EXILED: Lord of Cragsclaw

by Bill Fawcett

  Now the liskash made its move. Toward Talwe it jumped, quick and sure despite its size. He dodged the sharp claws, then felt the sting of its tail as it whipped his right leg. The leg began to burn and its muscles knotted from the pain. Talwe fell to his right.

  Immediately the liskash was upon him. With a prayer to Inla, Talwe swung his sword hard. It bit into the reptile’s arm, and Talwe pulled it free. Dripping black blood, the liskash hissed its ugly stench straight into the mrem’s face.

  Talwe reeled. The liskash swung its fist, striking the dodging mrem a glancing blow. Talwe felt his head burn and throb. Again he swung the sword, and this time it sliced deep into a leg. But when he pulled, the sword would not come loose. It was jammed into the bone and thick muscles of the monster’s calf. Dodging a kick from the other leg, the hunter rolled to his feet.

  They circled, Talwe finding the liskash between himself and the entrance. He ducked as the beast feinted, and before he could recover the tail had opened a long, painful gash on his back. Blood soaked into his fur and dripped onto the hunter’s tail. With a scream he jumped clear of another kick and drew out his knife. Then the mrem stood as still as he could and waited.

  The hunter was shocked to realize he fought, not for the village, but for himself. For a brief instant the realization that he acted only for himself was accompanied by a feeling that all this was meaningless. Then Talwe found himself filled with a satisfying exultation. For himself, for himself and Inla, he corrected, taking a half-step forward.

  The liskash hissed as he stepped toward it. With the hiss came a wave of weakness unlike any the mrem had ever known, but Talwe fought back the dizziness and steadied himself. The liskash’s reek and roar were enormous, and his senses came near to being overloaded.

  The warrior forced himself to concentrate, to watch only for the opening he needed. He stood once more without moving. The massive lizard twisted its head to search for him in the dim light.

  Then he threw. The knife drove deep into the liskash’s right eye. Out of the socket rushed fluid and blood, down the liskash’s face and into its mouth. Its claws jerked to cover the eye, and its hiss was now one of pain.

  Leaping past the half-blind lizard, Talwe ran for the light. He raced down the tunnel, slipping in the slimy mud and sometimes dislodging the dead things lumped along the floor. Their scent filled the cave with the odor of decay. Behind him, the liskash roared as it began its pursuit. Talwe knew well that if it caught him he would die.

  Eaten.

  Forgotten.

  A failure.

  The thoughts inspired him and the mrem dashed forward, regardless of the pain he felt as his pads were torn by the jagged rocks on the cave’s floor. Claws scratched the softer rock as he scrambled over obstructions. Still the liskash gained.

  Then it fell. Talwe heard the shriek when the monster crashed into a cave’s wall at a narrow section and the following thud as the beast collapsed. He let himself stop and look back. The lizard had blundered into the wall, its head cracking against the black rock on the same side as the damaged eye. This drove the knife deeper. The sharp-edged tail thrashed feebly, the lizard’s thick legs spread out twitching, and its arms hung limply.

  Talwe walked cautiously toward it. Even fallen, it was taller than his waist and larger than the biggest uxan. His steps were slow, but his heart raced. Part of him wanted to run, to get out of the reeking darkness and feel the sun, but part of him wanted to look. And he wondered, too, if he could recover his knife and his sword. They had been his manhood gifts from the village, and he wanted them back.

  He bent over the liskash. It stank, but no hiss came from its mouth. Instead the mouth moved, opened and closed, and Talwe heard a sound strangely like a word.

  “Karshu,” the reptile repeated, “Karshu.”

  “Karshu.” Over and over again.

  “Karshu,” until it was finally still.

  Talwe pulled his sword from the creature’s leg. Then he grasped the handle of his knife and closed his eyes as he pulled. It came to him easily, and it was covered with scraps of brain and blood that was black in the half-light of the cave.

  He turned and walked away, too drained to exult in his victory. Confused to as to what he had won, besides his life. He did not see the liskash’s tail twitch in a final spasm. All he felt was a fire down his back as the old wound opened and the thud of his head on the rock where the impact of the thrashing tail threw him.

  •

  The hunter woke in the night, violently sick. His head throbbed mercilessly, and his back burned and ached. Rising to his feet, he felt in the dark for his sword and knife. They were still where they had fallen when he had been knocked unconscious.

  Talwe remembered the giant liskash and sat up with a start. Then as the lump on his head began to almost blind him with pain he realized that he was not dead. If the liskash had been still alive, he knew he would not be now. But its reek was not joined by the smell of death, and he knew it must be dead. Still the mrem had no desire to search for the body.

  Talwe guided himself out of the cave by running his claws along one wall, kicking aside a number of soft lumps that lay in his path. He wondered what they were, these lumps in the mud, but he stumbled ahead without stopping to find out. Finally he could smell the freshness ahead. At last he emerged into the clear night air, and as he fell to the ground he drank in its sweetness.

  Crawling to a resse tree the mrem shoved himself against its roots and allowed the darkness to reclaim him.

  •

  This time Talwe woke as the sun began the day. His throat was dry, and his stomach hurt from hunger. For a long time he lay on his side, watching the wisps of cloud drift past the sun. Then he stretched his legs out straight, and he cried out to Inla with the pain of movement.

  His right leg burned, and the fire spread into his back. He screamed as he rolled back onto his side, clenching his fist and pounding the ground. His head, too, now beat at the temples, and when he felt his face he knew he had lost much fur on the left side.

  He was alive, and Inla had kept him, but in that moment he wished he had died.

  Finally the flames died. Talwe knew he had to find water, so he rolled carefully onto his stomach and reached out his arms. Pulling with all his strength, he dragged himself along through the grass to the right. He knew the mountain had a stream, and he hoped it was in that direction.

  In the end he rose to his feet. The pain burned again, but the fire in his throat was now worse than the fire in his back. The legs were the problem. For a while he hopped painfully on his left, but then he willed himself to put some weight on his right. When his heel touched the ground, a bolt of pain blackened his mind. He fell.

  By midmorning he was walking. At least, his left leg was dragging his right, and either the pain was less or he no longer cared about it. The pain in his head now overshadowed the throb in his back, and the thirst in his throat was the worst discomfort of all.

  He climbed the rocks and slid down into the trees. Over the tops of steep hills he crawled, then fell onto his stomach and let himself fall down the other side. By midday his eyes could not stand the glare from the sun, and for a brief moment he let himself sleep.

  When he awoke it was worse. Again and again he shook his head, trying to clear it, but more and more it simply would not respond. The afternoon sun was high, and among the trees no breeze came, and even though it was autumn he felt the heat sear through his throat. He staggered, his right leg unwilling to press any further.

  Then, suddenly, Inla sent water. Talwe pulled himself over the crest of a hill strong with trees, and when he stood up straight he looked down to a valley all of green. And there among the sporass, weaving its way through, was a stream that came down from the mountain beyond. The blue sky approached him over the mountain’s dark grays, and the water reflected the green of the trees.

  He rolled
more than he walked toward the water. Down between the trees he let himself slide, until at last he stopped in the reeds by the stream’s edge. Frogs leaped out of the path of his slide; fish jumped away from the shore. Talwe let himself fall with a splash, and his burning throat screamed at the first touch of the water.

  It was cool, and it washed him, and it soothed away the burns that raked his body. He was dizzy when he drank, because his stomach had been empty for so long, but when he ducked his head beneath the surface and felt the coolness of the water flow through his hair, he forgot his hunger and worshipped the goddess that had saved him. He braced his legs on the bottom of the stream, then broke through the surface and screamed Inla’s name to the world.

  Letting the soothing water flow over him, Talwe drank and he drank till he felt bloated.

  •

  He arrived at the village in the middle of the night. Clouds blocked the moon, but some of the stars reached out into the sky. He was cold, and he limped, but he was alive.

  Inla had saved him; now he was home. There had been nowhere else for him to go. He had cleaned the smell of the liskash from his fur and stumbled through the mountain valleys. It had taken Talwe less than a day to find the cave and four to return from it.

  Ondra was first to see him. He was on watch that night, and unlike the others he had managed to stay awake. He saw Talwe’s silhouette, black against the clouds, and he opened his mouth to shout an alarm. But then he recognized his friend’s tall form, even though it was much thinner now and limping.

  They danced the dance of greeting. Slowly, carefully, they let the joy of reunion embrace them, until finally they embraced and tears filled their eyes. “Welcome,” said Ondra. “You have been missed.”

  “I am home now,” Talwe whispered. “Inla be praised.”

  “Inla?” asked his friend. “Maybe. But I can tell you have been through a lot. I think you have done much yourself.” Then he laughed, long and loud, until the torches of the village were alight.

  “It’s Talwe!” came the shouts. But the villagers did not approach. Orrintar and Dalriatar stood before them, facing Talwe.

  “You are alive,” said Orrintar to the returning mrem. “That is good. We will forgive your leaving now that you have returned. It was to be expected.” Then the Village elder paused.

  “The Dancer arrives in the morning.” Ondra explained the elder’s reluctance to say more. There was concern in his voice. Then Orrintar turned and raised his arms. The villagemrem returned slowly to their huts. Only Dalriatar remained. Taking Talwe’s arm, he led the wounded mrem toward his hut to be healed.

  “YOU. BOY.”

  Mithmid stopped. Turning, he saw a fat, panting mrem pointing at him. The caller’s apron bore the spatterings of many days of grease and it looked as though it hadn’t been washed in years.

  “Yes?” he mumbled.

  “Help me move this.” He pointed to a dark, filthy wooden barrel. “And don’t break it,” came the order. “It’s wine.”

  Mithmid looked quickly around. He knew that the barrel would leave all kinds of dirt on his clothes, and these were the clothes he wore only on ceremonial days. Tonight, more than any night, he didn’t want to get dirty.

  “I’m really in a hurry,” he stuttered. “Any other time, I’d be glad—”

  “I’ll tip it,” the cook cut in. “You lean against it and push. If we shove it back and forth, we’ll get it onto the cart.” A small handcart waited against the wall.

  “I can’t,” said the younger mrem. “Honestly I can’t. I’m on my way—”

  He stopped. What would he tell him? That he was on his way to his first Council, where he would finally meet the wizards he desperately wanted to know? That he was training in magic, magic that the city despised? For that matter, why was he going through the kitchen? To get to the lower levels of the palace, of course, but should a lowly cook know these things? What if the king found out? What if all of Ar found out?

  He had no choice. He had to help this mrem. With any luck, once it was done the fat, filthy intruder would leave.

  Except that Mithmid realized he was the intruder. This was the kitchen area and the man was plainly a cook.

  “May I use your apron?” he asked.

  The cook looked at Mithmid’s clothes. He grinned wryly, then nodded. “Off to see a female?” he asked.

  Smiling, Mithmid said yes. Why not? he decided. It was a better explanation than any he could come up with.

  The older mrem untied the apron and handed it to Mithmid. Mithmid took it by the corners, because he could find no other clean part, and tied it around himself. The apron was far too large, but it covered his bright blue pants and new yellow vest. “Make sure you give it back,” the cook said.

  As it turned out, he forgot. They loaded the barrel, and then the cook wheeled it away. Mithmid waited until he was gone and left the kitchen, using the route he had memorized, finding the narrow stairs and descending into the faint light of the lower corridors. He was far down the spiraling walkway when he remembered the apron, but by then it was too late to return it. “I’ll give it back later,” he said aloud to himself. He wondered if the cook had another. It would not be good to take one of a poor man’s few possessions.

  Down Mithmid walked, following the long slope of the corridor, until at last he came to a tall red door on the right. He stood before it nervously and knocked, four loud knocks as Berrilund had told him. When the door opened, a beautiful female took his heart with a smile, and he followed her in and looked all around.

  The chamber was large, and the lighting was faint. Shadows from the torches danced on the walls. Three mrem and four females sat at the oval wooden table, all with their heads turned toward the door. At first Mithmid thought the table was inscribed in arcane symbols, but then almost laughed when he realized they were just scratches. Three empty chairs rested on the far side, and the female who answered the door guided Mithmid to one.

  “Your apron?” she asked. Mithmid looked down at the ugly thing still covering him. He blushed as the others laughed. He untied it, and she hung it on a hook. When he sat, she seated herself beside him.

  Berrilund introduced him to everyone at the table, but the names came so quickly he remembered only five. Sorilia sat next to him, on his right, dressed in robes of light gray. Beside her was Sthon, an old and bearded mrem, who sat in his dark blue robes licking the back of his hand. Around the oval, nearer the door, Borlin sat with his eyes closed and his hands folded in his lap, his crimson robes sporting an elaborate brooch in the shape of a messenger angel with its wings spread wide. And Gaelor looked harsh, straight across from Mithmid, and her robes were black. To Mithmid’s left sat Berrilund, who wore robes of pale gold. Beside him was seated the loveliest female Mithmid had ever seen, her long golden hair waving gently over her deep gold robes, and the young mrem cursed himself for not remembering her name. The other two females were old, and he thought their names both started with L. The robes of both were in shades of pale blue.

  Sorilia spoke first. “Your help with Reswen was splendid,” she said to Mithmid. “We have watched Draldren ever since your report, and he has led us into interesting territories.” Mithmid looked at her, but he could only nod.

  “We may as well tell you,” said one of the older females in blue, “that you are on trial here. Some want you to be part of the Council, because you have shown both aptitude and initiative, but you have a number of tests to pass.” She leaned forward. “If you do not want to try the tests, tell us now and we will let you leave. You will still be valuable because you are one of the H’satie, the quiet ones who guard the kingdom. The tests, I will add, are not at all easy.”

  Mithmid wasted no time in replying. “I will try them,” he said quickly. “I’ve wanted this for too long to quit now.”

  Damn! he thought. That was too abrupt.

  The slow voi
ce of Gaelor came next. “You’re only young,” she said, and her voice was deep. “I don’t think you’re ready. Perhaps you will be a problem.” And with that she folded her arms across her chest and stared into his eyes. He wondered if she was conjuring some enchantment. He fought the reflex that would have him bare his neck, extending his claws under the table. These were wizards skilled far beyond his own level. If they turned on him, he would have no chance.

  “We have already been through that,” answered the gold-haired female to Mithmid’s left. “You are in the minority, Gaelor, as you well know.” She turned toward the now frightened Mithmid.

  “You are most welcome, Mithmid,” she said. “Let nothing Gaelor says disturb you. She gave me the same welcome two years ago.”

  “And I was right.” Gaelor’s voice was agitated. “You weren’t ready. You still aren’t.” This time Mithmid’s claws extended full.

  Borlin leaned forward and slapped his hand on the table.

  “Can we stop this idiocy?” he hissed. The two females ceased talking immediately. “Why can we do nothing without Eronucu’s presence? Are we that damned helpless?” His eyes were bloodshot, but they gleamed in anger.

  “Forgive us,” said the other blue-robed female. “We have been here two hours already, Mithmid, and we have accomplished nothing. Lorleen,” she nodded to the blue-robed female beside her, “is one of the Council’s leaders, but for the Council to work properly we need another, who also leads. One leader alone is ineffective. We need both the male and the female to achieve anything at all.”

  Of course, thought Mithmid. The male and the female. The mrem and the female. The basis of the culture of Ar. A knock on the door. Then another, and another. Finally, and loudly, the required fourth. Sorilia rose from her chair and crossed the room. When she unbarred and opened the door, a heavy mrem in sparkling white robes entered and sat in one of the open chairs. He wore a white hood, but Mithmid could have sworn he had seen him somewhere before.