By Tooth and Claw - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  “How dare you get in my way!” Cleotra screamed, baring her claws. “I am the Dancer of Dancers! My every movement is worship of the gods!”

  “Forgive me, dearest lady,” Petru said. He knew the diatribe was not aimed at him. It was the illness talking. Cleotra had an evil temper, feared throughout the clan, but she rarely exercised it on him. He took great care not to arouse it. “Oh, no, no, no, mistress, don’t, please!”

  Cleotra rose to all fours and arched her back high, flinging her tail out of the way. Petru leaped forward with the cloth held out.

  It wasn’t an adequate barrier. Liquid bowel movements sprayed out of her anus. He caught a small quantity, but the rest fell onto her bedding. She immediately began to scratch at the mess as if to bury it, then realized she had excrement all over her hands. She dropped onto her side and began to cry.

  “Oh, mistress, calm yourself,” Petru said. He dropped the cloth and scrubbed his pads against the sandy floor. When they were as clean as he could get them, he gathered the Dancer in his arms. She was as a light bundle of sticks covered with dry fur.

  Her fever was getting worse. Young as she was, he feared that she might die before Cassa.

  Once he had cleaned Cleotra and placed her on a nest of fresh bedding, she was so exhausted by her nightmares that she fell into a deep sleep. Grateful for the respite, Petru went out to clean the stink from his own fur.

  The only water to be had needed to be hauled up a pail at a time from the depths of a single well at the heart of the oasis. It tasted sweet, but the Mrem feared that the encroaching sea, not far to the north, would invade the water table from below and pollute this well and others ahead of them with salt. Once that happened, the Lailah Clan would be forced further into enemy lands. Reluctant to leave his charges, Petru kept looking over his shoulder at the tent where they rested. He disliked change. Change was the enemy, even more than the hated Liskash.

  At least the Lailah had had a few months of peace, more so than many of their distant kinsfolk. They had departed the Liskash satrapy of Ckotliss where they had wintered more than a month before. Each clan had had its own place to live among the stone buildings within the high, strong walls. As much as was possible, the Mrem sought to live as though the Great Salt had not invaded their lives and destroyed their lands. Marriages had taken place in the citadel. A few newborns had been welcomed, and several more begotten. Many councils and much healing had taken place, but not enough to undo the evil of having had to depart their homeland with so little preparation. An ongoing interchange of ideas in council was begun among the fragments of the clans now joined together under the banner of the Lailah, but mainly the Mrem were grateful for a place to live safely.

  Since the Liskash lord Tae Shanissi was dead and all his court with him, the remaining Liskash fled from the citadel or existed in a forced truce with the Mrem. The good things were a chance to rest and raise healthy cattle, the crops to feed them and the clan on the road, and time to send out scouts to determine the best way around the new ocean that parted them from the rest of the Mrem and safety. The bad thing was they must eventually set out and continue to the west in hopes of meeting up with the rest of the Clan of the Claw. The Lailah could not hope to hold off incursions on Ckotliss by other Liskash wizards who would surely investigate why their brother was no longer communicating with them. It was not altruism on the part of the lizards, but pure self-interest. An empty castle would be a new outpost for the one who could conquer it. The cold ones were friends to no one, not even one another.

  The land became more difficult immediately west of the citadel, a natural defense against invasion. The Mrem had a choice between harsh desert and sheer cliffs that overlooked it, a landscape constructed by a vengeful whim of the gods. But the choice resolved itself farther on—the escarpments, receded farther from the salty shore, leaving an expanse of sand and further in, scanty brush in which birds and tiny lizards flitted. There was little cover, but at least it was an easy road, if a perilous one. The Lailah were grateful that none of the herdbeasts or the krelprep would have precious weight run off them on the long journey ahead. Still, they could not linger. The sea encroached daily upon the narrow neck of land. Beyond lay the great desert and who knew what dangers?

  The Dancers mourned those of the Mrem whose lands had been drowned. Many lovely valleys were now beneath the waves, and who knew where the inhabitants had gone? The Dancers had performed many rites to lay to rest the spirits of those who had died. Very few survivors were found who claimed to come from those northern valleys.

  The Mrem slaves who had been freed within the compound did not trust their freedom at first. Because of the Liskash Noble’s mind powers, they had given up hope of being considered anything but menial servants and the occasional meat beast by the Liskash. Once the spell had been broken long enough, they began to realize that it was true. When they were convinced by talonmaster Bau Dibsea, the War Leader, and Cassa that they deserved better, they could not show enough how grateful they were. Gradually, they regained pride in themselves, caring for their coats and claws once more. In a grand ceremony with their own ill-trained Dancers performing the rite of thanks before Aedonnis and Assirra, they swore their allegiance to the Lailah clan. Those Liskash who left the Mrem alone or who had treated captives well were left in peace. But the former servants took dire revenge on any of the Liskash who had tormented them. New heads were found dangling from cords along the city gates every morning for a month. The bodies were never found.

  Petru did not care where they had been bestowed, as long as he did not have to cope with rotting and dismembered corpses. He had enough to do looking after his Dancers. His ladies immediately took the young ones under their tutelage. Already, the newcomers were thrilling and amazing the Lailah with the harrowing stories that they acted out. Even Ysella, most junior of the Dancers, had acquired a fist of students of her own. They had heard of the young female’s heroic exploits, and begged to serve her and learn from her. To Ysella’s credit, the praise and adulation had not changed her behavior toward her betters, among whom Petru counted himself for the moment. Once she had truly achieved the mastery of dance and become a full Priestess, he would naturally cede authority to her, but until then, he tolerated her antics with the patience of a loving uncle.

  The former servants threw their full energies to the benefit of their new clansfolk. They knew where everything was hidden in the stone chambers, cellars and corridors. The councilor Sherrill Rangawo oversaw the growing inventory with an authority that irked Petru, but he could not help but admit that the results gave heart to the entire Mrem clan. Working throughout the winter months, the Mrem stripped the palace anything useful, especially weapons, along with tools to make and repair them, carts, lamps and fuel for same, dried herbs and tinctures for medicine and lightweight treasures they could use as trade goods upon the road. Petru himself had gone through Tae Shanissi’s personal chambers in search of adornments. His stores of sparkle powders, scents and other cosmetics were running low, and the Dancers appreciated the small touches he added to their beauty before they performed. Once they knew what was lacking in the citadel’s own stores, Sherrill assembled a list of the supplies that the clan would need upon setting out. Every male and warrior female went on the hunt outside the citadel’s walls, and every female, child and elder set their hands to salting meats and drying eggs, herbs and fruit. Wholesome grains and good-keeping tubers were packed into pottery jugs and sealed with wax against insects. Honey, oil, vinegar and wine were bottled into clay amphorae and set in endless rows in between jugs meant for water that they would fill from the city wells just before setting out. Salt they already had in plenty.

  The Mrem had no intention of impoverishing their hosts, for that way lay resentment and possible vengeance. The Liskash themselves must soon move from the citadel, and would require supplies of their own. The Great Salt continued to rise, as much as an outstretched hand a day. The Liskash’s jetties that jutted out into the
sea were now entirely surrounded, their pilings nearly drowned already. Sometime in the not-too-distant future the encroaching sea would swamp and envelop Ckotliss. The land occupied by the citadel and its rich fields had little time before it as much a memory as the Lailah’s ancient home.

  Bau Dibsea announced at a council to which he invited all the townsfolk remaining within the walls that anyone who shared their grain or animals would be compensated from Tae Shanissi’s confiscated treasures. Cassa and Bau insisted that the Mrem leave the citadel in as good condition as when they had entered it. As the city would be under water in a matter of moons, it was an empty gesture, but one that they were sure would be approved by Aedonnis and Assirra. They never truly trusted a single Liskash, but they were good temporary masters, and the Liskash responded to that benign treatment. They hated the Mrem, yet they were not soldiers. If they were not misused, they would not try to follow the Mrem westward when they departed to take revenge in the open. Bau was seldom wrong when it came to summing up an enemy. He assumed that the remaining lizards would gather together their goods and animals and flee eastward once the Mrem were gone.

  When spring came at last, there was no excuse for remaining. Scouts returned weekly with reports of the terrain to the west. No parties of intelligent Liskash had been spotted; no signs of their passage had been found. The news was not all good, of course. Because the sea had already filled the low-lying farmlands of the north, they would be forced to travel in the open desert.

  Petru sighed for the good meals they had eaten over the winter. The months of privation before that had been hard on his lush figure, and those of his ladies, of course. Bau took council from those of the Mrem slaves who had lived to the west and could advise him on the shape of the terrain and the dangers of what lizard-kin roamed there, or had when they were last free. The Lailah were as well prepared as it was possible to be, not knowing how long their journey would last, nor into what dangers it would take them. With great reluctance, they set out.

  But the desert was vast. While like any of the Mrem Petru reveled the heat, he disliked immensely the endless dust that their passage kicked up. His thick fur needed to be brushed every time they stopped, or he felt he would look unfit to care for his Dancers. Almost daily, the hunters brought in fresh meat from Liskash-kin and birds. Petru treated the journey as though it was a picnic. When the caravan halted for meals, he prepared dainties for his charges and presented them with as much of a flourish as he could muster. Cassa was amused by his antics. For a while, it was easy enough.

  The Mrem tired quickly during the first few days, but soon fell into the habit of the march. Fist Master Emoro Awr, one of the oldest and most seasoned of the warriors, stayed at the rear with a fist of his best fighters, to protect the Dancers, but also to keep an eye on Petru, his dearest love. The riders flanked the Dancers as they walked beside the cart containing their tent and other personal goods. Except for the warriors protecting the train, no one rode but the kits and elders. The scouts led the way, riding back and forth between the talonmaster and his officers to give the news on what lay ahead.

  At first the desert looked featureless, all grayish-yellow under a broad blue sky, but Petru soon learned to distinguish differences in the terrain. It was not all sand, but it was hot. Undulating waves of bedrock would suddenly appear in between dunes, leading down into crevasses that were far cooler to traverse than the open surface. Bau Dibsea took counsel from the others, and decided it was wiser to travel at night, when they would not fall prey to the hot sun. Thereafter, the Mrem slept in the crevasses. Some were populated with sting-tails and other perils, but most were safe. Like the scouts, Petru scanned for those darker points of land. When no crack in the earth was available, they trudged over the dunes under the stars, taking their time for the sake of the laboring, panting beasts of burden. The whipping sand covered footprints so swiftly that the best scouts had to wait for the dry storms to abate before leading the train forward. They navigated by the stars and the rising moon. It was in its first quarter, a slender hook the Dancers called Aedonnis’s Claw.

  Their supplies of water ran out very quickly. The Mrem found the shadowy trails of the animals that occupied the desert in between gusts of wind. Following them carefully and patiently so as not to scare the desert creatures into fleeing randomly, they waited, eyes aglow in the darkness, to see where the small beasts went for water and food.

  Some of the scouts that went off on these foraging expeditions never returned, but Drillmaster Scaro Ullenh, a brave Mrem who had proved his worth in Ckotliss as in many other situations before, rode proudly into the temporary shelter, his head held high, with a tale of sweet water, ripe figs, frogs and even fish not half a day’s march ahead.

  “Broad pools, like blue jewels in the pale gold desert,” he said, preening his silver whiskers with pride.

  That was their first oasis. The beasts had to be coaxed up and out of the sheltered passageway, but once they got the scent of water, they could not be held back. The lush, green spot was so small, they could have missed it entirely. Scaro preened at having been the one to find it. A couple of the younger nubile females showed him their gratitude, to Petru’s amusement. But it was the beginning of the pattern into which their journey fell.

  The desert did not give up its gifts freely. The secret of each oasis had to be teased from the terrain and the sands. At their waking at sunset every day the Dancers performed rites to ensure that Assirra pleaded with her husband to show them favor. They never knew how many days would pass in between finding water. The Mrem covered many weary, hot miles, fearing that the wells they sought were only illusions in the minds of the desperate scouts.

  Everyone’s fears came to pass one moon into their trek. After several successes, the forward observers failed at last to find a well. Day after day, the leaders released smaller and smaller rations of water to the clan to make it last. Petru gave up as much of his portion as he could bear to make sure the Dancers had enough to sustain them. The long, dry trek went on so long that the clan was ready to give up hope.

  At last, when they feared they might lose several of their elders and kits to dehydration, the scouts trudged back with good news and half-full amphorae. They had found an oasis, a hollow with several small, deep pools that bubbled up from the depths. It was so remote that the clan passed skeleton after skeleton of lizard kin who had died before they reached it.

  Desperate for water, the Mrem had pressed on to the southwest. A scout waited on the rim of the hidden valley and guided them down the slope into a pocket of greenery. The Dancers and warriors tried to prevent the clan from drinking the water before it was boiled, but some, in the choice between life and death, drank of the pool. What, after all, was the worst that could happen? They drank their fill, then loaded up every vessel with the water, and set out again as soon as everyone had regained their strength.

  The worst occurred. Within a day or two past the green valley, most of those who drank of unfiltered water became ill. Then, horribly, the illness spread, until very few of the clan was untouched by fever, chills and unsettled bowels. The sickest patients grew disoriented, seeing creatures and threats that were not there. Of these many died. Grief-stricken, their loved ones buried them in the desert.

  The War Leader called a conference of the elders of the clan. With the endless heat like an oppressive hand pressing down upon them, the Dancers and the senior warriors gathered under the waning moon. In the distance, Petru could hear the slither of night creatures. He prayed fervently that Aedonnis would spare the Mrem from the insidiousness of poisonous serpents and stinging insects.

  Sherrill Rangawo, as usual, the lazy hairball, spoke for those who wanted to stop. The big gray Mrem argued that they needed to halt for a time to heal themselves. Emoro argued against it, pointing out that the scouts had also noticed the footprints of Liskash of all kinds investigating their trail and spoor. They could not hide, nor could they stand against the main forces of Liskash armies. A g
ood deal of grumbling ensued, but the clan trudged on, stopping frequently throughout the nights to care for those whom the disease felled. Cassa promised that they could stop when they found a place reasonably defensible.

  Instead, one by one, the Mrem sickened. The disease made their bowels loose, filled up their noses and throats with phlegm, but worst of all, the sufferers began to see hallucinations. Big, strong warriors fell into believing they were kits again. They saw monsters and magic-wielding Liskash everywhere. So did their pack and food animals, who startled at shadows or swirls of dust. The patients began to attack even those who nursed them. The Dancers held together the clan through the firmest discipline, but even they began to lose that grip as fewer of them were able to dance their supplication to the gods. Bau Dibsea, seeing the numbers of sick increase, had no choice but to order the caravan to stop at the next oasis.

  And there they had stayed, for a quarter of a moon, already. The water in the bubbling pool was indeed fresh and sweet. Petru looked down in annoyance at his coat as he went to clean himself. While he was still healthy, and he meant to remain so for the sake of his ladies, he wanted to look his best.

  * * *

  A few of the youngsters still healthy enough to assist were gathered around the well. In the heat of noon, most lolled flat, their black fur making them look like shadows, on the terrace of stones surrounding the pool or the benches at the perimeter. For a moment, Petru marveled at the presence of such constructions. This oasis, like the last one, was so remote that they had found dead animals in the sands all around it who had lost their bid to reach water in time. Such a contrast to the garden existed within the boundaries of the well’s environs that it could be the difference between paradise and purgatory.

  Some ancient ruler had commanded that stonemasons and artisans furnish this place as if it was a pleasure spot. Tall carvings and trees stood sentry Three shallow, rectangular enclosures like low tubs a hand’s length in depth stood at the morning, midday and twilight spots around the circles. They were designed for travelers to clean themselves. The drains pointed out of the center, so as not to defile the pure water at the heart of the oasis. One tub was filled with water, and occupied.