By Tooth and Claw - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Oh, thank you for visiting me. You’ve made my day quite jolly.” He looked at his former subordinate. “Has anyone gone after them?”

  “I’ve had no orders to do so. If we do I think it will be a token gesture. It’s only a matter of time before our more aggressive Liskash neighbors make a move on us.” He shrugged. “Why should we exert ourselves to enrich them?”

  Thress chuckled. “Why indeed?”

  Sheth leaned forward and put his arms on his legs. “Who do you think will come after us first?” he asked.

  “Oglut,” the Captain said at once. “He has two grown sons to worry about. He needs a new holding to keep at least one of them busy. How will you feel about serving a foreign god?”

  Sheth tipped his head to one side, considering. “About the same as I’d feel about serving one of locally grown would-be gods.” He shrugged and leaned forward confidentially. “I live to serve.”

  “It’s good that you know your place,” Thress ground out.

  The other Liskash stood up and adjusted his sword belt. “I think the stink has grown to be too much for me now. I shall take my leave.”

  As he turned to go Thress said, “Kill me or give me water.”

  Sheth turned and shook a finger at him, tsking. “Once again you forget that I no longer have to take your orders, Thress.”

  He cocked his head and tapped his teeth with a claw. “But you have amused me. I think I’ll keep you alive for a while. You’ll be a talking head for me. Very well,” he said, turning to the door. “I’ll give orders that you’re to be watered and fed…and cleaned up. At least for now.”

  And with that he was gone, leaving the door wide open. Hisshah had had only a small power, the ability to move light objects. Her pet Ranowr had been the one who pointed out the potential of a small power, when applied to the interior of other being’s bodies. The spine, for example, was quite vulnerable.

  Thress cursed him, thrashing his head from side to side. He extended his will, trying to take over his second’s mind, ordering Sheth to kill him. Far down the corridor he heard the other Liskash laugh and knew he’d failed. He lay there torn between rage and black despair.

  Perhaps if he was insulting enough he could get one of the guards to kill him.

  * * *

  Hormr, the lead bundor herder shook out his long whip and faced the massive bundor bull before him. The creature stood in front of his harem of seven cows and shook his horns aggressively at the Mrem.

  Hormr wasn’t impressed.

  “I don’t want your females, you walking feast-day dinner,” he snarled. “I want you to move.”

  The bundor didn’t see any reason to move; it was free of the annoying presence of the rest of the herd, the grass in this slight declivity was fresher than in most places because water collected beneath the soil, and there were no predators. Except the Mrem with the whip.

  He drew back his arm and flashed the whip forward, flicking the bundor on its tender nose with practiced skill—the whip could cut like a knife if you mishandled it, and he didn’t want that. The bull bawled and drew back, its big eyes rolling, then turned and moved in the direction Hormr urged it with a whip flick on its flank. The cows moved to follow it.

  The round-up was going well. They’d come across some large groups and several small ones like this one, in little dry valleys and the lee of rocky hills. By now they had about a hundred and fifty. Hormr’s heart was very happy.

  It makes me feel rich, just looking at all that meat and leather. Herding it all these years for others, and now it’s mine.

  He was wishing he hadn’t brought the spear. It was a cursed nuisance to carry and he’d only used it once. He’d poked a bundor with it and made a wound. Bad herdcraft, that; there was always the risk of infection or maggots if you broke a beast’s skin. And so he carried the stupid thing because he didn’t want to hear Krar’s complaints if he came back without it.

  Then he thought of how that cursed Krar had tricked him out of the herd and he swore. They’d just see about that. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right that he and the other herders did all the work, but the other do-nothing Mrem shared in the herds. Well, nothing was set just yet. He was certain he could get the elders to see reason and they were the real power among the Mrem.

  His temper got the better of him and when he used the whip on a slowing cow it was hard enough to make her bellow. The bull turned toward him, but Hormr snapped the whip loudly and the bundor turned away, heading toward the gathering herd.

  The others were already talking about taking what they had and following the other Mrem. “We’re too close to Ashala’s holding,” they insisted.

  “Fools,” Hormr muttered to himself. A risk, but think of the reward!

  Then he heard to sound of a large group of bundor. The bull turned its head toward the sound and started to move in that direction.

  All right, the lead herder thought. The more, the better.

  As they came over the crest of the hill the first thing he saw was a small herd of about thirty bundor and his heart leapt. Then he saw the Liskash sitting on the side of the hill below him.

  He grabbed the bull bundor by a horn and started to pull its head around. The animal protested with a loud bellow and the Liskash looked up.

  Hormr’s hand fell from the bundor’s horn and the bull trotted down the hill to join the herd. He stood there as the Liskash came toward him; he was not afraid, not angry, not anything.

  By this time other Liskash had noticed his presence and they were coming to get a look at him.

  “Well, well,” one of them said. “What have we here?”

  “One of our runaways, sir.”

  “I believe you’re right,” the Liskash said. “Where are the others?” he asked the Mrem.

  “Far away, and getting farther,” the Mrem answered in a monotone.

  The Liskash slapped him. “Call me great lord,” he said.

  “Great lord,” Hormr said.

  All the Liskash laughed.

  “And where are they going?” the Liskash asked.

  “Great lord they are going east and north.”

  “Why?”

  “To join the wild Mrem.”

  Their leader clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “I think we will take these bundor and this slave back to the holding with us,” he said. “The nobles should know these things. They’ll tell us what to do.”

  He gestured to the small herd and told Hormr, “Round them up and take them to their pastures. If you see any others take them, too.”

  Hormr uncoiled his whip and went to work, somewhat to the Liskash leader’s surprise and pleasure. He hadn’t mind controlled a Mrem slave since he’d been young and he’d forgotten the pleasure it brought. It was a bit of a strain, but would probably take less effort the more he did it. This would certainly make it easier on them, the leader thought. The slave was used to these beasts. The nobles would be pleased.

  * * *

  Canar Trowr had gone from lying on the folded tents in the wagon back to sitting beside the driver. Grass bowed ahead of them; dust smoked in their wake, making the air scent slightly spicy. The lowering sun turned a scrim of cloud in the west to gold.

  Being wounded is irritating. Everything itches, and I am bored, but there is nothing to do but endure and heal.

  The shaking of the wagon as it passed over rough ground had been making him queasy when he was lying down. He was still miserable but at least he didn’t think he was going to lose his meager breakfast. He wished he could walk, but knew he was too weak. Besides, the Liskash had torn out all of his toe claws and it would hurt too cursed much.

  I wonder if you could skin a Liskash without killing it? he wondered, not for the first time. That scaled skin is tough. It should make excellent leather.

  He’d been holding himself aloof from the driver because he was afraid if he opened his mouth only whimpering would come out. Then he noticed that the driver was holding aloof from him. Now he wanted to ta
lk, just to be annoying.

  But these Mrem didn’t talk much, he’d noticed. They spoke softly and in short bursts as if afraid they’d be overheard. Because they’d been slaves, he supposed. Part of him looked down on them for that. Part of him respected their courage in escaping with what must have been a fair portion of their Liskash master’s wealth.

  It still amazed him that they’d actually believed that the lizards were gods. He smiled at the thought, then grew serious. It made it all the more amazing that they’d walked away.

  Canar Trowr had to admit to himself that he was coming to like these strange Mrem. Tral and Wesha were fine healers and Krar was solid. But they knew nothing of civilized ways. They weren’t even a proper clan. And apparently they only possessed one name each. He’d never heard of such a thing.

  He looked down to see a pure white female, obviously young, trudging along beside the wagon. The shape of her ears was exquisite, with just the hint of little tufts right at the tips. When she licked her nose the skin of her lips was the most delicate pink, and her canines were so sharp that the tips seemed to fade out into air.

  Very sexy, he thought. Rrrrowr!

  “What’s your name?” he said to her.

  She looked up at him and he found himself staring at one of the loveliest faces he’d ever seen; she had huge green eyes. He caught his breath and wondered who her lucky mate was; such a beauty would never go unclaimed.

  After a moment’s thought she said: “Prenna.” Then he looked down again, silent.

  The rather mushy accent of these slave-Mrem sounded charming on her lips, soft and alluring.

  “Just Prenna?” he asked, smiling.

  She nodded, then looked up at him again. “Why would I have more?” she asked. “I am the only Prenna here.”

  “All of my people in the Clan of the Claw have two names,” he told her. “It is the Mrem way.”

  She stared at him with her brow furrowed. “We are Mrem, but it is not our way.”

  He thought she felt insulted and he made a gesture of apology. “It is the way of the clans,” he explained.

  Prenna looked back at the following Mrem. “Aren’t we a clan?”

  Canar Trowr shrugged. “Are you? Have you all agreed to be? Do you have a clan name?”

  They would need these things to be accepted by the other clans he knew. Right now they were just a mob of refugees. Especially now that their herds were gone. He frowned. He would have to encourage them to unite as a clan or his people and the other clans might refuse to accept them.

  “You look like a priestess,” he told her.

  She looked up at him, puzzled. “The…Ashala,” she said carefully as if the name hurt to say, “called her handmaidens priestesses. But they were Liskash. Can a Mrem be a priestess? And a priestess of what?”

  He was shocked. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that they wouldn’t know of Aedonnis and Assirra. That was like not knowing which direction the sun rose.

  “Surely you know about the great god Aedonnis?” he said. “He created the world!” And he told her all about that.

  Prenna nodded politely when he’d finished.

  “What do you think?” Canar Trowr asked when she remained silent.

  “I think it’s a very pretty story,” she said. “But we were fooled once into worshiping a false god. I don’t think we’ll give our faith so easily to another. Besides,” she said thoughtfully, “if he created everything and he is a Mrem in shape, then why did he make the Liskash so powerful? Or at all for that matter?”

  He stared down into those big, green eyes and had no answer. “I’m only a soldier,” he said. “Not a philosopher. There are such among the Clan of the Claw. If you care to seek them out perhaps they could tell you.”

  “Look,” Prenna said pointing ahead.

  There in the distance was a dust cloud, a fairly substantial one. And here, running towards them as fast as he could was a spear carrying scout.

  “Hamsticorns!” they heard him shout. “Our hamsticorns!”

  The word spread rapidly and the Mrem all cheered and clapped their hands in joy. Krar came jogging up to the head of the caravan and consulted with the panting scout. Then he gave a shout and ran the way the scout had come.

  * * *

  As soon as the caravan joined the herd they made camp. The first thing they did after circling the wagons was cut out a beast to kill and roast. Everyone was cheerful at the thought of fresh meat.

  Mrem, Canar Trowr reflected, were made to eat meat.

  As the feast finished thunder rolled and they hastily erected the huge tents they’d been hauling. As much as they liked meat they disliked being rained on. It was unnerving, too, to have rain so far out of season. The wise in the Clan of the Claw had told Canar Trowr that it was because of the new sea. Apparently all that water was changing the weather.

  “We’ll be here for a day or so with this,” Tral said, handing him a skewer of meat chunks. “The trails, such as they are, will be too muddy for the wagons to travel.”

  “It’s good you’ll have a chance to rest your stock,” Canar Trowr said. “Besides, it’s past time you all had a meeting to decide what you want to do.”

  Tral looked at him. “I suppose it is. Our idea when we escaped was to join up with the wild Mrem,” he said thoughtfully. “But that’s not much of a plan.”

  “The preferred term is ‘free Mrem.’” Canar Trowr told him. “My people don’t think of themselves as wild.”

  The healer laughed. “No, I suppose not. Thank you for pointing that out. Perhaps you could tell me the best way to approach your people. All our hopes are tied to traveling with you to someplace far from the Liskash.”

  Canar Trowr nodded. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said.

  * * *

  The next day the remains of the bundor herd caught up to them, and again there was much rejoicing. Not least from the bundor herders who had feared being left hopelessly behind.

  That night they gathered together for a long delayed meeting. The Mrem stood in a circle around a central fire; even the kits were among them for this was an historic event. In a cleared space before the fire stood the acknowledged elders.

  Mahssa and Tral as the eldest among them took charge. They’d long since felt out the other elders about confirming Krar as their leader. The others had hemmed and hawed and said they’d like to ponder, but when pressed acknowledged that he was the best candidate by far. Still, they insisted on putting it up for a vote and so that business led off the meeting.

  “Does anyone have another they’d like to propose?” Tral asked the crowd.

  “I object to Krar as leader,” Rav said. “He’s a bully who pushes people around.”

  “You mean he pushed you around when you were acting like a rampaging bundor,” Mahssa sneered and her tail thrashed. “And the question was who else could be our leader? Are you suggesting yourself, Rav?”

  The young Mrem held up both hands in negation and took a step back.

  “We don’t have time to waste,” Tral said. “If there are no others then I move we vote now.” He looked around at the serious faces. “All those in favor of Krar for leader say aye.”

  The entire crowd roared “Aye!” with one voice.

  Krar stood a moment longer among them, then strode into the center of the circle.

  “I swear to lead you to the best of my ability,” he promised. “I also swear to place your good above my own and to strive to be an honest and responsible leader. I will always listen to you.”

  He lowered his head and snorted softly. “I can’t and won’t promise to always do what you want. I can only promise to try and be fair and just to all of you.”

  When he was finished the crowd roared approval and Krar smiled, fit to burst with pride.

  Then Canar Trowr shuffled painfully into the open circle.

  “You may not know me,” he said to them. “I am Canar Trowr, soldier and scout of the Clan of the Claw. It is good that you h
ave finally selected a leader. But now you must do more. You must become a clan. All of you will be bound by this. It means that you are like one family, loyal to one another and to your leader. It means that if you go off on your own you might not be able to come back. Because each member of a clan relies on every other Mrem in the clan. You must become a unit. And your clan must have a name that you will all acknowledge.”

  This threw them all into an uproar. They actually were all related. Sisters and brothers, mothers and cousins, fathers as well, though because of the way the Liskash had arranged things, fathers never knew their kits. But the groups had been segregated and thought of themselves as members of those groups and not, as Canar Trowr proposed, as a single unit.

  After a time Krar stood forward again and asked, “Can we do this? Can we be as one?”

  There was a pause and then a rather lukewarm, “Yes,” came from the crowd.

  “We will do this with a whole heart or not at all,” Krar commanded. “We need to be a clan for our own sake, and because it will cause the free Mrem to accept us. Now…are we a clan?”

  “Yes!” came back to him in a mighty shout.

  “What will you call yourselves?” Canar Trowr asked.

  Prenna came forward into the speakers circle.

  “I think we should be the clan Ranowr,” she said. “To honor the hero who brought us to freedom. Without him we’d be laboring on Ashala’s holding—slaves still.”

  Krar held back the disbelieving laugh that threatened to escape him.

  Did I hate being under Ranowr’s shadow? he asked himself. Now I shall labor all my life under his shadow! He shook his head.

  Then thought: On the other hand, Prenna is right, he is…was…a hero, well deserving of the honor. What’s more he’s dead, but I’m alive and the clan’s leader. And, he glanced at Prenna, if I work it right, I might end up mated to the most beautiful female in the clan.

  There was a more solemn pause and then, one by one each Mrem said, “Aye.”

  Krar managed to say his “Aye,” late, but not last.

  * * *

  They resumed their march two days later, well rested and feeling certain that Ashala’s people did not pursue them. Now that they had become a clan the groups mingled more and they relaxed with one another.