Going Feet First Ch. 04

"King Hector, is it?" Michael asked as he approached.

The Neko nearly jumped as he flipped over to face the human, his eyes wide with shock.

"Get away from me, demon! Get away! WARRIORS! I NEED HELP!"

"SHUT UP!" Michael snapped as he smashed the end of his rifle into the king's face.

Hector's head slammed into the ground, his hand going limp against his leg. Seeing the Neko's eyes closing and jaw hanging open, Michael gave an annoyed sigh whereas a horrified look came over Mila.

"Ahhhh shit... don't tell me..." the Sergeant grumbled as he knelt at the Neko's side, pressing two fingers against his neck. He instantly perked up.

"Nope, never mind. He's alive," he declared, turning to Mila with a touch of relief in his tone.

Her tense posture relaxed, a soft sigh escaping her lungs, "Whew, if you killed him then the Ra'zorlichs would come for revenge."

"Yeah, I know. Come on, let's get this shit-rag to the healers and see what exactly brought these pricks to our neck of the woods."

...

With his ears still ringing from the thunder of Michael's weapons, Sayn ripped his sword out from the last Ra'zorlich left from the force that had tried to circle around them. Before he had even given the word, his men lit the iron braziers beside the village gate and began to strip the red-claw warriors of their weapons and armor.

The horn sounding the "all clear" rang out after several scouts came in saying it was so. The bodies of their fallen comrades were gathered and carried into the village, while other men sorted through the salvaged armor to see what was still intact and who fit it. Somewhat shameful did some of the Willher find the act of looting, but ultimately necessary in a world that was advancing past leather armors and stone-headed axes.

Turning down the offer of an "only slightly scratched" long sword, Sayn made his way over to the cloaked stranger who had been the triggering factor of the battle. The Neko was wiping blood off of his blade with a large rag that he afterward he used to wipe his armor. Spots of red were spattered over the golden-blonde fur on his hands, with more specks lying across the natural black streaks running down from under his glowing, orange eyes.

"Tell me, friend," Sayn started, drawing the stranger's attention. "What's your name?"

The Neko only glanced at the Warrior Leader, then in Michael's direction. The Sergeant was at the treeline, struggling to lift the Ra'zorlich king off the ground into a fireman's carry while his mate held onto his weapons.

"Farok," the stranger answered. "Former Hunt Commander of the Ra'zorlich tribe."

Nearly every Willher warrior stopped at once and turned toward him. Their face clearly projected their confusion, then anger as they then had to decid whether or not to pull their swords. Sayn himself took a step back, hand coming to the hilt of his weapon.

"Do not fear, Willher," Farok stated, moving both his hands behind his back and away from his weapon. "I am no longer one of my tribe, and I hold no ill will towards yours."

Both of Sayn's eyes narrowed, several of his men moving to encircle the former officer. "Only because I have seen you cut down your former tribesmen shall I believe you. But I must have you seized and imprisoned-"

Two Willher warriors grabbed Farok by the arms at once while another stripped him of his personal affects. "-Until a council decides whether or not you can live. Traitor or no, you are a Ra'zorlich Commander, the leader of the scum who has ordered the injustices done to our own."

The ex-Hunt Commander offered no resistance as his gear was removed and armor stripped until he stood in nothing but black, leather pants and a loose, grey, felt shirt. He could sense the hatred quickly spawning among the Nekos around him, accepting the fact that it was not misplaced.

"What the fuck?" an angered voice snarled.

Farok glanced over to see Michael standing less than fifteen paces away, muscles trembling under the weight of Hector's armored body.

"Somebody take this royal fuck off my shoulders so I can kill that motherfucker!" he snapped, trying to find somebody willing to accept his burden.

A warrior quickly offered himself up, pulling the Ra'zorlich king over his shoulders. The second the weight was off of Michael, he had his sidearm drawn and was storming up to Farok. The ex-Hunt Commander stood passively as the Sergeant took him by the collar and pressed the barrel of his pistol into the under-side of his jaw.

"Give me one solid excuse not to kill you, you Razor-lick fuck!"

In a passive tone, with both eyes locked with Michael's, Farok answered, "Because I have spared you once, and taking my life now would be a waste after you saved it twice."

It took a few seconds for Michael to process, but his face perked up when it finally dawned upon him. "You were the traitor in the cloak?!"

"Your kind is not so dull-minded as I thought."

"We risked our village over you?!"

"And I am grateful for it."

Michael's finger squeezed up on the trigger of his Colt .45, the temptation to complete the pull nagging on him to the extreme. A low growl echoed in his throat, his breath becoming forced as he cycled it through his nose.

"Fuck it," he said in a more neutral tone.

He decocked his pistol and pulled it away from Farok's head, sliding it into his holster. As much as he was tempted to shoot the golden Neko, he was still curious as to why he had spared him at the crash site, and why his own clan was trying to kill him.

"I'm going to want to have a talk with him later, if that's alright," Michael said stealing a glance at Sayn before going over to Mila and taking the M60 off her hands. While passing through the village entrance into the streets, he commented offhandedly, "There's something more behind this, and I'm awfully tired of being left in the dark."

A slightly guilty look came over Sayn and several warriors as they glanced in Michael's direction, but the Warrior Leader collected himself and ordered, "Take Farok to the elder's hall and throw him in the cage. And take the 'king' to the medicine hut for his wound to be treated and then tie him up in the elder's hall as well."

The warriors handling the two Ra'zorlich leaders gave affirmative nods and took them away. With Hail having already gone to join his hunters in the village, Sayn began to order his men to drag the bodies of the Ra'zorlichs to the middle of the clearing. More warriors began to strip the dead of their weapons and armor, gathering what was still of use while discarding the rest.

Several wounded Ra'zorlichs were soon discovered in the treeline; those who were not too badly wounded were bound and dragged away to the medicine hut. Those who suffered mortal wounds were put out of their misery and added to the growing pile in the clearing.

..................

Having stored his weapons safely away, Michael held hands with Mila as she guided him through the village toward the medicine hut. By now the blood had stopped dripping out from the scratches on his face, and most of the mess had been cleaned from his chest and neck. However, Michael was shirtless at the moment as his jacket and army T-shirt were hanging up in the tent to dry after they had been washed clean.

The medicine hut, a wooden longhouse with a Nekonian-script sign above the door, had a good number of the Willher warriors and hunters guarding over the half dozen or so wounded Ra'zorlichs awaiting treatment in a line outside the entrance. Upon seeing Michael and his mate, the Warriors immediately waved them in past the line while ignoring the grumblings of their prisoners of war.

Inside, Michael found the place to be in chaos. Both male and female Nekos were rushing about, running herbs and slaves between the rows of beds while healers tried to work on screaming, resistant Ra'zorlichs. The healers, confused about their ailments and unaware of the effect of a gun, only continued to do their best while fighting to restrain their patients.

The product of their efforts hung in the air over the two bodies of the red-claw warriors lying in the corner, dead.

One Willher warrior was lying on a stretcher near the door. There was a deathly, gaunt look to his face, the healers beside him shaking their heads despairingly. With his arm struggling to support itself, he took hold of one of the healer's hands and whispered something to him. When he finished, the healer nodded, and said something to a pair of nearby warriors. Before the wounded Neko was carried outside, the healer poured a bit of salve into the hole in his belly where a sword had sliced him open and slipped a piece of wood into his mouth.

As the Sergeant wondered about the young man, a young Neko male dressed in a white, blood-stained, wool robe approached him. "Michael?"

"What?" the Sergeant responded, attention shifting to the two healers struggling to hold a Ra'zorlich down as they poured a salve into the hole in his gut. The following screech made several around the room wince.

"Your magic caused this damage, do you know how to help repair it?"

"Yeah," the Sergeant started. "But why should I be bothered to help save their lives? They wanted to kill us."

"Because we are better than them," the healer answered without missing a beat, as though that had been a question he had heard before. "And by Nekonian law, we can sentence them to servitude for capturing them."

"What?" Michael responded. "Sentence them to what, now?"

"I'll explain that later," Mila interjected. "I will say that it would be good for the tribe if you saved these Ra'zorlichs from death."

Sighing a bit in frustration while shooting a questioning look to his mate, Michael finally caved. "Fine. I need a long, skinny knife, or a pair of tweezers or something."

After overcoming the Willher healer's not knowing what some basic medicinal instruments were, Michael finally got a hold of a pair of knives that fit his needs. One by one, he went around to the Ra'zorlichs that he had shot, extracting bullets from their bodies and allowing the healers to do their jobs properly.

Another Ra'zorlich had died during one extraction, to the dismay of the healers, but the other nine survived, and the seven waiting outside could finally be tended -once Michael's hand and scratches had been properly cleaned, bandaged, and had a medicinal balm applied to it, of course.

Despite it being the middle of the night, the Willher Village was bustling when the Soldier and his Tracker stepped out into the streets. With the many voices buzzing about, and none of them speaking English, Michael quickly felt like he was lost in a storm. There were so many Nekos glancing in his direction, some pointing and smiling.

Mila picked up on his dazed-look right away, pulling him in as she said, "There's talk of having a tribe gathering tomorrow night. And many a much impressed by you."

"Now I know why they're all staring at me," he mumbled, spotting another Neko staring at him while pressing a fist over his heart.

"Come, let's go to the Elder's hall."

Nodding in agreement, Michael followed her through the crowd to the village center, finding the tribe's members gathering and piling logs into the pit of the great fire. It was a preparation, Mila clarified, to be meant for the next night.

A scream erupted from within the crowd, many faces turning toward an elderly Neko woman on her knees just outside the Elder's hall. She broke down into tears as she called out to the young man in her lap: the warrior Michael had seen being carried out of the medical hut. Despite the woman's pleading, his body went limp on his improvised stretcher; his eyes slipped shut and he finally succumbed to the gaping wound in his belly.

A dozen Willhers immediately came to the woman, kneeling at her side and wrapping her in their group embrace. She continued to cry, but in the wake of her child's passing, she was given comfort. A somber tone came over Michael as watched the scene unfold and continued on at Mila's side. He didn't ignore the mother and son, but he did not dwell upon them either.

"Michael?" his mate addressed.

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"There's a tear in your eye."

He quickly wiped it away, "I just hate what the families are going through. How much they're hurting."

"There would be a lot more families hurt were it not for you."

Michael gave no answer to that, he only delved deeper into thought as they entered the Elder's hall. There he and Mila found the village leaders already gathered at the end of the table, just as they had earlier, with Farok sitting bound on the table top, facing the elders with several warriors at his sides. Surprisingly enough, Hector was already there as well, sitting unconscious in the cage with a bandage wound around his thigh.

"This is a judging! Elders only!" Hail immediately declared when he noticed the two new arrivals.

At once the whole room turned toward Michael, then began passing questioning looks toward Hail. Farok casually glanced over his shoulder toward the human, then turned back toward the elders.

"Relax, Huntmaster..." Elder Misn mumbled, seemingly less tired than when Michael had last saw him. "He is a hero at the moment, a champion... And I believe he may assist us... in coming to a decision."

Grumbling under his breath, Hail composed himself and turned to the Elder. With a bit of venom to his sarcasm, he asked, "Should we speak human as well? Convenience our new addition until he learns our tongue?"

"Not a terrible idea, Huntmaster," Misn said. "Do any object to Hail's idea?"

Hail's ears perked up as his eye brows shot up over his widened eyes. Frustration flushed through his face; he and Lady Akal offered a token protest that was short lived as the Elder motioned for them both to silence, followed by the request for the Sergeant and his Tracker to join them at the table.

When they had sat down next to Sayn, the tired old Neko spoke again, "Warrior Michael... you met Farok before... and they say you wished to speak with him... If you still wish so, the time is now."

"What about-" Sayn started before Misn raised an open hand.

"Thank you, Elder," Michael responded before turning to Farok, who had already shifted around to face the human. The Sergeant's first question to the ex-Hunt Commander: "Why were you at the wreck of the 'metal beast' earlier?"

"To see if my assassins had killed you," the ex-Hunt Commander answered. "But, when I saw you sifting through their papers, speaking about the corpse of my first assassin and the absence of the second, I knew they were dead."

Sayn stole a look to a pair of warriors guarding over Farok, the pair who had escorted that second assassin right into Galen's hands.

"Then why did you let me go? You had the chance to kill me."

Farok shrugged. "To have killed you then would only provoke the other of your kind. The one with the green helm. After what happened this evening, I am glad I chose to spare you."

Michael cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because my king wanted both of you dead with both your hearts to feast upon. If I could not accomplish this, I was to be executed. Sparing you would be my way out, only what happened this night was better than I hoped."

"How could this be... a good outcome for you, Ra'zorlich?" Misn interrupted.

Farok turned to the Elder, answering, "The king out to end my life is captured, an entire war-group of pathetic fighters has been ridden from the forest, I have discovered men in my tribe hold me in higher respect than royalty, and I am still alive."

"I can fix you being alive," Sayn stated.

"And I can stop your village from being destroyed under the force of two-hundred Ra'zorlich warriors."

This brought Sayn up in his seat and the entire room to a state of alarm. Michael mentally began to review how much ammunition he still had for his M60 and M14, wondering how conservative he would have to be with his weapons to kill two hundred Nekos. An idea suddenly occurred to him, Could I train Mila in using firearms?

As the Sergeant pondered this thought, Sayn erupted with anger burning in his voice as he snapped, "What did you say?!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Farok spotted Hector stirring in the cage. Those dark brown eyes opened up slightly to focus intently upon the ex-Hunt Commander, who simply continued to speak.

"There are two hundred men left of the Ra'zorlich warriors, not counting the men we have that are not currently serving as warriors. If the king does not return, or if I do not return, they will seek out what had become of us. If Hector returns, he will no doubt gather all our men and attack your village, and I doubt Michael has the strength to stop them all."

"Unless we attack first," Sayn retorted. "With Michael leading an assault, I doubt the men of your villages would last long."

Spotting the rising fear in Hector's eyes as he remembered the slaughter that had become of his men, Farok smiled. "No, I doubt they would."

He suddenly turned toward the king, almost growling as he said, "It would be wise if you walked away from this, Hector, as there are warriors who would plan an assassination on you if you pursued me further after this or sent them into a massacre like tonight. With the only warriors truly loyal to you dead, you have no choice."

"So he's awake," Michael chimed, rising from his seat.

The Ra'zorlich king's eyes were instantly upon the Sergeant as he leaned in on the table, the expression on his face causing the royal Neko to reel back in his cage. When Hail moved to interrupt, Sayn motioned him down, turning toward the human to listen to what he had to say.

"Listen here, you red-furred son of a bitch. There are a lot of good men lying dead out there, lives wasted for some bullshit reason. And bullshit reasons really piss me off. So, before you get sent back to your village, or home, or whatever, I am going to make some things perfectly fucking clear in terms of what you're going to be doing from now on. You with me so far?"

Hector only nodded as everyone else around the table sat silently and observed.

"You and your fucking tribe are never going to leave your territory again. You are never going to harm a Willher ever again. If one comes into your territory, you will tell them to leave and that will be it. Never harm, nor kill any of my tribe ever again. Got it? Those are my two rules. You break them, and I will grab my weapon and load it up with enough thunder to slaughter every man, woman, AND child in your territory. I will spare no one. Am I understood?"

"Never," Hector said, feigning his strength even as his voice betrayed him. "I will see your whole clan dead for this. This village burned to the ground with everyone's' head upon sticks."

Cocking an eyebrow, Michael shrugged and drew his pistol.

"Cover your ears!" Mila snapped.

Everyone save for the Ra'zorlich king had time to react, clamping their hands atop their heads over their feline ears before the shot was fired. Hector screamed as a bullet tore into his already wounded leg. Adjusting his grip on the sidearm, Michael asked again, "Am I understood?! Or do I put the next one through your skull?!"

"YES!" Hector howled, clutching his calf where the bullet had gone in.

"Will you do as I say?"

"YES!"

"And what did I say?"

"Never leave our lands!... Never harm Willhers! AARRGGHHHH, RAK!"

Michael holstered his pistol, ignoring Hector's cries of pain as he faced Misn. There was disgust upon the Elder's face, but also a hint of understanding. It was not a course of action he would've taken, but of learning of the personality of the king just now, he knew something had to be done that nobody was willing to do, except Michael.