-owns all- Steal it and I will hunt you down and feed you unto the Monster of Doom (i.e., Dr. Thornton). Thus said... I probably won't ever find you, so y'know. Go for it. Just make sure I don't know you in real life, or you die.

Sword of Thorns

Prologue

I cannot concentrate. There is war on the horizon, approaching armies bringing death on their filthy wings, coming to rape my country, and all I can think of is the elusive scent of blackberries floating on the summer wind. I look at the map and try to find some hidden flaw, anything, that will overcome the undeniable fact that stares me in the face.

We will lose. We will lose, and our towns will be burnt, our people put to the sword and our pride ravaged until it is nothing. We Desaals are nothing save pride, but not even my pride can stop me from despairing, for they number far too many.

If I shut my eyes, this whole scene drifts away from me and I can imagine standing in a field alone, surrounded by tangled bushes and gnarled trees. Many people say that my country is ugly and filthy, twisted by the sins we have committed long ago, but I cannot see it. The knotted snarls of nature are beautiful to me, and over it all lies the sickly-sweet taste of a blackberry, soft on the tongue.

I can imagine my children here; my children and my children’s children. My son, Loki, is three and he loves this country as much as I do, and I know that my soon-to-be-born daughter will as well. The darkness is a protective home to us, the cruel forests our havens and the bleak mountains our temples where we worship the gods that are as despised as us.

Oh Kjal, oh Dstarinna, oh Rjord and Xzin. My gods, my truth, my eternity. I clench black-furred fists and in a fit of anger destroy the map in quick flashes of my claws. Why are we so abandoned? Have the sins of our ancestors doomed us thus; not only to be despised and cast out from the countries of the Fire, but to be destroyed by them as well? My tongue moves across sharp teeth, and I let out a shuddering breath, willing my anger away with it. Anger will do nothing for me now. I must think.

“Kvasir?” a voice ventures quietly and I turn to see the white-furred son of Jird – one of the fourth clan.

“Son of Jird?” I answer gravely, and I can see his nervousness from the way his tail swishes on the mud packed floor, stirring dirt around under the crude shelter we have formed as a war council. He takes a deep breath, wrinkling his nose as he does so.

“What are -?” he begins. “What are we going to do?”

That is a good question. What are we going to do? I can feel the eyes of the entire council settle upon me. I am from the first clan of the thirteen, and it is on my shoulder that the burden of leadership must fall. I still the muscles in my tail, lest it should betray my nervousness and look around the council, examining each clan leader carefully.

“They will burn our forests,” I say, and as the words leave my mouth I know they are true. “They will burn our forests and use their magics to take the life from us in a single breath.” I almost smell the fear emitting from some of the lesser clan leaders. It takes an effort not to sneer.

“We could flee,” I say, drawling the word out into a mocking twist. “We could flee and they would scour the land until they found the last of our ‘demon-breed’ and have spilled our blood upon the ground that is ours. We would gain nothing from that.”

“We would lose nothing either,” Faidonn of the eleventh clan says, his words uncertain.

“We would lose everything,” I tell him, my words almost vicious. I know what we must do now. “What are we Desaals? What do we have left? What makes us get up day after day and fight when it seems we cannot win?”

The clan leaders look at each other uncertainly, and I can feel a snarl coming to rest on my lips. It is Lisanna who speaks at long last, her words slurred through a soft-spoken accent. “We are pride. If we have to fight to the death to keep our pride, then so be it. We will not let those thrice-cursed Fire-kin say we fled from them. We won’t let them take what is ours without the spilling of blood.”

I grin at her, my teeth bared. “We are pride,” I agree.

“Pride will not save our women and children,” Faidonn says, and I can see his thoughts straying to his own mate – a pretty, tawny woman that he had only recently mated. I open my mouth and then an idea comes to me. It is… all too obvious in it’s own way. Do the Fire-kin know how many the Desaal number? I doubt it, and despite my previous words I don’t think they will waste their time hunting through all of our country for every last Desaal – especially if they were not certain that there were any missing.

I feel a smile curve my lips. It will not save all of my race, but enough. There will be enough to make sure the Desaal were not forgotten, and perhaps, in time, enough to bring back our land after the Fire-kin have broken it. “Every fiftieth woman,” I say, “And every hundredth man. If the woman has children she may take them. We draw by lot – and only the youngest and healthiest.”

The council stares at me, uncertain as to what I am proposing. I feel no patience for their idiocy. “The Fire-kin do not know how many of us there are,” I say. “If they believe they have killed us all then they will not go searching for more of us. We will choose one woman in every fifty from each clan by lot, and one man in every hundred to leave us and hide in the mountains. They will be enough to restart our race in one clan after the Fire-kin have had their slaughter and left our country.”

Suddenly there is hope in the clan leaders’ eyes. Lisanna speaks hesitantly. “The clan will barely number seventy people though – and only around thirty women. Will they be enough?”

“They will have to be,” I say curtly. “We cannot risk more leaving.”

There is a murmur of understanding and of determination now spreading in the assembly. Faidonn gets to his feet and touches his forehead respectfully. “My clan and I will abide by this, “ he says. “Our people will be chosen by lot tonight and the rest of us will muster to fight.” He looks at me seriously with his yellow eyes. “We will follow your lead, First.”

I nod and he leaves to prepare this amongst his own clan. Before any others get to their feet, I fix them with a glance. “We have pride Desaals, and now we have purpose. They bring over fifty thousand to face our four thousand. In five days, they will be upon us.” I flash white teeth at them, my eyes already fixed on the hordes I can see advancing in my mind.

Lisanna bares her teeth beside me, no doubt feeling the battle-lust of Rjord filling her – as I do. “They’ll go away with far fewer,” she growls, and there are snarls of agreement.

I turn to the clan leaders of my people, and I raise my fist, claws fully extended. “Let them speak of the Desaal in fear,” I say, eyes slitted. “Let them speak of us and know that we paid for our deaths in a sea of blood. Let them speak of the Desaal as legends they use to scare their weak furless children.”

There is laughter, and I can smell the battle-lust that rages in the room now.

“Let them never forget us!” I roar, and they join their voices to mine in a blood-curdling war cry.

Let them never forget the Desaal indeed.