“Only cooks,” said a blue-faced soldier. “And all our Mrem are gone.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Petru said. He strode forward and picked likely candidates from the straggled line. “You, you, and you, come with me. The two of you make a fire at least a Mrem-length across. You! Get me some green stakes to use as skewers. Taadar and Imrun, come here now! Show these scaly fools how to gut birds.”
With Scaro’s warriors as assistants, Petru mustered the servants remaining in the Liskash’s aegis to clean and prepare their bounty. They had few cooking pots or utensils. Platters and cups had been hastily cut from raw wood. At least they knew how to make fire. Within a circle of stones the size of his head, they set a blaze that would cook down into useful coals by the time the sun had moved a quarter of the way toward the horizon. Beside it, he spread huge marsh leaves out to act as a makeshift table and instructed his conscript workforce on how to pluck and gut the birds.
“You never saw service outside the walls of the city, did you?” he asked one red-scaled dino who had become a mass of feathers in his amateurish attempts to clean a carcass.
“Only once,” the creature admitted.
“Pathetic excuse for an army,” Petru said over his shoulder to Taadar. The soldier grinned, showing his sharp teeth.
The bustle of activity had the entire population of Liskash rapt. Noble-born and low-class alike, they pressed closer and closer to the food preparation. One child darted forward and stole a slice of racano from the top of the battered bowl. A gray-faced soldier immediately strode up and swatted the youngster half a Mrem-length with a sweep of its hand. Petru protested, but the guard turned and glared at him, daring him to say anything about the blow or the fact that he tossed the vegetable into his own ugly mouth. He looked speculatively toward the birds beginning to turn on the spits, but Petru introduced his own bulk between him and the hearth. The dino backed away, its eyes always on the roasting geese. It went to pour beer into its personal jug from the big containers at the side of the clearing.
“We need something to fill their bellies until the food is ready,” Petru said to Imrun. “Find a bowl or use an oiled hide. Tear up those fresh leaves and squeeze citrus over them. Mix them with the berries and sliced racano and let them eat their fill. Is there oil? No? Bireena, roast the eggs in the embers. They won’t take long.” He glanced toward General Unwal. “Don’t break any or I will have to beat you!”
“Yes, Lord Petru,” Bireena said. The threat didn’t bother her. Petru felt terrible for making it.
After a portion was served to the general in a cuplike leaf, the males surged forward to gorge themselves. Petru purposely kept back a third of the food for the lower-caste females and offspring. They were the enemy, but he couldn’t stand seeing helpless beings go hungry. Once the women had fed their children handfuls of salad and snatched a roasted egg or two for themselves, they retreated to the huddle of tents. They no longer looked as desperate.
“What a horror it must be to have been born a dino,” Petru said to Sherril. “They have no respect for females or care for their offspring.”
“Hey, Mrem!” Horisi called. “That one is not working!” He pointed at Scaro. “Is there something wrong with him?”
The drillmaster sat slumped over a stone he used as a butcher block to gut frogs. Golsha and the others had kept him shielded as best they could from the Liskash’s attentions.
“He isn’t working?” Petru asked, pretending astonishment. “I will discipline him, captain. Shame, lazybones! Work harder!” He strode over and shook an admonishing finger at the drillmaster. Scaro looked up at him with glassy eyes. Petru worried that he might collapse, but the soldier lowered his ears. He picked up his knife and went back to work. He expelled rubbery discharge from his nostrils among the offal, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“There, captain,” Petru said, dusting his hands together. “I will keep a sharp eye on him. He is just lazy. Nothing more.”
“He shouldn’t be near the food,” Sherril murmured to Petru.
“What harm could it do?” Petru said in an undertone. “They won’t be affected. Just don’t eat anything he touches. I will make sure there is some that is safe for us.”
As the savory aromas rose from the fire pit, the Liskash moved in closer and closer, as though they couldn’t control themselves.
“They will push us into the flames!” Sherril said, in alarm.
Petru moved up close to the nearest dinosaurs and clicked his claws in their faces. The dinos withdrew reluctantly, but within a few heartbeats, they began to move forward again.
“General Unwal, how can I cook you a feast with all this interference?” Petru appealed to the chief Liskash.
“Back!” Unwal commanded, waving an imperious hand. “Assemble by me! Do you want punishment?”
For the first time the soldiers looked fearful. They pushed the crowd back until it was behind Unwal’s chair. They crouched on the ground to wait. Still uncomfortably close to the fire, Sherril and Petru exchanged worried glances.
“He can do magic,” Sherril said woefully. “He has not unleashed it on us yet. We must keep him sweet and avoid his wrath.”
“I could dance for him,” Nolda said, crouched by the hearth cooking fish on hot stones. “I would also welcome the chance to pray to Assirra for further guidance.” She smiled thinly. “I’d find it satisfying to offer to the goddess right in front of our enemies. Bireena has some skill on the drum. She could accompany me.”
“I offer myself to help,” the former slave said, without looking up from the vegetables that she was roasting.
“No!” Petru protested. “Don’t reveal yourself, Your Sinuousness! That snake will see you as an asset. We wish to be as uninteresting as possible.”
“You are not making yourself uninteresting,” Sherril said, opening his eyes wide in an accusatory manner. “They can’t help but notice you.”
Petru looked down his long nose at the councilor.
“Then you are taken in by my subterfuge as well? That if they notice me they will pay less attention to our ailing drillmaster? We don’t want to give them a single excuse to harm him.”
He could tell by the bemused look on Sherril’s face that the councilor had not even considered such a thing.
“Well, hurry up and finish making the meal,” Sherril said. “We want to be away from here as soon as possible. We need to retrieve those parcels of herbs before they rot.”
“They won’t let us go,” Bireena said. “We have always been chattel to them. They have lost their servants. They will see us as replacements.”
“Well, I am not chattel,” Nolda said. “Assirra told me to be watchful and clever, and we will win out against our foes.”
“I wish to believe in your dream, Dancer,” the tawny Mrem said. At last, she raised her beautiful amber eyes to the others. They were filled with sorrow. But I have lived in mine too long.”
The Dancer patted her gently on the shoulder.
“That nightmare is broken. This, too, shall be in the past. The gods will not forsake us.”
Bireena looked as though she wanted to believe the Dancer’s reassurance. Petru’s heart went out to her. He wanted to believe it, too.
* * *
At last the skin of the birds was crisp and the meat dripped with savory juices. Petru cut a piece from the thigh of a plump bird and tasted it.
“As well as can be without spices,” he said, nodding to Golsha and Imrun. “Take them off the fire.”
Unwal must be served first. Petru laid out his feast with the same flourishes he used when serving his precious Dancers. Savory slices of breast and thigh meat he placed in the center of broad, fresh leaves and adorned them with flowers. He laid these offerings before the general.
“About time,” Unwal declared. He grabbed meat with both hands and crammed pieces one after another into his maw. He washed it down with gulps from a beaker filled with the stinking brew the Liskash favored. Petru
turned away in disgust.
“Serve the others,” he said to the Mrem. “Make sure everyone gets a portion.”
Once they had handed out the food, the Mrem retreated to the far side of the fire pit. Two of the guards kept with them every step of the way, spears in one hand, drumstick of goose in the other.
Except for regrettable slurping and chomping, the Liskash ate in silence. Petru made certain that the Mrem had kept back the most healthful portions of meat, though he had hacked it into shards to make it look unappetizing. He placed some of it on a leaf and offered it to Nolda first.
“No, dear Petru,” she said, with a smile. “Scaro needs this more than I do.”
“No, Your Sinuousness,” Scaro whispered. “Don’t waste it on me. It’ll go right through me!”
“I have something better for you, drillmaster.” Petru passed him the heart of one of the birds, done to a savory turn. “The herbs inside this will combat your symptoms. Once we are on our way again, I can brew you the potion that will cure you.”
Scaro devoured the morsel, making a face at the bitterness of the green leaves stuffed inside. After a few moments, he swallowed and waited, with a thoughtful frown. The others watched him anxiously. He nodded.
“It’s staying put, at least for now.”
“Then it’s time to appeal for our freedom,” Sherril said, casting aside the leaf he had used as a plate. He smoothed his whiskers and brushed his ruff clean. “A good meal will have put them into an amenable mood.”
* * *
Unfortunately, two good meals also seemed to have recovered the rest of Unwal’s arrogance and authority.
“Foolish Mrem!” Unwal scoffed when Sherril made fulsome farewells, almost bowing himself into the dirt with his deep bows. “Of course you can’t leave!”
“We must go, great general” Sherril said. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”
“That is of no importance to me.”
“We’ve shown your soldiers where to gather wholesome food,” Sherril said, keeping his tone polite but firm. “We have demonstrated how to prepare and cook everything we gathered. They now have the skills they need to make your lives more comfortable until your new home is ready. You don’t need us any longer.”
Unwal narrowed his beady eyes.
“I need my soldiers to defend me and my people,” he said. “You are Mrem, and therefore of a lower order than Liskash. You will gather more food for us tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that! I order you to build up our stores in preparation for my brother’s return. He will be very pleased with me that I have obtained for him such a gift.”
“General, we must go. Thank you for your…hospitality. Farewell.”
“No!” Unwal glared at him. He clenched his fist and turned it fingers upward. Sherril felt as though that fist had taken hold of his throat. He clutched at his neck. The invisible fingers squeezed tighter.
“No more argument. Now, we sleep. Guards!”
“But, General!” Sherril gasped out.
Unwal gestured outward with his fist. Sherril fell backward into the arms of the soldiers. They dragged him to his feet herded him back at spear point to where the others were waiting. More guards, still well-decorated with scraps from their feasting, converged upon them and tied tough, braided quirts around their ankles, hobbling them so they couldn’t walk normally. The Mrem fought against the binding, but the Liskash had them well outnumbered. As many as eight of them sat on Petru at once to keep him still until he was bound.
Once the Mrem had been secured, a fist of the lizards pulled back to a safe distance where they could keep an eye on them. The Mrem glared at their captors.
“So, the dagger emerges from the scabbard,” Taadar whispered.
“This is how it begins,” Bireena said, her voice dead and hopeless. “They will keep us until we are useless. Then they will kill us or send us to another Liskash stronghold.”
“We won’t be captive for long,” Petru said. A flame of indignation burned deep in his belly. It was bad enough the general had destroyed his precious glitters, but to presume to keep them captive was outrageous. “You have my word on that!”
“This is your fault,” Sherril chided Petru. “If you had not made palatable food, we could have been on your way by now.”
“I would not shame myself by cooking swill.”
“At least we are alive,” Scaro said. “If he means to keep us as a workforce, we will find another means of escape. They are slow of wit as well as of foot. They can’t keep us long.”
“Assirra is with us,” Nolda assured them. “Keep your wits about you.”
Bireena shot a look of sympathy at Scaro, whose respiration was by then so labored that every breath was audible. Petru knew what she was thinking. The drillmaster was ill. Who knew which others among them would fall prey to the disease?
Toward night, they were given river water and what scraps remained of the feast that Petru had prepared. They were not allowed privacy for personal hygiene. Instead, they took turns going behind the tree to which their ankles were bound and burying their excrement in piles of leaves. Scaro went last. They could smell what he had squatted out for a long time afterward.
When darkness arose, Petru waited. The Liskash could not see in the dark as well as they could. From the thick fur around his neck, he removed the small package of herbs. With flat stones he had taken from the hearth, he ground the leaves together. There was no time for niceties such as precise measurements. His granddam’s combination would have to do as it was. He soaked the green mash in a cup of murky water and waited for it to steep. Scaro slept noisily on the ground beside him. Petru sniffed the mixture from time to time. At last it was ready to drink.
He nudged Scaro gently awake.
The drillmaster was instantly on guard. His muscles tautened. Petru held him down to the ground with one meaty arm. Scaro sniffed through his stuffy nose, then relaxed when he recognized the scent of the valet’s perfumed fur.
“What is wrong?” he asked in a scratchy whisper. If Petru hadn’t had a Mrem’s hearing, far more keen than the Liskash with holes in the sides of their heads instead of proper ears, they might have heard him.
“Drink this,” Petru murmured, pushing the clay cup into his hand and closing his fingers around it.
Scaro nodded. He curled himself around the cup to conceal his action from the pair of Liskash that walked around and around them in opposite directions.
Petru waited until the second dino’s legs flashed past him in the moonlight.
“Pah!” An explosion of breath came from the drillmaster. “It tastes terrible!”
“It’s powerful medicine,” Petru whispered. “It will make you better, but you need this twice or more a day over the next four days at least.”
Scaro moaned softly, his arms wrapped around his gut.
“If I live.”
“You must,” a small voice said to them in the darkness. “You must live to lead us home. The goddess sent me a dream. You were at the head of a march of triumph.”
Both of them looked toward Nolda, curled up in exhaustion with her back against a tree trunk. Her eyes were open and gleaming in the moonlight. Scaro swallowed audibly.
“I will, Your Sinuousness. I promise. But if I start to show the madness, kill me quickly. I do not wish to put you in peril.”
“You have my word,” Nolda said, seriously. “The gods will welcome you into their arms. But I hope we are free before anything so terrible must happen.”
* * *
“This is absurd,” Petru said. General Unwal stared at him from his backless camp seat which he treated like a throne. They had been rousted at dawn the next morning and dragged before the Liskash commander. “We are only eight. How can we possibly gather enough food to satisfy your entire group day after day? Let some of your women and children assist us. We will teach them how to find ripe fruit and catch birds.”
Unwal lifted a finger. Petru braced himself for the st
rangulation. Instead, a heavy blow struck Petru from behind. He staggered, but managed to catch himself. The second, however, knocked him to his knees.
“What are…?” he began.
The blows rained down endlessly upon his back and legs. He threw his arms over his head to protect it. From the crook of his elbow, he saw Captain Horisi wielding a knobby branch. Petru rolled to avoid the next strike. He sprang to his feet and darted behind the general’s chair.
The pair of bodyguards grabbed for him. They were so slow he could have run rings around them, but he feared for the safety of his fellows.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, dodging to and fro. “You may not mistreat me. I am Lord Petru!”
“Slaves that question orders are beaten,” the general said, in his flat voice. “Your so-called lordship means nothing here.”
“I claim my right from the gods themselves!” Petru said, hoping that Aedonnis wouldn’t strike him dead for his presumption. “They will smite you for daring to harm me.”
The guards made for him. He dodged them a pass or two longer, but one hooked his hobble-strap with a spear. Petru fell flat on the ground. The dinos surrounded him, beating him with the ends of their polearms. Petru bore the blows with gritted teeth. Ignoring the pain of his bruises, he picked himself up and glared into their faces.
“I will remember every blow,” he hissed. “And I will have my revenge.”
“Your threats are empty,” Unwal said, not bothering to turn around. “Take them!”
* * *
“Your revenge,” Sherril spat, as they were herded downstream toward the marshes and thrust into the shallows where the racano plants lay. “We’re trapped! All we can do is to protect the Dancer and to hope for rescue.”
“I prefer to believe in Nolda’s dream,” Petru said, with a slight bow to the Dancer herself. “I am keeping my eyes open for our chance.”
Sherril threw up his hands in disgust. Two guards, the grayface from the previous day and a yellow-faced dino in a patched uniform, nudged him from behind with their spears. He made his way gingerly into the shallows and began to feel underneath the leaves for the round green fruit. Bireena waded in without being urged. She wouldn’t risk getting a beating. With immense dignity, Nolda followed her and began to pick fruit.
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 30