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’ 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 furthest 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 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 lo
ng 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 Aedonnis hasn’t granted us any of those things, and we have no dancers to plead to Assirra for us.” He looked back to her, suddenly 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.
Sartas’ smile grew and became more heartfelt. “I haven’t a single doubt that you will.” He took her face into his hands again; it was part of the closeness they shared. “You need to remember that even as I go off to kill these Scaly Ones, that I will never leave you. Sure as Aedonnis makes the sun rise. So long as you and the clan live, no one will ever bury my heart.”
* * *
It was a hard push to the hills, with everyone moving as quickly as they could. They spared no pity for the beasts; after all, they were either going to be abandoned at the bottom of the cliffs, or left with the warriors at the hills. In either case, there was no point in sparing them. Everything but the krelprep were slaughtered; what meat that couldn’t be smoked and taken with was gorged upon. For some, it would be their final meal.
Farewells had all been said the night before. At the pass in the hills, the clan moved on at the same pace, while the warriors remained behind. So far as Sartas could tell, no one, not even Reshia, looked back. Good. It will be easier on them, and on the warriors. This was the way life was in their world; the warriors fought to protect the clan, and often died doing so. Still, after having lost so much already to the New Water and the horrors that had followed, it was a testament to his clan’s strength of spirit that they were able to press forward.
They had laid traps at the edge of the forest, counting on the Liskash to become careless and blood-thirsty at that point. They’d made no effort to conceal their trail; they hadn’t before knowing of the Liskash, and with a group their size to try was pointless. Sartas also instructed his people to make no effort to trap it until the end of the forest, either; better to draw the Scaly Ones in, thinking that their prey was running scared. Sartas had reckoned that a little time spent at the end of the trees would be worth it in Liskash casualties.
They had managed to use the gifts of the forest to hastily construct some unpleasant surprises for the oncoming raiding party. Spiked pits concealed from view on and off of the main trail, snares, and deadfalls comprised the majority of them. He was particularly pleased with the swinging logs. Someone was going to get his long, scaly neck broken. Several someones, if there were any justice in the world. Sartas wasn’t fool enough to think that these traps would be anything but a minor inconvenience for the Liskash following them, however; if anything, it would only incense them. But, an angry Liskash wasn’t a thinking Liskash, as much as they ever did think. It was something that he could use against them. His warriors being able to keep their heads would double the effectiveness of his force.
His warriors waited at the pass, most mounted on their krelprep with shields and javelins ready. Rrerren was on one end of the line, telling jokes and boisterous tales of his own exploits to lighten the moods of those around him. Miarrius and Ssenna were on the other, arguing about some new trifling. Arschus Mroa and Mreiss Lrew flanked him on either side; the latter was fidgeting with his harness and his weapons, while the former was seemingly as still and impassive as a carved rock. Sartas had inspected the line; in all, he had thirty fighters. Most were warriors, but some were untrained and simply chose to join the battle. He had done his best to make them as ready as possible in the little time that they were all left. One of the males that joined them had surprised him; Shar Enthiss.
The young male walked in front of Sartas’ krelprep, keeping his head bowed and only raising it slightly so that his eyes met with the talonmaster’s briefly. “Sartas Rewl.”
“Speak, if you wish.” Sartas was curious as to what was going on here; he didn’t quite know what to expect of the young upstart.
“Before this fight, I just wanted to say…I was wrong in what I did, and did it for the wrong reasons. You are the greatest talonmaster I’ve seen. I’m honored to fight by your side; it’s what little honor I have left.” Shar pounded the haft of his javelin to his chest once before casting his eyes to the ground again.
Sartas nodded. “If you fight against the Liskash half as well as you fought against me, Shar Enthiss, you’ll surely have no shortage of honor and glory. I’m glad we have your spear to aid us; I’m even happier that it isn’t against us.” Shar looked up then, and a mean grin spread across his face. He stood up straighter, raised his spear in salute, and walked off to rejoin the line.
Arschus Mroa leaned forward in his saddle. “That was a kindness that you did him now. Especially for one that, not so long ago, wouldn’t have minded having your throat in his teeth.”
“Kindness is as rare as nectar, these days. With what is to come, it is of no cost to spare even one such as Shar some kindness.” He turned and beckoned to Mreiss. The young male wheeled his krelprep to face the talonmaster, eager to hear what Sartas wanted of him.
“Yes, Sartas Rewl?” Mreiss did his best to puff his chest out and hold himself high in his saddle.
“To you goes the most important task of all, young warrior,” he said gravely. Mreiss bounced in the stirrups of his saddle, waiting, no doubt, to hear that he was to lead a charge, or something similar. “I want you—up there.” He pointed a talon to the top of the tallest hill behind where the battle lines would be. “I want you to watch everything. Above all I want you to survive. You are not to engage the enemy. And when we are done, I want you to race back to the Clan, and tell them everything that you saw.�
�� He leveled a stern gaze on the youngster. “Listen to me: it will take more courage, and more will, to do this, than it will to fight. There is no harder task. And none more vital.”
“But—I can’t leave all of you! I won’t!” It was plain for any to see how conflicted Mreiss was; he wanted to do his duty, to do as he was ordered to. Yet he did not want to abandon his fellow warriors when they were in their darkest moment.
“You will. You are not a heedless kit anymore, Mreiss Lrew. Will you leave the clan without a senior warrior to fight for them?” He didn’t roar, he growled. “Your duty is to the clan. Not to a band of its warriors. The whole clan. They must know what happened. They must know everything. Then they must have a strong, young, seasoned warrior to lead what is left of the fighters. You are not ‘the one that can be spared.’ You are my best choice. You are fast. Your mount is fleet. You are clever. You’ve been trained by Ssenna to be a scout. By Miarrius to be crafty. By Arschus to be strong. By Rrerren to be gallant. You can evade any Liskash that are left. You are my best choice for this; no one else has as much likelihood of making it back to the rest.”
“I—”
“You’ll follow your orders, Mreiss Lrew, as a true warrior must.” Every word pained Sartas to say, but he did not allow any of it to show on his face. This must be done, for the good of the clan.
“I’ll…I’ll do as you command, Sartas Rewl. For the Clan of the Long Fang.” Without another word Mreiss turned his mount to face the hill where he was to observe the coming battle. He paused for a moment next to Arschus Mroa.
“In the next life. Warrior.” Arschus laid a massive hand on Mreiss’ shoulder for a moment. Then Mreiss spurred his mount to gallop towards the top of the hill that Sartas had pointed to.
Sartas and Arschus watched until Mreiss was so high up on the hill that he and his mount were barely visible against the earth. Then they made sure that he had concealed himself so well not even their sharp eyes could spot him. Sartas nodded. “He has learned his lessons well. Now it is time for our task. The Scaly Ones will be here soon.”
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 6