Golcha whirled past him, cutting and jabbing at the two lopers that challenged him.
“Taking left,” Scaro said. Golcha nodded sharply and concentrated on holding off the right-hand beast. The left-hand loper narrowed its black, beady eyes at him and lumbered backward, trying to figure out an advantageous attack. It jumped at him. Scaro sidestepped it easily and whacked it in the back of the head with the butt of his spear. It righted itself, shaking its narrow head. It turned and jabbed for Scaro’s throat with its own spear.
The creatures couldn’t be too smart. Even taking into account the slowness of their attack, they missed obvious chances to strike. No, Scaro decided. Their job was to hold the prey in place until the rest of the hunting party could catch up.
Which they did. Liskash riding spindly legged dinos with long muzzles spurred toward them. Scaro counted four fists’ worth. He and the others couldn’t stand against a force that large.
“Retreat,” he ordered Golcha. The fighter nodded curtly as he grappled with the remaining loper. The hissing dino knew it could not beat him on speed, so it relied upon strength. It wrapped its forelegs around the gray-striped Mrem and held onto him, kicking him with one sharp-toed foot. Golcha bellowed. Blood welled in gouges on his thigh. He fought to free his arm. The dino bent to bite his neck. He brought his head up into its lower mandible. It bellowed. He raked his bronze claw-glove down the dino’s upper arm. The bellow turned to a scream. It clamped its limbs about Golcha and crushed him to its skinny chest. The Mrem grunted in pain.
The lizard that found itself facing Scaro made to grasp him in the same fashion. Scaro didn’t want to leave his warrior’s side, but he had no choice. The creature lunged at him again and again. Scaro dodged and leaped. He had to stay out of its grasp. With his superior speed, he jabbed it again and again with his spear. It was well-armored, and its hide was tougher than he thought. He thrust at its eyes through the slits in its ugly helmet. It retreated, roaring in fury.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the others advancing. They were far too outnumbered to do anything. He had sworn to return the Dancer safely to the clan. He must not fail in his duty. Emoro counted upon him! He spun in and kicked the dino in the throat. It fell backward, but caught itself against the vine-covered stones. The blow had been blunted by the dino’s gorget. Curse all lizardkin!
“Aaaagh!” Golcha bellowed. The cry was cut off. Scaro could not spare a glance backward. More of the long-legged dinos had sprung up from the riverbank. He drew a deep breath and stalked toward them, swinging spear and sword. Every step felt heavier than the last one. He forced himself to listen for every sound, pay attention to every move, but his limbs betrayed him. They felt numb, as though they didn’t belong to him. He watched the sword rise. Its blade chopped into Liskash armor, bounded off. The spear point thrust toward flat black eyes, was turned aside. The heavy, wet air choked him. He fell back, and the thick greenery swallowed him. Hands, thousands of them, closed on every one of his limbs and tail. He was too weak to throw them off. He tried to catch his breath, but felt as though he was drowning in the very mud around their feet. He gasped, spat, and gasped again.
Curse and curse again! He had caught the fever. Scaro watched as though from a great distance as he and Golcha were wrapped up in hunting nets, stripped of all armor and weaponry, and bundled onto the flanks of enormous dino beasts of burden.
“I’m sorry I failed you, my drillmaster,” Golcha said, his voice shaky from the bumps on the path.
“At least they won’t have us long,” Scaro said. He sneezed, expelling a gout of mucus onto the dino’s back. The explosion just barely cleared part of his stuffy head. “We’ll die on them and rob them of their victory.”
* * *
One could tell at once that the scrawny, purple-skinned lizard was the most important Liskash present. His clothes were more disgusting than anyone else’s. The Liskash’s overly ornate armor and sumptuous fabrics had been painted or dyed in a riot of clashing oranges and greens woven in patterns combined to present a horror of design that offended Petru’s artistic sensibilities. He could hardly bear to look at the creature.
A scabrous, whiskery, itchy rope around his ankle tethering him to a post in a clearing hastily hacked from the surrounding forest with scythes and machetes, Petru still maintained his dignity. He would not show fear in the face of the pathetic excuse for a leader of the force that had kidnapped him.
“Release us at once!” he demanded. The smell of which Nolda had complained was stronger than ever before, and he realized the other effect that he had noticed when they had entered Ckotliss, the Liskash stronghold, months before. His own voice sounded alien to him. It sounded weak and mewling, like a kitten’s, in his ears. He cleared his throat. “We do you no harm. We are merely passing through this place on our way to rejoin our kin in the far north on the other side of the Great Salt.”
“Kin? How many of you are there?” the Liskash demanded. “Answer!”
“I do not owe you an answer,” Petru said, raising his nose in the air. “You assail us from several directions, without explanation and without reason. Why should I trust you with information?”
“I am General Unwal Nopli. My brother the Lord Oscwal Nopli holds these lands as his satrapy. I have every right to hold you and question you. You are trespassing. Your lives are forfeit for coming here.”
Petru looked around. To him it looked as though a hasty camp had been set up on the grassy fields of what remained of rolling countryside. The Great Salt encroached upon all but the highest lands. According to the Mrem who had once lived in this region, the streambed down which he and the others had just run opened out into a fertile delta, the end of which must have been drowned in the rising waters. Evidently, the flood came so swiftly it caught the dinos by surprise.
He surveyed the Liskash who occupied the camp. There were females and young huddled near the trees under makeshift shelters of hides and woven cloths. Their clothing, although just as horrible in terms of color and design as the soldiers’ uniforms, suggested that they were among the wellborn. Yet, even though the garments were expensive, they had seen a lot of hard wear and little cleaning. He guessed that Oscwal and Unwal were as homeless as the Lailah. Their lack made them more dangerous than Liskash ensconced in a comfortable home.
“What is this?” one of the guards asked. He had upended Petru’s personal pack. In his scaly fist, he held two out horn vials of the sparkle powder that Petru wore daily on his fur and with which he adorned the Dancers when they performed rituals. “Some kind of magic?”
Petru made a grab for them, but the lizards at his side held them back.
“They are my property. Give them here!”
Unwal signed to the soldier, who put the stoppered tubes into his palm. Unwal opened first one, then the other, spilling ruby and sapphire powder onto the ground in glittering heaps. Petru struggled against his captors.
“No! You fool!”
“You dare to call me a fool, when I hold your lives in my hand?” Unwal asked. He closed his fist and squeezed. The fragile bottles shattered. He dropped the shards and ground them into the dirt with his heel. Petru swallowed. Now was not the time to voice his outrage, but he vowed the lizard would pay for his loss.
“We do not wish to cause any trouble, great general,” Petru said, switching to his most unctuous and wheedling tones. “Please release us, and we will be on our way.”
“No. I require answers. What are you doing here? How many of you are there?”
Petru thought quickly. He would never reveal the true reason for their presence. In spite of Bau’s insistence that those who remained behind could defend the camp, the number of Mrem remaining healthy was small and diminished every day. But the Liskash need know nothing of them, not when he had a Dancer at his side. To his surprise, Nolda and Bireena had not been tied up as the males had been. Surely the Liskash knew that the Dancer was far more dangerous than any of them.
“Our h
ome was drowned by the coming of the great flood,” Petru said. He spread out his hands to indicate the few of them there. “We few were cut off from our kinfolk in the north. All we wish to do is rejoin them. We are all that is left of a great city. All we wish to do is make our way to the north. We will be out of your realm by evening.”
“Why were you in the Broadleaf Marsh?”
“Foraging. This great lady,” he added, indicating Nolda, his voice falling into a persuasive purr, “has found the journey difficult. She is not feeling her best. Our journey rations have not been kind to her digestion. I thought to supplement her diet with soft foods from the marshlands. You would not begrudge her a frog or two? Perhaps some eggs?”
“Bah,” General Unwal said, with a dismissive wave. “A female? She should be grateful for whatever scraps you throw her way. She is of no importance except to give pleasure to her owners and bear sons.”
Petru felt outrage rise in his ample belly. He lifted a talon and aimed it at the Liskash’s nose.
“You! You do not understand!”
Sherril Rangawo cleared his throat meaningfully and lowered his ears in Petru’s direction. As little as he liked the diplomat, Petru had to admit that he probably knew more of Liskash customs than he did. His primary concern was the well-being of the Dancers, not petty bureaucracy, but the Liskash ought to know how wrong he was. He opened his mouth to say so.
“Our customs are not the same as yours, general,” Sherril said, cutting off Petru’s retort. “We Mrem live more simply than you do. We hold our females to be our equal because they are able to give birth. But let us not argue over cultural differences. We have no intention to offend. All we wish is your forbearance. If you would allow us to pass unmolested through your land, we would do you a service in return.”
General Unwal glared at Petru.
“You let your servants speak before you? I would beat him if he was mine!”
Sherril’s mouth dropped open in shock. Petru felt unholy glee swell in his heart. He would take advantage of that misapprehension. But not now, dear Assirra, while the Dancer is in mortal peril.
“Why do you think he outranks me?” Sherril snapped.
“I do not converse with those of lowly bearing,” Unwal said, not even bothering to address the diplomat. He frowned at Petru. “I never let my servants speak. Why do you tolerate such nerve?”
“He has his uses,” Petru said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. In spite of the dire circumstances, he enjoyed the moment. “As you see by his filthy fur, he was searching out birds’ nests to provide food for us. But might I ask, great general, if you recognize me as a person of quality, why you continue to hold us prisoner? We are few.” He pointed to Scaro and Golcha. “I have only these bodyguards to protect my elegant person from harm. We could not possibly do you harm.”
To prove that Aedonnis had a sense of irony that would have pleased any Dancer performing a tale, at that moment, two of the enormous beasts of burden lumbered into the clearing. The Liskash riding just behind the broad, horned skulls jerked up on the loose end of ropes. Freed by the motion, two huge hunting nets tumbled to the ground. Cries erupted from the tangled mass of twine. Petru was both dismayed and relieved to see the other warriors, Taadar and Imrun. They were alive, but the timing of their reappearance could not have been more unfortunate. Petru had hoped they had managed to remain at large in the jungle to effect their rescue. That faint hope had been extinguished.
“And what are these, then?” General Unwal demanded. “What is the true number of your party? Answer!”
Petru held his chin up.
“These are all. I had assumed that these two whom you have just restored to me had fled into the wilderness. Our supplies are nearly gone, as you must know from your brutal search of our baggage. They were hungry, as were the rest of us.”
“You don’t look as though you have gone without for very long,” the Liskash said, lowering his scaly eyelids halfway over his flat black eyes. If he had been a Mrem, Petru would have thought he indulged in irony.
“Naturally,” Petru said, refusing to take the bait. “Among our kind, my shape is considered to be desirable.”
“All it means to me is that you have plenty of meat on your bones,” General Unwal said. “We, too, seek comestibles. I think we need look no further for a time. It is well. We will take one of the less valuable of your number first. That female has well-molded muscles.” He pointed at Nolda. “They will be well-flavored, if tough.”
Petru was so horrified at the notion that he sputtered.
“Eat Nolda? She is a Priestess of my people! I would sooner offer myself to your knives!”
“That would be acceptable. We hunger. Which of you sates it, slave or master, makes no difference.”
“No!” Scaro exclaimed, springing to the end of his bonds. “They are all under my protection.”
The guards surrounding General Unwal lumbered forward, wielding the butts of their spears as bludgeons. They weren’t as quick as the drillmaster, but they had him outnumbered. Scaro fought to avoid them. The heavy wooden staves rose and fell again and again, impacting him upon every part of his body. Petru cringed. The drillmaster fought bravely until a glancing blow took him in the side of his head. He dropped to the ground, moaning. Golcha pulled his senior officer back toward the stake to which they were tethered and tended to Scaro’s bruises. Unwal watched the interplay with as little emotion on his face as if he was watching clouds pass.
“You have no power here,” Unwal said. “My will is law. Take the female.”
“Never!” Petru said, interposing himself between the guards and Nolda. He could sense her muscles tensing to defend them both. It would be a brief victory because the Mrem were such a small group in the midst of the enemy. “Do not touch her! I…I…I command it!”
“I do not listen to the commands of chattel,” Unwal said. At last he evinced an emotion. It was boredom. His indifference inflamed Petru. He felt his chest swelling with indignation.
“Calm, calm,” Sherril said in an even voice, though Petru sensed he was as frightened as the rest of the Mrem. “None of us want to be eaten, great general. You speak from desperation, unbecoming to one of your rank. Let us help you. The Dancer would be too tough for your palate, and my lord Petru here would give you indigestion. You are hungry, as we are. Let us seek out better food for you, much more to your taste.”
“Your servant speaks before you again, fat one,” Unwal said.
“But in this case he makes good sense,” Petru replied. “Forgive the outbursts of my retinue. We would be glad to forage on your behalf, in exchange for our lives. Why kill a hunter instead of making use of her skills?”
“That does make sense,” Unwal said, after a moment’s thought. Assirra’s paws, but Liskash were slow! “Go, then.”
* * *
The two younger warriors, Imrun and Taadar, kept their heads down in shame as the Mrem were marched north again to the green bog, burdened with nets and baskets. Scaro’s voice was hoarse as he chided them for their carelessness in being captured.
“Making mistakes a half-grown kitten would laugh at!” he snarled, then sneezed vigorously. His bruises didn’t seem to slow him down. He strode ahead with as much vigor as a considerably younger Mrem. The others hurried their pace to keep up. “You let them sneak up on you! Lizards, who stomp like trees falling! I could have heard them coming fifty Mrem-lengths off. But not you! Oh, no! They come right up on you, close enough to throw a net over your stupid furry heads. Serve you right for being so unaware of your surroundings if they did eat you!”
“Sorry, drillmaster,” one murmured.
“Won’t happen again, drillmaster,” said the other.
“You are thunderstorming right it isn’t going to happen again!” Scaro said. He sneezed again, spraying green mucus on the ground. Petru regarded the mess with distaste as he stepped over it. “You’re on guard rotation from now until next winter, do you understand?”
/> “Yes, drillmaster,” they said, dolefully.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Yes! Drillmaster!”
“Huh,” Scaro said, and sneezed so hard he barked his chin on his neck guard.
“Quiet!” ordered Captain Horisi, the most senior of the Liskash guard accompanying them. He commanded two fists of four lizards each, who prodded the Mrem on the northbound trail with the stone points of their spears. Their uniforms were as putrid in color and design as the general’s had been, tabards of a bruiselike plum overlaying scale mail in a burnt ash gray that did nothing to flatter their ridiculous rainbow-hued complexions. No two of the dinos were the same color. On their backs they carried packs made of the skin of some scaly creature and jugs containing small beer that smelled as though it was already going off. “No talking in ranks!”
“I will, I will,” Scaro assured him. “Once I finish giving these two adolescents a piece of my mind! If this is how they defend themselves, I fear for the lives of anyone else in their care! You wouldn’t let a recruit behave so badly! No more would I!”
Petru, listened with half an ear, but he fretted at every step. Could they find enough food to satisfy the Liskash so they would not attempt to prey upon the Mrem? The Dancer must return safely to the tribe! Oh, how he wished he had never permitted her to join them!
Nolda must have sensed the worry in his soul. She came to walk beside him and laid a gentle hand on his arm.
“We will be all right,” she said. “There is no death in the air. Gentle Assirra pleads for our lives every moment from her husband. We will succeed by wit and determination.”
“I add my humble prayers to yours, dear Nolda,” Petru said. “I wish that you were back…” He glanced over his shoulder warily at the armored lizards following them only a pace or two off their twitching tails and listening as closely as their limited hearing allowed. He raised his voice dramatically. “…Back in our homeland, on the highest ground possible.”
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 28