Cataindar

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Darcius stretched his lean body out.  He was in his quarters, on the edge of the  Carchar area in Cataindar. Such space and fine furniture was only granted to scouger leaders and senior readers.  As Darcius was the newest scouger leader (and one of the youngest in Cataindar’s history) his quarters were perhaps the tenth best in all of Cataindar.  Not that he particularly cared for all this type of thing, he had dragged himself up from the depths of the Dryliads after all.

He slung his sword from his back and cracked his neck. He had just completed three Scouges, and collected enough provisions to keep Finn off his hind-legs for a while.  No sign of ratains either.  He thought back to the last winter and the awful months of hunger that they had to endure in this prison. He gripped the handle of his long blade. Disgusting that Cataindar had to suffer a daily humiliation for the mistakes of their forefathers.

And the very key to their salvation… it was in their grasp! 

He stabbed the point of the blade into his desk, trying to stab out the darkest thoughts from his mind.  He pulled open a desk draw and retracted a small wooden box.  Flicking it open it was filled with stacked small glass vials.  He rummaged through them. Just one held liquid.

Rats.

Only one bottle of Sky left.  He sat in his chair and carefully popped off the tiny cork.  He put the small glass to his lips and emptied it into his mouth and swished it round for quite some time before swallowing.  It was a weak vial; he barely felt an elevation at all.  He cursed again and got up opening his door with a bellow, 

“Runner!”

After a few moments he heard paws run towards him, two red-shashed junior runners approached, one black with white patches on her ears and the other a tabby ginger.  Darcius didn’t know them.  As they approached, their step faltered.

They recognised him.

“Problem?” Darcius spat the word. He hated junior runners, they always came to his door with that same look; like they had just choked on a furball. Admittedly he had sent more than one for a stint in the infirmary, but by the dragons they should have some damn respect.

 “Why are you both staring at me like this?  Have your pathetic fellow runners filled your tiny minds with lies about me?”

Both silently shook their heads.

Darcius was in no mood for these fools, he needed sky, now. His hackles were rising and his paw naturally went to the handle of the curved knife on his hip.

 “Good. Now go and find me some good Sky, fast!”

The runners didn’t move. They looked at each other. Darcius read the situation, Sky was banned, and the punishment if a runner was caught distributing was instant expulsion from the service.

He sighed, and gritted his teeth. He could feel his dewin seep through him. The stone inlaid in his blade lit a cool conspiratory blue. 

Their problem was a lack of motivation.

 “What is your name?” he asked the tabby male.

“Ginger,”

“Well Ginger…” he grabbed Ginger’s female companion and pulled her roughly into his quarters.  Drawing the curved knife from its sheath he put it under her chin.

“How about you do your job and get running, or I’ll treat your little friend here so well, so thoroughly well, that when she departs my quarters she will be littering my kitains for the next three seasons.”

The catain in his grip squirmed, “Just, go Ginger… go!”

“Ha!” Darcius laughed as the little drama unfolded in front of him. With a hip twist filled with dewin he flung the black and white catain back into his chamber by the scruff of her neck. She was catapulted across the room and hit a cupboard, landing in a heap on the floor.

Darcius turned to see Ginger running down the corridor at full sprint, he laughed and then slammed the door behind him.

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