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Chapter 1

Night Falls

The banquet hall was lit by crude torch light. After dark feasts were far from normal, but this was a special occasion. The initiation of a new group of alphas was a rare event and demanded the utmost pomp and pageantry.

Sleet was a delta caste. He had a seat at the rear of the decaying hall, at one cramped tables that filled almost every available inch of floor space. The hall itself was a spoil of conquest. That was the nature Sleet's society.

The raptors always maintained that connection to the primeval world.Survival of the fittest. a fanatical devotion to the ways of the precivilized. Let the furred ones build their rock cities, the tribes will swarm it and take what they want.

Sleet was not a warrior. He was a farmer. A begrudging adaptation borrowed from those soft city folk. The benefits being a reliable source of food to breed more raptors.

Farming in the conquered fields was not a noble profession, but it kept the likes of Sleet useful enough to avoid becoming the part of the gamma caste, and safe from the dangers that came with being in the beta caste.

A nice middle ground for a natural spectator like himself.

Speaking of the betas, they now began to file in. The clacking of claws on worn stone, the jingle of captured metal weapons, and the loud laughing and war cries of the tribe's main line soldiers.

They filled up two thirds of the hall. Disproportionately represented compared to the deltas in attendance. But at least the deltas didn't have to wait outside like the gammas, huddled around bonfires.

A horn sounded. deep and resonating. Sleet felt his bones vibrate and was intensely thankful he was not an outsider, to whom that call meant impending death.

The hall became noiseless. Not even the rustle of clothes could be heard.

The doors parted again. In a disdainful march of arrogance the alphas made their way to the front. Their shadows danced in the fire light, like the ghosts of the dead.

And following those raptors, clad in stolen silks and golden jewelry, was the head alpha of Sleet's tribe. Hydarr. Lord of the west. Conqueror of the cities. Terror of the weak. His titles were near endless.

When Hydarr stalked to the improvised throne he loosed an ear shattering warcry that was joined by the other alphas. Then the betas. Then the deltas. And from outside, the camp of gammas.

Sleet's ears rang by the time the celebratory call ended. He could barely make out the ceremonial speech in which a handful of betas rose from the ranks of their peers and took a seat amongst the alphas. The raptors were officially alphas now.

The hall erupted in sounds of celebration.

As was customary for the important rituals, large quantities of fermented drink was called for. Borne on the backs of slaves and omega caste, large clay jugs of strong alcohol entered the hall.

The taking of slaves was also an important rite amongst Sleet's people. And although it was frowned upon, many raptors had more than a passing interest in furs. The prominent sexual dimorphism was a source of endless amusement and titillation for the feathered reptiles. To outsiders it might be hard to tell male from female in the tribe. The lack of mammaries and cloacal slits, probably. But with the furred ones, gender was quite obvious most of the time.

The alphas, of course, got served first. By the time Sleet's clay mug was filled with cloudy moonshine, most of his betters were at least a little buzzed, if not outright intoxicated.

Most of the slaves were indigenous deerfolk. They were docile by nature and easy to replace. The life expectancy of a slave was low.

Sleet watched the deer pouring from the nearly empty jug. He was hoping it would have been a female doing the serving at his table. Instead it was a buck. That did not stop many from groping and fondling the poor deer as he made his way through the maze of crowded tables.

The buck looked like he had only recently been enslaved. His horns were not sawn off for trophies, nor was he branded.

Sleet watched as the slave filled his cup. Impulsively, he ran a hand up the deers haunch. So soft compared to the sinewy muscles of the raptors.

For a fraction of a second the deer gave Sleet a look that froze the raptor's hand. Then the deer bowed his head and hurried to the next empty cup.

Far too willful, thought Sleet with some remorse. That one will not last long.

"I think he wants you!" said the raptor next to him.

That was Dest. He worked a plot of land next to Sleet's.

Sleet flashed a forced smile.

"If there's anything left of him when the warriors are through, let's look for him," Said Dest.

Sleet agreed and took a long swig. Dest always over indulged and would blackout long before the warriors were finished. Sleet did not really want the sloppy left overs of the alphas and betas anyways.

The pitch soaked wood that lit up the hall was too wet to burn clean. The acrid smoke was starting to irritate his eyes.

"I've got to piss," he yelled over the din so that Dest could hear him. "If the food comes-"

Dest nodded his understanding while already looking for a slave to refill his hollowed horn mug.

Sleet wedged his way through the boisterous throng of revelers.

Outside the air was clear and crisp. The wind swept the gamma caste's bonfire smoke away from the hall.

Like most of the raptor tribes, Sleet's tribe's underclass of gammas made up at least half their number. They were the floating labor pool that sustained the raptor's way of life. Conscripts during wars, field hands during harvest, hunters and forages most of the time. There was no survey of the raptors but Sleet would have estimated they numbered around four thousand in his tribe. And most seem to have shown up for the feast and celebration.

Sleet dropped his pants and began urinating on the wall. He looked around at the dark forms looming in the shadow.

The grand hall was probably the only building occupied in this decaying conquered city and after the last of the celebrants came out of their drunken stupor in the morning, it would return to the ghosts.

The tribe would fade back into the forest where their camp was pitched.

Aside from a few farmer's hovels occupied by those like Sleet, the raptors shunned the permanent structures they added to their expanding territories. Instead they chose a semi-nomadic existence, crisscrossing what too the outside world was a vast untamed wilderness amongst their fellow tribes. Infighting was as endemic as the constant border raids, but the raptor race maintained a loose confederation for protection from outside threats.

Another procession of slaves was forming now. They were herding an assortment of live ferals and dragging a few dead ones. Like the drink, food would first be given to the alpha caste and work its way through the hall and finally reach the salivating mob of gammas, who were barely controlling their impulse to rip into the raw bleeding meat.

Sleet had been to caste advancement ceremonies before. The Gammas would be lucky if they got any stripes of sun dried flesh left over from last winter. Most would be feasting on hard raptor bread and roots, some of which were probably grown by Sleet himself.

He walked back in following some of the slaves. A few of them were crying. They must have known it was customary for more than a few slaves to be sacrificed and devoured during the course of the feast.

The battered doors to the hall were propped open now. A steady influx of food and drink.

Sleet shoved his way back to his bench.

Dest tapped his arm. "Look at that!," he pointed enthusiastically.

Several alphas were raping a doe slave. She was pinned across a table. The slaves around her were pretending not to notice their fellow's hell as they worked to position a feral bull in front of Hydarr's throne.

With a speed not often found in one who wears jewels, silk and a crown, the chief sprung at the bellowing bovine. He thrust out his leg and the sickle toe-claw that stuck out of his altered boots seemed to graze the bull's neck.

The beast did not notice the kick until the arterial spray that came with its next heartbeat began draining it's life.

Hydarr backed to his throne and several alphas rushed to the swaying animal. They let the flowing blood fill their cups. Then began pouring that blood onto the new alphas.

The blood soaked raptors could not have been happier.

Sleet shuddered. Hunting was in his nature and he had taken life before, but as the new alphas disemboweled the dying bull with a series of slashing kicks and dagger thrusts, he was damn glad wheat did not make those horrible cries when reaped.

The night progressed.

"I swear ta th'gods," slurred Dest. "It's wha' I heard. They gots mercenaries as big as a mountain!"

Sleet was trying to ignore the spittle hitting his cheek. Dest was drunk and the meat had not even got to their table yet.

If those fucking betas would stop killing the slaves, I might get to eat this century, he thought.

The alcohol had flowed a little to freely. Much to Sleet, and many other delta and gamma's, annoyance, several of the slaves were forced to fight to the death for the warrior's amusement, rather than doling out the meat. And then a game using severed heads broke out which further delayed things.

Dest continued to drone in Sleet's ear about an army being raised by one of the neighboring kingdoms. Bullshit gossip as far as Sleet was concerned.

The floor was sticky with drying blood and spilled drink. The choking smell of smoke now had competition from the smell of death and sex. Between the yelling, laughing and chanted war songs, no one could hear themselves think.

It was turning out to be quite the successful ceremony as far as most raptors were concerned.