“Talking helps to lessen pain, especially when there are so many to listen. There may have been those that you did not know about, that needed to talk.” Sartas shook his head. “I agree, though. I did not expect to see so many that were ready to lie down and give up the march. They are tired, and they have every right to be. But this world is not fair; it is cruel and harsh. We must be strong and tough enough to face it, or we do not deserve it.”
She made a face. “Well, that is true, but no one ever wants to believe it. There. I think you will heal.” She smoothed down his head-fur. “I am glad Miarrius stood up for you. That he did, after openly grumbling, I think is what convinced many. They saw as he did in the beginning, and then as he did in the end.”
Sartas looked at her with puzzlement. “I thought you had spoken with him, like the others that expressed a wish to end the march. I was certain he was going to go against us until the very end.”
“I did speak with him. And he was still grumbling and saying that you were completely in the wrong when I left him.” She tilted her head to the side. “I do not know why he changed his mind; it was certainly none of my doing.”
Sartas looked up at the stars overhead, and spoke in faux wonderment. “The gods do still smile on us.” Reshia punched him in the shoulder, which caused him to look at her, smiling. “Maybe we have a chance after all, love.”
* * *
Miarrius had been right about one thing; taking the time to properly and efficiently pack everything and distribute the loads more evenly was already making a difference. Even the kits could manage small packs—their own bedding, for instance—and every bit that was distributed to someone else made things easier on the pack-beasts and the adults. For the kits, having their own little packs seemed to be a source of pride; each competed with the other to have the smallest and best organized.
The food had been divided up into meal-sized portions, which meant, in addition, that everyone could carry his own midday meal. That meant the midday stop for the group wasn’t lengthened by trying to sort out food and squabbling over portion sizes. Everyone knew what they were getting, and it was done impartially with considerations made to the sick, young, and elderly. That in itself was a relief. It translated into less time and energy wasted on arguments and more on the task of surviving.
The edges of this valley were . . . a challenge to negotiate. Gnarled roots and vines everywhere, with boulders at the edge of a heavy slope to make walking difficult even if they hadn’t needed to fight their way through. No obvious paths, or even game trails.
Also, no sign of that missing clan, either. The empty camp still haunted Sartas. With the New Water in their way, and the edge of the valley on the other side, there were only so many places that a clan could have gone. Long Fang was on one of the only ways out, following a “path” of least-resistance and least-growth in the direction they needed to take; neither he, nor any of his scouts, had seen any sign of that missing clan.
Could Shar have been from that lost clan? There had never been any time to press him on how he’d survived the flood and where, exactly, he had come from. It didn’t seem likely, but this world had recently had a spate of the unlikely afflict it. Well at least he’s acting like a productive member of the group now. Sartas didn’t trust him as a scout, but he was doing fine as a guard on the rest, and carrying a full pack, too. In time, he would be a worthy addition to the clan. If we live that long. The thought stayed in the back of Sartas’s mind, constantly toying with him. There was still such a long way to go, across unknown land with undoubtedly many dangers ahead. Not to mention needing to actually find the Clan of the Claw.
* * *
It seemed that Sartas’s fears all came true two days later. The sun was out, but it looked as if there were another storm coming from the direction of the Great Salt Water. Everyone still kept an eye for a renewed flood; if one part of the valley walls could come down, why not another? The New Water still kept rising, or so the scouts behind said. Slowly, but inexorably. It was the new constant for their world, it seemed.
The trail had been clear for the last few days, with the clan hardly seeing anything moving aside from the odd game animal. Sartas was at the head of the march again, talking with one of the wagon riders when Ssenna came from the rear of the line, riding her krelprep at breakneck pace. She leapt from her krelprep at the last moment, landing at a run before stopping next to the talonmaster. “Sartas Rewl! There is news!” Miarrius was a breath behind her. He looked even more grim than usual; never a good sign.
“What is it? What has happened?”
“Liskash, Talonmaster.” Ssenna bit her lip, baring her fangs more than usual. “Hundreds of them. You know we have made no effort to hide our backtrail, and they are on it; even without a trail, there isn’t any other way for them to go other than to follow us. From what we saw, they are a motley group at best. They have no nobles that we’ve seen, and don’t look to be as organized as other Liskash forces. Still, their numbers alone are enough to overwhelm us. There is one large scaled-fiend that seems to be in charge of them, however.”
“They’ve got archers, sling-throwers, and plenty of footmen with pikes. They’re a force, to be sure.” Miarrius shook his head. “They’ll be caught up with us in three days’ time, maybe four if we’re lucky. They aren’t burdened with wagons or elders like we are; they’re a pillaging force, taking what they find and destroying the rest.”
“Not even slavers?” Sartas growled under his breath. Slavers were less likely to charge in with wanton violence; capturing Mrem was their goal, not slaughtering them. This spelled doom for the entire clan. A pillaging party would leave no one alive. Even an enslaved Mrem could scheme to escape, as long as he wasn’t mind-wiped by one of the Liskash magicians. It was better to die than to lose one’s name to one of those foul bastards.
“They had no slaves with them, nor the means to keep any. They’re out for blood and meat, and nothing more.” Miarrius took a deep breath. “We could try to hide our backtrail, but that would delay us a great deal, and I do not know how effective that would be. I am a warrior, not a hunter.”
“There’s no time for that, at this point. Even if we could hide our trail, there’s only so many places that we or the Liskash can go. They’re also more numerous than we are, and will find us eventually.” Sartas looked to Ssenna.
“We need to draw in the other patrols immediately, gather our strength to the center. We have very little time left to prepare.”
“Go, all of you. Bring all of our scouts back. We need to meet tonight, and decide—”
Mreiss Lrew chose that moment to ride in on his krelprep, pulling up short of the talonmaster and the rest where they had stopped. “I’ve got news, Sartas Rewl!” Mreiss paused for a few moments to catch his breath. “There’s a series of cliffs well ahead of us. A day and a half’s ride, by my ranging. They’re near impassible, with the wagons and whatnot. I tell you truthfully, I could hardly climb them, even with only my harness and sword—” He paused, canting his head to the side. “Why are all of you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?”
“How far do these cliffs go?” Sartas asked carefully. “Half a day? A full day? More?”
Mreiss shrugged. “As far as I could see in either direction. More than we could travel in seven sunrises, to be sure.”
Sartas looked to the others. “Be quick about your tasks. We have even less time than before.” He explained the situation to Mreiss; all of the color drained from the young warrior’s face as he came to know the full extent of the clan’s troubles. Almost stumbling over himself, he left to make preparations. Only Miarrius was left once the others had gone.
He stopped, laying a hand upon Sartas’s shoulder, looking to the ground before meeting the talonmaster’s eyes. “I was wrong, Talonmaster. You were right, and I was wrong, when I urged us to stay, and said that you were driving the clan too far. If you had listened to me, we would already be dead.” Without another word
, Miarrius strode off to fulfill his talonmaster’s command. Wonders upon wonders, Sartas thought, as he contemplated what new evils they would face. It wasn’t enough that the clan was battling starvation and disease at every turn, that they now be plagued with a storm of Liskash, with no way to escape? How much more would they need to endure before there was respite?
And had he saved them this long, only to destroy them in the end?
Sartas Rewl knew he would not be sleeping this night.
* * *
“I tell you, if we do this thing that you say, then we’ll all die.”
The meeting that night was even more heated than the last one. Everyone had a different idea about what to do concerning the oncoming Liskash horde and the cliffs that were blocking them in ahead. It didn’t help that each Mrem seemed to be utterly convinced that their plan was the best to lead the Clan of the Long Fang to salvation and glory. The only ones that weren’t talking were Sartas Rewl and Arschus Mroa; both took in the debate in silence.
The one that had everyone’s attention at the moment was Rrerren Rras. “We should split up into several different groups, all heading in different directions. We’d cover our tracks, and agree to meet up at a predetermined point after we’ve lost the Liskash bandits. They can’t follow everyone, and either all of them will pursue a small, fast band of us that can evade them, or they’ll split up and get lost from each other. You know what happens when they lose their leaders; they fall apart.”
“And where would you propose we meet up, warrior? Not a one of us knows this land; the farthest that we’ve scouted are those cliffs, which the Liskash will smash us on if we’re wandering aimlessly looking for each other!” That was one of the smiths; he’d lost one of his legs on the trek, and had been forced to hobble behind everyone else on a crutch when he wasn’t riding a wagon.
“Both of you are wrong.” Another Mrem that Sartas didn’t immediately recognize stepped forward. “The clan needs to head to the water. We can make rafts, and float along out of range of their javelins and arrows. The Liskash wouldn’t dare follow us out onto the water—”
“For good reason, you mindless smerp! The New Water is death! Were you asleep in a wagon when the kits found that carcass? There are beasts from the sea in it, not to mention rotting things from all that died in the floods. And snakes and poison insects and who knows what else hiding in the trees, starving and just waiting to drop on you because they can’t reach land!” The female pointed at the maimed smithy. “How many of our wounded or elderly would drown, besides? We’re not fish.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea! We go into the trees! It’ll be like we just vanished into thin air. We’ve traveled in the trees before, and those dirty Liskash don’t know how to climb all that well. The ones that fly can’t see us through the tops of the trees, as well.”
“. . . except that the trees end in less than half a day’s ride from here.” Ssenna was crouched by the fire, poking the embers with a long stick. “Between the end of the forest and the cliffs, it’s just open ground, with a small valley with some hills on either side.”
“We can fight them.” Miarrius was a few paces behind Ssenna; the way that the shadow and the light from the fire were playing across his face made him look like a demon incarnate. “We stay in the forest, keep moving, double back on our tracks. Keep the women and kits ahead of us, while we strike at them and then fade away, wear them out.” The old warrior was caressing the pommel of the sword on his side. “Once they’ve bled enough, they’ll lose the taste for chasing after us.”
Mreiss Lrew shook his head. “There’s not enough room, not with the New water on one side and Liskash holdings on the other. With only half a day’s ride of forest left, we’d be pushed out onto the fields soon enough.” He looked around, suddenly seeming unsure of himself. “Besides . . . what if they got around the attackers? Who would be there to defend the rest of the clan?”
“Well, why not lay traps? Pit traps, deadfall traps, all kinds of traps!”
“Not enough time to lay enough traps to slow the Liskash; they number in the hundreds.” Ssenna interjected. “By the time we’d have enough traps in enough places to make them start to be careful, they’d be upon whoever was making the traps.”
“Mreiss, what is the territory ahead like?” Sartas asked slowly. “Exactly.”
The youngster gathered up a pile of leaves, sticks and stones and squatted down, clearing off a space of ground. He scattered leaves over half of it. “This is the forest we’re in.” He laid a line of twigs along one side. “These are the cliffs, they go on . . . well, for a long time. Longer than I was able to go, since I needed to come back and report. Far enough to reach both horizons.” He laid in two groups of stones with a space between them. “These are the hills, and the pass between.”
Sartas dropped down on his heels, and studied the construction, pondering it. Then he stood up. “I have a plan. I believe it will save the clan, the kits, the females, the elders. But it will mean that those who stay with me will die.” The entire gathering was silent, now, with all eyes on the talonmaster. He took a handful of seeds and put them at the pass through the hills. “A single small force, using traps first, then themselves, can hold the Liskash here. And meanwhile, the rest of the clan can get up the cliffs. The longer that force can hold, the likelier it will be that everyone gets to safety. By the time any Liskash that are left break through—and they will, with the numbers Ssenna describes—there will be no trace of those who scaled the heights. The trail will be cold, and in any event, even the Liskash are not going to pursue a few Mrem up a cliff and into the territory of some other god-king.” He looked about, and shrugged. “That is all I have. If anyone has a better plan, please speak up now.”
Arschus Mroa held a finger up. “There are no other plans; this is the only plan that will guarantee the survival of the Clan of the Long Fang.” He looked to Sartas. “Might I make a suggestion, though, Talonmaster?”
“Of course.”
“I suggest that we kill every bloody one of those Liskash fiends. Even if we die trying.”
The entirety of the clan gave a roar in approval, the warriors thrusting their javelins into the air and whirling swords above their heads. Sartas was filled with pride to see his people looking strong and courageous again. He only hoped that their strength and courage would see them through the battle ahead.
* * *
Sartas Rewl was at the edge of the camp again, well beyond the light of the fires. He was staring back towards the direction that the Clan of the Long Fang had come from. It was now the direction that the Scaly Ones were coming from; if he was wrong about this plan, then it would mean the end of his entire clan. This wasn’t the first time that they had been faced with dire circumstances; the entire trek, starting from the flood of the New Water, had been fraught with danger and death. But this was worse, if such a thing existed. A Liskash horde. No nobles, thank Assirra; without any Dancers, the clan would have been defenseless against Liskash spells. The numbers that the Liskash had more than made up for it, however; even with all of his warriors, Sartas knew that they could not hold for long against even an undisciplined mob of a few hundred Liskash.
Perhaps we will hold long enough. Long enough to save the clan, at least, to have our name carry on.
Reshia came out from the camp, her eyes fixed on him, her posture a little stiff, her face full of suppressed grief. “Is it that certain?” she asked, when she was close enough to speak. “Is there no other way?”
Sartas turned to face her. “None that I have been able to see. We must do this thing, or the rest of the clan dies as well. I do not know if I am right about this plan; it might not help at all. But it’s the only thing I can see to do.” He cursed, spitting onto the ground. “If we had more warriors, or more time, working chariots, then maybe I could come up with something else. But Aedonniss hasn’t granted us any of those things, and we have no Dancers to plead to Assirra for us.” He looked back to her, s
uddenly weary. “I do not want to leave you, love.”
She sighed, bitterly, and her blinking betrayed that she was fighting tears. “If I were a warrior, I would fight at your side, and then we would never be parted. But I would be of more hazard than help.” Her fists clenched, betraying how much she was fighting saying anything else, words that would also do more harm than good.
The talonmaster took her chin and forced it up so that her eyes were meeting his. “Speak. If I cannot share my mind with you, and have you do the same with me, then we’re all already lost.”
“This is not fair!” she wailed. “To have come through so much, for this! I do not want to be alone!” And she flung herself on him, clinging to him.
Sartas held her as close as he dared until he could scarcely breathe. “For a moment, I thought of taking you and our fastest krelprep and riding away. Just leaving everything and trying to make it on our own.” He pulled her back by the shoulders, resting his forehead on hers as he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t do that, though. Just as much as we’re the strength of our clan, they’re the strength of us, as well. If we left them, they’d fall, and then we would, too.”
She had no answer for that, only tears, tears that they both knew were their farewell.
“I need you to do something for me, love.”
She lifted her face from his shoulder. “You have only to ask. Only do not ask me to give you my blessing for this. I cannot bless what takes you from me forever.”
He smiled at that, trying to help lessen the burden on her heart. “I would never dream of asking your blessing on this, love. I only ask that you remain as strong as I know that you are. The clan is going to need someone with a strong spine to see it through the rest of the journey, and find the Clan of the Claw. You’re the only one that can do that.”
“Then I promise I will harry, hound, scold, scream, and drive them before me until they are safe,” she replied fiercely.
By Tooth and Claw Page 6