Bravelands #4 Read online

  As they padded into the Crown Stone clearing, Mud’s delighted smile faded to a frown of confusion. “What’s that racket?”

  From the forest came a torrent of hooting and angry screeching, and a rattle and crack of branches. Other baboons, too, were turning and staring in the direction of the noise.

  Thorn bounded forward as the two big sentries burst into the clearing. “Stump! Creeper! What is it?”

  “We went to check for more hyenas, like you asked,” panted Stump, his eyes blazing. “We weren’t expecting baboons!”

  Creeper rose onto his hind paws and hooted the alarm to the whole clearing. “Dozens of enemies! They’re almost here. Tendril Crownleaf leads them!”

  The troop erupted in cries and whoops of anger, and Thorn found himself joining in. Even the timid Mud looked furious.

  “Tendril!” shouted Nut above the hubbub. “That crazy monkey!”

  “This wouldn’t happen if there was a Great Parent in charge,” snarled Moss.

  Thorn leaped up into the nearest tree and scrambled up the branches until he could make out the savannah beyond the forest. Rising onto his hind paws, he creased his eyes, feeling nervous fury rise inside him.

  Stump and Creeper were right; through the shimmering heat he could see brown-furred attackers drawing swiftly closer to the Tall Trees border. Tall Trees was an enviable territory for any baboon troop; now Tendril Crownleaf must think she could grab it.

  “It’s Crookedtree all right, and they’re almost here.” Shaking a branch violently, sending leaves fluttering down, he gave a whoop of enraged defiance.

  “Brightforest Troop—we’re under attack!”

  CHAPTER 4

  The stink of the bodies made Fearless’s nostrils constrict with revulsion.

  He and his pride stood on the banks of a muddy, stagnant watering hole, its surface streaked with scum. Half sunk in it were the corpses of a whole family of giraffes, their legs and necks stuck out at absurd angles, their bellies bloated in death. A small giraffe drifted loose, bumping against its mother’s shoulder; the rest were aground in the shallow mud. Where their corpses touched the slimy water, their patterned hides were drenched black.

  The reek was overpowering. Keen coughed and spat, his clever face contorting with revulsion. He took a pace back on his long legs.

  “I’m not that hungry,” he growled.

  “I wonder what happened to them?” Gracious sounded almost sympathetic. Delicately, she licked one of her slender paws. “Did they just wander in here and get stuck?”

  “Giraffes aren’t clever,” remarked Tough, “but I didn’t know they were this stupid.”

  “Really, really stupid.” Stocky, blunt-faced Hardy rolled his eyes.

  Fearless opened his jaws, then hesitated. He couldn’t join in the pitying mockery. There was something very odd about the scene. It was an awful fate for the herd of giraffes, of course, but it wasn’t just the deaths; there was something dreadful and sinister in the air here: as if a terrible, unnatural death had struck this herd out of nowhere.

  Tough lay down in the dry grass, her rangy forepaws extended. She glanced to the side and opened her mouth to speak, as she’d been doing throughout the hunt: as if she expected to see her pale-furred sister at her side as always. But Rough had stayed behind, nursing the tiny cubs that had been born less than a moon ago. Tough shook herself, sighed, and spoke anyway.

  “You know, I saw a warthog run straight off a cliff the other day.”

  Hardy drew back his lip. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Tough glared at him. “It’s weird. Obviously. Like these giraffes.”

  “And now that you’re a father, Hardy,” suggested Gracious shyly, “you’ve got to look out for unexpected signs of danger. So you can protect Rough and the cubs.”

  Hardy snorted, but he looked proud. “I don’t think stupid giraffes and sun-crazy warthogs are anything to worry about.”

  Thoughtfully, Fearless shook his head. “Bravelands still has no Great Parent,” he growled. “I guess when animals don’t have the guidance of the Great Spirit, strange things are going to happen. And it’ll get worse.”

  No one replied. Fearless turned from the grim spectacle in the watering hole to eye them again. Tough was watching him levelly. Hardy had cocked his head, wrinkling his blunt muzzle. Gracious was wide-eyed, and her elegant features looked startled; Keen licked his jaws and flicked his golden ears.

  Oh, he thought. I forgot again. No wonder they all looked so awkward. Of course, lions didn’t believe in the Great Spirit, and they wouldn’t dream of taking their lead from some Great Parent they’d never chosen. Usually Fearless tried not to mention his beliefs; he’d picked them up from the Brightforest baboon troop who had taken him in as a cub.

  Being the leader of Fearlesspride made him fluff up his fur and filled him with protectiveness and affection. But I guess I’ll always be a little bit baboon. . . .

  He raised his head, doing his best to look as noble and fierce and thoroughly lionish as any pride leader. But as the light breeze brought him a new scent, his nostrils flared and his eyes widened.

  “Buffalo!” He nodded at the putrid watering hole. “And if I can smell them through this stink, they’re close.”

  Tough angled her pale-furred head and sniffed the air, and Gracious got to her paws. Keen narrowed his eyes and glanced at Hardy.

  “Buffalo?” said Gracious, blinking.

  “Maybe we should wait for your sister, Fearless,” suggested Tough. “She’s the most experienced hunter.”

  “Valor isn’t here,” snapped Fearless. “I don’t know what’s got into her lately. But we can’t always wait for her if she keeps disappearing.”

  Irritation nipped at him, as it so often had in the last moon. Why did Valor keep wandering off with no explanation? Maybe she was forgetting that Fearless was her pride leader. Maybe she was deliberately disrespecting his authority. Fearless’s muzzle curled in hurt and resentment. Without waiting to make sure the others were following, he set off at a trot into the long grass.

  All the same, it was a relief to hear the rustle of their bodies moving quietly behind him. For a moment he’d been afraid . . . No. He had to be confident of his authority if he was to keep his place at the head of the pride. Fearless tightened his jaws, refusing to glance back.

  Upwind, the thick meaty scent of buffalo was growing ever stronger, and he slowed to place his paws more quietly. Yes. There was the herd: a vast, slow-moving mass of black-hided grass-eaters. The sound of their hooves on the dry ground was a low, constant rumble, and yellow dust rose as they ambled, ripping intently at the grass. Fearless crouched, and at last turned to nod at Keen.

  I can rely on him. Keen was already at his flank, looking back in his turn at the rest of Fearlesspride. In only moments they were in position: Gracious and Tough behind Fearless and Keen, and Hardy a little to his leader’s right flank.

  So far, so good. We’re getting so much better at this.

  The day was dying, and the paleness of the dry savannah looked ethereal against the darkening indigo sky. Fearless narrowed his eyes. The main part of the buffalo herd was blurring into the falling twilight, but a young calf was much closer than the rest; it had strayed a little too far from its mother. The calf raised its head, puffing loud breaths through its big nostrils.

  In silence the five lions edged forward, slickly coordinated. Fearless hunched his shoulders low, staying well beneath the top of the grass stalks. The pride’s field of vision was limited, but it wasn’t as if the buffalo were hard to track. He could hear that youngster now, snorting as it pawed at the ground. Any moment now—

  A high growling bark split the quiet, and Fearless tensed in horror and swung his head. Hardy was gaping at him in appalled guilt; a dun-and-gray kori bustard was bolting away from the young lion through the grass, crest cocked back, long legs slapping down as it began to spread its wings.

  He spooked that bird! How could he not hav
e noticed it?

  The bustard was still rasping in alarm, and as Fearless watched, it took off at last, wings beating heavily, and flew low, straight toward the herd. Hundreds of great, black-horned heads seemed to rise at once, and with a sudden thunder, the buffalo turned and lurched into a run.

  “Go!” roared Fearless.

  The five lions sprang forward, bursting from the long grass and racing across the flat plain in huge, desperate strides. The youngster was galloping now, headlong for the rest of its family; the herd itself was raising clouds of dust as they plunged down a low bank and across a sluggish river.

  Fearless followed, his pride with him; they were almost alongside the fleeing calf now. Mud flew up beneath buffalo hooves, spattering the lions’ faces and stinging their eyes. The stream was churned to thick sludge, and already the far bank was slick with the hoof prints of the first of the herd. Others slipped and slid as they followed the leaders.

  “Hardy! Stay on the right! Keen, pull closer!” Fearless bellowed orders, but he was almost certain his pride couldn’t hear him—not over the reverberation of huge hooves, and the suck and splatter of water beneath them. Keen dropped back for a moment, looking confused and overwhelmed, then clenched his jaws and put on another burst of speed.

  Ahead of them all, the calf had reached the bank, and it made a frantic leap for safety. But its split hooves went from beneath it on the steep incline, and it toppled backward, crashing on its flank into the mire. Fearless coiled his muscles and bounded on top of the creature, sinking his fangs into its coarse black hide. The taste was more of mud than of blood. Half blinded, he could barely see the vulnerable points in the calf’s neck, and it continued to flail and struggle, bellowing in panic and pain.

  Grimly Fearless hung on, his teeth and jaws aching. The desperate calf was plunging on up the bank, hooves biting into the mud, and in disbelief Fearless realized it was carrying him to the top of the bank. With its final spurt, it dragged him over the crest and onto level ground.

  On either side of him, Fearless saw black-spattered, tawny bodies rush in as the pride caught up. The calf tipped back its head and gave a bray of terror as Keen and Gracious each seized a leg in their jaws. For a fleeting moment, Fearless thought they had won their meal.

  The triumph lasted only until he felt the ground vibrate beneath him. Stiffening, he tilted one ear.

  The oncoming thunder was almost on him, and it made his bones shake. Releasing the calf’s neck, he twisted to see the herd stampeding toward them, a massive and furious bull at their head.

  “Leave it!” yelped Gracious, letting go of the calf’s foreleg.

  “No, we can’t—” Frantically Fearless snapped at the calf again, but Keen shouldered him away from it.

  “We have to go! Hurry!”

  Claws scrabbling in the mud, Fearless rolled and lurched away just as the huge bull crashed in among them. Its gigantic horns swept in a low arc, catching Tough’s shoulder and flinging her through the darkening air. Bolting for his life, Fearless heard the yelp and the sickening thud as the rangy lioness hit the ground.

  Jerking his head around, he saw the calf scramble to its feet and stumble back into the herd, where it was swiftly lost among much bigger bodies. The massive bull had drawn up, snorting and pawing gouts of wet earth from the ground.

  Slowing at last, Fearless limped to a halt and turned to peer back, his heart thrashing.

  Tough was lurching toward them out of the gloom, heavily favoring one foreleg. The bull’s charge-and-toss had lamed her, then. But at least she’s alive.

  With that immediate relief, a dismal cloud of anger and despair settled over Fearless. They had lost the calf. His mouth sour with bitterness and hunger, he began to trudge back toward their camp.

  “That would never have happened if Valor had been here,” growled Hardy as the pride slouched homeward together. “She’d have got that baby buffalo, no problem.”

  “We’d have got the calf, Hardy, if you hadn’t spooked that bird!” snapped Keen, sidling protectively in front of Fearless. “We all lost concentration. Fearless was relying on us, and we let him down!”

  “All right, don’t squabble.” Fearless shoved between them, forcing their snarling muzzles apart, and kept walking. “We’ve had a bad enough day without that.”

  And he’d had the worst day of all, he thought. Because if they didn’t start working together better and forgiving each other’s errors, Fearlesspride would be finished within moons.

  “She’s back,” growled Hardy, nodding ahead as the miserable lions plodded back into camp.

  “Valor?” Pricking his ears, Fearless stopped and stared. Night was falling, and in the darkness he made out the bright glowing spheres of two pairs of eyes. Now he could see the outlines of two lions, shaded in green and blue.

  Summoning his energy, he loped forward to his sister’s side. “Where have you been? We needed you!” His voice sounded plaintive, and he hated that, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Valor glanced up. She and Rough were crouched beside a dead gazelle, their muzzles black with its blood, their bellies already comfortably swollen. Fearless’s belly rumbled with longing, but it was nothing next to his anger.

  “What’s your problem, Swiftbrother? I got us a gazelle.” Valor licked blood from her jaws as he stood above her, breathing hard. “Rough needed to eat.” She nudged the young mother lioness.

  Valor probably hadn’t meant it as a criticism, but that was how it stung in Fearless’s heart. He bared his fangs in wounded resentment, and for a long moment there was heavy silence.

  Then Hardy padded straight past Fearless, lowered his head to Rough’s, and licked her affectionately.

  “Are the cubs asleep? I’m glad someone provided for you,” he muttered to his mate, a little too loudly.

  Fearless clenched his jaws, just stopping himself from taking a bite at Hardy’s flank. “You haven’t told me yet, Valor. Where were you?”

  The elegant lioness stretched idly and yawned. “Hunting, obviously. Come and have some gazelle; it’s nice and tender. Didn’t you lot have any luck?”

  Keen’s head and whiskers drooped. “We tried to get a buffalo calf. And we nearly had it.”

  “But everything went wrong,” said Gracious mournfully.

  “Of course it did!” Suddenly wide awake, Valor sprang to her paws and bared her teeth at them all. “You went after buffalo? At your age and size? I wouldn’t take on a buffalo, Fearless, and neither would have our fully grown mother! If she was still alive she’d nip your ear!”

  “It was a calf—” Keen protested.

  Valor cut him off with a snarl. “A calf with a horde of grown buffalo to defend it! You’re all lucky you weren’t killed.” She snorted in contempt. “Idiots.”

  That bit like a fang in Fearless’s gut, and it hurt worse than anything else she’d said. Valor always used to call me an idiot, he thought, but I was just a little cub! And back then, it sounded like a joke.

  It hadn’t sounded like a joke just now.

  “Honestly, Valor,” said Gracious timidly as she settled down to gnaw at the gazelle’s rump, “Fearless did brilliantly. It was very close. And he was brave.”

  Valor ignored the young lioness, but Fearless bristled. “I don’t need you to defend me, Gracious. I’m your pride leader!”

  Gracious flinched and slunk backward, looking cowed and hurt.

  “Fearless, she’s only defending you because she likes you,” Valor muttered to him, ripping off another strip of belly meat.

  Feeling a twinge of guilt, Fearless glanced at Gracious. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings that much, but did Valor mean what he thought she meant? Because he didn’t feel anything like that toward Gracious. He hadn’t even noticed the growing affection between Rough and Hardy, and had been shocked when Rough announced she was expecting cubs. Yes, he knew he’d be expected to take a mate too in the coming season, but he found it hard to pretend he was interested. “Why does it matter
if Gracious likes me?” he muttered. “She needed to be told.”

  Valor sighed patiently. “Come on. Eat something and you’ll feel better.”

  “I’m not hungry,” he snapped.

  “Suit yourself.” Valor licked her jaws as if the gazelle was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Fearless stalked haughtily away, afraid his sister’s sharp ears would catch the rumbling of his stomach.

  I don’t need food. I need a bit of respect.

  Turning his back on the pride, he sat down, curled his tail round his rump, and stared out at the darkness of the plain. There was no prey in sight.

  Fearless tapped his tail against the ground irritably. As the horizon’s last sunset glow vanished, stars blinked and twinkled into life. Herds moved and stamped distantly, he could hear them, but of course no grass-eaters drifted close to him. Hunger nipped and gnawed at his belly. But I won’t go back, I won’t—

  “Fearless!”

  Keen’s trotting paws were approaching from behind him; his friend, thought Fearless crossly, had barely given him time to sulk.

  “What?”

  Keen halted, his flanks rising and falling with edgy excitement. “I smell a grown lion. Nearby!”

  Fearless rose to his paws, his tail stiffening. “A male?”

  “Yes.” Keen nodded apprehensively as Fearless paced back with him to the pride. “You think it might be one of Titan’s cronies?”

  “It had better not be,” growled Fearless, tossing his neck. “I’ll go and investigate.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Valor was sitting up now and licking her bloodied jaws, her belly distended with gazelle. The others were still stuffing themselves ravenously.

  Fearless bristled. “Of course it is! I’m the leader of Fearlesspride, and this is my job!” Resentfully he added, “Don’t you have any faith in me?”

  “Of course it isn’t that,” she told him quickly.

  “Then I’ll go and investigate.”

  “I’ll come with you,” offered Keen.

  “No, you won’t. Stay here to defend the pride.” Fearless stalked off, fuming inwardly.