by Paul Chafe
Slowly he lowered the variable sword. “First Blade Leader.” His snarl was hard edged.
“Command me, sire.”
“Bury him immediately. The czrav might not have heard the kill scream through the jungle noises. We must not leave scent spoor.”
First Blade Leader gestured to the rest of the blade, and they began digging a hole with their w'tsais. Idly Ftzaal nudged Telepath's body with a toe. Whatever secrets he held he would hold forever now. Had it been the right decision to kill him? In truth he had had no choice; if the sounds of the fight had not already alerted the watchers, they certainly would have if he'd allowed it to go on. He broke his elbow rather than submit. Telepath had stood no chance at all in a fight against Ftzaal-Tzaatz-Protector-of-Jotok. He must have known that, and chosen death over betrayal of what he wanted to keep hidden. He was in my mind. How many times has he done that before? Telepaths had trouble reading the minds of the black furred; it was the reason black kittens were taken for the Cult. One thing was certain, they were very close to something much bigger than First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. The Black Cult must know of this. First, I need proof.
His com clicked in his ear — Third Sword Leader.
“What is it?”
“Sire, my Communicator has cut himself on some kind of plant, and it has poisoned him. We have tried to clean the toxin from the wound, but he's getting worse.”
“Can you move him?”
“He's already half paralyzed. We need a gravcar or he will die.”
This accursed jungle. “Abort your patrol, do what you can for him there. I'll send Medic to you with a carrying party. We can't bring a gravcar this close without compromising ourselves. Uplink your location and I will give you a bearing and coordinates for the extraction point as soon as I get them.”
“Understood.” The com warbled with a databurst and Third Sword Leader's patrol coordinates appeared in his visor.
Ftzaal met Second Blade Leader's gaze. “Take your Blade and Medic here.” He stabbed the air with a talon, marking the point on the map display his visor projected for him. “Move quickly, but don't sacrifice stealth.”
“As you command, sire.” Second Blade Leader claw-raked, gathered his command with a glance and moved out. Ftzaal watched them go. It was almost pointless to send them. He wasn't sure what species of flora Communicator had cut himself on. Kzinhome had many poisonous plants, some of which were actually aggressive, though he was familiar only with what he'd read. It sounded like a fangthorn, and if that was true he had condemned Communicator to death when he had made the decision to have him carried to the extraction point rather than bring a gravcar straight in to his patrol. Fangthorn venom attacked the central nervous system, and if Communicator was already half paralyzed his only hope would be immediate and total blood replacement. But it is important to be seen to try, even as I refuse to compromise what we have accomplished here just to save a life. The fangthorn was just one of eight-cubed traps the jungle held from the unwary, and even the best trained Tzaatz knew about them only in theory. This is not Jotok, this is Kzinhome, and this jungle is so lethal even the primitive cvari on the Savannah avoid it, yet these czrav live their lives here.
Ftzaal looked over to where the rest of his guard were still burying Telepath. There would be more lives lost than the two the operation had already claimed. The jungle holds its secrets close. Ftzaal let his mouth relax into a fanged snarl. He would prize those secrets out, regardless of the cost.
And they had hair as the hair of women, and their teeth were as the teeth of lions.
— Revelation 9:8
The jungle night was cool with the approach of the dry season, and Ayla Cherenkova edged herself closer to the pride circle fire to soak up its welcome heat. The flames licked up toward the cavern roof at the entrance to Ztrak Pride's lair. V'rli-Ztrak was in her place of honor on the Pride Rock, the flickering of firelight and shadow playing tricks with her tawny skin and tiger stripes, Ferlitz-Telepath by her side. The two were pair bonded so far as Cherenkova could tell, though she didn't fully understand the dynamics of kzinti mating. The females outnumbered the males by three to one, and the adults tended to cluster in groups with one to three males and one to six or seven females. The males always took the same places around the circle, but the females sometimes went to different groups. The younger kits stayed with their mothers; the older ones played and scuffled in the shadows, while the young adults lay sprawled against each other in companionable piles, bellies replete with the feast of fresh alyyzya meat, seasoned with some kind of roasted root she couldn't identify. It was hvook raoowh h'een, tale-telling-time, and the youngster Quicktail was leading a poetry game, pulling verses from his audience and then spinning them back with clever twists, accompanied by devastating imitations of his seniors. Ayla's command of the Hero's Tongue wasn't good enough to catch all the nuances, but the audience loved it, ears rippling and tails twitching in good humor. Earlier an old warrior named Greow-something, battle scarred and half lame, had told the tale of the Taking of Fortress Cta'ian, part of an epic cycle that evidently he told every night for three nights on the cusp of the High Hunter's Moon. She had grown to love Tale Telling and the way it brought the Pride together. She felt a sense of belonging there, almost the same as when she had been a little girl, cuddled on her mother's lap while her father told her fairy tales that he made up as he went along. It was a feeling she'd never thought she'd have living quite literally in the lion's den. She was still a long way from home, but for the first time since she'd arrived at 61 Ursae Majoris she felt safe.
And ironically, they had to leave. The Traveler's Moon was at its cusp, and their time of sanctuary was over. Tomorrow they would push deeper into the jungle to find Mrrsel Pride and perhaps more permanent safety. She yawned. She was tired, and tomorrow would be a long day. She was starting to think about going to sleep when there was a commotion at the den mouth. Night-Prowler, one of the young hunters guarding the den that night, came in at the run, interrupting a clever verse. “V'rli-Ztrak! Douse the fire! There are trespassers in the southern valley!”
“How many?” V'rli gave a sign and a pride member leapt to the valve that sent water filtered through the sand above into the deeper den. Embers hissed as the fire began to go out.
“At least twice eight, that we saw. They're riding strange beasts, I've never seen them before. And they've taken Kdtronai-zar'ameer from his watch tree.”
“What?” V'rli's ears swiveled up and forward, anger suddenly in her voice. “How was he taken?”
“They were stealthy, and we didn't see their approach. They have net guns, and other beasts on leashes. I saw it happen, but it was too late. My brother is shadowing them, carefully. I came to warn the pride.”
Pouncer leapt up. “It is the Tzaatz, hunting with rapsari. I must leave at once. I am endangering you.”
“No.” V'rli's voice was firm. “You will do no such thing.” She turned her attention back to Night-Prowler. “You have done well.”
Pouncer motioned for T'suuz and Cherenkova to come with him. “They're looking for me. I have to go.”
“No.” V'rli lashed her tail. “This is Ztrak Pride territory. You have asked sanctuary and been given it. You are under our protection now.”
“Honored Mother…”
“There is no threat, to you or to us. We have not kept our secrets eight-to-the-sixth seasons and more without well established defenses. No doubt the Tzaatz have learned some of the jungle's lesser dangers. Now we will teach them that tracking the czrav is the greatest hazard of all.” She raised her voice. “Quicktail!”
“Honored Mother!” The spotted youngster came in and claw-raked.
“Go with Night-Prowler. Your job is to find Kdtronai-zar'ameer. You must bring him back.” V'rli waved Pouncer as she spoke.
“At once!” Quicktail left at the bound.
“Kr-Pathfinder, hunt leaders, assemble your groups. I want ambush parties, ready to leave immediately.” The quiet scen
e exploded into action, snarled commands filling the air as warriors grabbed weapons and prepared to defend the pride. She turned to one of the older females, heavy in pregnancy. “M'mewr, take the kits to the deep den; Greow-Czatz will go with you.” She pointed a paw. “Ferlitz-Telepath, find me their minds.”
“At once, V'rli.”
Pouncer stepped forward again. “If you will not let me leave, let me fight. Tell me who I should follow.”
“And I.” T'suuz was standing beside him. Ayla wondered if she too should volunteer. I will go with Pouncer, and take my chances with him. It was her only real option. How she would fight effectively against kzinti backed up by rapsari was another question.
“The mazourk stand ready, Honored Mother.” Another kzin interrupted before V'rli could reply.
V'rli twitched her tail. “C'mell, you will lead the mazourk. Take Mind-Seer with you.”
The young female who'd nearly challenged Pouncer made the gesture-of-abasement-to-a-compliment. “I am honored.”
“Lead them well,” admonished V'rli. “Hold them back, but be ready. The Tzaatz must not survive.”
“I obey.” C'mell vanished into the night, snarling orders.
“Honored Mother…” Pouncer would not be put aside.
“Your place is at the den mouth, your sister too.”
“I can do better than—”
“No!” V'rli cut him off. “You do not know the valley, and we who have lived here do. Someone must guard the den. If you do it you free another warrior to slit Tzaatz throats.”
“Hrrr. There is no—”
“Sssss! Do not say there is no honor in the task. You guard our kits, my kits. The future of our pride is in your hands. It is a great honor. Be worthy of it.”
“I obey, Honored Mother.”
“May the Fanged God leap with you.”
Pouncer and T'suuz left at the bound, and Cherenkova went to follow them, but V'rli stopped her.
“No, kz'eerkti. You come with me.”
It was not what she would have chosen to do, but she was a good enough officer to know when it was time to shut up and follow orders. She followed V'rli and Ferlitz-Telepath to an alcove. Beneath a heavy, sand-colored pelt the size of a polar bear's was a quite advanced combat console. V'rli touch the surface, and it lit up to show a three-dimensional map of the valley, icons glowing orange and blue to represent friend and foe.
“Ferlitz-Telepath?” Her snarl was sharp.
“The danger is near…” His voice was as distant as his eyes. “They see in the dark… hunt with strange creatures…”
V'rli's whiskers twitched. “How far?”
“Close… In the southern valley…” The big kzin slumped to the ground as his mind reached out into the night and V'rli knelt by his side.
“Kz'eerkti, can you run the console?”
Ayla nodded. “I can try. I won't know all its functions.”
“We need only map and display. I must watch over Ferlitz and direct his search.” She handed Ayla an oversized headset. “We do not use transponders. You will keep the map updated manually from the wireline vision feeds, and from what Ferlitz gives us. I will command our Heroes. You feed me information when I want it, understood?” V'rli's snarl was urgent.
“Understood.” Ayla touched the surface, spun and swiveled the display, moved an icon, just to make sure she could do it. The interface was entirely intuitive, at least for the simple functions. Video feeds from hidden cameras let her survey the battlespace. She slid a finger, ran one of them from thermal through visual to active millimetric radar. The image responded, and she tested the pan and zoom commands to confirm the feeds would do what she needed them to.
“Trees… A watch platform… They know where we are…” Ferlitz was mumbling, sounding far away. “The mazourk are moving to the central clearing.”
She stabbed the map with a finger. Central clearing, that can only be… here! She moved an icon to a grid location, but there was a word she didn't recognize.
“Honored Mother! What are mazourk?”
“Tuskvor riders, our reserves. A czrav secret. We won't use them unless we have to.”
Tuskvor riders? For a moment Ayla thought she'd misheard. If the czrav can tame tuskvor they're more formidable than I imagined. She saw movement in one of the camera views, moved an icon and told V'rli, “Kr-Pathfinder's group is in position on the bluff. No Tzaatz in sight.”
“Good, we may yet have time.” V'rli snarled into Ferlitz's ears and he echoed her words, ordering Kr-Pathfinder to hold in place. They are using telepathy instead of vocom, untraceable and unjammable. It was not just the mazourk that made the czrav formidable opponents.
“More… more to the north… with flyers…” Ferlitz sounded feverish now, his reality entirely unconnected with the room his body happened to be in.
“Ferlitz, find me the leader.”
“The leader…” Ferlitz echoed his instructions weakly. For a long moment he was silent, then his entire body tensed and his voice strengthened. “It is a Black Priest!”
“A Black Priest — this is dangerous.”
“Yes…” His voice weakened again. “I cannot read him. I need the extract…”
“You must not. Not yet.”
Ferlitz-Telepath's eyes flickered open. “Give it to me.” His snarl was imperious, commanding.
V'rli hesitated, then reached into a hidden niche in the back of the combat console, came away with a small vial of oily fluid. Ferlitz relaxed and she metered drops into his mouth. He licked his lips and was instantly in the trance again, deeper this time.
“He seeks a female… and the kz'eerkti.”
V'rli snarled. “He will not find them.”
Cherenkova watched her displays, grainy with the thermal gain ramped all the way up. The now familiar shapes of rapsari moved in one of them, and she spun the display to map the camera's field of view. “Honored Mother, enemy in the south valley. Looks like scout groups.”
“How close?”
How close? How do the czrav measure distance? “Almost to the ambush parties.”
V'rli lashed her tail. “South ambushes attack now. Northern ambushes, prepare to move south. Mazourk, stand by.” Ferlitz echoed her words, barely audible now, his body twitching. The sthondat drug was powerful, but it came with costs.
On her screen Cherenkova could see the ambushers screaming and leaping. They cut down the rapsari mounts first, then the Tzaatz riders. The czrav ambushers were incredibly fast, and as soon as they had struck they vanished again into the jungle. They did not escape unscathed however; not all the bodies they left in their wake belonged to their enemies. Deeper into the image something moved…
“More scout parties, covering the first. They know our first positions,” Cherenkova reported. V'rli circled her tail in acknowledgment, her attention focused on Ferlitz-Telepath.
“Fire…” He seemed delirious. “They are using fire…”
“Fire? Where?” V'rli demanded. Even as she did Cherenkova saw her screens flare bright as lasers torched the ground cover.
“South valley again.” Ayla kept her voice under control, for her own benefit, not V'rli's. “The cover groups are starting them.”
“All teams to the river!”
“No! No, they're watching the river.” Cherenkova blurted the words without thinking. V'rli looked up at her sharply.
“How do you know this?”
“They must be; it's the logical tactic. They're searching out the den. Their plan is to burn this side of the valley. They locate us with their search groups, then drive us out with fire. They expect we'll flee to the river for safety from the fire, and that's where we will be ambushed.”
V'rli looked at her for a long, long moment and Cherenkova did her best to keep her gaze level. Have I overstepped my position? Her last ground combat training had been in officer candidate school, and sketchy enough when she got it, just enough to give a naval officer a grounding in the concepts. I must be right.
“Yes…” Ferlitz-Telepath seemed completely delirious. “…the river… with net guns.”
V'rli leaned close to Ferlitz, her voice sharp in his ear. “All groups, that order is countermanded. Move to the base of the bluff, get on the rocks. Let the fire sweep past.” As Ferlitz relayed her words in his trance, her eyes met Ayla's, understanding conveyed in a glance. Ayla had V'rli's respect now, and her trust.
Now to prove worthy of it. Cherenkova kept scanning her screens. Something about the way the covering Tzaatz had withdrawn before the attack… Her cameras could see in darkness, but could they? She stabbed a finger into a control icon, twirled it to traverse the image and zoom. Yes… “The Tzaatz have spectrum goggles. The fire will blind them.”
V'rli looked up from Ferlitz. “That is important to know. We will attack in its wake. Keep me informed.”
“As long as I can, Honored Mother.” The flames were already licking high in the tinder-dry undergrowth, and even the huge, thick-barked spire trees were beginning to burn. It wouldn't be long before Ayla started losing her sensors; already the heat was flaring the screens, blurring out the details she needed to keep track of the Tzaatz movement. And what if the Tzaatz are using the smoke and flame for cover themselves? They could infiltrate past the ambush parties and attack the den itself. Did they know where it was, or did they only know the general area? We'll find out soon enough. She fumbled with the interface to damp the camera gain. Cryptic symbols floated in the air, and she stabbed them in sequence to make it happen. One of them worked and the displays cleared.
