Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One

by S. M. Stirling, Harry Turtledove, Jody Lynn Nye, John Ringo; Michael Z. Williamson

  Still, part of her was gratified to think that even the Mrem were pleased to have her as the new great goddess.

  Ranowr hesitated. “It is so fine,” he said. “Never meant for the likes of me.”

  “Drink it,” she insisted, watching him closely.

  He did, gulping it down in four swallows. “It’s good!” he said. “Thank you, great goddess.”

  She laughed and reached out a hand for another goblet. He took another from the tray and filled it for her. Then she also gulped the fine wine down, gaily smashing the cup to the floor where it shattered, the dregs splattering a few unlucky courtiers. She laughed at that.

  “Wine for everyone!” she said. “I would have us drink a toast to my new reign.”

  As the servants began to circulate, she gestured to Ranowr for another cup and he quickly filled one for her.

  When everyone had been served she raised the goblet she’d been sipping from and exclaimed, “To a new day!”

  And the cup slipped from nerveless fingers to shatter on the ground.

  She was suddenly ice cold and her heart was laboring, darkness was narrowing her vision. Hisshah drew a deep breath and tried to rise only to find it impossible.

  No! she thought. Not now! Not when I’ve won! She turned her eyes to Ranowr. It was him. He’d killed her!

  She tried to speak, tried to curse him, tried to kill him. Nothing worked. Her breath was coming hard now and the dark was closing in.

  Ranowr suddenly dropped to his knees, dying himself from the poison he’d put in the wine.

  “You…die…too,” she manged to hiss.

  “I…die…free…and for…my people,” he said, laboring. “You…just…die.”

  Her eyes closed. There was one last whispered sound:

  “Prenna…our kit.”

  Then nothing.

  Battle’s Tide

  MICHAEL Z. WILLIAMSON

  And on the thirtieth day there rose before the clan a great mass of demons. And Rau wondered at their number. The Claws gathered and they too saw it was too many, but Aedonniss entered Hress Rscil and spoke to them, saying go this way and that and to strike as I instruct so that my own legions can join in the battle.

  So those in the claws took heart and fought with courage. But this was still not enough, for the most evil Sassin was powerful and his minions countless. Warriors fell and there was no one to fill the ranks.

  Then the Dancers came forth and stood with the warriors and everyone wondered. So the claws once more took heart and both fought on even as many more fell.

  Seven days and seven nights they fought, warrior and Dancer side by side, carving their way through a numberless horde. And finally when those who remained were exhausted and unable to even raise their weapons Aedonniss caused the sea to come forth.

  The waters rose and with them came a roar of vengeance. In the foam could be seen the face of every Dancer who had fallen and rising above the water on a silver chariot rode great Cmeo Mrist, priestess and lover. And the demon’s minions were torn asunder by the waves. But the warriors of the clan were touched by not a single drop.

  And so the way was once again open.

  —The Book of Nrao, verses eighty-four to eighty-six

  Nrao Aveldt liked his wagons and his spies.

  In the colder lands to the north he had been an upstart. But here the Clan of Three Fangs was powerful enough to have even torn land from the Liskash. Times had been hard, still were, but the clan leader did not regret his decision to take his people south. At least he hadn’t until a few weeks ago, when the waters came.

  He sat under the broad shade of his residence in a wicker chair, enjoying a drink of grer, fermented arosh milk. It refreshed the body and let his mind think clearly. He had much to think about. So did his advisors, seated in a ring with him on carved wooden chairs. His son Nef Esnrao benched quietly attentive off to the side, learning actual rulership along with the parchment lessons he took. The boy looked distracted, his long tail twitching impatiently from side to side, but Nrao understood that was partly an exploitation of his age. He was wiser than many suspected. He was tawny and handsome, certainly his mother’s son as well as his. Nrao’s warm, golden coat was striped with black on cheeks, wrists, tail and ankles. Distinctive markings, the seer Ingo said, for a male of distinction.

  Nrao Aveldt’s neighboring Mrem sometimes mocked his taste in politics. They preferred decorated Dancers and large warriors. His corral of wagons, the extended wall and defense works around it, the shapers who maintained all, and the monies spent on distant rumors amused them.

  He had Dancers and warriors, too. His warriors knew several fighting styles and tactics. His Dancers studied a variety of dances and incantations. When a fight came, the wagons moved his warriors rapidly, and he could place them in superior position to the enemy.

  That was why his steading was larger than any within knowledge, and why he was amused at the mirth sent his way. Hidebound traditionalists would fall by the wayside. His clan was one of the first to take southern land from the Liskash. The ancient enemies were still licking their wounds. This meant he had some of the best water and grazing. They held a large if dusty savanna with three large rivers and numerous wells and oases. Clan herds beyond count browsed the tall grass. So it had been for over five years, an ideal home for a growing clan, but now…

  When the sea broke through to the Hot Depths, he’d dispatched scouts, diplomats and spies to draw maps and tell him all they saw. They were here now, to counsel him on all they knew.

  Nrao Aveldt began, “I would like updates on each aspect. Talonmaster Hress Rscil?”

  It would be hard to miss Hress Rscil, the talonmaster, with his oiled fur looking darker than its natural tan tones, worn and abraded harness he seemed never to remove, and flat but heavy muscles. Next to him were spear, javelin, battle claws and knife, neatly leaning against the bench. He had come directly from fighting practice.

  Hress Rscil spoke in his deep, confident voice. “The refugees continue to gather and approach. One large band has gathered the remnants of several clans. Few are a threat directly, but all need food and water. I still suggest guiding them west and then north to the cool streams and woods. It is not long before we will have to do the same. Isolated there is no question that eventually we will fall. We must also keep the way open until then for others who are farther in. Their strength will be needed.” One ear twitched as he finished.

  Nrao Aveldt said, “While I bear them no ill will, sending them ahead provides useful information, and has some effect on the cursed Liskash.”

  “Yes, Clan Leader.” The talonmaster was practical, of course.

  “Seer Ingo?”

  His elder philosopher, aged but spry, his fur tufted and ticked in white, leaned against one arm of his bench and said, “Land itself, the Hot Depths, was taken from the earth. It was not prime land for anyone with fur, but all of its dwellers must find a new place to live. The weather is still changing, and more than we expected. The sun will draw much rain from this large new sea, and drop it to the west. This will improve growth, but will also cause new rivers and erosion.”

  Nrao Aveldt nodded acknowledgment. “Will that cool things enough to hinder those annoying Liskash?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Seer Ingo did not lower his ears in shame. It was safe to be unsure around Nrao Aveldt. He knew not all answers were cast in bronze. “It may enable or hinder them.”

  “Can we use that land?”

  “We can. It could prove rich eventually, but it would take development of grass, then scrub, and repeated burnings to make a rich soil. We’d need to transport earth borers, naked tails and goats to provide dung and dig it in with claw and hoof. Also, the Liskash will object.”

  Nrao Aveldt smiled and said, “They’ll object, but it might not be an issue, if the climate is not to their favor. Watcher Tckins Mestri?”

  His head spy leaned forward slightly. The Mrem was slim and very average looking. His dull gr
ay coat was healthy but ordinary. He wore harness of a trader, the pouches stuffed with items and valuables. It was a suitable disguise for his comings and goings.

  “Nrao Aveldt, there is much going on between the Liskash and other Mrem. People fled the flooding in all directions, some to be captured by Liskash, others crowded and displaced. They caravan and fight, as the talonmaster has said, to seek homes farther north, and west around the New Sea. Liskash fight with them, and each other. I can’t speak to the long term of the region, but movement west is our only option. East is desert and sea, south is Liskash, north is the New Sea.”

  The clan leader said, “That is certainly an issue. Do you believe it’s worth it to move now, though?” Tckins Mestri trembled slightly at the question.

  “I believe we can find a good position early, run wagons to small strongholds to keep them supplied, and build a solid steading. The Liskash are fighting amongst themselves. We might find a defensible position north of the hills, without needing to fight our own kind.”

  “That would be good, but is not the only consideration. We must have enough people to occupy and hold the land against violent Liskash and displaced Mrem. Priestess Cmeo Mrist?”

  * * *

  The only female present, the priestess had the circling symbol of the Sky Lord around her neck. The bronze of the medallion stood out against her glossy black fur. She stretched out a hand. The very grace of it attracted the attention of all the males, but it was what she said that mattered. Her round, gold eyes were sincere with concern.

  She spoke, “Aedonniss does not speak directly. We must infer. If this is to be a new, rich land with a broad sea to fish in, and has caused much distress for the Liskash, it is clear he is offering us an opportunity. He does not guarantee it will be easy, or successful, but I feel he wants us to try. Challenge is what makes Mrem great, over those indolent, lazy Liskash.”

  Nrao Aveldt saw it, too. There was risk, though it was manageable with preparation and forethought. There was also the chance of great expansion. Rich territory, plentiful food, and perhaps a secure border against the scaly Liskash.

  “Then first, I will have the wagons checked, and meat dried.”

  * * *

  Oglut was excited and nervous, though he’d never let the underlings know that. His fathers had built this palace of carved marble and scented wood through the power of their minds to control others. His limits had always been those who could also force others to their will. Now some of those who had lived in the lowlands were gone, or had lost their slaves. He sat on his throne and thought.

  There seemed no end to the water. Where there had been rich holdings now there would be nothing. His own lands had been considered too high and cool. But now his holdings were intact and the riches he had coveted lost. Where he had once ruled at the edge of the lowlands, now he would control the far side of a new ocean. At least if it stopped rising before the whole world was flooded.

  There was potential for great expansion, with Sassin and Ashala dead and their holds in tatters. Then, those accursed Mrem who had challenged them in the warm jungles were also fleeing ahead of the New Sea. Most went north to the cold lands they had been spawned in. The few heading directly west would be easy to incorporate as they reached the range of his mind. It was a silly game they played, but what could one expect of semi-sentient mammals with no mindpower? They weren’t good for much, but could serve as a buffer against other attacks, rather than waste more valuable lives.

  The New Sea would also bring rain and growth. More food meant more slaves, and a finer godhold. He needed to move quickly, to secure it before someone from far south did so, or it got overrun by those accursed hairy Mrem from the north.

  He pondered it all while sitting on his favorite throne, comfortably fanned by slaves, caressing the new female he had recently acquired, and occasionally sipping from a golden goblet of wine. He enjoyed his godhood. He put that aside and chose action. Yes, it was time the boys grew up.

  Oglut wished for his servants to appear, and shortly they did.

  “I am moving to secure the empty godholds of Sassin and Ashala, to claim the slaves and resources that they abandoned. I need my chariots and guard ready. My sons will lead the campaigns.”

  Then he called his sons.

  Mutal arrived, young and eager with trappings worthy of himself. He had had his scales gilded and painted in handsome colors to resemble a mosaic. His garments had been woven of the finest cocoon strands and dyed regal purple. Behind him, dull-eyed Mrem servants carried his gilded weapons and armor on plush pillows. Buloth didn’t appear at once. He was big enough now to be a slight challenge. That was another issue for Oglut to address.

  He waited for Buloth, who arrived with hints of incense and sage smoke. His costly blue and yellow raiment was askew. Had the boy been breathing dimweed again?

  Oglut spoke to him first.

  “I have decided to annex the lands left vacant by our departed neighbors, all the way to the coast of the New Sea. Once this is done, there will be a large godhold for you, so you need not wait for my demise.”

  “Thank you, Father.” The boy, now grown, didn’t seem appreciative, but smug.

  Oglut frowned. Perhaps Buloth did not understand the gift he was being offered. “Rather than you fight me for control, you can have a new holding, and larger than this one. Mutal,” he said, shifting his gaze and his power to the younger male, “you will have my holding, or a large part of it, what you can control, when I am too old to rule. If we expand further, it may be larger as well.”

  “Thank you, Father. It is a great offer, but I wish you long life.” The younger one, at least, was sincere.

  Oglut dismissed the comment with a wave. “Of course I will live long, but I am older than you. We will plan now to secure our new lands. I will have Buloth ready at the east with an army, to expand as far as possible along the new coast against the furry pests as the weather warms. Mutal, you will go south. Success awaits us. All we need to do is be ready for it.”

  His sons smiled in approval, as did he. No backstabbing or mind-forced retirement as a helpless elder needed. They could have three large holdings now, and his sons would expand after he died. If one of them died in the process, it would just mean more for the other, and for himself.

  Oglut was pleased. Some of his hatchlings would die. Those who survived would have lands of their own that would take them many seasons to secure. They would have no time to turn on him and try to claim their inheritance early. And by the time they were strong, he would be much stronger.

  “By the end of this season you will all be lords of your own lands,” the Liskash finished.

  No need to offer them his already stable holding. He hadn’t lived this long through trust. They could create their own. Their triumphs would reinforce his own borders and set them up as shields for his realm.

  If the Mrem and their beasts showed up after things were secure, they’d just make useful slaves.

  * * *

  The massive hide tent that served as both the residence and command center for the clan was nearly full. None could twitch their tail without hitting another. There was a strong scent off the moist fur of the nervous Mrem as those Nrao Aveldt had summoned stood and sat inside, sheltered from a light rain. The two dozen Mrem waiting were of every size, color, and type. They seemed to have nothing in common; none carried himself like a warrior. But then that was the idea. Most appeared to wear the tools of merchants or tinkers. In reality they were the eyes and ears of the clan.

  All were strangers to each other. Nrao Aveldt had never before called in so many of his scouts and spies at one time. Ears and tails twitched as the normally solitary and cautious Mrem watched each other with calculating eyes. None were armed, but all labored to keep their claws sheathed.

  The clan’s spies usually sent messages in code, or brought reports back after a tour of merchanting or as envoy. Rarely did they report in person and always in private. Just being known to the ot
her put them at risk. Nrao Aveldt had ordered them all in quickly when the full extent of the water’s rise became apparent, sending replacements with the call. Those Mrem were not as experienced as the existing spies, but this was how they learned. Those who survived. Nrao Aveldt and the clan needed every fact now, but still had to keep up their guard, even at a cost.

  Also, Hress Rscil’s scouts were on a steady rotation, to map the New Sea and watch for migrations. Nothing but Liskash had lived in the very bottom of the Hot Depths, but the river courses were lush and fertile, to the point where they evaporated. With the flood, a few tribes had moved north, more south, an unknown number west, where they would be massively outnumbered by the Liskash.

  Every eightday, he met with Hress Rscil and the incoming scouts personally, and received updates from his advisors. He would not move until he knew conditions were right, but then he’d strike like lightning to exploit the opportunity.

  Today, he had both a spy from Afis’s domain to the west, north of the Liskash, and the scouts from the coast. He waited on Seer Ingo, while Nef sprawled on his bench and stropped his claws. Annoyed, Nrao reached out one of his own claws and dug it into the post between the boy’s. Nef flared his ears back, nodded and sat up.

  “That is better,” Nrao Aveldt said. “Now, pour wine for the guests.”

  “Yes, Father,” Nef Esnrao said. He might be young, but the trappings of courtesy came easily to him. He should make a good leader one day.

  Refreshments and a casual atmosphere, Nrao Aveldt found, made information more forthcoming. Some rulers demanded strict formality and adherence to rank. He was first among them, and deserving of respect, without the need to be ego-fluffed. When all were served, he sat among them, his pupils spread wide to show friendliness and interest.

  Sicht, the spy, wore well-made harness, as befitted his position as one of the trade ministers to Afis’s holding. He was comfortable enough with Mrem of status, and politely took a drink and a sweetened meat chew, pounded with honey and dried frusk. They were unhealthy, but delicious.