Jahaliya Ch. 06

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

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Impotence

Anyone watching the parade progress would have deemed it a success. Every Jahaliyan was on the streets or cheering from the windows, all craning their necks to see their Prince Ryoga and his two new wives, Princess Jasmine and Robin. Robin was being officially presented to the nation for the first time and, after hearing about her training success and spectacular performance concerning the wedding cake, they were eager to show their support of the unexpected bride. Streamers flew from the windows in a rainbow cacophony of colours, which unrolled down the bright walls, and citizens followed close upon the heels of the stately vehicle that Ryoga, Jasmine, Robin, the King and the Queen rode upon. It was a strange contraption with no wheels and hovered precisely two feet above the ground. It moved forward grandly from the magical attentions of several spell casters, the group of which included John and Lydra, who had their brows furrowed in concentration.

On Ryoga's left, Robin bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, fighting to remain as dignified as she was expected to be, although what she really wanted to do was vault down and hug every single Jahaliyan who was out on the street to support her. Jasmine kept her eyes downcast behind her royal blue veil, however, keeping her place on Ryoga's other side; the others had tried to persuade her to wear a lighter veil that day but to no avail. The wolf sighed and wagged her tail faintly, thinking that she had best not base her enjoyment on what pleasures Jasmine took, especially as her outfit was far more extravagant than Jasmine's robes: a delicate arrangement of gold body jewellery was draped in fine chains across her body, offset by rich, red rubies. She was a truly a sight to be seen and admired.

Robin was the first to see the assassin.

The brown-furred ferret could have been mistaken for any other Jahaliyan, but his frantic rush through the crowd towards the royal 'float' was suspicious, too suspicious. He wore a darker leather harness, not unlike what the everyday Jahaliyans and palace-goers would wear upon a daily basis - inconspicuous. Robin might even have taken him for a palace guard if he had not been shoving other furs so viciously, several furs tumbling to the ground with shrill cries and muttered curses. At his hip was a sheathed sword and, as he drew closer, he drew the shining, steel blade, flashing it promiscuously over his head. The Jahaliyans closest to him screamed.

"Guards!" Robin shouted, raising her voice over the crowd and drawing on a reserve of inner calm that only showed itself in times of crisis.

With the magicians preoccupied with steering the float, the nearest guards were the harem, which rose to the occasion, a flash of concern in the bunny Natasha's eyes. A hare jabbed his elbow into her stomach and she inhaled sharply, not breaking her stance as she calmly drew the crossbow from its leather strapping, the cool feel of the wood and metal solid and familiar in her paws. Panicked furs streamed around Natasha, a rock above the flood, and she breathed out slowly, levelling and aiming at the ferret scrambling on to the float. His sword caught the light of the glaring sun, his body dangling precariously above the throng for a crucial second: she loosed the bolt.

The bolt thudded into the ferrets back, emerging from his chest in a fountain of ruby red blood, garish against the pale stone of the street. He died with barely a grunt and the light faded from his eyes, the spiritless body falling heavily to the dusty road. Natasha breathed out slowly, her paws shaking very slightly but noticeably; it was clear that killing did not come easily to her.

"Escort to the designated location!" Sylvia snapped enigmatically, directing the harem to surround the small cluster of nervous but resolute royals. The palace guards stood at a short distance, maintaining a defensive circle that bristled with the glint of steel. "Now! Get moving!"

They could not say much under the circumstances but they had been well versed in escape and protective manoeuvres if anything untoward was to happen on the parade, although the harem had never suspected that they would face such danger so soon. It was all happening so fast, everything a blur of faces, voices, fear colouring their vision. That someone would dare to attack the crown in their homeland - so close to the palace itself! By some gem of foresight, the 'safe house', as it was typically called, was near and Sylvia thought that the harem and guards would be able to usher the royals into safety. She hoped they would be able to do it. But what if there was more than one assassin?

"Stay together!" Sylvia snarled, her leonine tail thwapping against her bare, tawny legs.

The harem maintained a tight formation, swiftly lifting the endangered furs off the vehicle and under what little cover was available. Like bullets they streaked along the side of the cobbled street, defending their flank from any further attack while they took advantage of the wall of houses, though many frightened furs cowered behind the sturdy walls. Not all of them knew where they were going, but those 'in-the-know' were spaced evenly throughout the group, subtly directing the others to the concealed trapdoor that would lead them below ground, to safety. A skilled assassin, however, could easily pick off those giving direction and render the cluster vulnerable to attack - this worried Sylvia. She was lucky that the second assassin had no such orders.

He was a muscular dog - a common mutt with no fine breeding or, for that matter, grooming - crouching upon a rooftop to raise a bow and arrow with cold calculation. Ryoga was his target as he fired the crimson feathered arrow, which zinged from the bow with a telltale twang. Pushing his wives aside (Jasmine stumbled and Robin tried to protect him), Ryoga braced himself and raised his sword in a futile, too late defence. The arrow was coming straight for him with no time to dodge! At the last moment Nell flung herself forward, deflecting the arrow with the flat of her sword, the sharp point hardly scoring a mark; without batting an eyelid, the wolfess held her position coolly, eyes narrowed as she adjusted her landing stance for better balance.

"Let's get moving," she murmured to the frazzled group, stepping back into position. "I don't like the feel of this."

"What about the dog?" Tina growled under her breath, watching the mutt who was calmly nocking another arrow to his small bow. "Someone with a ranged weapon - take him out!"

Though she did not want to be the perpetrator of a second death, even if just and in defence, Natasha slotted another bolt into her crossbow and fired as the assassin was preparing to loose his arrow. His arrow clattered to the rooftop and he clutched his shoulder, dragging the arrow from his flesh, although the attempt was useless as Natasha neatly drove another bolt into his throat. The dog toppled and gasped as the blood poured from the fatal wound, writhing and thrashing until the shine faded from his cold eyes. Natasha exhaled a breath that she did not know she had held as he fell still, his gurgling, dying gasps horrifyingly audible until life deserted his corpse.

"How many do you think there are?" Natasha asked quietly, loading her crossbow so that it was ready when needed, as she strongly suspected that it would be.

"We have to keep moving," Sylvia said tersely, deliberately leaving the bunny's question unanswered - it was not the time. "Keep going. We will all be safe when we reach the safe house. There are others awaiting us there. Move now."

Robin's breath came hard and fast, though she never seemed to have enough to quell the rasping in her lungs, which demanded excessive amounts of oxygen from her strained body. She growled at a passing bystander, certain that the trapdoor that she had been told about (but not known the location of) was almost within their grasp; she peeled her upper lip threateningly back from her teeth in a feral snarl. To her eyes, her husband was not doing a very good job of allowing her to protect him, constantly pulling her back and trying to place his body in front of hers, which completely defeated the point of what Robin was trying to do. A passing thought told her that he wouldn't be a very good husband if he wanted her dead, but she dismissed it out of paw.

Jessica was the first to reach the trapdoor and she unlocked it with the specially cut key, which she had concealed on the interior of her leather harness. Pulling it bodily open with both paws, she gestured frantically for the others to get inside as quickly as possible, knowing that they would be safe or, at least, hoping desperately that they would be safe. Robin pushed Jasmine down ahead of her into the dimly lit interior (were those oil lanterns?) and turned, her heart back flipping into her mouth at what she saw. No time for explanation, only action!

"Watch out!" Robin cried, leaping forward to grab Ryoga's arm, yanking him backwards - but she was not quick enough to avoid his grunt of pain.

On the cold, stone floor, a dart rattled and rolled, spinning once in a circle with something dark and deadly dripping from the tip. Swaying dizzyingly, Ryoga rubbed his arm and brought his paw away with a smear of blood, nausea rising in his gut. He heard little as he tumbled to the ground and then everything succumbed to darkness, the faint cries of his family and friends fading into nothingness.

*

"Ryoga... Ryoga?"

The voice seemed to come from very far away, as if the prince was hearing it from under the weight of a fathom or more of water, bearing down upon his head and eardrums with brutal force. He groaned and rolled his head from side to side, trying to strike upwards through the sludge, the tar that was coating him from head to toe, dragging him down and down...

"By gods, girl, give us space to work."

Somebody growled - it could only be Robin - and he moaned, the voices around him suddenly falling into an unnerving hush. He swam towards the surface and the pounding in his ears became more and more prominent, as if there was some fur diligently drumming upon his skull or eardrums, the beat relentless and fast-paced. His body ached as if he had been awake for days or, more pleasantly, been kindly trapped in the bedroom by a group of bold vixens, and somebody stroked his head gently, smoothing his fur flat in the direction of growth.

Open your eyes, he willed himself, blinking and twitching as bright light seared a line across his limited vision.

"What...what happened?" He mumbled groggily, trying to sit up; many pairs of paws pressed him gently back into the softness of a narrow bed.

"Easy now," the medical matron, one of the eldest and most experienced nurses that they had available at the palace, said softly. "Slow and steady. That's the best way. You've been through an ordeal and a half, my boy."

Merely grateful to be breathing, Ryoga allowed himself to be propped up with many clean, laundered pillows, his blurred vision slowly clearing so that his surroundings became clear. He was in a small, quiet room that seemed as if it was set away from the main bustle and commotion of the palace. His parents, Robin, Jasmine and John were around the bed along with the nurse who pursed her lips at him disapprovingly. Robin leaned anxiously over him prostate form, looking over what she could see of him while he was beneath the white, linen sheets, her expression critical and worried.

"What happened?" He asked again, tongue thick in his mouth.

Nobody answered him, but Jasmine folded her hands in front of her stomach, her eyes downcast. Shaking his head slowly, although it was more of a weary tilt from side to side, Ryoga wondered foggily why she was so upset. He was alive, was he not? Did she want him to be dead? So why did everyone look so forlorn? It was almost as if he had died.

"Come on now, what's wrong?" He said slowly, reaching his paw out to Robin, who was closest; she took it tightly in her own and held his paw to her chest, just above her heart. "I'm fine. Look at me, I'm fine."

"Ryoga..." His mother started, her eyes moist with tears and her cheek fur matted. "There was an assassination attempt on your life. Do you not remember?"

Assassin? Of course he remembered - how could he not? Shivering lightly, he was glad that his mother had noted that it was an attempt and nothing more; at least he could be fairly sure that he was still alive and not in some kind of waking dream or afterlife hell.

"Yes," his mind cleared a little of the fog. "I was scratched by a dart. But I'm here, nothing bad happened. Please don't cry, mother."

"It's not that," she swallowed, dabbing at her eyes and sitting gingerly upon the edge of the bed. "The dart... It was intended to cause death and you are very lucky to be here. It's just..." Her voice wavered and trailed off before she drew a deep breath, steadying herself. "The treatment to save your life... It had a side effect. Impotence."

*

There was not much that could be said to console a fur in Jahaliya that had just been told that he, or she, was unable to perform sexually. The poison from the dart made Ryoga sick and lethargic for days, hardly able to sit up straight without assistance; the most that the healers could do was keep him comfortable and well hydrated until the poison naturally worked its way out of his system. The wolf was short and snappish, quite unlike himself, for fourteen nights but everyone turning a blind eye as they believed that it was the pain affecting his mood. They were wrong.

Jasmine, most unusually, was the only one that had a vague knowledge of this kind of depression, having seen it once in her homeland. It was unfortunate that she could not impart more information to those tending to Ryoga, as she had been kept rather in the dark about the event when someone high up in the court had fallen prey to this chemically induced depression. However, in that fur's case, it had been the result of an experiment gone wrong and not an attempt at assassination. She did little more than cry and stay at Ryoga's side, ever aware that, impotent, he would be unable to produce a male heir for the throne through her body, the body of his first wife. Artificial insemination had too many pitfalls and dangers for the royal succession and a deep thread of guilt wrapped around her throat, reminding her constantly that she had failed in her duty as his wife. And so her tears fell silently behind her veil, black for mourning.

A prominent harness designer had requested an audience with Ryoga, but the event only served to highlight the extent of Ryoga's depression; medication could only heal a fur so much. The wolf huffed and glared through the whole experience and Jasmine, who refused to be removed from his side, stood with her eyes downcast, biting her bottom lip behind her veil. Her eyes betrayed the anguish behind the carefully formulated mask as Ryoga threw a paw in the air dismissively.

"What do I care? Is this really all you have?" He snapped at the designer when the splendid harness, adorned with sapphires and rubies in an intricate, rich pattern, was not to his liking, or as his mood swung to the south side. Everyone in the room stood stock still, startled by his outburst, which earned a disapproving but sympathetic look from his mother who had become devoted to his cause. "Take it away. Do what you want with it."

"As you wish, my lord," the designer murmured stiffly, greatly offended. "I am sorry that I disturbed you."

John cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at Jasmine, allowing Ryoga to storm from the room without a word as the designer gathered up his materials and flounced from the room, his assistant hurrying at his tail. Jasmine cast her eyes down and folded her paws neatly over her stomach, pressing the loose fabric in closer to her body.

"Were others that you saw in this state much the same as he?" John began awkwardly, stumbling over his words, which seemed to race out in the wrong order. Of course he was referring to the high-class furs - one or two, she was never quite sure how many had been afflicted - that Jasmine had encountered in this depression before.

"Not as bad," she said, her eyes unmoving from the perfectly tiled floor. "Never as bad."

John coughed into his paw and flinched as the others filtered from the room, the Queen saying little to the others. Tears streamed down her muzzle even if she did not utter a single sound and she shook off any paws that stroked her fur reassuringly. Following their lead, the pair slowly traipsed across the room that had suddenly seemed to have doubled in size, the exit stretching into the distance. Glancing at Jasmine from the corner of his eye, John felt a flash of sympathy for the jackal who had been tossed into a difficult situation, a tense, unflattering edge to her features. She was worried about her 'female' duties, duties that the wife to the prince or king would always, always have to fulfill.

"It could be a deal worse," he tried to comfort her, half-raising a paw to touch her shoulder soothingly before thinking better of the over-familiar action. "We are already looking into artificial insemination so that an heir may be secured for the throne. That would surely be one thing off his mind, and yours, although I know that he does not like to make a problem of it. It could be a lot worse."

Jasmine stilled and curled her paws into tight balls, reining in her emotion with all the strained control that she could muster.

"It could be worse - how could it be worse?" Jasmine snapped, turning a stony, unyielding glare on John. "There is no heir to the throne. None. Any 'methods' you may put forth would cause complications regarding the legitimacy of any heir that may be produced. You know this already, so what are your words to me? This alone is my fault."

"I...I'm sorry, Jasmine, I didn't think..." John stammered. "Wait!"

But she was gone, stalking out the ball room door at a brisk clip, managing to retain a dignified air even as her cheeks dampened with tears. She could only hold them back for so long. John started after her but paused when a cool, black paw clutched his arm firmly.

"Leave her be, John," Lydra said softly, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "She will not listen."

"I have to apologise," John mumbled, tugging his arm free; Lydra growled warningly and shook her head.

"Leave her be," Lydra repeated. "We have more to think about and I'd wager that the Princess is retiring to her private quarters. Robin's there and she'll look after her. God knows they're both in similar positions. Like minds and all that entails," Lydra gave a tired smile, half-shrugging her shoulders.

In step, they turned to walk down the corridor - life in the palace was continuing as normal, or as normal as it could be with a depressed prince traipsing the hallways. However, there was much talk, too much for anyone to forget the danger.

"Who do you think organised this attack?" John asked as they walked; it had, of course, been a topic of great speculation once Ryoga's life had been assured. Lydra sighed and spread her paws wide.

"Who knows?" She said evasively. "All we know so far is that it was a professional and organised assassination attempt; this wasn't some crazy fur on the street deciding that Ryoga had lived for long enough. Someone as skilled as the dart blower, not to mention the suicide attack pair, would only be bought by a fur with deep pockets."