Hand Over Fist

The Protectorate

Almost without warning the Pantor soldiers stepped out of the trees, their boiled leather armor painted in dappled greens and browns, effective camouflage here, deep in the heart of the northern forest.  Two were the black furred Pantor, the original founders of the Protectorate.  With them strode the lean, tawny shapes of several Pumor, making up the bulk of the patrol.

Descendants of the Puma, or mountain lion, the Pumor were much faster and agile than their cousins, the Pantor.  They had been annexed into the Protectorate during its second wave of expansion, almost three hundred years ago.  The Nitan followed shortly afterwards, their Tigris-like clan structure unable to summon the discipline to defeat the determined Pantor armies.  Up to that point both the Pumor and the Nitan had their own kingdoms that ran along the southern border of the Golden Kingdom of the Ryon.  After being swallowed up, their skilled and dangerous warriors were pressed into service for the Protectorate.

It was because of the presence of so many Pumor that van Joss’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he quickly calculated the odds.  If they were discovered and were forced to fight, there was a good chance that at least one of them would die rather quickly, if not more.  And while he could vouch for his own skills and abilities, Longspear was still a somewhat unknown quality.  Salina he didn’t even consider a combatant.

So he waved them even lower into the undergrowth, his bright eyes watching every movement of the slow moving, equally cautious Pantor patrol.

The Pantor, however, remained oblivious to the humans’ and Salina’s presence as they continued on their way, passing along what looked to be an established pathway.  Still, van Joss waited a good half hour before he even twitched.

Glancing over his shoulder, he silently mouthed to Longspear.

‘Town nearby.  Cut south to avoid.’  At Longspear’s nod, van Joss eased up out of his crouch and slowly made his way forward, glancing several times up and down the trail the Pantor had passed along, all of his senses tuned.

Thankfully nothing reached them, after another ten minutes of waiting.  Finally satisfied, van Joss led the tiny party southward.  And thus they made their cautious way through the heart of the Protectorate, often making wide detours to avoid fortified towns or fortresses that van Joss discovered while scouting ahead.

It was part way through the second week of traveling through Pantor territory that van Joss sent Longspear ahead to scout out their path while he made sure they weren’t being followed.  As the lean operative stepped back into their small place of concealment where they had Salina waiting for them, he found Longspear already waiting for him.  An excited smile was on her suntanned face.

“The capital?” he whispered softly and she nodded quickly.

“As far as I can tell,” she replied.  “At least from what I remember of the Tigris descriptions of the place.”

“Only one way to find out for sure,” van Joss rasped, settling his pack on his bony shoulders.

“In we go!”

The small trio carefully made its way through the forest, following Longspear’s cautious lead.  And so both van Joss and Salina pulled up short when the female operative waved them down.  Inching forward, van Joss worked his way through the bush to Longspear’s side.

“What’s the problem?” he whispered softly, barely audible as a breeze began to rustle its way through the heavy boughs above.

But Longspear didn’t answer.  Instead, she pointed through their cover towards the mass that was Ven Devisol.  Moving a couple of hand spans closer, van Joss’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the barely visible city down in the slight valley on whose wall they now crouched.