by J. C. Staudt
“I’m not leaving without Raial and Thrin.”
The roan struck her across the snout, driving her to her knees. “I told you, no villagers. Get over there with the rest of them, or you’ll wish you had.”
Ryn hobbled up and stood between Lizneth and the two Marauders. A growl rose in his throat and ended in a small, high-pitched yip. The roan kicked him, sending the tiny jackal sprawling. Ryn regained his footing and sprang at the guard’s ankle, clamping down on fur and bone. The roan screamed, kicking his leg wildly until he shook Ryn free and sent him flying. Lizneth heard the pup land on the saltrock with a thud.
“Ryn,” she said, slapping her flank. “Come, Ryn. Come to me.”
The jackal rose unsteadily and limped over to her, whining with every step. She took him into her arms and held him, stroking his head while a trickle of blood ran down her snout. When she looked up, two more Marauders were arriving at the gates. One of the newcomers grabbed the roan by the throat and shoved him against the saltrock wall of the stronghold.
“Does it bring you happiness to abuse ledozhehn and young animals, Ishyek?” the newcomer asked.
Ishyek went for his dagger, but the newcomer drew it first and placed the blade against the roan’s throat. “You forget… I am not so easily abused.”
“Get your filthy paws off me,” Ishyek managed gruffly.
Lizneth scented the air. She knew that haick, even past the hood that now shielded the newcomer’s face from view.
“You stay away from those two from now on,” the newcomer said. “If you hurt them again, I won’t be so nice next time.” The newcomer released Ishyek, but kept the roan’s dagger in hand. He turned to Lizneth, knelt beside her, and removed his hood. “You’re not going to leave without saying goodbye to your favorite kebaihudeh, are you?”
“Deequol.” It was all Lizneth could say before the tears came. Her brother threw his arms around her and began to pull her up, but she held him down and sat clinging to him, one arm holding Ryn and the other tight around his neck.
“It’s alright, Lizneth. It’s going to be alright.”
By the time she could speak again, her vision was swimming and her snout was stuffy. “By all the fates, I never thought I’d see you again. Any of you. I was afraid you were—”
“I’m here, Lizneth. It’s me. I scented you as soon as you arrived, but I couldn’t get away from my duties until a minute ago. I saw you here a few weeks ago, too. I called out to you from the rampart, but you didn’t hear. I came out after you, but you’d already run off into the caves.”
She studied him. Black-cloaked and burly, ears heavy with stone rings; here stood the brood-brother Lizneth had been missing for so long. “I swore I heard your voice that day. I even thought I scented you. I was still feeling the effects of Sniverlik’s scepter when they escorted me out. I’m sorry.”
“He used his scepter on you?”
“To calm me down,” she said. “I was yelling at him.”
“You can be a feisty little thing when you’re angry,” Deequol said with a laugh. “I’m glad to be with you again, sister. And who is this?”
“This is Ryn,” she said. “My jackal puppy. I found him in Tanley.”
Deequol scratched Ryn behind the ear. “This little fellow is as feisty as you are. You two go together. Tanley, you say? I heard it was in ruins.”
“It is,” she said, and felt her lip begin to quiver. “Oh, Deequol. It was awful. They burned everything.”
“That is what I’m told,” Deequol said, helping her stand.
She leaned into him, breathing his haick and cherishing his muscular build, so much like Papa’s in his younger days. “I want us all to be together again… always.”
Deequol said nothing.
“Where are Raial and Thrin? Are they okay?”
“They’re both… getting along. Not the best, mind you, but the nestlings never take well to leaving their families. It takes time to get them accustomed to their new lives.”
“This isn’t their new life. It can’t be. Mama and Papa are always telling me to forget. Telling me I should leave you all in the past. It’s easier that way, they say. But it isn’t. It’s more painful. Trying to forget the ones you love is worse than anything.”
“I know, Lizneth. I know. It isn’t easy for any of us. Especially now, with everything going crazy.”
“May I see them? Raial and Thrin… and Nawk, and Vikkish, and Craik, and Ritin?”
Deequol gave her a look. “I don’t think Mama and Papa want you to forget us. They want you to remember us as if we’ve already passed on. That way you’ll always look back with fondness, no matter what happens.”
Lizneth felt sick. “Has something happened?”
“Many things have happened, sister. It’s been years since we were all nestlings together in Tanley. Before Raial and Thrin got here, I knew them only by name and haick.”
“I’m talking about the others. Our brood-siblings.”
“Yes, things have happened, Lizneth,” he said irritably. “What do you want me to say? Vikkish and Ritin are dead. Craik was with the detachment in Ocklahz when the calaihn attacked. He’s been missing ever since… probably dead too, or taken to slave. Nawk is here, but you would not like the look of her. The keguzpikhehn have not treated her kindly. She is pregnant.”
So am I, Lizneth nearly blurted. Now I’ll have someone to talk to about it. She had longed so badly for someone who understood her dilemma and knew what she was going through. Kolki’s potion was still in the pocket of Lizneth’s chinos, but she hadn’t thought about it in days. “I’d like to see her.”
“I can take you inside, but I can’t promise you’ll be allowed to stay very long. I’m sorry to say it, but… you must choose who you want to see. I’ll take you there first. You may need to leave after that.”
“Raial, then,” she said. “I worry for him most.”
“Very well. Come along.” Deequol led her toward the gate opening.
“No villagers,” said the hooded mink standing beside Ishyek.
“She’s my sister,” Deequol said, “and if you lay a paw on her, you’d better have two spare ones ready for me.”
Lizneth put Ryn down, and they proceeded into the stronghold without further interference. There were workers replacing the rotting timbers along the walls with fresh ones, masking the stronghold’s damp stench with a woodsy perfume. It didn’t look like they’d gotten very far, nor did it seem their repairs would be done before the calai arrived.
“Raial will be… in the nursery, I think,” Deequol said.
“Haven’t you seen him much?”
“He’s afraid of me, Lizneth. It doesn’t matter that I scent like Papa. Whenever I go near him, he gets scared. He doesn’t know me. Neither does Thrin. I’m just another one of the Marauders to them.”
“You’re their brother. If you don’t protect them, who will?”
Deequol stopped and took her squarely by the shoulders. His grip was so hard it pinched. Ryn growled, but Deequol held on. “You don’t understand how it works around here. There’s no protecting anyone once they’ve been conscripted. Plus, I don’t have time to nurse after a couple of nestlings. My responsibilities keep me way too busy for that. I’ve got plenty to worry about on my own.”
Lizneth averted her eyes. “I thought better of you, Deequol.”
“Lizneth. Don’t do this. There are brothers and sisters everywhere in this place. You think we don’t pass each other in the yard and wish things were different? Even when we’re not fighting a war, there are always things to be done. Tithes to be collected. Soldiers to train. Mouths to feed. This may look like a haphazard mess to you… and it’s true, things run smoother when Sniverlik is here… but it’s life, Lizneth. It’s everyday life, just like any other village and border town, except we’re all working toward the same goal: keeping the ikzhehn safe.”
Lizneth couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Keeping us safe? Is that what you call
it?”
Deequol’s brow darkened. She could see she’d awoken something inside him. “You and your ungrateful village think the only reason we exist is to take from you. All the other border towns are just as thankless. Each long year the villages multiply in population while our supply goes unchanged. The Marauders can’t create farmland where there is none. We can’t tell the ground to sprout a more plentiful harvest to cover the difference. We can’t draw fresh water from a toxic well. We live on what we have, and Sniverlik and all his servants make do with it, same as you. War brings death, and in its wake, new life. But even after we win this war for you; after we’ve done what we exist to do, your families and villages will curse us for brutes, murderers, and thieves.”
“You are murderers and thieves,” Lizneth said.
Deequol released her. His face was dour; expressionless. “You have five minutes to be with Raial. After that, I think you should go.”
Lizneth felt the tears coming afresh. “If that’s what you want.”
The stronghold’s keep was a towering saltrock structure which leaned against the cave wall like a pat of melting butter. They were at the door when someone on the rampart began to shout. Deequol turned back. There was a bluefur on the gatehouse wall, shouting and waving a torch to signal the Marauders on the keep’s roof.
“Calaihn dehn chevehr. Calaihn dehn chevehr,” he kept repeating. The hu-mans are coming.
Lizneth met Deequol’s eyes. She saw no fear or sympathy there; only anger. “Why did you come here? This is no place for you.”
“Let me take Thrin and Raial and go. Even Nawk, if she’ll come with us. I’ll keep them from harm.”
Deequol shook his head. “It’s too late for that. You’re stuck here now. We’re all stuck here until the calaihn are finished with us. You should never have come, Lizneth.”
“We’ll hide ourselves away,” she insisted. “We’ll go before they get here. Come with us, if you like. We can escape out a back entrance.”
“There is no back entrance.”
Lizneth was shocked. “How could those gates be the only way in or out of this place? That’s impossible. Ankhaz was smarter than that.”
“The rear tunnels are a deathtrap, Lizneth. Ankhaz built a series of escape tunnels, but he didn’t account for them being below the tide line. The cave empties and fills multiple times a day. Those tunnels eroded and filled with silt and saltwater years ago. No one’s used them in our lifetime. If you take them, you’re just asking to get stuck. Or drown.”
“Anything is better than being a slave,” Lizneth said. “Show me where they are.”
“No way. I’m not letting you down there, and I’m definitely not letting you take our siblings down there with you. If you want to get out of here, help us fight.”
“I don’t know a thing about fighting.”
“Can you lift a stone?”
“Yes.”
“You do look like you’ve been eating well,” Deequol said with a playful nudge.
Suddenly self-aware, Lizneth crossed her arms over her chest, hoping it would hide her growing belly a little.
“Oh, now don’t be embarrassed. I’m only teasing. Can you use that knife you carry?”
“I guess.”
“Then please… we can use every able-bodied ikzhe we can get. These calaihn can’t be allowed to roam freely through our homeland, destroying what we’ve built and enslaving us at will. If we hold out here… if we win… we can end this war tonight.”
“What if Sniverlik never comes back?”
Deequol gulped. “We’ll finish it without him.”
At the stronghold gates, the villagers were clamoring to be let inside. A line of Marauders stood in their way, shoving them back and threatening them with brandished weapons and raised fists. More Marauders were swinging the heavy gates outward, pushing them in a wide arc toward their closed positions. A few of the villagers managed to squeeze past and dart inside, where they were tackled and tossed back out.
“What are they doing?” Lizneth asked. “Why are they keeping them out? If the calaihn are coming…”
“Sniverlik and his forces took most of our supplies when they left, promising to return with more. We don’t have the stock to feed so many. You’d better find yourself a black cloak to wear, or you’re liable to get thrown out with them.”
“Where do I find one?”
“Come with me. Quickly, now.”
Deequol brought her to a supply shed where several thin black cloaks hung from pegs on the wall beside brengen-hide breastplates and tire-tread helmets. He gave her a small breastplate to wear and tossed a cloak around her shoulders, then fastened a sword belt around her waist and lowered a greened copper helmet onto her head. “There. You look a right Marauder now, don’t you? Your fur could use a little dirtying up, but if you’re here long, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Lizneth kept a brave face on, though inside she was petrified. To her, the disguise was as shoddy as the stronghold itself. How could she pass for a Marauder? All she wanted to do was take her brothers and sisters—Deequol included—and head for the escape tunnels. “I don’t feel very good about this, Deequol.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be fine. Just keep your head down and stay close to me. If anyone asks, you’re my new trainee.”
“Can I see Raial now?”
“That’ll have to wait. We have chores that need doing on the wall before the calaihn get here.”
Lizneth wanted to cry again, but she’d done enough of that for one day. She followed Deequol obediently from the supply shed, her heavy helmet sliding across her skull with every step. Ryn yipped at her feet until she told him, somewhat unkindly, to hush.
They climbed the inside staircase to the rampart, where a sergeant pressed them into service loading fist-sized chunks of saltrock into a catapult basket. Deequol introduced Lizneth to the catapult’s operator, a hooded agouti named Jijek with a limp and a missing forepaw, who squinted at her suspiciously before telling her to hurry up.
From their vantage point, they could see the first signs of torchlight rounding the bend. It was just as Lizneth had imagined it, dull orange on the cave’s pale blue walls. The snake’s spine was so narrow the hu-mans could only travel double-file, moving slowly to avoid slipping down the sides. When Rotabak emerged onto the gatehouse roof, he decided he’d use the terrain to his advantage, ordering a full barrage of catapult fire on the advancing calaihn.
The arms of the catapults snapped forward, spraying the enemy with showers of stone to drive them off their feet and tear bloody holes in their ranks. Lizneth wanted to look away; to lay down and curl up and forget the screaming, dying hu-mans, but she kept her feet planted and her head down while the others cheered. When Jijek gave the order, they began to reload.
Outside the stronghold walls, the volunteers crowded at the gates to beat on the doors with their rudimentary weapons and beg to be let inside. Rotabak peered down at them from the gatehouse roof. “You want to eat?” he screamed. “You want to come inside? Earn your keep. A meal for every calai head you bring me. Give those filthy calaihn a reason to regret coming here.”
When Lizneth looked at Deequol, his lips were wrinkled in a disbelieving frown. Rotabak doesn’t have enough food to keep that promise, she imagined him saying. The calaihn advanced down the snake’s spine toward the broad head of land on which the stronghold lay. When the first few began to arrive, Lizneth noted with dread that they were carrying the same fire-spitting machines which had obliterated Sniverlik’s forces and set Tanley to flame. Many of the ikzhehn, Marauders and villagers alike, had probably never seen such contraptions before.
There was nothing she could do to warn them amid the chaos. She found herself screaming nonetheless, leaning over the wall and telling them to run, to get out of the way before it was too late. No one heard her. Those who didn’t know what the calaieh tank-and-candle contraptions could do were about to find out.
Before Rotabak could give the
order to fire another volley from the catapults, half a dozen calai fire-spitters lined up along the edge of the flatland. A few bold villagers sprinted toward them, letting out callow battle cries. When the calai weapons hissed to life, their cries turned to screams.
Gouts of yellow-orange flame washed over the hapless villagers and surged against the stronghold walls, polishing the chiseled saltrock until it was as smooth as blue silk. They could break through with fire alone, if they kept at it long enough, Lizneth realized. It seemed to her then, as she watched the villagers burn, that the calaihn wouldn’t even need to go that far.
The villagers had nowhere to flee. They hugged the stronghold walls, pounding on the gate and scrabbling at the stones, clawing over their fallen kin as they tried in vain to climb out of danger’s reach. Deequol pulled Lizneth back as one calai swept his flame upward to kiss a villager who’d managed to climb a fathom or two off the ground. Lizneth wrenched herself free and rushed back to the edge, knowing they were too high up for the flames to reach.
By the time the catapults launched their second barrage, most of the calaihn were past the snake’s spine, too close to be hit by the big rock throwers anymore. Deequol and the other Marauders began picking up chunks of saltrock and hurling them down. The enemy was unfazed, often sidestepping the projectiles as though they were pebbles. This is the best we have to give? Lizneth thought. The calaihn bring fire and steel and iron, and we throw stones? They weren’t even real stones, truth be told. Saltrock chunks tended to shatter on impact like brittle ceramics or clay pots. We’d be better off throwing dinnerware at them. The Marauders had armor and steel of their own, but those would do little good if Rotabak kept them hidden behind the walls.
As the last few calaihn reached the end of the snake’s spine and fell into formation on the flats, the true urgency of the Marauders’ situation dawned on Lizneth. A stronghold with only one lane of approach might be more secure than one open to attack from all sides, but it was also more vulnerable to siege. Deequol had been right; they were trapped.
Flaming arrows began to arc through the air and find homes on the towers and walls of the keep. The saltrock began to melt and drip away, though the moisture soon put out the fires. Without thatched rooftops and wooden siding to latch onto, the flying torches didn’t carry the same potency they had in Tanley.
