By Tooth and Claw

by S. M. Stirling

  There was no need to make a formal proceeding out of the matter, though, even if they had the time to do so.

  “I think it’s more than one thing, whatever it is,” she said. She pointed to a narrow ledge that moved up the side of the mountain to their right. “I think we can follow that around, and stay away from . . . whatever they are.”

  Chefer Kolkin nodded. “I will take the lead.” He moved off, crouched over so as not to show his profile above the terrain. Not until he had taken eight or nine steps did Achia Pazik realize that the warrior had displayed as much adroit skill in tacitly accepting her leadership as he had in moving up the mountain. Apparently, there were subtleties beneath than stolid exterior.

  She stayed in place, waiting for the other warriors to reach her. As they did, she passed along the same instructions: Up the mountain using the ledge. Follow Chefer Kolkin. No one disputed her authority, either because they accepted it on its own terms or because they supposed Chefer Kolkin had made the decision. Again, there was no point in forcing a formal agreement, even if they had the leisure time. Hopefully, as time passed, the warriors would come to accept the situation without quarrel.

  She expected no dispute from the other Dancer—and, indeed, Gadi Elkin did as she was told without hesitating. So did the four females and their kits.

  Lavi Tur brought up the rear. And he, of course, raised the issue. Being quick-witted at his age was a very mixed blessing.

  “Who put you in charge?” he demanded, in a tone that was both challenging and amused.

  “I did,” she said curtly. “Do as you’re told.”

  She was half-expecting an argument, but all she got was a smile. An instant later, Lavi Tur was moving up the mountain.

  She followed, after taking a long look behind to make sure nothing was pursuing them. Nothing she could see, at least. Because of the folded terrain, she could only see a short distance. There might be an entire army on their trail, for all she knew.

  But she thought it was unlikely they were anywhere near. Liskash generally did not move as quickly as Mrem. That was true even in the hot lowlands. Here, in the cold heights, they would be more sluggish than usual.

  Sebetwe

  Sebetwe was cursing his own sluggishness that very moment. Liskash were not cold-blooded, in the way true reptiles were. But they were still more susceptible to low temperatures than Mrem or other mammals. In high altitudes like these, they needed to absorb sunlight after dawn in order to get moving quickly, and they needed to rest more often than they would in the lowlands. That was so regardless of the difficulty of the terrain—which, if it was arduous to travel across, required still more often and longer rest periods.

  Not a big problem, perhaps, for someone taking a leisurely hike simply to enjoy the scenery. But when you were hunting gantrak . . .

  He tried to raise his spirits by reminding himself that gantrak, while they lived in the mountains, were not mammals either. They too would be sluggish this early in the morning.

  The thought was not very cheerful, though. Sluggish in the morning or not, a fully grown gantrak would weigh half again what Sebetwe did, had talons three times as long as his own, fangs that made his teeth look pitiful—leaving aside the scaly armored hide and the thick bony ridges guarding the creature’s skull.

  Not far now, judging from the sounds being made by the hatchlings nesting somewhere above them.

  Achia Pazik

  Elor Zeg almost slipped off the narrow ledge, he came back down in such a hurry.

  “Liskash—up ahead!” he hissed. “Chefer Kolkin sent me back to tell you.” He hesitated briefly, and then added: “He wants to know what you think we should so.”

  From the slight frown on his face, it was clear that Elor Zeg had his doubts about the propriety of a noted veteran warrior like Chefer Kolkin seeking instruction from such a young Dancer as Achia Pazik. But, thankfully, he kept whatever reservations he had to himself.

  She suspected those same reservations had distracted Elor Zeg from passing along the critical information she needed to make any decision.

  “How many are there?” she hissed in return, trying to speak as quietly as possible. “And are they warriors?”

  Elor Zeg grunted slightly with embarrassment. If he’d neglected to include that information in a report he’d given Chefer Kolkin himself, the older warrior would have berated him. Pretty savagely, too.

  “Only three, that we can see. And we’re not sure if they’re warriors. Exactly.” He seemed a bit confused. “What I mean is, they’re carrying weapons. I guess. Of a sort.”

  Achia Pazik was getting exasperated. Neither of the Zeg half-brothers was exactly what you’d call a mental giant. “What do you mean, ‘you guess’? What sort of weapons?”

  “They’re more like snares than weapons. Ropes mostly, attached to poles, with odd loops at the end. They also have big knifes, but those are still in their sheaths.”

  Ropes with odd loops . . .<

  Some of the Mrem tribes used devices called lassos, she knew. Her own people didn’t, because the animals they herded were too big to be held against their will by mere ropes. But there were tribes whose herd animals were a lot smaller and more manageable.

  So far as she knew, though, the lassos were simply ropes designed to be cast in such a way as to loop around the necks of their targets. She’d never heard of any attached to poles.

  Then again, she’d never actually seen a lasso. Her knowledge might simply be faulty.

  But this was no time to let her thoughts stray. There was a decision to be made.

  “They’re above us on the mountain?”

  “Yes. Climbing still higher, too. They haven’t spotted us. I don’t think they’re paying much attention to anything below them.”

  They must be hunting something, then. Whatever was making the hideous shrieks?

  Possibly. But it didn’t really matter, one way or the other. If the Liskash were preoccupied, the small band of Mrem could pass them by without being noticed.

  Hopefully.

  “Tell Chefer Kolkin to stay on the trail.” Tiny narrow treacherous ledge would have been a more apt term to use than trail. But everyone’s spirits needed to be kept up.

  Elor Zeg left without a word.

  Or anything else. Warriors taking orders from their superiors were normally in the habit of making a small gesture when they did so. A sort of hand-clenching coupled with a forward thrust of the fist. But Achia Pazik was not about to insist on formalities. It was enough that no one was openly challenging her authority.

  Well, almost no one.

  By the time Elor Zeg and Achia Pazik had finished their little conference, the rest of the party had crowded up the trail and come close enough to overhear the last exchange.

  “I think we ought to attack them,” said Lavi Tur brashly.

  Before Achia Pazik could reply, Aziz Vardit spoke up. She was the oldest of the females in their party.

  “Thankfully, you are not in charge,” she said. “Achia Pazik is. So be quiet.”

  Sebetwe

  They were almost there. Close enough to separate the tones of the hatchling screeches. There were two of them.

  No adults. By now, they would have made their presence known. Gantrak did not tolerate much in the way of obstreperousness from their offspring. If there had been an adult in the nest above, she or he would probably have silenced the noisy hatchlings.

  That was the good part. The bad part was that gantrak hatchlings wouldn’t be making that much noise if they weren’t hungry—which suggested, at least, that an adult might be returning with food soon.

  But there was no way to know, and they couldn’t possibly stay on the mountain for another night. Not this high up. At least one of them would die, and quite possibly all four.

  Sebetwe glanced around. Nabliz was also in position. He couldn’t see Herere because the big female had moved far enough around the slope of the mountainside to be out of sight. But whatever her ot
her failings, Herere could be counted on to be in position also. In the field, as long as the task didn’t involve subtlety and indirection, she was extraordinarily capable.

  Time, then. Being careful to keep his snare out of sight of the hatchlings above—that involved an awkward extension of the pole, sticking out almost directly behind him—Sebetwe began creeping up the final stretch.

  He never once thought to look down the mountain behind him. If the adult gantrak were returning to the nest they’d either be coming from the other side of the mountain or they would have already spotted the Liskash advancing on the nest. In which case there would be no need to scour the mountainside looking for signs of them coming. Their screams of fury would have been heard already. Gantrak were even less given to subtlety than Herere.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sebetwe

  He was at the rim of the nest, now. On the other side of the mound of stones, the noise being made by the hatchlings was almost deafening. Glancing to his left, he saw that Nabliz was ready also.

  Sebetwe couldn’t see Herere—he could have barely heard her if she were shouting, in the midst of the hatchling racket—but he would just have to assume that she was in position as well.

  It would be no great matter if she weren’t. He was now sure there were only two hatchlings in the nest, which he and Nabliz could handle. Long enough for Herere to arrive and lend her assistance, anyway.

  There was no point in waiting.

  No point in issuing a war cry, either. Trying to shout over the screeching of the hatchlings would be an exercise in futility.

  So, he just came upright and leaned over the stone rim, bringing his snare into play.

  Two hatchlings, as he’d guessed. It was almost comical the way the creatures became instantly silent the moment they spotted Sebetwe. They stared up at him with their jaws agape, their eyes large and as round as such eyes could be.

  His cast was perfect. The noose came down over the head of one of the hatchlings, down its sinewy neck and over the slender predator’s shoulders. With a powerful wrench to his right, he brought the rope tight, pinning the young gantrak’s forelimbs to its body.

  Now a wrench to the left brought the creature down. As he clambered into the nest, he saw that Nabliz’s cast had been much poorer than his. Nabliz had failed to get the noose over the shoulders of the other one. Now, he could only lift the small gantrak into the air, choking it with the rope around the neck. Unless someone came to his aid—and soon—he would kill the hatchling instead of capturing it.

  Nabliz had no choice in the matter, though. Even a hatchling gantrak was dangerous if left to run wild.

  But Sebetwe could spare no more than a glance at Nabliz. His own hatchling was still not subdued. He slammed the pole down and stepped on it with his foot, keeping the hatchling pinned. Then, squatting to bring himself close to the little monster—not too close; a swipe from one of those thrashing and well-taloned rear limbs could easily tear out an eye—he compressed the thing’s mind under his gudh. Within two seconds, the hatchling was completely still, paralyzed.

  Being gudru had its uses, but Sebetwe was already readying his bradda. The mental exercises needed for that took some time, though, which was the reason he’d started with a crude but straightforward use of his gudh.

  The exercises were mostly a matter of rote for him now, so he took a bit of time to see how Nabliz was faring.

  Much better. Herere had arrived and immobilized that hatchling’s rear limbs with Nabliz’s own snare. Between them, she and Nabliz brought the creature down to earth. By now, the hatchling was half-suffocated and dazed. Moving deftly and quickly, Nabliz loosened his noose and slid it over the young gantrak’s shoulders.

  That one was now completely immobilized also. Herere, showing the good sense she usually exhibited in combat, switched snares with Nabliz. She would now hold the creature still while Nabliz readied his own bradda.

  Everything was shaping up well.

  Until the pile of debris in a far corner of the nest suddenly erupted.

  Achia Pazik

  The screech that now came from the slope above made the ones issued earlier seem like the peepings of small birds. Achia Pazik froze, her eyes ranging up and scouring the mountainside, looking for the source.

  Sebetwe

  A gantrak—fully grown, with a red-and-blue male crest—came up from the pile of debris. It must have been sleeping there.

  The scream it issued paralyzed Sebetwe for a moment. But not Herere. She flung her snarepole at Nabliz, shouting something that couldn’t really be heard above the monster’s scream. Sebetwe thought it might be Here! Hold the hatchling!

  Then she rose, drawing her knife, to face the gantrak.

  It was an act of courage bordering on sheer madness. There was no way Herere, armed only with a knife, could overcome an adult gantrak. Even the male ones, although smaller than the females, outweighed any Liskash—and if their fangs and talons were any smaller than a female’s, Sebetwe couldn’t tell the difference.

  And so it proved. The gantrak’s charge drove Herere off her feet entirely. But not before she grasped the monster’s crest and drove her knife into his chest.

  Or tried to. The armor there deflected the blade—she’d have done better to try for the throat or belly—and all her knife did was gash a nasty-looking but shallow cut in the creature’s hide.

  It was enough to unbalance the gantrak, though. Between that and Herere’s tight grip on the crest, the monster stumbled and knocked both of them over the rim of the nest.

  The gantrak screamed again. A moment later, he and Herere had fallen out of sight somewhere down the mountain’s slope.

  Achia Pazik

  Two intertwined bodies came rolling down the mountain. One of them was a Liskash, that much was obvious. The other—

  What was it? She had no idea.

  But whatever it was, it was big and clearly dangerous. And it was coming straight for the section of the ledge which she thought Chefer Kolkin had reached.

  Chefer Kolkin

  Achia Pazik’s assumption was mostly correct—that was the portion of the ledge Chefer Kolkin had reached, moving ahead of the other warriors. But it was no longer a ledge. That section of the trail had broadened out into a small terrace. Almost a meadow, except the only things growing on it were lichens and a few scrubby little bushes.

  Chefer Kolkin heard the bodies tumbling down the slope before he could see them. And when he did see them, it was at the last moment—in what seemed like a mere instant, he was knocked to the ground by the collision.

  A moment later, three bodies separated themselves out from the jumbled pile.

  Chefer Kolkin himself, a bit bruised but otherwise unharmed.

  An unusually large Liskash, who seemed to be covered with gashes and wounds but was still alive and conscious—barely.

  And . . .

  Some sort of hideous monster. It reminded Chefer Kolkin vaguely of a flat-bodied crested lizard he’d once seen in the desert, except its limbs weren’t splayed out—and it was easily thirty or forty times as big as any lizard he’d ever seen.

  So were its fangs and talons.

  Chefer Kolkin rose before the Liskash. That was his first mistake. The monster, which had been crouched over the Liskash and ready to tear it into pieces, immediately had its attention drawn to him.

  And immediately charged him.

  The charge was terrifying. Unlike any lizard Chefer Kolkin had ever encountered, of any size, this one rose on its hind legs and surged forward with its front limbs spread apart and raised, its talons ready to slash.

  Or grapple. Chefer Kolkin had no idea what the beast’s fighting tactics were—and had no desire to find out. So he lunged forward with his spear, aiming below the armored chest for what he hoped was the softer and thinner hide of the monster’s belly.

  His aim was true and his guess that the creature’s belly was less well protected than its chest was correct. But “less well protected�
� is a relative term. It was still like striking armor with his spear head. The blade penetrated only a short distance before the monster jerked its torso sideways, causing the spear to leave nothing more than a shallow cut that didn’t pierce the body chamber.

  That sideways twist also unbalanced the creature, so it didn’t slam into Chefer Kolkin with the driving force that it had obviously intended. The veteran Mrem warrior was no stranger to battle and twisted his own body out of the way.

  But as it passed him, the creature struck with its taloned paw, slamming into Chefer Kolkin’s left shoulder. The warrior’s own armor kept the talons from shredding the flesh beneath, but he was knocked off his feet.

  On the ground, half-stunned, Chefer Kolkin saw that the monster had also stumbled and fallen. But a moment later it was back on its feet and spinning around to charge again—this time crouched on all fours, it seemed. Which was logical enough, given that Chefer Kolkin himself was sprawled flat on the ground.

  The creature surged forward. Desperately, Chefer Kolkin tried to interpose his spear. But he knew he wouldn’t have time.

  Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, the Liskash was there. Now standing, blood oozing over much of its body, holding a big rock in its hands. Apparently it had lost whatever weapons it once possessed.

  The rock did splendidly as a substitute, though. The big Liskash threw it down with great force, striking the monster’s skull. The impact flattened the creature and seemed to daze it somewhat.

  Somewhat. A sideways blow of a front limb struck the Liskash’s lower leg, tearing another gash and sending the Liskash sprawling.

  By then, thankfully, the rest of the Mrem warriors had arrived. The Zeg half-brothers had their spears ready, holding the monster at bay, while Puah Neff and Zuel Babic came to Chefer Kolkin’s side and began tending to him.

  The monster was coming out of its daze quickly—if it had been in one at all. Thwarted in the direction of the Mrem by the spears of the half-brothers, the creature turned its attention to the Liskash.