled panther. She raced up the slope toward the plateau and the skycraft.

"Stubborn tigress!" Panthro bellowed, following her. Despite his burden, he swiftly closed on the mystic. He grabbed her arm, and twisting it, forced her to halt. The petite tigress gasped in pain. "And I thought that you were a warrior!" he yelled at the struggling female.

"Release her!" a voice ordered that, although strong, was definitely female in character. As if to give the command emphasis, an arrow suddenly flew past the panther's face and hit the tree behind him.

"Name of the gods, what's next!" the grey cat shouted in surprise, releasing the mystic.

"Next is through your heart if you harm the lady," the voice remarked.

Panthro held his palms up in a gesture of peace. "Talitha is my companion. I only did what I did for her safety," he said to the invisible archer, who had spoken the Thunderan language with a decidedly northern lilt. "I, Panthro, swear this on Savar."

"Then I will accept the word of a brother in warriorship." From the brush strewn among the toppled trees emerged a figure who struggled with each step. Slightly shorter than the panther, the limping snow leopard halted, then leaned on her long bow for support. Layers of baggy silk protected her from the cold. The strong lines of her skull were clearly visible beneath her emaciated flesh. An unhealthy, yellow color tinged her silvery fur, and her grey-green eyes reflected pain. "I am called Chand'ra," she said, displaying a quiet dignity in sharp contrast to her horrible appearance.

The panther regarded the stern female, whom he guessed to be close to his own age. The largeness of her features would never make her comely even if she gained the weight necessary to return her to a state of well-being. Panthro thought, "Moonlight", an ancient name from lost Homeworld, and one that is too beautiful for one as plain as she. Yet, it fits. She has an inner glow that no amount of deprivation can destroy. She must be a priestess of Syrii. "A'drin'a?" he asked, using the honorific tentatively.

The spotted female gave an earthy laugh. "Yes, but no one has called me that in many seasons."

"Ho, Chand'ra! Watch this inhospitable pair," Ba'sir shouted from the entrance of his ship. His great bulk easily blocked the portal.

"They pose no danger," she called back to the merchant.

"We have come to help," Talitha said softly. "That has always been our intention."

Her eyes flickering with interest, the snow leopard appraised the little Thunderan with growing respect. "Can the gods have sent us a mystic?" she asked with wonderment. Talitha gave her a slight nod. "I fear the power of one mystic cannot help me and Lynx-o, but perhaps the Goddess has sent you to aid the young ones, Pum'y'ra and Bengal'i. We welcome you and the healing that you offer us," she said, giving the proper greeting.

"All praise to Mrísena," the mystic intoned in return.

"To the ship then," Chand'ra ordered. Carrying her bow, she limped up the slope.

Watching the retreating female's labored movements, Panthro winced in sympathy.

"I wish that you felt the same about me," Talitha criticized in observation of his response, "although I admit that you did what you felt was best. I'm sorry I disobeyed. You are the leader of this expedition. I should have trusted your judgement in dealing with uncertainty." Rubbing her sore wrist, she added in frustration, "But I'll have to heal this injury before I can do anyone any good."

Although appreciative of the mystic's concession, Panthro remained silent. An odd feeling swept over him and stole his voice.

*****

"It was a gamble that I did not believe would work, but did. By cutting the engines that still functioned at the last possible minute, and using the defensive shields as a cushion, we skidded to a safe landing. No injuries, no fire, no damage to cargo. I was immensely pleased." The merchant indicated the tin canister woefully out of place among the elaborate furnishings of his chamber. "More water? It is an excellent vintage," Ba'sir remarked. His chair, which was inlaid with silver and gemstones, creaked in protest as he moved.

"No", Panthro replied, setting down his brass cup on the low table before him. He hoped that the mystic, who was in the sickbay conducting physical examinations of the merchant's companions, would soon complete her task. Shouldn't have let her leave my side, he thought nervously. Although the others seem harmless, even tragic, I don't trust Ba'sir. No telling what tricks he has concealed under that bulk.

To distract himself from his concerns, Panthro regarded the well-appointed quarters that the merchant had reserved for himself. Plush carpets covered every section of the floor. Wildly colorful tapestries depicting strange races and events hung from the walls.

The spicy scent of incense perfumed the air. Thin coils of fragrance spiralled out of a brazier placed on the table. The thick odor began to make him dizzy. The corners of the room blurred. That bastard! Must get the seven hells out of here, or he'll have me! Panthro thought in panic.

"Maybe later some fine Xian wine, then." The merchant's deep, melodic voice sounded faint and distant. "It will go well with some of the meat that remains from yesterday's hunt."

With supreme effort, Panthro rose from the carved chair upon which he had sat. He swept the brazier off the table. The cone of incense that had been inside rolled onto the exquisite rug. The fibers began to smoulder. "Try anymore tricks, and you'll be dead," Panthro threatened. Weapon in hand, he staggered toward the merchant. "Is your vast belly all that you care about! I want some answers. Are you truly from Thundera? How did your companions come to their terrible state while you are overfed and well?"

"I usually put sex before food, although sometimes the choice between the two is, I admit, difficult," Ba'sir said calmly, ignoring the darkening rug.

"Why you bloated--"

"I suggest that you question them yourself." The merchant had spoken softly, but the power in his voice terminated the warrior's cutting rejoinder.

That bastard is good, the warrior decided. Better get out while I can and get to White. This may be all an illusion. Panthro declared, "If you must fight, focus your evil on me; leave the tigress alone. You've won this battle, but the war has yet to be decided."

"Evil?" the merchant said with amusement. Ba'sir placed his plump, ringed hand against his broad chest in an attempt to stifle his growing mirth. "Yes, very evil, my friend," he repeated, his composure dissolving into robust chortles.

The hairs on the back of Panthro's neck rose in fear. The echoes of the merchant's laughter dogged the warrior as he fled the rich chamber.

*****

The Thundercat sped through the maze of corridors snaking throughout the spacecraft. Ba'sir is insane. Got to get White and the others out of here, Panthro thought wildly, and with no clear idea of how he would reach his goal if the other Thunderans refused to believe him. He halted at an intersection of several passages, and realized with dread that he was lost. "Savar help me!" he pleaded, blindly choosing his route.

As he rounded a sharp turn in the hallway, he slammed into Chand'ra. The emaciated female went down like a felled sapling, and lay on the floor gasping for breath.

"Gods forgive me," Panthro cried, bending by her side. He carefully lifted her up, and cradled her in his arms.

"Pu-put m-me down!" Her voice was weak, but her message conveyed her rage. Although fearful that he had further injured her weakened body, the panther reluctantly acceded to her wish. Straightening as best as she could, the priestess hissed, "What in the name of Syrii were you running from?"

He reached for her arm, and said, "Ba'sir's crazy as well as evil. We are leaving. Take me to the sickbay, so we can get the others."

Chand'ra pushed him back with surprising strength for one so thin. "It is you who are mad. Ba'sir is not evil. Without his help, my companions and I would be dead."

The commitment in her statement made the panther pause, but he persisted in his argument. "Your savior tried to cloud my mind."

"Impossible! He's a merchant, not a mage, who has roamed the galaxy searching for Thunderans taken into slavery by the Mutants."

"Mutants don't take slaves!"

"Reptilians don't, but Jackalians do. What Ba'sir has seen would break the spirit of any hardened warrior."

Although the revelation shocked him, the priestess's intensity convinced Panthro of its truth. "Slavery...that would explain many things," he murmured. "The destruction of some villages over the seasons included the total disappearance of the inhabitants. We used to believe that Reptilian atrocities, such as cannibalism and sacrificial rites, accounted for the loss. Slavery was not a concept that occurred to anyone familiar with their methods of capture, torture and murder. I guess we never knew that those the nasty reptiles had actually combined forces with another Mutant race well before their final attack on Thundera."

"That is because the people taken into slavery never returned to tell the tale of Jackalian practicality hiding in the shadow of Reptilian warfare. It was their race that scouted for suitable worlds for the Mutants to plunder. When they found a planet ripe for raiding, they called in their stronger, cold-blooded brethren who thrived on the killing. The Reptilians took lives, the Jackalians took slaves. Ask Ba'sir, he'll tell you: slavery is a very lucrative trade that infects many worlds."

"The more skilled the slave, the higher his purchase price. Why I alone cost several ounces of gold." A slight, middle-aged lynx equal in height to the priestess suddenly appeared from a side-passage. He stared directly at the panther as if his pale yellow eyes, clouded and sightless, could still see. His tawny mane pulled back from his face and simply braided with leather made his dark eye stripes and large tufted ears more pronounced. His short white ruff bristled when he spoke to the panther. "Matters of commerce aside, the mystic asked me to find you. She has finished her work."

And at least with no success for these two, Panthro thought with sadness. Maybe the younger ones have fared better.

Panthro glanced nervously down the corridor he had traversed expecting to see the merchant in pursuit, but the passage remained clear. Turning back to the blind elder, he said, "Lead the way."

*****

The mystic stood between the two occupied beds in the sickbay. The individuals who slept soundly were catlings who seemed to be at least 17 seasons old. The tall male belonged to the white tiger clan, and the female, to the cougar race.

Talitha said, "Pum'y'ra's lack of speech because of the trauma she has suffered will hopefully clear in time with the help of counseling and patience. I freed Bengal'i's body of the last lingering traces of the drug forced on him, but he still must cast off the psychological addiction that controls his mind. Again, patience and counseling will be the healer's only tools, for in each case, both of these catlings must decide to return to wholeness for complete healing to take place."

Out of respect for the priestess and the elder who stood beside him, Panthro refrained from asking the mystic about their respective conditions. He scratched the top of his head while contemplating how little he still knew about the four strangers in the room. "Can the catlings be left unattended for awhile," Panthro asked the mystic. Until he learned what he needed to know, he had only temporarily convinced himself to trust the priestess's assessment of their mercantile captain. He kept the doubt that he still harbored against the brash Thunderan from the tigress.

"I don't see why not," the mystic answered. "They should sleep until this evening. They both need the rest."

"Good. Now I want to hear the whole story from the beginning. Let's go outside."

"Whatever for?" Chand'ra asked.

"The closeness of these walls bothers me," Panthro lied.

*****

"Our story begins at the time of one of King Sartren's greatest victories." Chand'ra paced restlessly as she spoke. The chill breeze which had risen had not induced her to accept the cloak that Lynx-o had offered. The tough priestess only allowed her own inner fire to warm her. Upon her rejection, the elder, who sat complacently on a stump, wrapped the cloth about himself. Because he had shorter fur than the priestess, his ill-fitting brown silks provided him with less protection from the cold. The lynx quietly smoked a chipped ivory pipe. Although seemingly relaxed, the tilt of his head indicated that he listened intently to his comrade.

"The destruction of Ker'ani," Panthro interrupted. "That occurred one season before Thundera's end, almost to the day, if I am not mistaken."

"Your information confirms what Ba'sir has told us of Thundera's doom," the lynx said.

The spotted female gave a quick nod in agreement before continuing. "Those loyal to Sartren had planned their attack well. Their agent, disguised as a northern tiger from a clan loyal to Claudus, had easily made the warriors at the garrison believe that Mutants had attacked to the south at Ny'rel. He had claimed to be a messenger entrusted with warning Ker'ani. His death from horrible injuries gave validity to his harrowing story of escape from battle."

"He was mur'i'sa'a, and quite willing to die from self-inflicted wounds for his red tiger king," Panthro guessed.

"Sartren's tigers ambushed the warriors that had entered Ah'mik Pass on their way to Ny'rel, and slew them. Because most of the fighters had left the town, the enemy stormed Ker'ani, and met with little resistance. The soldiers put all who remained to the sword. What Sartren's warriors didn't know was that one person escaped. That is how those of us who lived to the east of Ker'ani, in the village of Mehtar, learned of events. The ultimate irony of the day was that the Mutants indeed watched and waited for the opportunity to strike."

"Mehtar: a village consisting of artists and musicians crazy enough to have built their homes on the northern borders," the mystic commented. "A village eradicated by Reptilians soon after Sartren's conquest."

"But while it existed, it was a wonderful place to have lived and worked," Lynx-o remarked. "So quiet and peaceful. A place to touch the Spirit."

"And not entirely without defenses," Chand'ra said. "At its founding, those in power sent a sizable troop to protect the visionaries. I was the priestess assigned to the town as a representative of Syrii. Turrin, my older brother, ministered to those serving Savar."

"And Ja'cin was Mehtar's lone mystic," Talitha added solemnly. "I remember Servalla always complaining that the others on our council should have agreed with her to send him more assistance."

"In light of Ker'ani's destruction, Jarita and Cyrin, the leaders of the warriors, ordered the immediate evacuation of the town, but we could not move swiftly enough. Before the sun had set, the Reptilians had overrun Mehtar." Although the stiffness of her stance emphasized her sorrow, the priestess continued. "Those Thunderans who died immediately were the fortunate ones. The Mutants chained the living and divided us into two groups. One provided food and sport for the Reptilians. The Jackalians selected the most skilled and the healthiest as slaves. By utilizing several small spaceships, the Mutants sent the prisoners to their main transport, a vessel as large as an ark ship."

The priestess lowered her eyes. For a moment, Panthro believed that she would cry. I hate to push her, but I must know what happened next, he decided. "How many survived?" he asked.

"Fifty." The resonant voice belonged to Ba'sir. The large panther leaned against the hull of his skycraft. "If my memory is not faulty," he added with a grin.

"Silence," Panthro growled. "Let the a'drin'a speak. It is she and her comrades who have suffered, not you."

The merchant's green eyes reflected anger, but the smile remained. "As you wish mighty ky'ril," he replied with enough venom to turn the expression of respect into a curse. "Please proceed, Chand'ra. It was not my intention to disturb you. I simply wished to check on the ship's damage before breakfast finished cooking." He walked toward the rear of the spaceship, and passed out of view.

"Ba'sir saved us," the priestess said to Panthro. "Judge him not too harshly for having traveled a road different from ours."

"He should at least display respect for the feelings of others," Talitha commented.

"On that I think we all agree," Panthro said. He approached the priestess. "I know that this is difficult for you, but if you can, please continue."

"I am not that frail."

The rebuff stung like a slap. Better let her tell things in her own way, Panthro thought. Her tongue is as sharp as that of the merchant. He distanced himself from the priestess and leaning against a splintered tree, waited patiently for her to resume her tale.

With a weary sigh, Chand'ra sat on the cold ground. Her hands curled into fists. "We were fifty, that is true. They drugged our food to keep us complacent. They separated us into sale groups on the first world that we reached. Our lot consisted of those you have met plus two others who did not survive: A'dale and Ven'ka. They were Bengal'i's parents. Pum'y'ra's family perished in the massacre, like my brother. Lynx-o, as an orphan, was without family."

"But not without love, my a'drin'a," the lynx remarked between puffs on his pipe.

The snow leopard gave the older male a knowing smile. "A Zeran merchant purchased us," she said, returning to her story. "Once he transported us to his homeworld, he sold us to an individual of high rank, one who possessed brown-black fur."

"The Zerans are an intelligent and beautiful race similar in form to the sinda'am'ral'im of our legends," Lynx-o declared.

"But with larger eyes and sharper teeth," Chand'ra replied, "and horribly twisted souls."

"Not all were evil. Our young master would have freed us, but the laws of his society prevented him from exercising that option because he received us as a gift. As matters stood, we were lucky to have been sold to him."

"We were a gift he didn't want from his cousin Ba'ai, who was as evil a creature as one can imagine."

"I can imagine quite a lot," Panthro said.

"And you know not of Seti, the evil priest we have battled," Talitha chimed.

"Tas'mir, our master, was a beacon of good shining brightly against the dark sickness of slavery and racism that plagued his world," Chand'ra said. "With others who shared his philosophy, he tried to create change. Although technically in servitude to him, he allowed us a pleasant existence. A'dale, Ven'ka and Bengal'i worked metal. All of great rank eagerly sought the swords that they made. I had the privilege of teaching the master the northern arts of fighting and the Dance. Pum'y'ra worked silver into beautiful jewelry as her family had done for many seasons on Thundera."

"And I made instruments," Lynx-o said. "The finest flutes. Were we not slaves that could be killed on a whim, I would have said that we lived a good life. For us, many seasons passed in peace."

"What eventually happened to your imperfect paradise?" Talitha asked.

"Ba'ai," Lynx-o replied. "His plan to corrupt his cousin with slave ownership failed, so he sought vengeance by once again using Zeran law. Because his fur was of the blackest hue, he outranked Tas'mir." The elder Thunderan hesitated before continuing. "One dark day, Ba'ai demanded joining with Pum'y'ra," the lynx finally said in a voice that was low and sorrowful.

"But she is not yet an adult!" Panthro exclaimed with horror. "Neither her mind nor her body are ready for joining."

"That didn't stop Ba'ai," Chand'ra said softly.

"And your fine master allowed this atrocity?" Panthro snarled.

"No," the snow leopard replied. "He refused. But in order to protect the secrets of the resistance forces that he led, he willingly chose the silence. He prepared for suicide. Out of respect, he offered us the poison cup, for with his refusal, we became the property of Ba'ai."

"But the evil one moved too swiftly for Tas'mir's plan to succeed," Lynx-o added.

"There was no escape. Our master, Ven'ka, and A'dale died in the fighting that ensued. Ba'ai had his way with Pum'y'ra, and broke her spirit. He blinded Lynx-o and crippled me. He only spared Bengal'i because he still wanted his services as a master swordmaker. The youngster refused to cooperate, so Ba'ai poisoned his food with a vicious drug that bent the tiger to his will."

"The drug effected Bengal'i's work because it rapidly destroyed his health. Soon Ba'ai became bored with his useless stock," Lynx-o said. "So he called the one who takes slaves who are no longer of use alive."

"The Chemist, so the slaves have named him. The Zerans for all their evil are a practical people," Chand'ra commented with scorn. "They have great wealth because they recycle whatever they can."

"But on our final journey to the Hall of Dissolution, the gods finally acted on our behalf," Lynx-o interjected. "In his arrogance, Ba'ai had not sent an armed troop to escort us to our doom. At the last possible moment, a Zeran merchant, whose true name we never learned, approached the Chemist and offered to buy us."

The snow leopard continued, "Red Fur gave him a large sum in gold for both the sale, his silence and his help. By utilizing the tunnels that ran under the city, we traveled to the spaceport. Red Fur swiftly smuggled us onto a docked ship, this one that you see before you. He left us in the control room, and commanded us not to venture into any other chamber. Before he left, he flashed the symbol of the Zeran resistance, the lightning bolt which all followers of Tas'mir believe will purify the evil from their world.

"We believed then that we were safe, but we could not guess at our fate. As we waited aboard the craft, we heard the port alarm, and feared the worst. Neither Lynx-o nor I had ever piloted a skycraft, so any thought escape was impossible."

"Then the gods sent the Impossible," the lynx said with a chuckle. "Ba'sir burst into the control room."

The snow leopard shrugged. "Before we knew what had happened, we were skyborne. Ba'sir eluded the warships that followed us as easily as a kitten plays with its toys. We crossed into hyperspace and out of danger."

"An unbelievable tale that a true storyteller might weave," Talitha gasped.

"But all true, little mystic." The black panther returned to the group. "We should have gone on to the tranquil worlds that circle Xi, but one of my stabilizers began to fail. A repair became necessary. I entered this solar system because my computer indicated that the third world, although given a primitive status, was one suitable as a resting place." The merchant folded his arms over his paunch. "What the computer didn't tell me was that some archaic planetary defense still functioned. As Panthro already knows, when we descended, it blew a hole in one of my engines."

"When I first viewed your ship, I noticed that immediately," Talitha commented.

"Impossible to miss," Panthro replied.

"The same probably happened to my ship when Servalla tried to land," Talitha argued.

"No doubt. The scar in the metal is almost identical to one that cut your vessel."

"All very interesting, I'm sure. You can tell us your story over breakfast, "Ba'sir said. "I, for one, am starving."

*****

Much as I hate to admit it, I must grant the merchant praise. He is an excellent cook and sets a fine table. It is no wonder that he has reached the size that he has. Panthro wiped the spiced meat juice from his face with a napkin. He drained his goblet of the pink wine that went down his throat like fire. Maybe I have misjudged him, the Thundercat thought, as he leaned back on the dark wooden chair.

"Your tales are as interesting as Chand'ra's, grey one," Ba'sir rumbled. He puffed on his pipe, then blew a ring of smoke to match the one that Lynx-o had produced. Because of the updraft the merchant had created with his breath, the two wispy circles spun around each other in a whirlwind ballet. "I have seen many strange beings both good and evil in my travels across the galaxy, but never have I encountered such a creature as the one that you call Mumm-Ra. Any mage would be envious of his power."

"But hopefully not of his evil," Talitha said.

Ba'sir took another long draw on his pipe, and blew two rings at once. "That would depend, little mystic."

Panthro tensed, his pleasant mood suddenly soured by the merchant's comment. "Would you be so tempted?" he asked, his voice dropping into a menacing growl.

Ba'sir's emerald eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. "All are made of both the light and the dark. All are challenged. Are you convinced that you would easily pass the test of good if offered the forbidden?" he countered.

The Thundercat cowered under the intense stare that bore through him like a lance. "I would hope that I would pass," he conceded.

"Good," the merchant purred. He rose with grace from his chair, which dwarfed the others around the long table. "You are not too arrogant to discount the possibility of failure."

"Will you tell us, Ba'sir, of your testing and your adventures?" Talitha asked.

"Indeed," Panthro chimed. "We have yet to hear how you left Thundera, and how you acquired this ship."

"Even Chand'ra and I have not heard that tale," the blind elder said, with a snort. "But being his guests, we haven't pushed him on this matter. That would be rather indelicate."

"I have an engine to repair," the merchant said, quietly daring them to question him further. With long, quick strides, he crossed the room, and exited the chamber.

Soft are his words, yet they are mixed with anger and sorrow and a quality I have yet to define, Panthro thought. He shook his head as he attempted to understand his host. Deciding that comprehension would be slow in coming, he gave his attention to the instrument maker and the priestess. "Will you return with us to the Lair?"

*****

Panthro reclined on a rickety cot, the only piece of furniture in the small, drab chamber that Ba'sir had assigned to him for the night, and mulled over the day's events. He had easily accepted the strength displayed by the priestess, but the serenity of the lynx, who could no longer practice his craft, still amazed him. That the pair had enthusiastically chosen to travel to the Lair had come as no surprise. They had realized that only within the fortress's walls existed the possibility of further healing for themselves and their young companions.

Unlike Lynx-o, Chand'ra had also held the opinion that Ba'sir, once he had repaired his ship, would not journey to Lair. "He is one who is only happy when he roams. He might sit at your fire for a night, but that is all. He has set himself on a mission that I am afraid will never end," she had replied. "When we depart with you, Ba'sir will stay behind."

Ba'sir. He may look the part of a merchant, but he worked on that engine with a skill equal to mine, Panthro decided. Didn't need or want my help. Refused to come to the Lair. Didn't answer anymore of my questions. Told me to go busy myself with patrolling the perimeter. There was nothing hostile out there. Just didn't want me in his fur. Can't force him to come with us. If he continues at the pace that he has set for himself, he'll have this hunk of metal skybound in 30 suns, and he'll be off again as he wishes. The damage to his ship is certainly less severe than what I had seen on Talitha's ship. Hers was a complete loss, except for what I could salvage. Luck and a cleaner landing certainly had a hand in producing a better result for him.

The Thundercat moved his arms hoping to provide his head with better cushioning since the cot lacked a pillow. The cheerless walls made him feel like a bird confined in a metal cage. At least Talitha will have a good night sleep, he thought, staring at the dull metal ceiling. She and Chand'ra have a chamber as pleasant as Ba'sir's; Lynx-o has a plush chair on which to rest while he keeps watch over the young ones in the sickbay.

Panthro thought back to the evening meal. The catlings had awakened at dusk as Talitha had predicted. They had eaten very little of the exquisite dinner that Ba'sir had prepared. The news that they would travel to Cats' Lair at dawn had brought no response. Bengal'i, the swordmaker, had spoken only when addressed, and had used monosyllabic words. Although clear of the drug that had broken his will, his blue-grey eyes had borne the haunted look of one who had deemed himself a failure. Tygra can help Bengal'i more than Talitha, I'll wager. He has experienced a similar blow to his ego, Panthro decided.

The female had proven to be more enigmatic. Pum'y'ra had remained silent even when she had back away from him in fear. Only Chand'ra's gentle coaxing convinced her that, although male, he presented no harm. Panthro dug a claw into the cot. No catling should carry so much pain. I wish I could rip apart the bastard that invaded her. Her problem makes Bengal'i's appear simple to solve. He tapped the cot's wooden frame thoughtfully. Can White really reach her? Pum'y'ra listens to Chand'ra, but part of her soul is locked away in the same prison that holds her voice. Who has the key that can free her and return her to wholeness?

"I'll be dammed if I know the answer to that one," Panthro said as he reared up and swung his legs around so that they hung over the edge of the cot. "Only one thing is certain: I'm not going to get any blasted sleep on this thing! Let's see what Ba'sir is doing in the control room."

*****

As the panther ventured toward the front of the vessel, he detected a bright light above the first of two doors that led to the outside. The luminous signal indicated that someone had opened the outer door, but had not closed it.

Panthro reached for the control panel. "Glad I caught Ba'sir doing this," he said to himself as he entered the appropriate code. The inner door opened, and let in a blast of frigid air from the outside. "Now we'll find out what mischief this 'merchant' is making."

A strong wind whipped up the steep slope. Standing in the cold night air, Panthro wondered whether he should return to his chamber for his cloak, but swiftly decided against wasting the time that opportunity had given to him. He walked ahead several paces, then stood quietly. Down the mountain, he marked an intense blue glow. He listened carefully to the faint sounds emanating from the same point. "War cries?" he said with incredulity. "This island should be uninhabited." He straightened suddenly. "Ba'sir!" he shouted, recognizing the deep voice in the shout of pain that had rolled up the mountain. Lacking his weapon, the panther, cursing at the oversight, tore a limb from the nearest pine. Leaving the plateau, he raced down the sharp incline, dodging trees and boulders at each turn.

He skidded into the clearing in time to see a shadowy horde fleeing into the darkness. Standing safely behind a wall of light, a tall, lean figure, who clutched his left shoulder, laughed and jeered at the retreating creatures. The stranger wore clothing identical to Ba'sir's, but tailored to his slender form. His long dark mane danced in the wind, its white fringe reflecting the brilliance of the magical wall.

Advancing, Panthro stepped on a dry branch and snapped it. The noise alerted the stranger to his presence. The other male, who seemed to be barley beyond the age of awakening, turned quickly toward him. He winced in the pain from the sudden movement, and pawed at his shoulder. A broken arrow shaft protruded from his flesh. "Damn your meddling!" the individual protested with the merchant's voice.

"Ba'sir?" Panthro said with astonishment. "But it cannot be!"

"But it is," the stranger said with resignation. Ignoring the Thundercat, he grabbed the base of the arrow firmly.

"Wait. Better let me do it," Panthro said, setting aside his mistrust, and composing himself despite the mystery that remained unsolved. "An arrow is a tricky thing. You can do more damage unless you remove it carefully."

The face was strong and angular, not fleshy and soft, but the green eyes that peered at him with suspicion clearly belonged to Ba'sir. "I've done this before," he replied, pulling the arrow free before the panther could stop him. The shaft fell from his right hand as he silently bent over in pain.

Dropping the bough that he carried, Panthro moved to the merchant's side. Without complaint, Ba'sir allowed the Thundercat to lend him support. "Damn fool," the warrior said with a hint of respect as he felt the firm muscles beneath the cloth.

"Now and always," the merchant answered. "I never expected those furless brutes to start firing at me. One of them must have found courage. Tomorrow night, I will have to fan greater fear in their hearts, or they might attempt a day attack."

Seems the starborn were wrong about this place being uninhabited. Could those humans be what I sensed last night? Panthro wondered. Or could it possibly have been Ba'sir? Name of the gods, what is going on here! Despite his misgivings, the panther relaxed his guard. "Better get you back to the ship, and let White have a look at that shoulder. She'll mend you quick." He left unvoiced his overriding concerns. How in the seven hells can I get you to explain everything to me. I want the missing pieces of this puzzle found.

"No! I'll not have my companions alarmed. There is no need to call for a mystic. I can manage this scratch myself."

"Then you'd better stop this bleeding before you pass out on me," Panthro said, indicating the wet patch soiling his tunic.

The merchant began to sing softly. The melodious tones rang with power. Red light poured from his fingertips into the wound. When he stopped singing, the light faded. "That should take care of it," he said, swaying slightly.

"Easy," Panthro scolded, keeping a firm hold on Ba'sir out of concern for his safety.

"Please, allow me my dignity," the merchant requested softly. "Release me."

Although he questioned his own sanity, Panthro freed him. Ba'sir stumbled toward the wall of light. "Keep away," he said to the warrior who moved to help him yet again. "I need some room to work this magic."

Panthro backed into the shadows. "Do what you must," he conceded with a measure of reluctance.

Ba'sir reached toward the sky and sang. He dissolved into a floating pyramid of golden light. The form hummed with power, wavered and transformed into a sphere. The brilliant ball twisted itself into another pyramid. The form dissipated, and in its place stood Ba'sir as the Thundercat had remembered him.

"In the name of Savar, and all the gods," Panthro whispered in awe.

The merchant straightened his turban. "No god taught me sorcery; however, I am sure that the higher beings have meddled with my life for their own amusement."

"And what plans have you for me?" the Thundercat asked. "I know your secret, and I have no defense against the level of magic that you command."

"You are quite correct. Despite my fatigue, I can easily stop you from revealing what you have witnessed, but in this instance, I cannot justify such an action. I can only hope that, as warrior of Savar, you will keep silent and respect my desire for privacy."

The merchant had possessed every opportunity to strike, but had chosen not to attack him. Panthro replied cautiously, "If you will explain at least some things to me, perhaps I will agree to your wish."

Ba'sir grinned, and gestured toward the spaceship in the distance. "I accept your wager, ky'ril."

*****

Will he never commence this tale, Panthro wondered as he nursed a cup of wine, and regarded the merchant slouched on his throne.

Ba'sir drained his goblet, then set it gingerly on the table. He daintily tapped his chest, and belched. "Now I can begin," he said, the clarity of his speech barely blurred by the bottle of wine that he had consumed.

Panthro leaned forward in expectation. Don't interrupt. Let him do all the taking, he told himself. The wine has him now.

"Historians mark the invasion of Men'di as the first Mutant attack on Thundera, but I'll tell you, my friend, that the historians have it all wrong. The first battle came with the warm breezes of summer, not the icy blasts of winter, and destroyed a nameless place that none but a few knew existed. I am a bastard seed of tiger and panther born to outcasts in a village of outcasts. We had no defense against an enemy from the sky. The Mutants conquered us with ease and my life as a commodity began."

Ba'sir pushed back the edge of his turban and wiped his brow with his palm. "The Reptilians put the oldest to the sword, and fed on them. The cubs and kittens died on the Jackalian transport ships. They suffered from illnesses induced by stress and shock, not neglect, for the Mutants placed a great value upon them. Only the catlings and the adults survived the voyage across the trade routes."

The merchant rubbed the rings on his fingers, a subtle marker of his anxiety. "Destiny favored me because I was the last one of my group to be sold. By deception and some shrewd dealing, an arthritic Xian mage purchased me with the assistance of a corrupt Jackalian intermediary. The people populating the worlds that circle the star Xi are similar in form to the ancients of our race, the sil'ral'im. Mri'rai'den had sought an heir to his knowledge who would continue his fight against slavery. He found me at the end of the Mutant trade route. I, a catling of seventeen seasons, gladly took up his challenge, for I wanted to find my parents and the others that the Mutants had sold before me." The merchant laughed grimly. "As young as I was, I had not fully understood the sacrifices that Destiny would exact from me for the power I was to command."

Despite the harsh details of his story, his expression suddenly softened. "Mri'rai'den had more patience with me than I probably deserved, so eager was I to learn his craft. The seasons seemed to pass with infernal slowness. That old sorcerer remained steadfast. He refused me the final rite, the one that would grant me a power unique unto myself, until after I had reached awakening." He shook his head sadly. "He never told me, until it was too late, that my initiation would herald his death.

"Destiny had given Mri'rai'den the gift of second sight, but had demanded that he could not touch the silence until he had given completely of his knowledge. Although I knew great sorrow, I came to accept his ending. His arthritis had worsened over the seasons. Death gave him freedom from the constant pain that had attended his every movement."

Ba'sir's voice became a sharp knife that cut through his sentiment. "I suppose you're wondering what Destiny took from me. Many would say that I have paid no price, yet they would be wrong." He gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "If you are as intelligent as I believe you to be, you have realized that my special ability is shape-shifting. I was the Red Fur of whom Chand'ra spoke. This night you have also witnessed the price that I had to pay for the magic that I wield. You saw my true form...me as I was on the day that I came into my gift. Young and unchanging, it is a form that I have grown to loathe because it does not reflect the vision of myself locked in my heart that the experience of life created. Only when I fight do I surrender to it, for it allows me to fight very well."

Fascination with all that the merchant had revealed forced Panthro to say, "The form that you wear now is not truthful. Judging from your story, you are far older than--"

"I do allow myself the expression of vanity," Ba'sir added with stinging mirth. "If I were to mirror my excesses completely, I would need porters to cart me about. When my fur becomes tinged with too much silver, I simply make adjustments."

"But you can't heal yourself by changing shape."

"Correct. Simply put, the chants required to work healing, shape-shifting, or even changes in one's wardrobe create different circuits. These channels carry the power from the energy fields that surround the body. Perhaps your lovely mystic friend can enlighten you further on the nature of the aura."

I'll just take your explanation, Panthro thought. I'm not one for metaphysics. You have already revealed more than I had hoped, but less than I have desired. How much further can I push you, I wonder? Setting caution aside, he asked the question that intrigued him the most. "Are you immortal?"

The glare that replaced Ba'sir's amusement gave Panthro his answer before the merchant hissed, "Until someone succeeds in killing me." The captain staggered toward the panther. Grabbing the chair, he used his mass to trap the warrior. "Are you satisfied, servant of Savar? Shall I sound the alarm, and wake the others, so that you can have your sport, and destroy what little remains of my privacy and my dignity?"

I've no desire to fight him unless he forces me. What will placate him? Panthro thought, frantically searching all he knew about the merchant for a solution. The glint of a gold chain around Ba'sir's neck, half hidden by fabric and flesh, pointed the way. "You too are a servant of Savar, like myself, but instead carry the rank of an open spiral. Our Master favors you more than I, ky'ril. I will keep your secret."

The merchant backed away as if pushed. "How in all the seven hells did you--"

"'Only when I fight do I surrender to it, for it allows me to fight very well'," Panthro quoted. He indicated the chain, and said, "Unless I am mistaken, you also wear the rank given you on your fifteenth birthday by a priest."

"Yes, my father," the merchant answered solemnly, revealing the chain. He fingered the small crystal, which hung on its links. "I'm grateful," he admitted, "for your discretion."

"I'm only doing what's right," Panthro replied wearily. Deciding that he had learned enough, he added, "It's late, and I've got a skycraft full of Thunderans to fly to Cats' Lair in the morning."

"Maybe then, I'll have some quiet and no distractions," Ba'sir sighed.

Panthro walked toward the door. "One thing," he said, before exiting. "Next time you decide to become your younger self, take an honest look in the mirror. You are not as unchanging as you might think. Your eyes give away your true age."

*****

Panthro checked the instruments on his control panel. The weather was perfect, clear and calm, but it made flying the Feliner a boring task.

"Are we in range yet?"

"That is only the tenth time that you have asked," he said to the mystic. "But we should be in range right about now. Why don't you try to hail the Lair."

The smile she gave him was as bright as the sun. Does she miss Tygra that much, or is she bursting to tell anyone at home about our adventure? he thought. The panther glanced down at the brown plain below. The interplay of voices, Talitha's cheery and excited, Tygra's relieved and curious, drifted to the back of his consciousness. Instead, he focused his mind on their departure from the island. Without leaving the confines of his ship, Ba'sir had offered only a brief and brusque farewell to his companions. Citing his self-imposed repair schedule as an excuse, he had emphatically refused to escort them to the Feliner. Chand'ra and Lynx-o had accepted his impoliteness for what it was: the defense of an individual who had lived through too many partings. Bengal'i and Pum'y'ra, locked in their own pain, had kept their feelings hidden.

Due to the compactness of the Feliner, he had found no other option than to settle their new friends into the cargo bay for the duration of the trip. I hope that the hold isn't too unpleasant. The blankets that Ba'sir provided should help make it more tolerable. The Thundercat's hands tightened on the controls. I wish that fool had come with us, or at least had agreed to accept our help!

"Panthro!" The mystic suddenly tugged his sleeve. "Have you fallen asleep! Must I repeat myself for the third time. Tygra wants to talk to you."

He tapped the button which turned off the radio.

"Are you insane!"

"We'll be home soon enough. Right now, I'm in no mood for one of Tygra's cross-examinations," he said.

The mystic signaled the Lair again. Panthro ignored the agitated voice that crackled over the air waves, and hurtled insults at him. You have thirty suns to make good your escape, Ba'sir, he said to himself. Thirty suns. Then I will return to Trinacria.