by Paul Chafe
The river banks had steepened, and she was climbing ahead of the kzinti over a small rise when she froze in her tracks. The jungle still surprised her every day, but not like this. Before her was an immense beast, easily fifty meters long, like a vast, long-necked sausage on tree trunk legs. It was covered in shaggy fur, and long, sharp-looking tusks protruded from its upper jaw, complementing the large horns on its forehead. Its eyes were small in a head the size of a barrel. Adrenaline spiked in her system, and for an instant she feared a predator more fearsome than the grlor, but then it munched down a bush, almost in a single bite, and she realized it was an herbivore. Behind it were more of the creatures, most smaller, some larger still, moving placidly amongst the towering trunks. Ayla held her breath. Even the infants were the size of rhinoceros. Here and there five-ton youngsters nursed from brontosaur-sized mothers. The entire herd was moving slowly, taking a bite, meandering a few paces, taking another bite, moving again.
Nursing. That struck Ayla. Despite their primitive, dinosaurlike appearance they were mammalian, or at least pseudomammalian.
“Tuskvor!” T'suuz had come up beside her, her voice a hushed snarl. “We lack hunt cloaks.”
“We must move back before they see us.” Pouncer's voice was equally quiet.
Ayla looked at him. “What will happen if they do?”
“If they sense carnivores nearby they will charge. We will be crushed. They are feeding up before their migration. There may be grlor nearby too, hoping to pick off stragglers.”
Ayla nodded, swallowing hard. It was difficult to imagine a pack of grlor settling for stragglers, but when faced with a herd of tuskvor that was what they'd have to do.
One of the tuskvor snorted and turned its head in their direction, tossing its tusks. They backed slowly down the hill and backtracked a kilometer before starting a wide detour up onto higher ground.
The going was harder farther from the river, with steep slopes and smaller trees, which meant denser undergrowth. They kept at it. Better to err on the side of caution with a herd of tuskvor on the move. They made it high enough that the grove trees started again, and Pouncer killed a k'ldar, a larger, forest dwelling cousin of the zianya. Cherenkova smoked the meat that was left over and they spent the night in one of the trees, not as comfortable as a shelter built on the ground, but at least they were out of the way of predators.
The next day they came to a vast clearing, an entire valley, kilometers across, waving with the tufted plants that passed for grass on Kzinhome. It seemed as though a piece of the now distant savannah had been transplanted into the heart of the jungle. A forest fire had swept through the area within the last few years, clearing out the canopy. It must have been ferocious to consume the mighty spire trees the way it had. Most had burned completely, only charred remnants remaining, but at intervals tremendous trunks still reached for the sky, dead and gray, like accusing fingers pointed mutely at the lightning god who had destroyed them. Finger-thick saplings clustered here and there. The savannah's victory would be short lived. The fast-growing grass would take what gains it could, but where the river valley gathered enough moisture to support the trees, it was the trees that would ultimately triumph.
In places the ground was still crunchy, and just beneath the surface the soil was ash gray. Cherenkova worried because of the lack of cover, but Pouncer assured her that grlor didn't like to hunt in open areas. They crossed it, grateful for the easy going. A small stream rolled down the center of the valley to feed one of the tributaries that in turn fed the main river. They stopped there to rest and eat in the heat of the midday sun. The kzinti napped while Ayla took advantage of the relatively clean water to wash herself and her clothes. She took her time, enjoying the cool luxury of a pool beneath the shade of a cluster of saplings. When she was done she climbed up the bank, and froze.
Six kzinti, loping through the tall grass toward them. They came steadily, unhurried, not concealing themselves. Quickly she woke Pouncer and T'suuz. Pouncer rolled to his feet and put a paw to his variable sword, but T'suuz stopped him “Show no threat. These will be a pride of the czrav, bound by blood allegiance to our mother's pride. We will be safe with them.”
The newcomers carried journey packs of tanned leather and their bows and wtzal hunting spears were well crafted of wood, but the arrow and spearheads glinted with the heavy gray of crystal iron and the colors in their cloaks shimmered and shifted to blend them into the background. Some carried weighted throw nets, others game bags laden with small quarry, but if they were a hunting party they had not caught anything large enough to justify their numbers.
“Hunt cloaks.” Pouncer kept his voice low. “Sophisticated for primitives.”
T'suuz twitched her tail. “You should know by now that czrav are anything but primitive.”
The newcomers formed a semicircle. Four of them were female, all lean and muscular, and none of them looked friendly.
“I am Kr-Pathfinder.” A leopard-spotted male took a step forward as he spoke. “You cross Ztrak Pride territory with no border gift.” He spat the words, and the warriors behind him were in fighting stances. Pouncer assessed them. They know the single combat form, or a variant. A wooden spear was no match for a variable sword, but six to two were not good odds against opponents who knew what they were doing, even with that advantage.
“Apologies.” T'suuz claw-raked, speaking before Pouncer could. “I am T'suuz, daughter of M'ress of Mrrsel Pride. This is my brother, First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, and the kz'eerkti emissary, Cherenkova-Captain. We meant no trespass, but claim sanctuary by blood allegiance.”
Kr-Pathfinder fanned his ears up. “Mrrsel pride. Hrrr. What do you seek sanctuary from?”
Pouncer stepped forward, gesturing T'suuz to stay back. “Tzaatz Pride has declared skalazaal. They came with genetically engineered war beasts and have overthrown my father and taken the Citadel of the Patriarch. They seek my ears for their trophy belt.”
“Why did you come here?”
“We stole a vehicle and flew it until it was out of power, where the Long Range meets the Mooncatchers. We have been traveling on foot since then, to reach the jungle and Mrrsel Pride.” He made the gesture of deference-to-an-equal. “I add to my sister's apologies. We were not aware of the pride boundaries. I offer this kill as border gift.” He indicated the dismembered remnants of the previous day's k'ldar. “Poor as it is, it comes with the gratitude of the Rrit, and my blood debt to your Pride.”
“Hrrrr.” Kr-Pathfinder turned a paw over, considering.
The other male stepped forward, younger than the first and heavily built. “We will take your malformed kz'eerkti creature. It will make good sport.”
Pouncer twitched his tail. “The Cherenkova-Captain is under my protection. It is not prey.”
The large kzin slashed the air with his claws. “Kr-Pathfinder, this nameless kitten stretches tradition too far. He trespasses and then claims sanctuary, insults us with burnt meat, prey taken in our own territory! Let us take what is ours.”
Kr-Pathfinder held up a paw. “Tradition is tradition. First-Son is under skalazaal and his mother's pride is blood-bound to ours. He is entitled to sanctuary, and we must honor that, and honor his protection of his kz'eerkti too. He may stay with us for the Traveler's Moon unharmed.”
“Kr-Pathfinder, you cannot be serious!”
“Why would I not be, Sraff-Tracker?” The leader fanned up his ears.
“This kill is an insult.” The large kzin spat. “The meat is burned and worthless.”
“The kill is nothing. He claims Mrrsel Pride blood, and he has given us blood-debt.” The tension between the two went further than the issue at hand. One day they would fight a challenge duel.
“He is a Rrit, a noble and no czrav of Mrrsel. As for his blood debt…” The warrior spat in contempt. “…he is a nameless kitten, half outbred. He holds back the kz'eerkti and the kzinrette too. Let him give us them as border gift and save his strakh for the kzintzag.”
“I am sworn to the protection of the kz'eerkti and my sister both.” Pouncer took a step back, casually adopting v'scree stance. T'suuz moved sideways, putting herself between Cherenkova and the others. Cherenkova backed up, but there was little point to the maneuver. If it came to a fight Pouncer and T'suuz together couldn't save her, and even if she started running now there was no way she could hope to evade a pride of kzinti on the hunt. If she still had the beamer… but she didn't. She could only watch for an opportunity to act, if one came.
“Sraff-Tracker is right.” A female stepped forward, firm-muscled, an adolescent just ripening into fertility. She wore decorative ear-bands and stood with cocky self-confidence. “Take away his weapons and I'll fight him claw to claw.”
“He has asked sanctuary, C'mell.” Kr-Pathfinder's voice took on an edge of snarl. “Tradition demands we give it to him.”
How do I respond to the challenge of a female? Pouncer sized her up, could not help noticing her sleek shape and well tufted tail. As I would any other threat to those I protect. If she leaps, I will kill her.
“Tradition demands we defend our borders.” Sraff-Tracker let his fangs show. His belt was heavy with ears. “He trespasses, insults us with burned meat and empty promises while he keeps both food and female in front of us.”
“Do you challenge me?” Kr-Pathfinder laid his ears flat. Perhaps the duel would be right now.
Sraff-Tracker laid his own ears flat too, lips curling up to reveal his fangs. For a long moment the tableau held, but ultimately Sraff-Tracker did not leap.
Kr-Pathfinder turned to Pouncer. “We welcome you as our guest, First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. Will you share meat with us tonight?”
“I am honored, Kr-Pathfinder, and my Pride is honored.” Pouncer carefully ignored the female C'mell, who was looking at them with ill-concealed hostility. Aside from her and Sraff-Tracker the remainder of the Ztrak hunters seemed to accept them, warily. That was enough for now.
Kr-Pathfinder swung his tail up and around in a wide circle, the hunt sign for gather. Pouncer looked around in momentary confusion, saw four more kzinti appear a good bowshot downstream, another four upstream. Understanding dawned: these were cutoff parties, set to intercept them if they fled in either of the two easy directions. This was not a chance encounter; we have been well stalked. They set their ambushes close without sound or scent. My sister is right — the czrav are more sophisticated than they appear.
A third cutoff group appeared over the slope behind them. Pathfinder set a course and the group followed. Cherenkova was pleased to discover she could keep up. She was growing tougher in the jungle. I have survived so far. I might yet survive this.
Hunger leads the hunt.
— Wisdom of the Conservers
Ftzaal-Tzaatz stretched and yawned luxuriously on his portable prrstet. He rolled to his feet and walked out of the pop-dome that served as his lair and onto the sunburnt savannah. His was not the largest pop-dome, but unlike anyone else's it was his alone. The afternoon heat soaked into his dark fur, a welcome change from the cool shade in his dome. Gravcars with beam weapons secured a perimeter around a small hillock in the grassland; closer in, his elite Ftz'yeer patrolled on raider rapsari. He had been on the hunt thrice around the Hunter's Moon, but now his quarry was close, so close he could almost smell it.
He went to a smaller pop-dome beside his command lair. Guards jumped up to claw-rake as he came in, but he focused his attention on the figure who did not, lolling on a narrow pallet. Telepath was moaning incoherently, eyes rolled back in his head, mucus streaming from nose and mouth. He was in an advanced state of sthondat withdrawal. Ftzaal had seen the symptoms before. Denied the drug that freed its powers, a telepath's brain punished itself through the pain center. Telepath's skin would be on fire, the agony penetrating to every bone in his body. It was the weakness of telepaths that they needed the drug, that they would dishonor themselves to get it. It was the strength of the Black Priest cult that they controlled the drug, and so controlled the telepaths. That was the way of the world.
Ftzaal knelt by the pathetic figure and shook him roughly. “Telepath. Telepath!” It took him several tries to get a response.
“Please, the sthondat…” Telepath's head lolled, his eyes opening but refusing to focus.
“Not until you find the kz'eerkti for me.”
“Please, no! It dreams of burned meat and boiled roots.”
“Can that be worse than the cravings?” Ftzaal held up an infuser, forced Telepath's muzzle around so he faced what he needed so badly.
“Please, I can't tell without the drug. I need it…”
“You can tell without the drug, and you will. There is only one human on the planet. Yesterday you said it was close.”
“No, no not close, it's far away.” There was desperation in Telepath's voice.
“Where?”
“I can't feel it. I need the drug. Please…”
“No drug until we have it.” He leaned close suddenly, snarling in the other's ear. “What are you hiding, Telepath?”
“Nothing, hiding nothing.” Telepath convulsed and closed his eyes. The mind-trance was on him, not deeply, but enough for Ftzaal's purposes.
Ftzaal watched him impassively. There was fear behind the pain. I have found something deep. “Then where is it?”
“In…” Telepath's voice was halting. “In a valley… there's grass, a stream. Yesterday the trees were burned, it's with kzinti, many kzinti.”
“Many?” Interesting. “Is First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit there?”
No response. Telepath convulsed again, writhing. “You won't escape that easily.” Ftzaal leaned forward and pushed the infuser against Telepath's biceps, depressed the plunger, just a fraction. Telepath's eyes shot open, his breath coming in sudden pants. “Oh yes, please more…”
“Is First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit there?”
“Yes… yes… he and his sister. Please, the drug, the drug, oh please…”
“His sister?” Ftzaal's ears fanned up, his voice suddenly sharp.
“No… No…” Telepath struggled, his eyes flickering open as he tried to master his need for the drug.
“Tell the truth, sthondat, or I'll leave you with the cravings another day.” Ftzaal withdrew the infuser and Telepath flinched at its absence. “The kzinrette we saw with him. Is it his sister?”
“Yes…” The word was agonized. “The kz'eerkti thinks so.”
“Good. How far?”
“I don't know, I don't know.” Telepath was babbling. “It's traveled… the kz'eerkti doesn't know how far, the Traveler's Moon, once, twice around the Traveler's Moon, downstream, or the Hunter's Moon, it doesn't know… Everything is burned over… Please…”
Ftzaal depressed the plunger, watched Telepath's face tense and then relax, and all of a sudden he was asleep and peaceful, a string of drool hanging from his chin.
“Senior Guard!”
“Command me, sire!”
“See that he's cleaned up. When he wakes make sure he eats well. He has earned his keep today.”
“At once, sire.”
Ftzaal left the pop-dome, went to the larger one that served as his command lair. Its top was shiny black, soaking up sunlight and turning it into power to run the computers and electronics inside. Twice around the Hunter's Moon, that was the right time-frame. Telepath wasn't lying, not in the state he was in. Downstream was the natural direction to go, into the dark heart of the jungle where air and space reconnaissance were useless, where tracking was difficult, where every aspect of the living landscape could become a tool to foil the hunt. The information was interesting: more kzinti, and First-Son's sister. His suspicion had been right. He was on to something bigger than the fleeing First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. And if I am right about what it is then the Black Cult has been wrong. Telepath had lasted three days without the sthondat drug, holding out as long as he could. He's still hiding something. I need to rake that to the surface. This is my key to return to my devotion. For th
is they will make me High Priest. There was his oath to his brother to consider, but time enough for that later.
Time enough for pleasant imaginings later. He walked into the command lair. “Ftz'yeer Leader!”
“Command me, sire!”
“Prepare my gravcar, and two full swords of Heroes in support. We'll need sniffers. Leave the raider rapsari at home. Once we find them we'll bring in the whole force.”
“Beam weapons or variable swords, sire?”
“Variable swords and netguns. We want him alive, and more importantly we want his sister alive.” Ftzaal's mouth relaxed into a fanged smile. “The hunt is on!”
Lead not by force but by example.
— Si-Rrit
Pouncer loped down the jungle trail in the middle of the Ztrak Pride hunt party, once more carrying Cherenkova-Captain. He was tired and the alien was heavy, but he would not show weakness before the pride. That morning Kr-Pathfinder had told him that Ztrak Pride's lair was another day's journey downstream, and they had been traveling all day. It couldn't be much farther. The first sign that there was any habitation in the area was a watch platform, set high in a spire tree and well camouflaged. Pouncer would have missed the sentries except they held their weapons high and called a greeting to the returning group. The valley walls steepened to a cliff face, and past the watch platform a faint path led to a staircase, carefully arranged to look as though the rocks that formed it had simply happened to fall into their configuration by accident. They climbed it and found the den complex of Ztrak Pride. It was a natural cavern halfway up the cliff. It would have overlooked the main river, save for the towering spire trees that blocked the view. Except for a large sandy area near the front reserved for the pride circle fire, the entire floor was covered in polished planks of some dense, fine-grained wood that Pouncer didn't recognize. A cold stream ran through the center of the main cavern from somewhere deep in the rock, providing fresh water, and spilled out the front of the cavern in a little waterfall. He was surprised to find the czrav had power; warm lights glowed in recesses in the walls. Deeper into the cave were quarters for families and individuals. The raw rock of the ceiling was covered by vast sections of tanned skins, held up by the polished rib and leg bones of some immense creature.
