Chapter Four: Tip of the Spear

            Oderan tapped his fingers impatiently against his leg, staring out the side of his carriage and gazing at the neutral region of Aleya. What is taking so long? It felt like they’d been sitting here for hours now. Across from the Akkedisian his uncle fidgeted in his seat, glancing outside the windows every few seconds, his forked tongue darting out of his mouth and tasting the air. The neutral region made Lorric nervous, and while Oderan did not share his uncle’s trepidation he certainly understood it. The district had little in the way of law enforcement, and whilst it was hardly a war zone, it was far more dangerous to be in than either the north or southern districts. Eighteen years ago Aleya had been a battleground, the last point of contention in a bloody war between the Tevarian Empire’s wolves and the Akkedisian Imperium’s lizards. Both sides’ sustained heavy causalities in the city fighting, the civilians suffered and neither faction made any significant ground. In the end, the kingdoms conceded to a truce, and the prosperous capital city of Elorin was sliced apart. In the Northern District, the Tevarians ruled. They had the high palace and the city port, both valuable assets. The Akkedisian Imperium commanded the southern district, with better access to land-based trading routes and the magnificent Aleyan arena. In the middle lay the neutral district, a strange mixture of city that neither side lay claim to. It was supposed to exist as a buffer to help prevent Akkedisians and Tevarians fighting, but instead had created a hole perfect for gambling and other vices. Oderan had spent quite a bit of time in the neutral district, and he wasn’t afraid of it. He suspected that being back here reminded Lorric of wartime, of the fighting all those years ago, and that was why he grew so on-edge when passing through.

            Oderan leaned forwards, reaching out a scaled claw and resting it gently on his old uncle’s knee. The teal-coloured reptile jumped, his yellow eyes darting to where his nephew sat smiling. Lorric ran a claw over his smooth scalp; he had no protruding ridges along his head save his horns, which was somewhat of a rarity in Akkedisians these days.

            “Uncle, you must relax. I travel between the districts all the time and I’ve never once been harassed here.” Oderan said, hoping to comfort the older reptile. It wasn’t quite true, but it was true enough.

            “I know, I know. Just…why is it taking so long?” Lorric moaned, rolling his eyes and glancing back out the window. Towards the back of his head, Lorric’s horns grew outwards and curved down and around, their points facing frontwards. It was convenient, as Oderan’s own horns were irritably straight; they simply stuck out behind his head and made it difficult to sit in chairs not specifically designed for beings that had horns. He sighed, already regretting inviting Lorric to the duel.

            “Look, I’ll go and see what the issue is, alright? Would that quit your whining?” He asked, sliding forwards on his seat and opening the carriage door. Lorric reached out and grabbed his nephews arm, squeezing tight. Oderan gave him a sceptical look.

            “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” His uncle said, glancing out the door and up at the buildings that surrounded their wagons. “I see plenty of space up there for an assassin just waiting for the right moment.” He hissed. Oderan shook his arm free.

            “Please uncle, an assassin? I wish you’d quit being so paranoid.” He replied, flicking his tail dismissively and climbing outside into the street, shutting the door behind him. Oderan was happy to take a look at the delay, but he was also pleased to finally have some air to himself. It felt like ages since he’d visited the Tevarian district for a duel. He’d never admit it publically of course, but sometimes he missed having wolves around. They played such fewer mind games than his own species; Tevarians said what they meant, a trait he appreciated. Rolling his shoulders, Oderan held himself proudly as he walked to the front of the carriages, his brilliant green scales shimmering in the sunlight. From the corner of his vision, he spotted a few young wolf pups playing in the distance, spying on him from behind some barrels. The duellist gave them a playful flick of his tongue, before stepping up to the front of the carriage. Their driver-a lower Bloodborn drake with murky brown scales-had climbed down and was arguing heatedly with a Tevarian guard. Oderan stepped up, quieting them both. He looked the Tevarian up and down; eyeing off the lightweight leather armour the wolves’ army was so well known for.  

            “Uh, my lord?” The driver stammered in the Akkedis language, obviously not expecting the intrusion. “I apologise about the delay, but this mongrel…” Oderan cut him off with a quick wave of his claw.

            “Quiet.” He ordered, and the driver shut his mouth. He turned to the guard, a grey shepherd of some kind…he always had difficulty recalling the names of their many Kin families, which were families but also weren’t…the Tevarian sense of identity was one thing that had always confused him. “What is the issue here, soldier?” He asked in the wolves’ vowel-heavy language, making sure to use a respectful honorific.

            “Um, well…you see, my lord.” The guard began, suddenly nervous. “It’s just that I’m afraid your driver’s pass is no longer valid here, he is required to purchase another.”

            “That’s a filthy lie mongrel!” The driver cried, using Tevarian words and jamming a pointed finger at the wolf. Oderan hushed him again, and then sighed. Ah, the wolves and their paperwork, always a frustration when visiting. “He’s just trying to extort us!” The driver complained to Oderan, switching back to the Akkedisians’ harsh language.

            “For one, we should all speak using a language everyone understands, it’s only fair.” Oderan said calmly in Tevarian. “How much exactly is the new license, please?” He asked the driver, speaking gently. Beside him, the driver fumed. The guard fidgeted on the spot.

            “Uh, eighteen Vens.” He said, a little nervously. Oderan did the math, converting it to his own currency. That was roughly twenty Marls…too much. He flicked out his tongue, tasting the wolves’ nervousness on the air. He eyed the shepherd, narrowing his eyes. “I mean…fourteen.” He corrected hastily, rubbing the back of his neck.

            “That’s fine.” Oderan said softly, pulling out a small purse and fishing out fifteen Marls. “I’m afraid I don’t have any Tevarian currency.” He said apologetically. “I’ve yet to be in the city, you see.” He added with a grin, gesturing at the gate barring their way. The guard didn’t seem to appreciate the joke, nodding hastily and handing over a small piece of folded paper to the driver.

            “You’re now valid sir.” He said. “I’ll get the gate up quick-smart.” Spinning on his heel, the wolf jogged back to the gate and yelled something. Soon afterwards, the large door began sliding open and allowed them access. Satisfied, Oderan returned to his carriage and sat down.

            “So? What was the issue?” Lorric asked, eyes wide. His nephew waved a claw dismissively.

            “Nothing, just some valid pass drama.” He answered, smiling as the wagon finally began moving. It felt good to be back here. Oderan was a career duellist. His uncle and sister managed trade in the family, while he worked to gain them renown and sponsorships from other houses. He was good at it too. Large scale tournaments and duels were held in one of the two major districts every three months or so, alternating back and forth between them. Oderan usually made a point to visit the city sometime in between those bouts, but it had been a good four months since he last came.

            There was one important person in this city, one he always made sure to meet with. His Weaponsmith, Albion.

            “Oderan. Are you even listening to me?” His uncle demanded, a slight hiss in the back of his throat. Oderan turned to his uncle lazily.

            “Mmm, not really. What did you say?” He asked, propping his head up with one claw.

            “I was saying that whenever you visit here, your guard’s reports always claim you slip away from them once we get inside the city. For my sake, I’d ask you don’t do that this time. Wherever you’re going I don’t care, but take them with you damn it.” Lorric said firmly, leaning back in his seat.

            “You don’t care? Then why are you reading the reports in the first place?” Oderan asked, raising an eyebrow. The teal reptile scoffed, as if his nephew were a complete moron.

            “Because of things exactly like this. I struggle to trust you.” He said, and Oderan couldn’t tell if it was genuine concern in his voice, or forced. He never knew with Lorric, not for sure.

            “I am not some helpless hatchling. I can more than defend myself in any kind of trouble, and I’d rather not have minders looking over my shoulder wherever I go. You know how the court gossips, I don’t need that in my life.” He argued. Lorric sighed.

            “Won’t you just let them come, for my sake? The guards can be discreet, and if you think they are not, we can find you new ones.” He asked, sounding a little like he were pleading. Oderan merely shook his head.

            “No, I’m afraid not. I dislike the idea, not the guards themselves. You’d be better off just dismissing them completely; otherwise it’s simply a wasted resource.” He said, scowling as the carriage went over some kind of large bump. Lorric leaned forward, his eyebrows pulling down seriously.

            “Oderan.” He said in a low voice. “You are not a child any longer, and haven’t been for some time. Frankly, I find a great deal of your behaviour to be more than…disappointing, as of late. It’s starting to become laughable to the other houses, and I will not become a joke to the court.” There was a light growl in the back of his throat, forked tongue tasting the air. Oderan sighed. You already are. He thought snidely, biting his tongue. The old dragons just laugh behind their smiles, and you’re too socially feeble to even realise. Instead, he spoke somewhat more diplomatically.

            “I’m starting to wonder if inviting you to this event was a good decision Lorric. You’ve been nothing but paranoid and overbearing the entire time, and we’ve only just arrived.” He grinned, leaning back in his seat and gesturing out the window. “Just look at this side of the city Uncle. Doesn’t it amaze you? It’s a wondrous place, just give it a chance, please, enjoy yourself for once in your damned life.” His words were disrespectful, technically, but he spoke in a light-hearted tone. Lorric didn’t seem to take offense, but that was never something one could be certain about. The old lizard grunted, crossing his arms.

            “We’ve wandered into the wolves’ den, boy, a fact you seem far too eager to forget. I’ll relax as soon as the doors behind us close. Let us be done with your show and return as soon as possible.” His uncle spat childishly. It didn’t matter how much Lorric wished to rush it, the fight wasn’t for another five days. There was nothing Oderan could do about it.

            “Besides.” He said casually, flicking his claw absentmindedly. “The other higher Bloodborn’s care not that I slip my guards. In fact I doubt they even notice it at all.” He added, gazing out the window, transfixed. Oh, how he loved coming here. Across from him, Lorric rubbed his forehead tiredly, groaning.

            “Why did I let you talk me into coming here?” He muttered, then speaking louder he said; “I don’t think that the other Lords care about your poor guard habits.” He used each word slowly, the same way he spoke when he was telling Oderan off about something important.

            “Oh?” The younger reptile asked, meeting his Uncle’s gaze.

            “Tell me, how goes your courtship of Lord Devorak’s daughter?” Lorric spoke haughtily, as if he already knew the answer – which indeed, he most likely did. The sarcastic, condescending tone infuriated Oderan and he looked away. If reptiles were capable of blushing, he would have done so now. Instead, the end of his tail just flicked predatorily.

            “Don’t insult me.” He snapped, breathing heavily through his nostrils.

            “So let’s hear it then boy. What happened this time?” Lorric asked flippantly, as if asking a chocolate smeared child if he really had eaten that last biscuit. Oderan tried to regain his composure, giving a slight smile.

            “I got bored with her; Eelin was so dull-minded.” He said, looking outside again, trying his best to sound as if he didn’t care at all. The courtship with Devorak’s daughter had lasted little over a month, longer than usual for Oderan’s female companions. Lorric had a problem of never leaving this issue alone however. It seemed more and more now that whenever a slight chance appeared to discuss it he would seize it, nagging and admonishing the younger lizard about his ‘future’ and ‘family potential’.

            “You’re getting far too old to be yet unwed, at first it merely looked as if you were preoccupied with your duelling…but now? They are all beginning to talk.” Lorric said warningly.

            “So let them!” Oderan exclaimed, throwing his claws out. “Szaresh was not married until he was thirty-two, and no one dared decry him. I still have at least four years before it becomes a real problem.” He was beginning to get impatient. Was Lorric planning to spend the entire trip hounding him about his life choices? He had plans to marry, it just required time. Why couldn’t the old bastard just leave him alone? His Uncle’s eyes glowered, and for a second Oderan caught a glimpse of the drake that had fought in this city eighteen years ago, all storms and hatred. Then he blinked and it was gone.

            “Szaresh is a living God, you are not.” Lorric scolded, speaking slowly. “You are acting like a child. It’s time to step up and accept responsibility of this family, and this house. Your sister does her part and I do mine, while you are letting us all down, including yourself.” Oderan made a fist, biting his tongue in an effort not to reach out and throttle the veteran. Lorric was a good Uncle, and a strong leader of their household, there was no denying it. But how the old, blasted drake could push his buttons so well, Oderan would never know. He was typically so in control, so collected. Yet no matter the scenario, Lorric always seemed capable of talking down to him, and he hated it.

            Instead of trying to retort or argue, Oderan leaned forwards and simply opened the door to the carriage, stepping out before it even had a chance to stop. He hit the ground and started walking, ignoring Lorric’s frustrated cries. Behind him, two guards wearing heavy plated armour and wielding large spears scurried after him. Those cursed guards. He thought.

            “I’ll re-join you all later this evening.” He called back to the carriage, sending a casual wave over his shoulder as he strode along. As he walked the Tevarian streets, Oderan and his entourage earned many stares. In a city of canines, a lizard could hardly do more to stand out than simply exist. They had soft, warm fur coats, while he had scales. They smelled of musty dog, while he smelled of very little. He had cold blood and they warm. Nothing made him feel more like an outsider here than those stares. Slipping through a market place, Oderan twisted and weaved the increasingly familiar streets. He headed north in the city, moving vaguely towards the High Palace. The duelling arena was east of the palace, and his destination lay somewhere in the middle . Walking was slower, but it gave him time to think. His plans were slowly coming to a realisation. Four years of careful scheming would soon be over, one way or another. He was still unsure of the outcome, but tried to remain positive. Uncle will be so pleased. He told himself sarcastically.

            Finally he reached it, a forge simply called Rewson’s Steel. Rewson was his Swordsmith’s surname, and the smith bothered not with fancy titles or catchy slogans. It was simple, to the point. He was the best weapon crafter in the city and a title would not change that. Oderan turned to his two guards, darker toned lizards each standing at attention, spears in claw.

            “Per my Uncle’s…advice, I will allow you both to wait outside here. But you cannot enter I’m afraid.” He said, doing his best to sound firm and commanding.

            “But, my Lord…” One of them began, in a surprisingly high tone. Oderan cut him off.

            “Inside is the fur that crafts my spearheads, my livelihood. To me, it is a sacred place and I must speak with my craftsman alone.” He gave an apologetic smile. “Duellist superstitions perhaps, but I don’t like to take chances. You understand soldier.” He nodded, and the guards both nodded back, accepting that this was what they had to work with.

            “Very well. We will be here as long as you need.” One said, before the two turned, standing strong at either side of the door. Oderan thanked them and pushed inside. Within, he found the room pleasant as always. Albion kept his forge and workstations far at the back, while this small, decorated room was utilised for showing results and bartering with clients. It was currently empty, so Oderan slipped his claws behind his back and began looking at some of the works on display. Incredible steel, it was sadly true that no Akkedisian smith could hope to match it, although no Tevarian could either.

            “Oderan!” A deep voice said with pleasure, and the lizard turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered panther standing there, grinning at him.

            “Albion, how good to see you.” The drake replied, walking forwards and embracing the smith in a hug. It was extremely informal, but this fur crafted his blades. “My guards are waiting outside, I explained the need for privacy.” The panther shot a quick glance at the door.

            “Of course.” He said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, still smiling. Albion was the only one of his kind in the whole city. He’d apparently journeyed here as a young kit to apprentice with the city smiths. He had a strong thick neck, glistening blue eyes and arms bulging with muscle. “I’ll…retrieve my newest work.” He said with another grin, turning and stepping behind a table. Oderan stepped up to it, resting his claws on the top.

             “I did…” He hesitated, glancing back at the door. “…not realise you had been working on something, I thought…” He trailed off as the panther lifted up a sturdy, dark brown wooden box.

            “I’m always working. You should know that by now.” He said mischievously, ceremoniously lifting the lid. For a moment, Oderan was speechless. Inside the box was a foot-long spearhead, broad and gleaming, engraved with intricate twisting patterns. It was so clear that Oderan could see himself, perfectly rendered on the flat, ornate steel. In the Akkedisian Imperium, a spear was seen as the most honourable weapon one could wield. As such, when he duelled, Oderan used a greatspear, a heavy, two and a half-metre long pole capped with a spear point such as the one Albion had crafted here for him.

            “That.” The lizard began, reaching a claw down and touching the cool metal. “Is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He whispered.

            “I’m glad.” Albion said with a proud smile. Oderan looked up into the panther’s eyes.

            “Thank you.” He said. Albion smiled. Oderan hesitated, and then leaned across the small bench, pressing his mouth to the Weaponsmith’s. The panther grunted in surprise, then began kissing him back. Oderan pulled his legs up onto the bench, kneeling next to the box and cupping the big cat’s jaw. A kiss between the two of them was an odd thing, the cold of Oderan’s own mouth combined with the hot of Albion, fur pressing on scale. It was unusual, and looked down upon by most-even if one of them had been female. The fact they were both male….Oderan pushed those thoughts aside, thinking only of the here and now.

            “Your guards.” Albion said, breaking away and breathing heavily. Oderan hissed.

            “We’ll just move upstairs in a moment.” He murmured, planting another soft kiss on the side of the cat’s maw. He shuffled forwards on the bench, pressing the flat of his body against the warm craftsman. “I’ve missed you, it’s been too long…I’m sorry.” He added, his voice tight. The panther let a paw rest on his neck, pressing his forehead against the lizard’s.

            “It was worth the wait.” The cat breathed, smiling with his eyes held shut. Soon. Soon Oderan would be in the top five ranking of duellists, and then he would fight his way to their master. Upon dethroning the reigning champion in a spectacular battle, he would be granted a request of Szaresh Odirium, the Godking of the Akkedis Imperium. It was there he would do something that both thrilled and terrified him. He would request of his King, of his God, that he not only be allowed to wed an outsider…but that he would be able to wed a male outsider. The one he loved. The only one that mattered.

            This sort of thing had never been done before, and he knew it was a steep request.

            He slipped a claw under the hem of Albion’s shirt, feeling the firm, toned abdomen of the cat. From deep within the panther’s throat came a soft purr, one of the best sounds Oderan had ever heard.

            “I love you.” He said, tears welling up in his eyes. Falling in love with this fur had been both the hardest and best thing he’d ever accomplished. Oderan wanted nothing more than to forget everything in his life and just spend every day here.

            “And I love you.” Albion replied softly, kissing him again.

            “I’m sorry…” Oderan said between tender kisses, growing excited at his beloved’s wandering paws. “…sorry that it took so long to come back this time.” Albion pulled away, resting his paw just beneath Oderan’s jaw.

            “Hush. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” He said, slowly intertwining his paw with the drake’s claw.

            Then together, they went upstairs to Albion’s bedroom.