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eyes away from the lion. Horror-stricken, he watched the enormous white fangs clamp down on the spear, saw the huge paw reach up and snap it into pieces with one swat. With his heart in his mouth, Soulai saw the newly enraged creature charge the dogs, give each a lightning-quick swipe, then turn and crouch to pounce again upon his human assailant.
    Having no weapon, Habasle panicked. Before Soulai realized it, the prince had jumped onto the gelding’s back. “Get off!” he screamed in Soulai’s ear. The force of the lion’s lunge knocked Ti backward and, as if in a nightmare, Soulai saw that the cat had wrapped its claws around the stallion’s neck and shoulders and was trying to bring him down.
    Ti’s screams of terror pierced Soulai’s heart. The stallion was falling, and without thinking, Soulai leaned over and straddled him. Thick saliva splashed onto Soulai’s legs a moment before claws ripped down his thigh. The pain was even hotter than that of the branding iron. But Soulai shunted it aside to focus on jerking Ti’s head around and kicking him with the leg he could still feel. “Try!” he screamed into Ti’s ear, tearing at the bit and pummeling the ribs with one heel. “Try!”
    But the stallion kept stumbling and Soulai knew they were going down together. Somewhere amid the confusion he heard the lion roar with fresh pain and knew it was releasing its hold. Ti staggered a few more steps, free now of the giant cat’s weight, then began to right himself. Soulai didn’t pause. He kept tugging on the bit and kicking the blood-slickened sides to urge the stallion away from the battle. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, he felt Ti begin to move forward. He aimed the horse’s head for the trees and let him bolt.
    Only when they were far into the underbrush did Soulai pull Ti to a stop. The stallion was so panicked that he wouldn’t stand still. He spun crazily in circles, his eyes rolling, searching for the lion, until Soulai fell off, gasping when his own injured leg hit the ground. The broken feather, spattered bright red, drooped across Ti’s ears. Soulai tore it away in disgust.
    Another horse’s screams rent the air. Filled with dread, Soulai managed to lead Ti back through the underbrush toward the field. He reached it just in time to see the bay gelding fall under the lion’s weight. Habasle was scrambling free and sprinting away. The archers advanced, firing arrows as they ran. Two sank into the lion’s hide, another missed and embedded itself in the gelding. The dogs’ handlers were moving in, too, whistling for the mastiffs to retreat. Soon it was only the archers and the lion and a storm of arrows. The lion collapsed upon the downed horse, which lay quivering. One of the archers ran up and, drawing a knife from his sheath, jabbed it between the horse’s jawbones. The bay fell quiet.
    Habasle stomped back toward the two bodies, angrily waving away the archers. He held an unbroken spear in his hand. One by one he began tugging the arrows from the lion’s carcass and tossing them aside. Then he plunged his spear deep into the chest of the dead lion. He turned, triumphant. “I am Habasle!” he shouted.

6
    The Leopard’s Broken Leg
    A sudden need to cough brought Soulai to consciousness. The ensuing hacking made him acutely aware of the dusty closeness of his room, and of a thick, over-sweet taste coating his tongue. What had happened? He blinked, tried to wrap his mind around something that made sense, but a soothing drowsiness pulled him back into slumber.
    Again he awoke. This time he struggled to sit up. Thunder in his head—and a knifing pain in his leg—forced him down. He groaned. The rope of light outlining the room’s crooked door glowed with the haze of early morning. Or late afternoon. Which was it?
    A bandage cuffed his thigh and Soulai’s fingers blindly probed the coarse