Kerric the Mercenary: Episode 6, Saddling Up
Kerric’s Warcat done not want to be re-saddled.
Every man stopped in his tracks hearing Akrus’ deep angry growl.
Because Kerric hadn’t installed the deep-seated fear of him that each of those Warcat riders had in theirs, his Akrus caused more trouble than all of theirs combined. In truth, any warcat half as troublesome as Akrus would have been too dangerous for them to ride and they would have had to put them down long ago.
If Akrus started something in that crowded corral, then Kerric would have to put him down and do it fast. It was too crowded, and it would spread to a general fight among the Warcats if he didn’t. As the two of them stared at each other, he let the knowledge creep into his eyes that if they fought this time, it would be to the death.
Kerric watched his Warcat come to the realization that this would not be a dominance fight, but a death fight. Akrus wasn’t a coward, but wasn’t suicidal either. He lowered his head and struck his pose to be saddled.
Kerric moved to place the first Olask fur on him, but didn’t relax. Akrus was smart enough to lure his prey in, then strike. After only placing that cushioning fur blanket on him, did Kerric led him out of the corral to finish saddling him and out of the way of the others if he wanted to fight.
He could sense that Akrus was still considering fighting as his Warcat followed his directions out of the corral, then took up his stance where he indicated. He could hardly blame Akrus. Not only was the promised rest stop being taken away, the layers of Olask fur blankets had not been cleaned and brushed out before they were being put back on. That would make this saddle far less comfortable than it otherwise would be, and the Warcat knew it.
Everyone continued to watch Akrus instead of saddling their own Warcats.
Kerric stopped dead-still, and again stared Akrus in the eyes.
The Warcat lowered his head further and relaxed his stance more.
The riders, and even the other Warcats, sighed with relief that the two of them would not fight.
“Something up,” Tantos said, coming down the road with a towny in tow.
“Corman, took a caravan out of DeSon heading here yesterday morning. Find and scout them. Meet me in DeSon by morning.”
“As you command.” Only those that knew Tantos well could tell how displeased he was at those orders. He turned to the towny. “You can keep the gem and clean the corral or not. We won’t be using it.”
Without another word, he vaulted onto the back of his Warcat, Silack, and the two were off, able to deduce where they might be on his own far faster than those lame second raters that called themselves captains.
Ownar, who had returned while Kerric was giving Tantos orders, moved to join the other two with saddled Warcats, getting them out of everyone’s way, without saying a word.
Once that was done, Kerric turned back to Akrus, and the others started saddling theirs, but kept a careful watch on him and his unruly Warcat.
North or south, most Warcat riders died from their own warcats more than any other cause. This despite the fact that there was almost always general affection in both directions between rider and beast. If Akrus was unhappy and thought he would win, he would attack. He was unhappy now, so Kerric had to divert his full attention to ensuring he didn’t appear weak enough to attack. This made saddling him more work and forced him to take longer than normal.
The others finished while he still had more of it to fit and adjust as a result.
The sun set. He pulled the last strap tight and climbed into the saddle. This wasn’t how he wanted to start their last mission here in the south.
“Move out,” he commanded.
