By Tooth and Claw

by S. M. Stirling

  He paused in his spooning as the camp below them erupted in shouts and screams, the squealing of animals and the thunder of hooves.

  “What’s going on?” Canar Trowr asked, his ears struggling to rise; they were rather long and tufted by nature, but looked ragged now.

  “I don’t know,” Tral said. “I shall find out.” He put the bowl down and rushed to the edge of the cliff. The slits of his eyes went wide in shock, painting the dim scene below with a flat silvery radiance.

  Below the bundor were on the move, charging in a panic directly toward the camp. Some Mrem were already running for the heights beyond the water hole, some just stood in shock. A few went racing to the krelprep who’d been staked out well away from the water hole because they wouldn’t stop drinking.

  The hamsticorns were moving north in a slow, eerily calm manner given the blind terror of the bundor.

  Tral’s breath stopped in his chest as he watched in horror. Many Mrem climbed into the heavy wagons or took shelter beneath them, many more might make it up the height he stood on. First among these were the ones who led the krelprep.

  As he watched the herd stampeded into the camp and some fell beneath the bundor’s heavy feet. Other bundor slammed into the wagons, threatening to topple them as those inside them screamed in terror.

  It seemed to take forever, but at last the bundor were through and running back down the beaten path toward Ashala’s holding.

  Tral turned and ran to get his bag of medicines and bandages.

  “Stampede!” he paused to shout, then raced down the cliff path to see what help he could offer.

  * * *

  They were still gathering the wounded, over fifty so far and Krar was grateful it wasn’t worse. There were twenty-three crushed and broken bodies lined up on the ground, and the air stank of blood and wastes. But they would have no time to bury them. Some of the kits couldn’t seem to stop crying no matter what the females did, and all of them were badly shaken. The thin mewling sound grated at their ears, adding to the rage and fear.

  The krelprep had been saved, which was a miracle and the heroes who had done it deserved much praise. Krar resolved that they should have it. When there was time. The wagons had survived as well, though several of the water jars had been cracked. Some of the bundor had stopped running and their herders had rounded them up.

  “What happened?” Krar demanded of their leader.

  “Nothing!” the Mrem said, his tail swishing in his distress. “There was no reason for it. All at once the herd leader and several others went off like they’d gone mad and the others followed. I’ve never seen the like before. I swear to you there was no reason for it. None!”

  “It’s possible,” another of the herders said, “that we can round up more of them if you’ll give us a few days.”

  “A few days?” Krar demanded. “We can’t just sit here for a few days! The Liskash are sure to be after us. We took their food, their wagons, their herds, not to mention ourselves, and ran away on them. They’re going to come looking for us, they’re surely looking for us right now. We have to find shelter with the wild Mrem or we’ll be slaves again; if we’re lucky enough to survive!”

  “For pities sake, Krar! Let us rest! Give us time to mourn,” a female said.

  “I would like to, I promise you I would,” he answered. “But we have no choice.”

  A male spoke up then. “I say we should wait for Ranowr to catch up to us. He’ll know what to do.”

  A chorus of ayes greeted this statement and Krar lost all patience.

  “If he were alive he’d be here now!” he shouted.

  There was a collective gasp at that followed by a stunned silence. Then a female spoke.

  “It’s true,” she said slowly. “Ranowr is dead, of poison he took willingly. He killed the young goddess and died himself to give us a chance to get away. His last words to her were: I die for my people. You just die.”

  Startled, Krar turned to see that it was the beautiful golden-furred Prenna who had spoken, her green eyes so wide the whites shone all around and the pupils dilated to circles even in the firelight. He reached out a hand toward her, wanting to offer her comfort. Mahssa stepped forward and put an arm around the young female’s shoulders.

  “When she’s like this she’s never wrong,” the old female said.

  Krar frowned. “What do you mean?”

  With a shrug Mahssa said, “She just knows things sometimes. Others among the females can do it to a lesser extent. But Prenna always knows.”

  He felt a chill touch the back of his neck and took a step back. The uncanny caused fear that even the bravest would not be ashamed to admit. Then he shook it off.

  “Ranowr was a good Mrem,” he said quietly.

  He hadn’t liked him, but he’d respected him and now he owed him. And what he owed was the lives and safety of all those Ranowr had sacrificed himself to save. His voice grew louder.

  “And we will mourn him and honor his memory when we are safe. Until then we must move.”

  “Krar!” a voice called.

  He turned to see a hamsticorn herder pushing his was through the gathered Mrem towards him.

  “The hamsticorn herd is heading north, all of them! With six of our brothers! We’re going to follow them and bring them back.”

  “If they stampeded there’s nothing you can do to bring them back. Who can say how far away they are by now? That’s why we’re not chasing the bundor. We don’t have the time or the Mrem to spare.”

  How many times am I going to have to explain this?

  “You don’t understand! Their tracks say they just walked away, there’s no sign of panic.”

  “It’s true,” Prenna said. “They were forced to leave and the herders with them.”

  Krar thought he could get tired of her doing that.

  “Who forced them to leave?” Krar asked, genuinely puzzled.

  “Liskash,” Mahssa said. She bit her lips. “Ashala forbade her people to use their power over our minds. She liked to rule by fear alone, by her power to burn with her mind.”

  All of the younger Mrem stared at her, while the elders shifted uneasily.

  “Exactly what do you mean?” the young leader demanded, certain he wasn’t going to like her answer.

  “The Liskash can take over our minds and force us to serve them,” Tral said. “There is no defense against it.”

  “When were you planning to tell us this?” Krar snarled.

  “So our brothers are helpless prisoners?” the herder asked at the same time.

  “Yes,” Mahssa said. Her ears twitched nervously. “To be honest there hasn’t really been a chance to tell you. Besides, it would only have frightened you; it is not a good memory that we elders have. As Tral says, there is no defense against it.”

  “We have to go after them,” the herder said. “We can’t let the Liskash beasts get away with this.”

  Krar felt like his head was spinning, or he’d found a huge patch of blissweed and was feeling the effects of rolling in it all day long. Was there no end to this?

  “I can’t stop you,” he said at last. Then frowned. “Are all of you going?”

  By this time the other twelve hamsticorn herders had lined up behind their speaker and all of them nodded.

  “Then each of you take a sword and a spear with you. But know this, we can not wait for you.” Krar turned to Mahssa and Tral. “Have you any advice for them?”

  “Do not get too close to them, do not let them know you are there,” Tral said.

  “If they can see you they can control you. Never forget that,” Mahssa added.

  “And to find us again head north and east, for that is the way we’ll be going,” Tral added.

  Krar raised an eyebrow at that; it was the first he’d heard of it.

  The lead herder nodded his thanks. “I am Whar,” he said and turned to Krar. “Thank you, leader. We will return and we will have our herd and our brothers with us. Possibly some Lisk
ash tails.”

  “I wish you luck, Whar. Our thoughts will be with you.”

  Each of the herders said his name and then followed their leader to the wagons to get their supplies. Then without another word they jogged off in pursuit of their friends.

  As Krar watched them leave the head bundor herder stepped boldly up to him. It was the Mrem he had confronted at the water hole and his tail thrashed once before he could stop it.

  “If they can go and get their herd then I think we should be allowed to do the same with ours,” the herder said belligerently.

  The young leader turned to him with a sigh. “If all of you go, then who will care for the bundor we have left? Because I don’t know how to move them and neither do the rest of us.”

  “Of course we’ll leave some to watch the remaining herd. We want our bundor back and you can’t stop us from going. Especially not if you’re going to allow them to go.”

  Krar studied him with his arms folded. Apparently there was a rivalry between the herders. But more importantly . . . “I hope when you say ‘our bundor’ you mean the bundor belonging to all of us.”

  “Well,” the herder spluttered, “if we go and gather them up at risk of our lives it’s only fair that they should belong to the herders.”

  “I don’t see it that way. The herds belong to all of us. Or are you and herds planning on living on your own?”

  The herder huffed and thrashed his tail, his ruff rising in agitation. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that you are either with us or against us. If you deny that the herd will be held in common, but will be all your own wealth and the rest of us can die hungry and poor then you’re not welcome here.”

  Krar looked each of the bundor herders in the eye, just long enough to signal seriousness.

  “I mean this. What’s more, if you go after them we will not wait for you, any more than we will wait for the hamsticorn herd.”

  The herder stared at him with his mouth open, then clenched his jaw and took a stance. “And will you also supply us with swords and spears as you did them?” he demanded.

  Krar looked thoughtfully after the departing hamsticorn herders. “All right,” he said. “If you agree that the herds belong to all of us.” He gave the Mrem a questioning look.

  Reluctantly, and with every appearance of resentment, the lead herder nodded, his tail lashing.

  “Then, even though I think we’re throwing them away, since you insist on running into the arms of the Liskash, you may arm yourselves. Do not become so obsessed with recapturing every one that you forget we’re moving away from you as fast as we can.”

  “Remember,” Tral said, “north and east.”

  “Thank you, Tral,” the herder said, ostentatiously turning his back on Krar.

  He gestured to his followers. Fourteen Mrem followed him; the rest, mostly older, looked uncomfortable at staying but glad they weren’t going, either. Whether it was because they were missing out on the adventure or because their leader had just disappointed them by releasing their claim to the herds only they knew.

  Or maybe they think their glorious leader is leading the rest to certain death or slavery. Because I certainly do.

  * * *

  Whar and the other hamsticorn herders moved fast through the dimness of the savanna. The stars were many and bright, and the moon two-thirds full, plenty for Mrem eyes—Liskash were much less at home in the night.

  The trail was easy to follow, a broad trampled swath through the tall grass, and the herd hadn’t pounded it to dust as they would have if they were moving at speed. They jogged on relentlessly until Whar called a halt. They were tough Mrem, used to a hard life, but they were also very tired. And tired Mrem make mistakes.

  While they rested squatting on their hams they gnawed on jerky, alternating leathery bites torn loose with strong teeth and sips of water of stale leather-tasting water from the bags.

  “I’m hungry,” Shum said, “I’m starving. But I’m so tired I’m ready to give up on this dried krelprep shit.”

  “You’ll save energy if you just shut up and eat,” Vrar suggested.

  The others rumbled a tired laugh.

  As they’d traveled the ground had risen around them and the herd was moving through the narrow space between hills. So far they hadn’t encountered one stray. Though they had found the body of a calf that had apparently died of exhaustion. No sign of its mother though, which struck them as strange. Usually when a calf died the cow wouldn’t leave it for at least a day.

  “That calf—” Vrar suggested.

  “The meat wouldn’t have been any good by this time,” Whar said.

  “No. The mother . . . maybe that’s the mind control that the elders were talking about.”

  “Thank you for this thought, Vrar,” Whar said sardonically, looking at the moon in over-elaborate politeness. “Perhaps you think this jerky was poisoned, too?”

  Vrar frowned and twitched his ears. “No, I don’t—”

  “Shut up! We’ve rested long enough. Let’s go get our herd.”

  * * *

  “Bedding down for the rest of the night,” he whispered two hours later.

  Mrem had better hearing than Liskash, too.

  “Confident monsters aren’t they?” Shum said, lying not far away, running a thoughtful thumb along the edge of his spearhead.

  “They have no reason to think they’ll be followed,” Whar said. “They’re not heading for Ashala’s holding, so they weren’t after us. They’re not the Liskash whose slaves we were. I think they just happened on us and took the chance to steal our herd.”

  “Enemies of Ashala?” Shum asked.

  Whar shrugged. “Even Liskash don’t like Liskash. I’m sure she has many enemies.”

  A whisker-twitching grin: “I know I’m one of them.”

  They approached the herd carefully, staying well away and downwind. Below they could see a campfire start up and in its light they saw Liskash soldiers, their spears slanting into the night. One of the Liskash sent two of its fellows off toward the herd.

  “Guards,” Shum murmured.

  Whar nodded. “Arrogant to think they’d only need two,” he said.

  One of the Liskash went around the herd to the far side, while the other climbed partway up they hill from which they watched.

  Suddenly, Hath, who was farther down the hill closer to the herd, stood up. He swayed where he stood and then took a stop forward. Whar rose and whirling his lariat over his head dropped the braided-leather rope over Hath’s shoulders. Then he and Shum pulled him in as the herder struggled to go forward. Then, just as suddenly he turned and ran toward them, dropping to the grass beside them, panting as though he’d run a race.

  “It took me!” Hath said in a panicked whisper. “The elders didn’t lie, if you get too close they can just make you do their will!”

  The herd leader put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “What did it want you to do?”

  “Guard the herd. I didn’t hear words or like that, I just knew that was what I was supposed to do.” He shuddered. “I didn’t even want to get away.”

  The Liskash below them had turned to look up the hill toward them, flicking its tongue out. After a few moments it turned back to the herd and sat down, taking off its boiled leather helmet.

  “If we can’t go near them we might as well not have these,” Shum said lifting his spear off the ground. “The swords are useless, too.”

  Whar picked up a good sized stone. “But not these,” he said, detaching his sling from his belt.

  He whipped the sling around his head with a flexing motion of arm and body and released the stone at just the right moment. There was a subdued crack as the stone struck the narrow scaled head, lost in the buzzing and clicking and animal-calls of the night.

  “Is it dead?” one of the others asked.

  “It’s dead all right,” Whar said. “I’ve killed wild bundor at that range and Liskash skulls aren’t as thick.” He
snarled slightly. “How long I’ve wanted to do that!”

  “Now to get the others,” he said. “Find some rocks and follow me.”

  They all had a supply of small stones, used to move a recalcitrant hamsticorn, but what they wanted now where those of a size that might kill.

  For now the Liskash on the far side of the herd was safe. There was too much risk they’d be seen if they tried to approach it. The campfire, on the other hand . . .

  Some four were asleep, or at least lying down, two were eating. Those would be dealt with first.

  “Don’t miss,” Whar told his fellows. He stood, whirling the sling and released the stone. It struck one of them right in the forehead and the Liskash went down, its body twitching. Two others were struck as successfully, but the other three sprang to their feet and took up their bows.

  The Mrem had the advantage of being in complete darkness as far as the Liskash were concerned and their arrows fell far short. Meanwhile the herder sent stone after stone out, invisible in the night and a brief flash of speed when they came in range of the campfire. Another fell, his head bloody, and the remaining two ran to the herd. The hamsticorns parted almost miraculously from before them and the Mrem knew this must be more of the Liskash mind tricks.

  The herders held back, fearful that they, too, would be taken over. Then the herd began to move, the exhausted animals calling out in protest, but following their leader none the less. They moved up the hill toward the Mrem; massive creatures, usually placid . . . but right now they represented a serious, unstoppable danger. The herders sought to move out of their way.

  “You head that way,” Whar told them. “I’m going down to cut some throats.”

  “I’ll watch your back while you do,” Shum said and followed him, while the others led the hamsticorns.

  Whar found that two of the Liskash were dead and he made short work of the third. Then he felt the strangest sensation, as though a band had gone around his head. Without hesitation he took off running in the opposite direction from the herd. He’d gone about a hundred paces when he noticed that the sensation had stopped and he turned. That was when he realized that Shum wasn’t with him.