by S. M. Stirling, Harry Turtledove, Jody Lynn Nye, John Ringo; Michael Z. Williamson
We are wind. They are water, she thought with satisfaction. Perhaps I am concentrating too much on form, and not enough simply on what works. Still, I can’t afford to lose face.
She gave the unfortunate Mrem before her one hard stroke with the lash.
“Interesting,” she said smoothly, coiling her whip.
She poked her victim with the whip handle. “Go and practice that maneuver.”
Then she gestured Ranowr over to her. “What is your name again?”
“Ranowr, young goddess.”
He kept his eyes carefully down, but his heart thundered. Who knew what she might do to him for his boldness?
Hisshah stared at him. “Ah, yes,” she said at last. “You are making a habit of asking me for mercy.” She sniggered. “If you are trying to teach it to me you’re wasting your time. I will not learn it, I do not wish to learn it. Look at me.”
Cautiously he raised his eyes and stared into her golden ones. She did not blink, but he did, twice before she spoke again, with the disconcerting up-and-down motion of the eyelids that made the Mrem gaze so alien.
“But it is possible that you may have something to teach,” she said at last. “You are the best of your fellows at following my instructions. Even so, I’ve noticed that you do not imitate me perfectly. Perhaps you are right, perhaps your kind cannot faithfully follow our movements. But I think you can be taught to fight. I shall concentrate on training you. And you and I will amend any moves that you feel are too…sophisticated for your rough form. Then it shall be your task to train your fellows.”
She nodded. This could work. “Now,” she stepped back, “show me how you would perform the move I’ve been trying to teach.”
They worked together for the rest of the afternoon, while the other Mrem practiced their maneuvers unwatched. But Ranowr could feel his people watching him and the young goddess. There would be questions asked this night.
He still found it hard to be around her, but he also felt they were making progress; finding ways to wield the practice sword that matched his limbs and allowed him to gain the speed she wanted.
Hisshah was pleased. Finally they were getting somewhere. And dealing with just one of the creatures was at least a little easier. This one, it seemed, had a brain that he could comprehend.
Ranowr, using the altered overhand cut on the practice post, struck it so hard that the sword broke. He held the hilt awkwardly and glanced at Hisshah in apology.
She stood stiffly, but only said, “Get another.”
* * *
Inside she was horrified. The sheer strength of the creature! She’d never seen anyone break a practice sword like that and for a moment she felt cold with fear.
It is good that a slave is strong when you want him to break rocks or haul timbers or lift water, she thought. If the slave can hit you, that is another matter.
If this hairy crew decided to, they could tear her to pieces before anyone could react. She only had two guards with her. Tomorrow she’d bring more.
* * *
No one said a word to Ranowr during dinner, at all. He could sense them looking at him, even though he kept his eyes on his food and he wondered when they would have it out.
He was not surprised when it was Krar who spoke first.
“I thought you would get a beating for breaking that sword, Ranowr. The young goddess seems to like you though.”
The others murmured agreement, sounding amused, rather than angry.
“I think what she liked was that we were getting some results,” Ranowr said calmly. “If it keeps her from beating us to death for failing to do what she wants I’m prepared to work closely with her.”
He snorted. “Not that I have a choice.”
The others chuckled at that. But Krar pressed on.
“It’s unnatural, a Mrem working one to one with a Liskash,” he said.
“Well, Krar, if you don’t like it then you can always refuse to cooperate. I’m sure the young goddess will understand and applaud your delicate sense of propriety. You will be groomed by her own paws and given succulent fish to eat from a golden bowl.”
There was outright screeching laughter at that and Krar settled into silence, glaring at Ranowr.
Are you jealous of me? Ranowr wondered. I’d let you have my place beside her if I could. Aren’t you old enough to know that a Mrem has no say in what happens to him?
He finished his food and took the bowl to be washed. Then went in and lay on his pallet, curling up with a paw over his nose. He was in no mood to socialize tonight. He was just drifting off to sleep when Tral came in and touched his shoulder.
“I would speak with you,” he said formally.
Ranowr rose with a grunt and followed the older Mrem out.
Tral led him away from the circle and the dormitories until they stood in an empty space between outbuildings.
Ranowr glanced around. They wouldn’t be overheard here if they were careful. He looked at Tral expectantly.
“I have seen something amazing,” the older Mrem said, his voice trembling. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“Just tell me, Tral. I’m all ears.”
His stood erect to show the truth of his interest, and his whiskers bristled forward intently.
“I was speaking to the steward about some of the kits having bird pox and needing to be isolated lest they all get it. When I was walking back I saw some guards leading a Mrem bound with chains towards the prison.”
“A Mrem in chains is something we’ve all seen before, Tral. What’s so amazing about that?” Ranowr asked impatiently.
“It was a stranger,” the healer said. “And he was wearing a warrior’s harness like the soldiers wear, only made for a Mrem. He struggled and they were finding it hard to hold him. He clawed one of them badly and almost broke free. Finally Captain Thress clubbed him on the head and the soldiers dragged him away.”
Ranowr opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and licked his nose instead, taking in a sharp breath of amazement. He felt as though he’d been knocked upside his own head by an overseer’s club. What Tral was telling him was impossible. They’d always been told that they were the only Mrem in the world and that the great goddess’s many times great grandfather had created them to work for their Liskash masters. Certainly they’d never seen any Mrem but those who lived and worked in Ashala’s territory. No Mrem was a stranger. They at least knew each other’s faces.
And for a Mrem to harm a Liskash and not be instantly killed for it was unheard of. And…
“In a war harness, you said?” Ranowr asked.
“Yes, like, but unlike the Liskash gear. Made for a Mrem, no doubt of it and richly made at that. It looked as good as the one Captain Thress had on.”
Ranowr’s legs felt weak and he went to a crouch in the dirt. His whole world was shaken. That there might be other Mrem somewhere had never occurred to him. He’d always believed that the slaves of the Liskash strongholds were the only Mrem in existence.
He stood. “I must speak with him,” he said. “They took him to the prison?”
“The place of pain,” Tral agreed.
Frowning, Ranowr stood in thought. “I will find a way.” He looked Tral in the eye. “Tell no one of this. Swear it,” he demanded.
“I so swear,” Tral agreed.
“Good. You took me aside to talk of the bird sickness among the kits. In fact you should tell me of your meeting with the steward and what he said. It sounds like we’ll be without the kits’ labor for a few days.”
“At least ten days,” Tral said and told him everything.
It was almost a comfort. The other thing…it was too big. When he thought of it, his mind felt like it was reaching for something just out of sight. Meanings kept tumbling in on him.
* * *
Hisshah sat at the council table idly staring at the triangular designs of blue and green inlaid in colored stones on the white walls, focusing on the
shifting play of light through the narrow windows and ignoring the other eight councilors. They were all were waiting for Ashala and the captain to arrive; the most active thing in the room was a thin blue trail of bitter incense-smoke in a little silver censor.
Thress and Ashala were often together and not for the first time Hisshah wondered if he was her mother’s lover.
Ashala entered the chamber briskly and the council all rose to their feet and bent their necks, as if for a bite. Thress followed on her heels and hastened to his place. The great goddess sat and with a gesture commanded them to be seated also.
“For some time now,” Ashala began, “we have been facing a crisis involving wild Mrem.”
The councilors stared at her for a moment, then cast surreptitious glances at one another. All except Captain Thress, Hisshah noted.
“I had hoped that our neighbors would handle the situation before it reached us, solving the problem and weakening themselves…which would solve other problems,” her mother continued. “But they have failed to do so. It seems several thousand Mrem and their animals are aiming to cross our land in an attempt to join their fellows beyond the new sea. So far, despite the odds against them, they have succeeded.”
She leaned back in her thronelike chair and folded her hands beneath her chin, curving her neck in a meditative S-shape.
“I am of two minds about whether to stop them altogether or to harry them across our domain as fast as they can move. But I’m inclined to the latter. If it were easy or free of cost to wipe them out, someone would have done it by now. Let them go—and become someone else’s concern.”
She glared at everyone at the table, then sat forward, placing her hands before her on the table.
“However, we have a more immediate problem.”
Here she glanced contemptuously at the captain. “We have captured one of their scouts. Which would have been a good thing if the captain hadn’t allowed him to escape in the main courtyard in front of everyone.”
“Is there any way to keep this from our Mrem?” Hisshah asked.
“Do you ever even try not to be stupid?” Ashala snapped. “Of course, our Mrem know about it. I did say this happened in the main courtyard. That matters less than what we make them think it means. If you control meaning, mere facts become irrelevant.”
She leaned back again, raising her hands. “At least I think I did say it happened there in the courtyard.”
“Of course, great goddess,” Hisshah muttered.
Hatred for her mother burned cold in her breast. If she’d had her mother’s power the older female would have been ashes long since.
“The question is how to contain it. I have decided, if it becomes necessary, to tell our slaves that demons have taken the form of Mrem in order to confuse them and must be killed.”
She gestured, three fingers and grasping digit.
“That is why we’ve been training Mrem soldiers. The wild Mrem may be reluctant to kill their own kind and while they’re engaged with the slaves we will flank them and kill as many as we can. Our aim will be to get them running. That should minimize any damage they can do to our herds, buildings, waterworks and such.”
“Great goddess, we should annihilate them!” Thress said, slashing his claws down the table.
“Oh, be quiet,” Ashala hissed, her voice heavy with disgust. “And stop marking the furniture! Our neighbors did not send one word about this invasion. Doubtless they hope we will do exactly what you want, thus weakening ourselves and making it easy for them to strike.”
She glared at her daughter. “Tell me that the slaves have become minimally competent by this time.”
“Some have, great goddess,” Hisshah said. “But not all by any means. It has been only a month. I was not told that I had so little time.”
“A point,” her mother admitted. “You will increase the pace of their training. Our scouts report that we have less than twenty days before we are invaded. I’d rather not lose all our slaves; but if we achieve our main goal it won’t matter. After all,” she said with a smile, “if we made them too competent they’d be too dangerous to have around in any case.”
Glancing at Thress, she continued. “Captain, in light of your idiotic failure this day, I find that you need some oversight.”
She turned to her daughter. “In addition to your training duties I would have you take on that oversight. You will approve the captain’s orders for the day. And he will seek your permission if there is a need to change them or if he needs to request anything. You may issue orders to the guards if you see a need.”
The captain sat up straighter, moving slowly, his face carefully blank.
“Yes, great goddess,” he and Hisshah said in unison.
Hisshah felt pleasure like a long cool drink after a day spent curled on a hot stone. Seeing someone else humiliated, especially one she so despised, made a nice change. She would have to see how she could make this even more unpleasant for him.
“And you may select a score for your personal guard,” the elder goddess added.
* * *
Saksh, the head of Hisshah’s personal guard, pulled his thin hard lips back from his teeth in disgust.
“What I hate most about Mrem is their smell,” he said. “Like herd beasts, but ranker.”
“Except they talk,” Hisshah pointed out.
He clicked his tongue. “That’s so wrong!”
She laughed; he had a point. Maybe she was growing used to them, the smell didn’t bother her as much now. Though they smelled riper than ever as they struggled to teach their fellows what they’d barely learned themselves.
The idea of thousands of them coming to fight made her blood run thin and fast. The sight of their straining bodies instinctively made her want to strike them down.
They’re too strong, she thought. And who knows if they can be controlled by telling them the females and kits will pay if they don’t fight?
That had been her suggestion.
It probably wouldn’t be a factor to a similar number of Liskash, but they’re odd that way.
There was no indication from their behavior today that they knew about the Mrem prisoner. They seemed wholly focused on learning to fight. But they were slaves, good at dissembling. Lies were a slave’s weapons, after all.
Except that we are giving them spears, shields and spears and their skill with lies. And they are Mrem, stronger than we give them credit for.
One of Thress’s guardsmen came trotting up to her. He crouched and offered her a wax message board.
She read: I await your approval of my orders.
Below, those orders were listed. Fury filled her, flashing like lightning through her veins. How dare he prod her!
With every appearance of calm, she said to the guard, “Tell the captain I shall send a messenger in a short while. As soon as I have a chance to review his orders. Perhaps next time he could arrange to send them earlier in the day.”
She smiled as an idea came to her. “Tell him that.” She gestured as regally as her mother. “You may go.”
“Ranowr,” she called as soon as the guard was out of earshot, “come here.”
* * *
“The young goddess says that your orders are approved, but that you should substitute Ssen for Thash at the main gate. Also that you are to get your orders to her the night before or early in the morning.”
Kneeling, his hands on the ground before him, his eyes respectfully down, Ranowr waited for the inevitable blow. Thress was known for his temper and his punishments even of other Liskash. To Mrem the captain was still more vicious. He waited, braced, his heart thudding rapidly.
* * *
Thress looked down on the Mrem slave, his blood tight in his veins, until he felt as if his scales would stand on end and vibrate. He took a deep breath, and his rigid tail seemed to quiver with it.
“How dare you speak to me so?” Thress finally asked in a calm, steady voice. “I am superior to you in all ways, you filth!�
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He raised the short, thick whip that was the mark of his rank and began to strike Ranowr until the skin broke. Thress continued the beating, his breath whistling through his teeth, spittle flying. Liskash from the guard gathered round and watched silently, while Ranowr covered his head and face with his arms as best he could.
“Captain Thress,” a cold voice called. And called again before it was heard. Hisshah stepped between the guards, her hands on her hips. “How dare you beat my messenger?”
“He was overbold in his delivery of your message, Hisshah.” The captain wiped spit from his chin. “I felt discipline was in order.”
“And I feel that you have overstepped yourself, Thress.”
She deliberately drew his name out in a hiss, equally deliberately choosing to omit his title.
Glancing at the bruised and bloody Ranowr, she tsked.
“You will be useless today. Go and find some light duty. But be on the practice field tomorrow morning.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. Ranowr struggled to his feet, bowed his head and staggered off.
“Now, Thress,” Hisshah said turning back to him. “Let me instruct you in how you will treat my messengers in future.”
She drew a small, sharp knife and carefully put a point on one of her claws until the tip was nearly invisible, holding it up and turning her head this way and that to examine it.
* * *
Ranowr went to get a drink and to wash his face, splashing the stale warm liquid out of the stone trough and then rubbing at the fur with his wrists. Then he found Tral.
“The skin is broken,” the healer said after examining him. “But not too deeply.” He gently applied an ointment. “You’ll be stiff for some time, and will have to watch how you move or the wounds will open again.”
Ranowr snorted; how he moved was not his choice.
“Who’s doing latrine duty at the prison today?” he asked.
It was a chore for which they all drew the short straw at some time. Lately he’d been exempted because of his training. It was time he took on the unpleasantness. Light duty, the young goddess had said.
