“Rav, I know you,” Mahssa, the leader of the females said coldly, flexing her fingers; she was a gaunt grizzled female, with part of her left ear missing.
She dropped the fragment of pottery in her hand, her ears flat with anger. He looked up at her with his mouth open, then struggled to his feet staring and weaving where he stood. Krar smothered a snicker at way he tried to straighten up, looking like a sulky kit that had just had its nose whapped.
“You were a good kit when you were with us. It saddens me to see that you’ve become a bully,” Mahssa continued implacably. “Your mother would be ashamed to see you like this.”
“Where is she?” Rav demanded his eyes filling with tears; he’d completely forgotten that he could see his mother now.
Mahssa compressed her lips and looked down, blinking slowly in compassion.
“She died of a fever last winter,” she told him. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I remember her tears as they took you away, Rav. She never got over missing you.”
“She’s dead?” Rav asked, sounding lost.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“It was the cursed Liskash,” the young Mrem snarled, suddenly bristling.
Now he’s really dangerous, Krar thought. His tail’s puffed out like a soapweed plant after the rains.
“They kept her half starved, no wonder she died of a lil thing like a fever. I’m not gonna starve, I’m gonna take what I need and nobody’s gonna stop me!”
Krar grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and slapped. He kept the tips of his fingers rolled back, but the open palm into the angle of the jaw was enough to lift the young Mrem off his feet. He fell in a heap, blinking and panting, then turned himself to rest on his elbows and shake his head, making a mrew-mrew-mrew weeping sound.
“You will not take from the females and the kits while I’m alive to stop you,” Krar snarled, baring his fangs. “The food was shared equally and it was more than you would have had from Ashala’s hand. But you, like a sneaking coward, had to have more! The wine was being saved for the sick who couldn’t eat, and now it’s gone. Thief! We ought to cast you out to find your own way, to eat all you can of what you can catch. You make me sick, you worthless coughed-up clump of hair!”
Mahssa put her hand on the leader’s arm. “Have mercy,” she said. “He’s just found out his mother is dead. I remember him as a youngster, he was good then. I think the problem here is the wine and now that’s gone the problem won’t come again. His punishment will be tomorrow when he’s very sick from what he’s drunk.”
Krar was silent a moment as he thought. “I hear you Mahssa,” he said at last. “But I will think of something to add to nature’s punishment for this fool.”
He glanced at the old female. “You are too kind to him.” He pointed. “He’s broken your good pot with his useless head.”
She blinked. “Yes, well, it’s his fault anyway and it can’t be replaced.” Her lips thinned. “We could use help in carrying the younger kits. They crawl around and drop off if they’re put on the wagons. May we make him our beast of burden?”
With a smile, Krar nodded. “An excellent idea. Rav! Until I say otherwise you are at the service of the females. Whatever they ask of you, you will do. Do you understand?”
Rav struggled to his feet, shaking his head and pawing at it as if wondering where the stew had come from.
“No, no, no.” When he was standing as upright as he could manage, he carefully said, “You can’t do that. Nobody made you leader.”
Krar strode up to him and Rav moved back quickly. But Krar crowded close and spoke into his face, eyes locked and head half-turned to give the full view of his fangs in a lunge-to-the-throat posture:
“I lead us, and you are in no condition to dispute that. When you are, if you want to challenge me to be first among Mrem, come find me. In the meantime, you’ll do as I say!”
The last was a shout, high and shrill and tearing with a hiss in it. He let his claws out, holing them up to show that his slap could have ripped out the other male’s jugular; his whiskers were back and his ears were flat.
Rav’s mouth worked and he pointed aggressively at Krar’s chest but didn’t quite touch him.
“I won forget this,” he said breathing hard with anger and wine making his breath musky. “You wait, you’ll see. You can’t treat me like this.”
Krar was satisfied to note that as angry as Rav was, as drunk as he was his claws, were still retracted. Disgusted, he gave him a slight shove and the younger Mrem stumbled back, barely keeping himself from falling.
“Go back to your friends tonight. Then tomorrow bring yourself and your gear and do whatever Mahssa tells you to do.” He took a step forward. “Don’t make me come looking for you,” he warned.
They glared at one another for a moment, then Rav glanced at Mahssa and with a grimace, stumbled away, tail down.
“You always were bossy,” Mahssa said after he had gone.
Krar looked at her and smiled. He shook his head briskly and his ears rose.
“I daresay you were, too, when you were a kit.”
She laughed. “I was. I am. But now it’s what I’m supposed to do.” She sighed. “Your status will have to be confirmed and soon, you know, and not just by who’s quickest and has the sharpest claws. You can’t just keep giving orders. Not until at least the elders say you can.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But I’d like to see us a bit farther from the great go…from Ashala’s holding before we take the time.”
“We need at least a day here to rest,” Mahssa said, squinting up at the dust-hazed sun sinking in a great red ball behind the hill. “Maybe we elders can snatch some time to find an agreement on this.” She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“And do you want me to be our leader?” he asked.
She looked at him with her eyes narrowed. “I think I do,” she said slowly. “Besides, I can’t think of anyone more suitable. And if there are wild Mrem out there we’re going to need someone to speak for all of us. Unless you can suggest someone other than yourself?”
He snorted. “Honestly, Mahssa, I wish I could. It’s one thing to make another back down over a trifle and then stalk around with the fur on your back up, looking everyone in the eye. But taking care of all these people, seeing that things are shared and sentries posted and…it’s all more like work. Still, someone has to do it or we’re lost.”
She patted his shoulder. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”
* * *
Thak flicked his tongue out to taste the air, only the tip of his muzzle above the grass that almost matched the patterns of his scales. There was the smell of water, much stirred, and bundor and hamsticorns, as well as the stink of far too many Mrem in one place in the middle of nowhere for his liking.
Mrem belonged in the slave pens not wandering around loose. He knew this waterhole; it was the best for many miles, but well downhill of here—the land wasn’t as flat as it looked. From here, he was above even the level of the hill over the pool. And it would be dark fairly soon…
The translucent membranes flickered across and back over his eyes, and his narrow whiplike tail curled and uncurled. It looked like, wisely, they’d kept the bundor and hamsticorns separated; that gave him the beginnings of a plan.
“Gisshah, Asoth, Vess, Poth come here.”
When the other Liskash scouts joined him he gave them their orders.
“Asoth, take over the lead herd beast of the hamsticorns and head it toward Lord Oglut’s steading. Gisshah and Poth, take over the herders, get them to guide the herd. Vess take over the lead bundor and some of the others and have them stampede the Mrem camp. When they’re really on the move they should keep going without your guidance, then you follow us.”
The scouts nodded, hissing their pleasure at the joke they were about to play.
“It’s good,” Poth said. “A few hundred juicy hamsticorns to sweeten the bitter news we bear. The great god
will be pleased.”
Thak looked at him. This was exactly his thought and it unnerved him to have it plucked from his head like that. He had dreaded bringing his god word that a great herd of Mrem and their animals were about to march over the Lord Oglut’s land. Perhaps the prize they brought with them would win them their lives.
He flicked his hand at them. “Then go,” he said.
Without further discussion they went to follow their orders.
* * *
Tral had decided to move all of his patients up to the top of the cliff. There was an easy path and it did seem the air was clearer up here; it would be pleasantly cool in the night, good for the ones with fevers, and they could drop a bucket on the end of a rope down the cliff to get water. He looked around the rocky expanse, noting with approval how the shelters broke the wind and the quiet peace of it.
Now he was checking on his most important patient, the mysterious wild Mrem.
“Are you awake?” he asked quietly. The Mrem was all bandages and burnt hair. His eyes were closed, but Tral sensed that he was conscious. “I have brought you some meat stew,” he said, waving the bowl teasingly under his nose.
The stranger opened his eyes and looked at him. “I’m awake,” he growled.
Tral filled a spoon and offered it. The wounded Mrem opened his mouth and took the food.
“Where are we?” he asked, after his tongue had cleaned his whiskers.
“I’ve no idea really,” Tral told him. “We’re heading east, but we’ve never been so far from where we were born. We’re on top of a cliff beside a water hole if that helps.”
The stranger nodded silently. Then: “More, please.” And took another spoonful of the stew.
“What’s your name?” Tral asked. “We can’t keep calling you the stranger.”
“I’m Canar Trowr,” he said. “And I can feed myself.”
“Not with your hands in the condition they’re in. Be patient and you’ll be feeding yourself in no time.”
He offered another spoonful which was accepted. “Do you know where we are?”
“I think so. You should head north and east, it increases the chance of your joining with my people. Who are you?”
“Tral, I’m a healer. My next question is, how do you feel?”
“How do I look?” Canar Trowr asked.
“Bad.”
“And that’s how I feel. But I also feel like I’ll live. They wanted me to talk, not die right away.”
Tral smiled. “That’s good hearing. We’re resting here for the night, maybe for tomorrow. I’m hoping for that, the rest would do you good. Would do all of us good.”
He paused in his spooning as the camp below them erupted in shouts and screams, the squealing of animals and the thunder of hooves.
“What’s going on?” Canar Trowr asked, his ears struggling to rise; they were rather long and tufted by nature, but looked ragged now.
“I don’t know,” Tral said. “I shall find out.” He put the bowl down and rushed to the edge of the cliff. The slits of his eyes went wide in shock, painting the dim scene below with a flat silvery radiance.
Below the bundor were on the move, charging in a panic directly toward the camp. Some Mrem were already running for the heights beyond the water hole, some just stood in shock. A few went racing to the krelprep who’d been staked out well away from the water hole because they wouldn’t stop drinking.
The hamsticorns were moving north in a slow, eerily calm manner given the blind terror of the bundor.
Tral’s breath stopped in his chest as he watched in horror. Many Mrem climbed into the heavy wagons or took shelter beneath them, many more might make it up the height he stood on. First among these were the ones who led the krelprep.
As he watched the herd stampeded into the camp and some fell beneath the bundor’s heavy feet. Other bundor slammed into the wagons, threatening to topple them as those inside them screamed in terror.
It seemed to take forever, but at last the bundor were through and running back down the beaten path toward Ashala’s holding.
Tral turned and ran to get his bag of medicines and bandages.
“Stampede!” he paused to shout, then raced down the cliff path to see what help he could offer.
* * *
They were still gathering the wounded, over fifty so far and Krar was grateful it wasn’t worse. There were twenty three crushed and broken bodies lined up on the ground, and the air stank of blood and wastes. But they would have no time to bury them. Some of the kits couldn’t seem to stop crying no matter what the females did, and all of them were badly shaken. The thin mewling sound grated at their ears, adding to the rage and fear.
The krelprep had been saved, which was a miracle and the heroes who had done it deserved much praise. Krar resolved that they should have it. When there was time. The wagons had survived as well, though several of the water jars had been cracked. Some of the bundor had stopped running and their herders had rounded them up.
“What happened?” Krar demanded of their leader.
“Nothing!” the Mrem said, his tail swishing in his distress. “There was no reason for it. All at once the herd leader and several others went off like they’d gone mad and the others followed. I’ve never seen the like before. I swear to you there was no reason for it. None!”
“It’s possible,” another of the herders said, “that we can round up more of them if you’ll give us a few days.”
“A few days?” Krar demanded. “We can’t just sit here for a few days! The Liskash are sure to be after us. We took their food, their wagons, their herds, not to mention ourselves, and ran away on them. They’re going to come looking for us, they’re surely looking for us right now. We have to find shelter with the wild Mrem or we’ll be slaves again; if we’re lucky enough to survive!”
“For pities sake, Krar! Let us rest! Give us time to mourn,” a female said.
“I would like to, I promise you I would,” he answered. “But we have no choice.”
A male spoke up then. “I say we should wait for Ranowr to catch up to us. He’ll know what to do.”
A chorus of ayes greeted this statement and Krar lost all patience.
“If he were alive he’d be here now!” he shouted.
There was a collective gasp at that followed by a stunned silence. Then a female spoke.
“It’s true,” she said slowly. “Ranowr is dead, of poison he took willingly. He killed the young goddess and died himself to give us a chance to get away. His last words to her were: I die for my people. You just die.”
Startled, Krar turned to see that it was the beautiful golden-furred Prenna who had spoken, her green eyes so wide the whites shone all around and the pupils dilated to circles even in the firelight. He reached out a hand toward her, wanting to offer her comfort. Mahssa stepped forward and put an arm around the young female’s shoulders.
“When she’s like this she’s never wrong,” the old female said.
Krar frowned. “What do you mean?”
With a shrug Mahssa said, “She just knows things sometimes. Others among the females can do it to a lesser extent. But Prenna always knows.”
He felt a chill touch the back of his neck and took a step back. The uncanny caused fear that even the bravest would not be ashamed to admit. Then he shook it off.
“Ranowr was a good Mrem,” he said quietly.
He hadn’t liked him, but he’d respected him and now he owed him. And what he owed was the lives and safety of all those Ranowr had sacrificed himself to save. His voice grew louder:
“And we will mourn him and honor his memory when we are safe. Until then we must move.”
“Krar!” a voice called.
He turned to see a hamsticorn herder pushing his was through the gathered Mrem towards him.
“The hamsticorn herd is heading north, all of them! With six of our brothers! We’re going to follow them and bring them back.”
“If they stampeded there’s
nothing you can do to bring them back. Who can say how far away they are by now? That’s why we’re not chasing the bundor. We don’t have the time or the Mrem to spare.”
How many times am I going to have to explain this?
“You don’t understand! Their tracks say they just walked away, there’s no sign of panic.”
“It’s true,” Prenna said. “They were forced to leave and the herders with them.”
Krar thought he could get tired of her doing that.
“Who forced them to leave?” Krar asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Liskash,” Mahssa said. She bit her lips. “Ashala forbade her people to use their power over our minds. She liked to rule by fear alone, by her power to burn with her mind.”
All of the younger Mrem stared at her, while the elders shifted uneasily.
“Exactly what do you mean?” the young leader demanded, certain he wasn’t going to like her answer.
“The Liskash can take over our minds and force us to serve them,” Tral said. “There is no defense against it.”
“When were you planning to tell us this?” Krar snarled.
“So our brothers are helpless prisoners?” the herder asked at the same time.
“Yes,” Mahssa said. Her ears twitched nervously. “To be honest there hasn’t really been a chance to tell you. Besides, it would only have frightened you; it is not a good memory that we elders have. As Tral says, there is no defense against it.”
“We have to go after them,” the herder said. “We can’t let the Liskash beasts get away with this.”
Krar felt like his head was spinning, or he’d found a huge patch of blissweed and was feeling the effects of rolling in it all day long. Was there no end to this?
“I can’t stop you,” he said at last. Then frowned. “Are all of you going?”
By this time the other twelve hamsticorn herders had lined up behind their speaker and all of them nodded.
“Then each of you take a sword and a spear with you. But know this, we can not wait for you.” Krar turned to Mahssa and Tral. “Have you any advice for them?”
“Do not get too close to them, do not let them know you are there,” Tral said.
“If they can see you they can control you. Never forget that,” Mahssa added.
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 9