The Crown of blood

VII

As in every other part of camp life, Prince Aalun had a precise routine, which Urikh knew well. Every morning at the third hour of Gravewatch, Aalun walked and groomed his ailur, Destiny. It was probably a habit of many years; growing up in the palace, learning how to look after the beasts. Though Urikh had never owned one of the prized cats himself, he knew enough that regular contact was needed to reinforce their loyalty, and Destiny was no exception.

So it was that a little after the second hour of Gravewatch, Urikh made his way through the camp. It was still dark, but the blackness was broken by torches on the distant camp walls and braziers every ten tents along each row. Even at this hour there were plenty of men up and about; the guard companies walking their patrols; kitchen masters gathering breakfast from the stores; armourers stoking up their forge for the day's labours.

Urikh made no attempt to hide; such behaviour would arouse more suspicion. Instead he sauntered along streets of wooden planks sunk into the mud, heading for the stretch of latrines close to the dawnwards wall — downwind of the prevailing breeze from the mountains. He relieved himself into the deep trench, whistling tunelessly.

Leaving the latrines, he headed back by a different path to the low, black tent covering the ailur corral. A quick glance around assured him that nobody was paying the slightest attention, and he slipped inside. The three ailurs were sleeping, deeper shadows in the gloom, but they stirred as he entered. Heavy chains clinked as they moved in the darkness, against a backdrop of heavy breathing.

Urikh found the barrel containing the offal and bones from the kitchens and prised off the lid. With a grimace, he pulled out a handful of deer guts, while he opened a pouch at his belt with his other hand. From this he produced some shredded leaves, which he rubbed into the guts. The ailurs were now on their feet; he could hear them padding around in the darkness, the tent filled with pants and loud sniffing.

Destiny was the closest. Urikh tossed the meat towards her, but it landed short; the ailur strained at her chain to reach it, kept in check by a long pin driven into the earth. With a grunt of annoyance, Urikh picked up the drugged food and threw it closer. Slurping and chewing followed. Urikh sank to his haunches and waited for the soporifics to take their effect.

When the blotch of darker shadow that was Destiny no longer moved, Urikh approached cautiously. He prodded her with a foot, but there was no response. Now came the most dangerous part, and Urikh's heart was thumping in his chest as he edged closer.

With trembling fingers, he found the riveted straps holding the ailur's face mask in place. With a small knife, he prised off the rivets where they attached leather to bronze. He did this twice more, so only a single strap remained in place.

Retreating quickly, he put the lid back on the barrel of food and wiped his hands on a rag. Taking a deep breath, he sauntered out of the tent and headed back to his bed.