Time, then. Being careful to keep his snare out of sight of the hatchlings above—that involved an awkward extension of the pole, sticking out almost directly behind him—Sebetwe began creeping up the final stretch.
He never once thought to look down the mountain behind him. If the adult gantrak were returning to the nest they’d either be coming from the other side of the mountain or they would have already spotted the Liskash advancing on the nest. In which case there would be no need to scour the mountainside looking for signs of them coming. Their screams of fury would have been heard already. Gantrak were even less given to subtlety than Herere.
Chapter 3
Sebetwe
He was at the rim of the nest, now. On the other side of the mound of stones, the noise being made by the hatchlings was almost deafening. Glancing to his left, he saw that Nabliz was ready also.
Sebetwe couldn’t see Herere—he could have barely heard her if she were shouting, in the midst of the hatchling racket—but he would just have to assume that she was in position as well.
It would be no great matter if she weren’t. He was now sure there were only two hatchlings in the nest, which he and Nabliz could handle. Long enough for Herere to arrive and lend her assistance, anyway.
There was no point in waiting.
No point in issuing a war cry, either. Trying to shout over the screeching of the hatchlings would be an exercise in futility.
So, he just came upright and leaned over the stone rim, bringing his snare into play.
Two hatchlings, as he’d guessed. It was almost comical the way the creatures became instantly silent the moment they spotted Sebetwe. They stared up at him with their jaws agape, their eyes large and as round as such eyes could be.
His cast was perfect. The noose came down over one of the hatchling’s head, down its sinewy neck and over the slender predator’s shoulders. With a powerful wrench to his right, he brought the rope tight, pinning the young gantrak’s forelimbs to its body.
Now a wrench to the left brought the creature down. As he clambered into the nest, he saw that Nabliz’s cast had been much poorer than his. Nabliz had failed to get the noose over the shoulders of the other one. Now, he could only lift the small gantrak into the air, choking it with the rope around the neck. Unless someone came to his aid—and soon—he would kill the hatchling instead of capturing it.
Nabliz had no choice in the matter, though. Even a hatchling gantrak was dangerous if left to run wild.
But Sebetwe could spare no more than a glance at Nabliz. His own hatchling was still not subdued. He slammed the pole down and stepped on it with his foot, keeping the hatchling pinned. Then, squatting to bring himself close to the little monster—not too close; a swipe from one of those thrashing and well-taloned rear limbs could easily tear out an eye—he compressed the thing’s mind under his gudh. Within two seconds, the hatchling was completely still, paralyzed.
Being gudru had its uses, but Sebetwe was already readying his bradda. The mental exercises needed for that took some time, though, which was the reason he’d started with a crude but straightforward use of his gudh.
The exercises were mostly a matter of rote for him now, so he took a bit of time to see how Nabliz was faring.
Much better. Herere had arrived and immobilized that hatchling’s rear limbs with his own snare. Between them, she and Nabliz brought the creature down to earth. By now, the hatchling was half-suffocated and dazed. Moving deftly and quickly, Nabliz loosened his noose and slid it over the young gantrak’s shoulders.
That one was now completely immobilized also. Herere, showing the good sense she usually exhibited in combat, switched snares with Nabliz. She would now hold the creature still while Nabliz readied his own bradda.
Everything was shaping up well.
Until the pile of debris in a far corner of the nest suddenly erupted.
Achia Pazik
The screech that now came from the slope above made the ones issued earlier seem like the peepings of small birds. Achia Pazik froze, her eyes ranging up and scouring the mountainside, looking for the source.
Sebetwe
A gantrak—fully grown, with a red-and-blue male crest—came up from the pile of debris. It must have been sleeping there.
The scream it issued paralyzed Sebetwe for a moment. But not Herere. She flung her snarepole at Nabliz, shouting something that couldn’t really be heard above the monster’s scream. Sebetwe thought it might be Here! Hold the hatchling!
Then she rose, drawing her knife, to face the gantrak.
It was an act of courage bordering on sheer madness. There was no way Herere, armed only with a knife, could overcome an adult gantrak. Even the male ones, although smaller than the females, outweighed any Liskash—and if their fangs and talons were any smaller than a female’s, Sebetwe couldn’t tell the difference.
And so it proved. The gantrak’s charge drove Herere off her feet entirely. But not before she grasped the monster’s crest and drove her knife into his chest.
Or tried to. The armor there deflected the blade—she’d have done better to try for the throat or belly—and all her knife did was gash a nasty-looking but shallow cut in the creature hide.
It was enough to unbalance the gantrak, though. Between that and Herere’s tight grip on the crest, the monster stumbled and knocked both of them over the rim of the nest.
The gantrak screamed again. A moment later, he and Herere had fallen out of sight somewhere down the mountain’s slope.
Achia Pazik
Two intertwined bodies came rolling down the mountain. One of them was a Liskash, that much was obvious. The other—
What was it? She had no idea.
But whatever it was, it was big and clearly dangerous. And it was coming straight for the section of the ledge where she thought Chefer Kolkin had reached.
Chefer Kolkin
Achia Pazik’s assumption was mostly correct—that was the portion of the ledge Chefer Kolkin had reached, moving ahead of the other warriors. But it was no longer a ledge. That section of the trail had broadened out into a small terrace. Almost a meadow, except the only things growing on it were lichens and a few scrubby little bushes.
Chefer Kolkin heard the bodies tumbling down the slope before he could see them. And when he did see them, it was at the last moment—in what seemed like a mere instant, he was knocked to the ground by the collision.
A moment later, three bodies separated themselves out from the jumbled pile.
Chefer Kolkin himself, a bit bruised but otherwise unharmed.
An unusually large Liskash, who seemed to be covered with gashes and wounds but was still alive and conscious—barely.
And…
Some sort of hideous monster. It reminded Chefer Kolkin vaguely of a flat-bodied crested lizard he’d once seen in the desert, except its limbs weren’t splayed out—and it was easily thirty or forty times as big as any lizard he’d ever seen.
So were its fangs and talons.
Chefer Kolkin rose before the Liskash. That was his first mistake. The monster, which had been crouched over the Liskash and ready to tear it into pieces, immediately had its attention drawn to him.
And immediately charged him.
The charge was terrifying. Unlike any lizard Chefer Kolkin had ever encountered, of any size, this one rose on its hind legs and surged forward with its front limbs spread apart and raised, its talons ready to slash.
Or grapple. Chefer Kolkin had no idea what the beast’s fighting tactics were—and had no desire to find out. So he lunged forward with his spear, aiming below the armored chest for what he hoped was the softer and thinner hide of the monster’s belly.
His aim was true and his guess that the creature’s belly was less well protected than its chest was correct. But “less well protected” is a relative term. It was still like striking armor with his spear head. The blade penetrated only a short distance before the monster jerked its torso sideways, causing the spear to leave
nothing more than a shallow cut that didn’t pierce the body chamber.
That sideways twist also unbalanced the creature, so it didn’t slam into Chefer Kolkin with the driving force that it had obviously intended. The veteran Mrem warrior was no stranger to battle and twisted his own body out of the way.
But as it passed him, the creature struck with its taloned paw, slamming into Chefer Kolkin’s left shoulder. The warrior’s own armor kept the talons from shredding the flesh beneath, but he was knocked off his feet.
On the ground, half-stunned, Chefer Kolkin saw that the monster had also stumbled and fallen. But a moment later it was back on its feet and spinning around to charge again—this time crouched on all fours, it seemed. Which was logical enough, given that Chefer Kolkin himself was sprawled flat on the ground.
The creature surged forward. Desperately, Chefer Kolkin tried to interpose his spear. But he knew he wouldn’t have time.
Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, the Liskash was there. Now standing, blood oozing over much of its body, holding a big rock in its hands. Apparently it had lost whatever weapons it once possessed.
The rock did splendidly as a substitute, though. The big Liskash threw it down with great force, striking the monster’s skull. The impact flattened the creature and seemed to daze it somewhat.
Somewhat. A sideways blow of a front limb struck the Liskash’s lower leg, tearing another gash and sending the Liskash sprawling.
By then, thankfully, the rest of the Mrem warriors had arrived. The Zeg half-brothers had their spears ready, holding the monster at bay, while Puah Neff and Zuel Babic came to Chefer Kolkin’s side and began tending to him.
The monster was coming out of its daze quickly—if it had been in one at all. Thwarted in the direction of the Mrem by the spears of the half-brothers, the creature turned its attention to the Liskash.
Who, for its part, was now all but helpless. The Liskash still seemed to be conscious, more or less, but that last wound—or simply accumulated damage and exhaustion—had left it unable to do more than feebly try to lever itself up on one arm while, with the other, it tried to find a rock with which to defend itself.
The monster crept toward it. But then, suddenly, a second Liskash interposed itself. A considerably smaller Liskash—and one who seemed to possess no weapons at all. What did it think it could do?
Sebetwe
There was no chance Sebetwe could control the gantrak, even as battered and confused as it was due to Herere’s incredible fight and the completely unforeseen intervention of the Mrem. But he thought he might be able to keep the gantrak stymied long enough for…
Whatever. Perhaps the Mrem would finish it off. Perhaps Herere could be rescued once the rest of the Liskash arrived and they could flee.
Whatever. He had no great hopes or expectations.
He tried to apply gudh. But, as he expected, it served no purpose. The great predator’s mind was simply impervious to mental bludgeoning.
And thankfully so, all things considered. If Liskash nobility could control the world’s most terrible predators with their minds, they would be even more powerful than they were. But that sort of sheer will simply didn’t work well on hunters, unless they were small or young.
So, it would rest entirely on Sebetwe’s bradda. To make things worse, he hadn’t had time to do more than the first of the needed exercises—and certainly didn’t have time now. The gantrak was less than two body lengths away and about to charge.
Sebetwe began with a spike of pure glamor, doing his best to surround himself and the recumbent Herere with an aura that would make the monster wonder—leave the creature puzzled, at the least, hopefully tinged with a bit of awe.
It was the greatest such spike he’d ever created. By far. Why? He had no idea. Perhaps it was the peril of the moment. Perhaps it was the exaltation of trying such a feat against such a creature. For all he knew, it was simply caused by the lightheadedness brought on by the rarified atmosphere.
Whatever the cause, the gantrak’s forward creep stopped immediately. The monster’s head came up. Its two forwardly focused predator’s eyes scrutinized Sebetwe intensely. Somewhat in the manner that such creatures studied their prey, but more like…
Sebetwe’s concentration was almost disastrously broken by a laugh. But more like a possible mate is studied.
He did not want that much glamor! Again, he had to force down a laugh.
The humor swelled his self-confidence. Now, through the veil of the glamor’s aura, he began to insinuate other emotions. The key one was kinship. Gantrak were not pack hunters. But they did mate for life and spent years raising their young. That was enough, he hoped—and blessed be whatever gods and goddesses did exist and never mind what the teachings said—for the tie of kinship to take hold. Long enough, anyway, for whatever else…
Might happen. He still hadn’t given that any thought at all. Any more than he’d been able to think about Nabliz’s situation. The last he’d seen, Nabliz had been trying to control two hatchlings with a snare in each hand. Good luck with that!
The arrival of another Mrem on the open space barely registered on him at all.
Chapter 4
Achia Pazik
When she reached the open space where the ledge widened, Achia Pazik was frozen for a moment by the bizarre scene in front of her. To her left, now pressed against the side of the mountain in a half-supine position, was Chefer Kolkin. The warrior was being tended by Puah Neff and Zuel Babic. He seemed shaken and perhaps dazed, but she could see no blood or open wounds on him.
In front of those Mrem crouched the Zeg brothers, their spears leveled at an incredible monster. But the creature was paying them no attention at all—neither them nor the badly injured Liskash lying unconscious on the ground. Instead, the huge predator’s attention was fixed entirely on a smaller Liskash kneeling not more than two arm’s-lengths away.
Who, for its past—most bizarre sight of all—was doing nothing more than peering intently at the monster. The Liskash not only had no weapons in its hands, the hands themselves were simply pressed flat to the ground. Its pose was not even one of preparation for sudden flight. More like…
A pose of prayer, almost. Except that was insane.
What was the Liskash doing?
Suddenly, she sensed something familiar. The kneeling Liskash was emanating—if that was the proper term; the power’s nature was unclear to Mrem—the same sort of mental aura that Zilikazi had used to destroy her tribe.
Except…not really. The aura was quite different in some ways. That it was some sort of mental force was certain. But it had very little if any of the sheer will that had suffused Zilikazi’s power. It seemed more like…
She had to grope for a moment before she found the analogy. And then she couldn’t help but choke out a half-laugh, half-cry of surprise.
The Liskash was trying to coax the monster! Yes! Just as you might try to inveigle a nervous and wary pet to let itself be stroked.
Achia Pazik would never have imagined such a thing was possible. And…
After a few moments, she realized that the Liskash was not succeeding in its purpose. The monster was growing restive, its narrow but fierce mind chafing at the restraints being placed upon it.
And if it got loose, it was likely to kill or at least injure more than just the two Liskash before it was finally brought down.
But if she ordered the Zeg brothers to attack, the monster was sure to break free of whatever strange binds the Liskash had placed upon it. At which point anything might happen. The creature was certainly more likely to go after its assailants than the Liskash.
As she’d been wrestling with this immediate quandary, a thought that had been congealing elsewhere in her mind suddenly came into clear focus.
Whatever powers the kneeling Liskash was trying to wield, she now realized that they actually had little in common with the forces Zilikazi had controlled. Instead, oddly, they reminded her more of the mental aura that she an
d other dancers created in their war dance—which was not a “force” so much as a shield. And not a shield deployed in a way that stops a blow directly, but rather deflects it.
Confuses the blow, befuddles the blow.
Again, she choked down a half-laugh. You could even say, seduces the blow!
Without thinking about it, she’d come to her feet and began the first shuffling steps.
This was madness! Yet…
Who could say? All of these powers were mysterious and poorly understood.
Within seconds, she was into the full rhythm of the dance.
Why not?
Sebetwe
Sebetwe had begun to despair when he felt a sudden surge of strength.
No—not strength, so much as a heightened awareness, a better and more acute grasp of the way the gantrak’s mind worked. It was as if he could suddenly understand a language that had formerly been nothing but a half-meaningless argot.
His new understanding was not fluent, but good enough that he could insinuate himself—his mind, his spirit, who knew what it was, exactly?—into the creature’s mind and quell its growing fury.
Again, he had to qualify. He was not quelling the fury so much as he was undermining it. He was persuading the animal that he was neither prey nor enemy, and doing so in the ancient manner common to most predators—by triggering its surrender reflex.
Most predatory species fight amongst themselves, but rarely do those fights result in death or even severe injuries. At a certain point, the animal that felt itself losing would submit to its opponent; who, for its part, would accept the submission and leave off any further battle.
So too, here and now. Steadily, inexorably—Sebetwe had never felt this sure of himself, this filled with mental acuity so great it transcended normal notions of power—he was bringing the monster to an acceptance that it had fought—fought well; fought furiously—but was simply overmatched.
Where this new capacity had come from, he did not know. He was far too preoccupied with the needs of the moment to even give the matter much thought, beyond a passing wonder. The gantrak was on the verge of surrendering, but Sebetwe could still lose the contest if he fumbled even the least because he was distracted.
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 14