by Paul Chafe
He snarled deep in his throat. No more.
His tail twitched commands to the warriors behind him, twice-eight-squared of Ztrak Pride, ready now to follow him to death or victory in the Longest War. Dusk and dawn were the best times for hunt cloaks, when eyes were transitioning to night vision, and the rapid change in ground temperature threw up many targets for thermal scanners. He assessed the ground ahead, judging the route forward. I must make this raid a success, inflict damage and withdraw with no casualties. The goal now is not to defeat the enemy but to let the Patriarchy know that I am not defeated. Every one of his party had variable swords, built by the Pride, and most had mag armor, although some disdained it as too bulky and restrictive. I have changed their customs by my very presence. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
To his left Czor-Dziit of Dziit Pride was watching, and how Pouncer handled himself today would determine if Czor threw Dziit Pride’s weight in with Ztrak Pride or led his own campaign. The Tzaatz raids on czrav prides in their high forest strongholds had ensured the czrav would fight. Whether they would fight with him was another question. To his left Kdtronai-zar’ameer moved to cover, watching him from a stone’s throw away. It was not only Dziit Pride’s faith and fealty that hung on his leadership today.
He moved forward to a gully that led down into the valley. It would be dark in the valley by the time they were there, down in the river bed where the Hrungn’s flow had dropped to a trickle in the heat and the burstflower bushes clustered close enough to hide their approach. The most dangerous time was now, when they were exposed on the slopes. Somewhere out there the Tzaatz would have watchers, and they’d already picked up the spoor of rapsar patrols that reached up to the valley rim, but the Tzaatz were sloppy, and he had chosen his route with care, over hard, dry rock that wouldn’t hold scent. Only bad luck would get them caught before they reached their objective, and if they were they had the strength to fight and flee before the Tzaatz could bring up reinforcements.
He looked back. His warriors were flowing like liquid over the forward slope, their hunt cloaks shimmering into the background whenever they stopped moving. He had trained them well. Czor-Dziit would be impressed. The czrav were hard fighters, made tough by their self-imposed exile to the wild lands while the rest of the Patriarchy had grown soft, but they knew little of formations or the tactics of large scale combat, knowledge that Guardmaster had drilled into Pouncer’s brain since he’d left his mother’s teats. Guardmaster be with me now. This was no training scenario, to be stopped and played back afterward for his mentor to show him the mistake that had cost him the battle. This was real, and his first command in front of experienced warriors inclined to be skeptical of his abilities. V’rli-Ztrak had agreed to let him lead the attack on the main enemy camp, even as her own forces closed on the tungsten mine. It was an opportunity he had won with his own claws. The Tzaatz were about to pay for his father’s death, and his sister’s, for the slaughter of Mrrsel Pride, for the sons of Vsar-Chiuu and their insults to the Lesser Prides. Pouncer snarled. Kchula’s debt was heavy. If he could turn today’s opportunity into victory the Tzaatz would be paying it for a long time.
A distant whine rose in the distance, and he flashed the tail signal for freeze. At once the whole formation went to ground, motionless under their hunt cloaks. The whine grew and a Tzaatz gravcar slid over the ridgeline and then down into the valley. It wasn’t patrolling, and it didn’t alter course. Pouncer waited until it had settled next to the pop-domes that quartered the Tzaatz, and then started moving again. He was about to signal his forces to move with him when something caught his eye. He dropped to one knee and raised his binoptics, boosting up the zoom to focus on the gravcar. The occupants were dismounting, two Tzaatz guards in full armor and a third with the red-gold sash that carried the Tzaatz sigil. The third had black fur. It could only be Ftzaal-Tzaatz. Pouncer smiled a fanged smile. He had never seen the feared Black Priest before, but his name came up frequently in spy reports. To kill or capture Kchula’s brother would transform the raid into a tremendous victory. He waited until the Tzaatz had gone into one of the pop-domes, carefully noting which one it was, then signaled for the advance to continue. In silence his warriors started moving again.
The bottom of the gully was a tangle of rain-tumbled rocks and the going was hard, but its depth and the vegetation that lined it would give them cover right down to the riverbed. It was deep twilight by the time they made it to the Hrungn, and their progress slowed further. The riverbed was rocky, with treacherous footing in the poor light. The ground was easier close to the bank, but the heavy branches of the dusky burstflower bushes made the going no faster. That was a problem. Their attack was supposed to start at midnight, to coordinate with V’rli’s at the tungsten mine. He had planned their move to bring them into position just before that time. Cherenkova-Captain had suggested he leave a larger margin in case of delays, and now he saw the wisdom of her suggestion. Guardmaster would have said the same thing, and I would have listened to him. He resolved not to make the same mistake again, if he ever got a second chance.
He glanced over to Mind-Seer, who would scan the minds of the Tzaatz leaders before the attack went in to ensure their surprise was complete, and to give warning of the Tzaatz response before the Tzaatz themselves could coordinate it. Ferlitz-Telepath was with V’rli to do the same job for her attack, and to scan Pouncer’s mind to be sure his assault was ready before V’rli committed herself.
Silent communications, completely secure. The entire Patriarchy doesn’t have half as many adepts as the czrav, nor half as powerful. Overhead the battle stations would listen in vain for electromagnetic transmission. The czrav have more power than they ever dreamed. Ferlitz would warn V’rli if he wasn’t in position, but being late on the start line would jeopardize the entire operation. The only answer was to push forward harder. That risked weakening his force through injury before he even got to the objective. A twisted joint was all it took to render a warrior useless in battle, and the treacherous footing offered plenty of opportunity for that.
But I have no option. He pushed the pace, using every last glimmer of vanishing daylight to cover as much ground as possible before darkness slowed them down. He was hot and panting by the time he reached the prominent oxbow bend that marked the closest approach of the river course to the Tzaatz positions. His warriors were spread out in the night behind him. This was where rigorous formation drills paid off. They filed into the assembly point in silence, each taking up a preassigned position. There was no wasted time. As soon as the last one was in, he went to the center to meet his element commanders. C’mell led the blocking party, her honor as his mate. He would have rather seen her safe at the high forest den, but three-quarters of the force were kzinretti. Czrav tradition demanded that she lead beside him, and even if it hadn’t, C’mell herself would have brooked no such restriction; the kzinretti of the czrav were not the pampered pets of his father’s forbidden garden. Kdtronai-zar’ameer led the security teams, who would ensure they had no unpleasant surprises from the flanks as they went in to the attack. Muted snarls, and then Kdtronai led his warriors out. The plan called for them to wait to give the security elements time to secure the area, but they didn’t have that much time. As soon as Kdtronai’s units were away Pouncer nodded to C’mell. Her force, armed with the lethal czrav short bows, would set up on the road to the main house, the natural escape route for any Tzaatz who made it out of the pop-domes alive. She would make sure there were no survivors. He looked at Mind-Seer, whose eyes were unfocused as he reached out to the thoughts of their enemies. Had we brought sthondat extract we might even know the Black Priest’s mind. They hadn’t, nor would he ask Mind-Seer to use it if they had. Perhaps Mind-Seer would have volunteered to. Do not dwell on it, it is not an option. Time stretched out, and then the telepath shook himself and flashed a tail signal to Pouncer. Clear!
Pouncer flipped his tail to signal his assault force to follow him and moved o
ff. Every sense was heightened, his eyes picking up details from dark blurs, his ears up and straining forward for any sign that their attack had been detected. His nose twitched in the air, picking up the rank scent of the rapsari as well as the sharp odor of Tzaatz urine marks, arrogantly sprayed around Vsar-Chiuu’s stronghold as though the invaders owned it. His mouth gaped into a fanged smile, ready to rip the throat out of any who came into his path.
No more!
The metallic odor of blood filled his nose with offensive suddenness, and he stopped, sniffing to identify the source, ears swiveling back and forth. There was only the gentle wind, and the distant scurrying of night creatures. Time was running out, and he moved on sooner than he might have, to find a Tzaatz body lying decapitated beside its gutted rapsar. Kdtronai’s security team had cleared the way for him. The pop-domes loomed ahead; loud snarls and snatches of bad poetry spoke of a raucous celebration inside. The enemy enjoy their unearned gains. Fast tail signals sent his sub-detachments to their start lines. No time to waste. He checked his beltcomp. Already V’rli’s force would be leaping on the Tzaatz at the tungsten mine. He waved his tail in a circle and pointed it forward. Now! In the same motion he drew his variable sword and extended the slicewire. One clean swing cut through the tough skin of the pop-dome. He leapt through the opening, the interior lights painful in his eyes, colliding with a Tzaatz guzzling from a flagon. He swung instinctively, though his opponent was just a blur, and suddenly the Tzaatz was two blurs, falling to the ground in a welter of blood. Clear the entryway! He found another target, stepped forward and swung again. The Tzaatz had their armor off, and they were easy meat for his slicewire. Behind him he could hear attack screams, as the rest of his force cut their way into the structure.
A blur of motion caught his eye, and he ducked back instinctively as a thrown wtsai whipped past his head to embed itself in one of the dome’s support members. He turned to the attack and leapt in one fluid motion. The Tzaatz who’d thrown the weapon rolled back and sideways to evade him, but Pouncer twisted in midair and cut him in half. He pivoted then, scanned for threats. Ftzaal-Tzaatz is here. His leap had carried him across the ground floor of the pop-dome. A metal staircase wound up the inside of the dome and he jumped to it, running up behind the rigid slicewire of his variable sword. That action saved his life. Something slammed into the monomolecular filament, nearly tearing the handle out of his hand. The force of the impact made the wire sing, and the vibrations stung his hand. Reflexively he spun the blade around, just in time to deflect a second blow. The enemy weapon was another variable sword, and the enemy was Ftzaal-Tzaatz, it could be no other, white fangs gaping in a black furred face. There had been no kill scream, just the whistle of the slicewire as the Black Priest sprung his ambush. Already he was bringing in another cut, and Pouncer tilted his blade to block it. He spun the wire again, bringing it around to beat Ftzaal’s out of line, and then followed up with a killing stroke with enough force to cleave his opponent in half. Ftzaal wore no armor; he was brave to be in the fight at all.
Ftzaal swung again and Pouncer blocked again and countered, then leapt back as the Black Priest turned the move into a feint that drew Pouncer’s response into an overextension. Ftzaal’s slicewire hissed past his head. He is not brave but confident. He has no fear because he does not expect to lose. Pouncer attacked to buy time, and the black-furred killer spun away from the blow, and as he came around launched into a feint, thrust, feint pattern so fast that by the time Pouncer realized what had happened he was dangerously overexposed again, his own blade far out of line as Ftzaal swung over and down to cut through his belly articulation. Pouncer jumped backward, the only defense he had, but even as his slicewire hissed through empty air Ftzaal was leaping forward, pressing his advantage. Out of position and off balance, Pouncer threw his slicewire up in a desperate last ditch block. It was a hair too slow, and Ftzaal’s wire slid along his. Sudden pain burned in his right ear; a fraction farther and he would have lost it, and perhaps his head with it. Desperately, he rolled out of the way, throwing his slicewire up to block another attack, but Ftzaal was already in midleap and battered his guard out of the way, simultaneously lashing out with a kick that connected painfully with Pouncer’s wrist, knocking his variable sword out of his grasp. Pouncer rolled backward in desperation and Ftzaal’s blade slammed into the space he had occupied an instant before, gouging a chunk from the flexible flooring. Pouncer rolled again, this time coming to his feet. He grabbed up a small bowl-table and threw it at his adversary. Ftzaal blocked it easily, the bowl separated from the table stand by his slicewire. Pouncer backed up and found himself against the curved side of the pop-dome. There was nowhere else to go. Ftzaal’s snarl gaped wide, showing razor fangs, and he screamed and leapt, his slicewire blurring. Pouncer ducked and tried to leap sideways, but he didn’t have enough room and he wasn’t going to get clear in time. Ftzaal’s slicewire was a blur heading for his vulnerable neck articulation, and then Ftzaal himself was coming at him, the blade somehow coming out of line as the Black Priest was stumbling, falling into the resilient side of the dome to bounce off and tumble, his leap ruined. Pouncer leapt for his variable sword and grabbed it up, pivoting to face his adversary even as Ftzaal recovered his feet in a creditable half roll and came up with his weapon in guard position.
Stalemate again. They watched each other warily, and Pouncer gulped air in hungry gulps. What made the master swordsman stumble? Pouncer flicked his eyes from his opponent’s shoulder for half a heartbeat, saw nothing, did it again and found the bowl of the bowl-table, rolled to one side now. Ftzaal had landed on it in his leap and lost his footing. Krwisatz, the pebble-that-trips-pouncer-or-prey. Except today Pouncer is the prey. Learn the lesson there. Pouncer stepped sideways to clear his touchdown area for his own leap, and Ftzaal’s lips twitched over his fangs. He was going to attack again.
Feet pounded on the stairs, and the Black Priest’s eyes flicked sideways. The stairway was behind Pouncer, but he could sense his pride-mates stopping at the top, taking stock of the situation. The odds had shifted now.
“I’ll take the rest of that ear later, Rrit.” Ftzaal snarled the words.
So he has recognized me. Pouncer didn’t answer. Let him eat my silence. He motioned his comrades forward, but Ftzaal back flipped, slicing open the side of the pop dome while he was still upside down and bursting out through the gap. Without thought Pouncer leapt after him, exultation in his liver. He is good, but not good enough. C’mell’s ambushes will take him. Then he too was through the slashed dome wall, dropping to an easy crouch, searching for his enemy, his vision still half dark-adapted.
Polarizers whined and a gravcar boosted past, so close the wind blast nearly knocked him over. He looked up to see it vanishing into the night. Ftzaal-Tzaatz. He screamed into the night, a hunter cheated of his prey. For an instant he wished for a gravcar. But sky mobility is the enemy’s strength, not mine. Gravcars required fuel and maintenance and infrastructure beyond the resources of the czrav. His strength was stealth, not speed, the ability to vanish into the countryside in an instant, to travel undetected, to appear suddenly and in force, anywhere and everywhere. I must not fight the Tzaatz on their ground but on my own.
The sounds of fighting had faded from the shredded pop-domes, replaced by the snarls of his warriors as they scoured the ruins for information. A strange, keening roar split the night, suddenly cut off. C’mell’s forces had found the rapsar quarters and were slaying the beasts. He ran back to the other pop-domes, got status reports from each of his sub-commanders there. The news was good; no serious injuries, and all the Tzaatz dead in the first attack. He went back to the main pop-dome, confirmed that all was under control there on both floors. On the second level he saw again the severed bowl of the bowl-table. It was ornately carved of flamewood in an alien style, perhaps Jotoki. On impulse he dropped it into a pouch on his combat harness and went back to the ground floor.
The assault team there was still sifting through
bodies for intelligence. He had one more task to do, and then he would melt back into the night. He turned and ran to the main house, snarling the code word to Kdtronai’s cut-off teams who held the approaches secure so they would know who he was. He loped up to the door, then rang the great gong that announced visitors. The doors were of heavy stonewood beams bound in iron, once enough to withstand considerable assault. He could have sliced them open in a heartbeat with his variable sword, but he refrained, waiting impatiently while he heard the wards drawn back from the inside. Two impassive Kdatlyno hauled the heavy doors open, and behind them, as Pouncer had hoped, was Vsar-Chiuu.
The old kzin stood ready, his eyes clear, his hand steady as he held v’scree stance, variable sword in hand, ready to defend his home and his honor with his life if he had to.
“You kill the Tzaatz. Who are you?” The voice was suspicious, but if Vsar truly distrusted this stranger who had come so abruptly in the night he would never have opened his door voluntarily.
“I am Zree-Rrit-First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. I am sworn to your protection.” Pouncer claw-raked, one hand on the pommel of his variable sword in case the old kzin attacked while his guard was down.
“First-Son, Zree-Rrit now! Can it be true?” Vsar-Chiuu stepped forward and peered at Pouncer, then relaxed, retracting the blade of his variable sword. “Yes, you have your father’s markings. I knew him when he was just a kitten.”
“I am his son.” Pouncer retracted his own slicewire and made the gesture of obedience-to-the-Patriarch-in-his-absence, as though bearing his father’s coat pattern were a matter of duty and not genetics.
“What you have done here today, there will be repercussions…”
“No Tzaatz will take anything of yours again, not while I live.”
“And one repercussion may be that you do not live. The Patriarchy has come to dark days.” The old kzin wrinkled his nose. “Your father called you Pouncer, as I recall.”