by Paul Chafe
Pouncer flipped his tail to signal his assault force to follow him and moved off. Every sense was heightened, his eyes picking up details from dark blurs, his ears up and straining forward for any sign that their attack had been detected. His nose twitched in the air, picking up the rank scent of the rapsari as well as the sharp odor of Tzaatz urine marks, arrogantly sprayed around Vsar-Chiuu's stronghold as though the invaders owned it. His mouth gaped into a fanged smile, ready to rip the throat out of any who came into his path.
No more!
The metallic odor of blood filled his nose with offensive suddenness, and he stopped, sniffing to identify the source, ears swiveling back and forth. There was only the gentle wind, and the distant scurrying of night creatures. Time was running out, and he moved on sooner than he might have, to find a Tzaatz body lying decapitated beside its gutted rapsar. Kdtronai's security team had cleared the way for him. The pop-domes loomed ahead; loud snarls and snatches of bad poetry spoke of a raucous celebration inside. The enemy enjoy their unearned gains. Fast tail signals sent his sub-detachments to their start lines. No time to waste. He checked his beltcomp. Already V'rli's force would be leaping on the Tzaatz at the tungsten mine. He waved his tail in a circle and pointed it forward. Now! In the same motion he drew his variable sword and extended the slicewire. One clean swing cut through the tough skin of the pop-dome. He leapt through the opening, the interior lights painful in his eyes, colliding with a Tzaatz guzzling from a flagon. He swung instinctively, though his opponent was just a blur, and suddenly the Tzaatz was two blurs, falling to the ground in a welter of blood. Clear the entryway! He found another target, stepped forward and swung again. The Tzaatz had their armor off, and they were easy meat for his slicewire. Behind him he could hear attack screams, as the rest of his force cut their way into the structure.
A blur of motion caught his eye, and he ducked back instinctively as a thrown w'tsai whipped past his head to embed itself in one of the dome's support members. He turned to the attack and leapt in one fluid motion. The Tzaatz who'd thrown the weapon rolled back and sideways to evade him, but Pouncer twisted in midair and cut him in half. He pivoted then, scanned for threats. Ftzaal-Tzaatz is here. His leap had carried him across the ground floor of the pop-dome. A metal staircase wound up the inside of the dome and he jumped to it, running up behind the rigid slicewire of his variable sword. That action saved his life. Something slammed into the monomolecular filament, nearly tearing the handle out of his hand. The force of the impact made the wire sing, and the vibrations stung his hand. Reflexively he spun the blade around, just in time to deflect a second blow. The enemy weapon was another variable sword, and the enemy was Ftzaal-Tzaatz, it could be no other, white fangs gaping in a black furred face. There had been no kill scream, just the whistle of the slicewire as the Black Priest sprung his ambush. Already he was bringing in another cut, and Pouncer tilted his blade to block it. He spun the wire again, bringing it around to beat Ftzaal's out of line, and then followed up with a killing stroke with enough force to cleave his opponent in half. Ftzaal wore no armor; he was brave to be in the fight at all.
Ftzaal swung again and Pouncer blocked again and countered, then leapt back as the Black Priest turned the move into a feint that drew Pouncer's response into an overextension. Ftzaal's slicewire hissed past his head. He is not brave but confident. He has no fear because he does not expect to lose. Pouncer attacked to buy time, and the black-furred killer spun away from the blow, and as he came around launched into a feint, thrust, feint pattern so fast that by the time Pouncer realized what had happened he was dangerously overexposed again, his own blade far out of line as Ftzaal swung over and down to cut through his belly articulation. Pouncer jumped backward, the only defense he had, but even as his slicewire hissed through empty air Ftzaal was leaping forward, pressing his advantage. Out of position and off balance, Pouncer threw his slicewire up in a desperate last ditch block. It was a hair too slow, and Ftzaal's wire slid along his. Sudden pain burned in his right ear; a fraction farther and he would have lost it, and perhaps his head with it. Desperately, he rolled out of the way, throwing his slicewire up to block another attack, but Ftzaal was already in midleap and battered his guard out of the way, simultaneously lashing out with a kick that connected painfully with Pouncer's wrist, knocking his variable sword out of his grasp. Pouncer rolled backward in desperation and Ftzaal's blade slammed into the space he had occupied an instant before, gouging a chunk from the flexible flooring. Pouncer rolled again, this time coming to his feet. He grabbed up a small bowl-table and threw it at his adversary. Ftzaal blocked it easily, the bowl separated from the table stand by his slicewire. Pouncer backed up and found himself against the curved side of the pop-dome. There was nowhere else to go. Ftzaal's snarl gaped wide, showing razor fangs, and he screamed and leapt, his slicewire blurring. Pouncer ducked and tried to leap sideways, but he didn't have enough room and he wasn't going to get clear in time. Ftzaal's slicewire was a blur heading for his vulnerable neck articulation, and then Ftzaal himself was coming at him, the blade somehow coming out of line as the Black Priest was stumbling, falling into the resilient side of the dome to bounce off and tumble, his leap ruined. Pouncer leapt for his variable sword and grabbed it up, pivoting to face his adversary even as Ftzaal recovered his feet in a creditable half roll and came up with his weapon in guard position.
Stalemate again. They watched each other warily, and Pouncer gulped air in hungry gulps. What made the master swordsman stumble? Pouncer flicked his eyes from his opponent's shoulder for half a heartbeat, saw nothing, did it again and found the bowl of the bowl-table, rolled to one side now. Ftzaal had landed on it in his leap and lost his footing. Krwisatz, the pebble-that-trips-pouncer-or-prey. Except today Pouncer is the prey. Learn the lesson there. Pouncer stepped sideways to clear his touchdown area for his own leap, and Ftzaal's lips twitched over his fangs. He was going to attack again.
Feet pounded on the stairs, and the Black Priest's eyes flicked sideways. The stairway was behind Pouncer, but he could sense his pride-mates stopping at the top, taking stock of the situation. The odds had shifted now.
“I'll take the rest of that ear later, Rrit.” Ftzaal snarled the words.
So he has recognized me. Pouncer didn't answer. Let him eat my silence. He motioned his comrades forward, but Ftzaal back flipped, slicing open the side of the pop dome while he was still upside down and bursting out through the gap. Without thought Pouncer leapt after him, exultation in his liver. He is good, but not good enough. C'mell's ambushes will take him. Then he too was through the slashed dome wall, dropping to an easy crouch, searching for his enemy, his vision still half dark-adapted.
Polarizers whined and a gravcar boosted past, so close the wind blast nearly knocked him over. He looked up to see it vanishing into the night. Ftzaal-Tzaatz. He screamed into the night, a hunter cheated of his prey. For an instant he wished for a gravcar. But sky mobility is the enemy's strength, not mine. Gravcars required fuel and maintenance and infrastructure beyond the resources of the czrav. His strength was stealth, not speed, the ability to vanish into the countryside in an instant, to travel undetected, to appear suddenly and in force, anywhere and everywhere. I must not fight the Tzaatz on their ground but on my own.
The sounds of fighting had faded from the shredded pop-domes, replaced by the snarls of his warriors as they scoured the ruins for information. A strange, keening roar split the night, suddenly cut off. C'mell's forces had found the rapsar quarters and were slaying the beasts. He ran back to the other pop-domes, got status reports from each of his sub-commanders there. The news was good; no serious injuries, and all the Tzaatz dead in the first attack. He went back to the main pop-dome, confirmed that all was under control there on both floors. On the second level he saw again the severed bowl of the bowl-table. It was ornately carved of flamewood in an alien style, perhaps Jotoki. On impulse he dropped it into a pouch on his combat harness and went back to the ground floor.
T
he assault team there was still sifting through bodies for intelligence. He had one more task to do, and then he would melt back into the night. He turned and ran to the main house, snarling the code word to Kdtronai's cut-off teams who held the approaches secure so they would know who he was. He loped up to the door, then rang the great gong that announced visitors. The doors were of heavy stonewood beams bound in iron, once enough to withstand considerable assault. He could have sliced them open in a heartbeat with his variable sword, but he refrained, waiting impatiently while he heard the wards drawn back from the inside. Two impassive Kdatlyno hauled the heavy doors open, and behind them, as Pouncer had hoped, was Vsar-Chiuu.
The old kzin stood ready, his eyes clear, his hand steady as he held v'scree stance, variable sword in hand, ready to defend his home and his honor with his life if he had to.
“You kill the Tzaatz. Who are you?” The voice was suspicious, but if Vsar truly distrusted this stranger who had come so abruptly in the night he would never have opened his door voluntarily.
“I am Zree-Rrit-First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. I am sworn to your protection.” Pouncer claw-raked, one hand on the pommel of his variable sword in case the old kzin attacked while his guard was down.
“First-Son, Zree-Rrit now! Can it be true?” Vsar-Chiuu stepped forward and peered at Pouncer, then relaxed, retracting the blade of his variable sword. “Yes, you have your father's markings. I knew him when he was just a kitten.”
“I am his son.” Pouncer retracted his own slicewire and made the gesture of obedience-to-the-Patriarch-in-his-absence, as though bearing his father's coat pattern were a matter of duty and not genetics.
“What you have done here today, there will be repercussions…”
“No Tzaatz will take anything of yours again, not while I live.”
“And one repercussion may be that you do not live. The Patriarchy has come to dark days.” The old kzin wrinkled his nose. “Your father called you Pouncer, as I recall.”
“He did, sire.”
“I saw you when you were presented to the Circle of Lesser Prides, before you were weaned. You struggled hard, and jumped on his tail when you got free. He had to hold you up with both hands.” Vsar-Chiuu rippled his ears. “You seemed worthy of that name then. You seem worthy of his name now.”
“I will strive to be.” Pouncer checked his beltcomp. “I come to give you a message, to pass on to the Tzaatz when they come. Skalazaal is alive, between Rrit and Tzaatz. I will not rest until I have Kchula's head spiked at Hero's Gate.”
“Hrrr. It is good to hear that. I will enjoy passing this message.”
“I must go now, but we will be watching.”
“We.” Vsar-Chiuu growled in approval. “You have allies, Zree-Rrit. This is good. You have another ally in Chiuu Pride now. I will do whatever I can do to help you.”
“It is safer if you do not. There will be repercussions.”
Vsar lashed his tail. “What will the Tzaatz do to me? Take my land and kzinretti? Abuse my slaves? Kill my eldest sons?” He hissed. “They are sthondats, and I have little enough to lose. Already my youngest are hidden well, and I am too old to fear death any longer. Fealty runs both ways, Zree-Rrit. I will not have it said Chiuu Pride has forgotten its honor.”
“Chiuu Pride's honor is above question. I must go now, but I will come again, sire, and we will talk more.” Pouncer claw-raked and went out, collecting Kdtronai's guards as he went. Quicktail had the rest of the assault detachment assembled at the withdrawal point, and Pouncer quickly took the lead and headed back for the assembly area. They met C'mell's warriors there, and though he longed to nuzzle her, to reassure himself that she was really there, really safe, he did not. This is combat, and I am the leader. He checked quickly to see that the rest of her party had returned and then led them back into the riverbed. This time they moved in the center of the stream so the water would cover their spoor and scent trail. It was difficult and uncomfortable going and again Pouncer found himself wishing he'd allowed more time. Estimates that had seemed generous looking at a map were proving woefully inadequate now. He pushed the pace as hard as he could, sloshing through the darkness, tripping over underwater stones, falling farther behind with each step. They had to meet up with V'rli's group and be out of the Hrungn before daybreak. The raid wasn't a success until they were all safely away. We have no margin for error here. Decision time. If they stayed in the river, the sniffers wouldn't be able to track them, but they would be caught still in the valley when the sun came up. Worse, V'rli's group could not leave without them, and he would endanger the entire pride. If he left the river, they would save time, but the sniffers would pick up their trail. Either way the Tzaatz would find them, and without the element of surprise his light force wouldn't be able to stand up to a rapsar attack.
So what to do? He kept moving as he thought. At least the forced pace kept him warm. Despite the heat of the day the night air was chill, and the Hrungn ran cold from its high mountain springs. The valley was rich with the smell of turned earth, and something else, vaguely familiar, jogging his memory. He sniffed, then inhaled deeply to catch the faint scent. Myewl! It was more common in the jungle downlands, but it liked dry ground by jungle standards, enough that even here next to the mountains the aromatic plants could find habitat close to the river. The myewl leaves would break their scent trail. There would still be ground spoor — a moving force the size of his couldn't help but leave signs for a good tracker to follow — but the Tzaatz relied too much on their sniffers. It was a risk worth taking. He moved out of the river bed, clambering over dry rocks in the darkness, then scrambling over the bank that marked the full river margins in the flood season. Burstflower bushes lined the rivers edge, and he headed upslope, toward the dryer, sandier area that must be ahead. The myewl scent grew stronger, and on a low sandy hill he came into a clump of it. He gave the tail sign for gather, and watched again as his well disciplined force filed into their preassigned places in the night-defensive formation. The czrav were all seasoned hunters, and didn't need to be told the significance of the myewl. With w'tsai and claws they stripped the leaves from the branches, crushing them to spread the juice over themselves. It took time, but when they moved out they were moving faster. Pouncer breathed a little easier, but still pushed the pace. Soon their path would turn up, and the steepness of the valley wall would slow them down again. They had to make time while they could. In the distance riding lights winked in the sky, gravcars falling into the stronghold of Chiuu Pride. The Tzaatz are arrogant, and they give themselves away. Ftzaal-Tzaatz would have summoned trackers, and the gravcars would sweep the valley with their sensors. It was too late for that. The background clutter of large animals and wind-rocked branches would be enough to confuse them. The Tzaatz would have to track them on the ground, over a trail made difficult by the river and the myewl, and they could track on the ground no faster than Pouncer could move ahead of them. They were safe. He kept moving quickly, though his warriors were visibly tiring, and his own muscles complained loudly at the unaccustomed strain. They were safe, but there were still deadlines to meet. He did not want to keep V'rli waiting at the rendezvous.
The eastern sky was growing brighter when they arrived in the grove of broadleaf trees where the tuskvor were tethered. V'rli's group was already there in defensive positions. She met him as they came in.
“Any injuries?” Her tone asked the unspoken question. Any killed?
“None.” Pride won through the exhaustion and he held himself as a warrior should. He had made it, in and back, and brought all of his first command with him. “The rapsari are dead, and all the Tzaatz save one.”
“Just one?”
“It was the Black Priest, Ftzaal-Tzaatz. I fought him myself.”
V'rli's ears swiveled up. “He is dangerous.” Her eyes went to Pouncer's ear, now bound in myewl to hide the bloodscent. “He wounded you.”
“It is minor, Honored Mother. We should go.”
“We should.�
�� Czor-Dziit had joined them. “You have won a great victory here, Zree-Rrit.”
“Ztrak Pride's victory, I think. I made mistakes, sire.”
“Mistakes are inevitable. What matters is how you handle yourself when they occur. You handled yourself well. On your next raid Dziit Pride will share your victory too.”
“I am honored, sire.”
“No, I am honored, Zree-Rrit.” Czor-Dziit claw-raked, and V'rli gave the tail signal for mount. Around the grove the mazourk leapt up to their travel platforms to take the tiller bars, and the raiders of Ztrak leapt behind them. It would be three more days through mountain, desert and grasslands to the high forest den, but they had ears now, and the battle behind them. Tuskvor grunted and stirred. Morale was high. V'rli rode the first tuskvor out of the grove and Pouncer rode the last. Already his raiders were snarling back and forth, weaving the story of the raid into a whole that the entire Pride would share. It would become part of the Pride Ballad soon enough. Pouncer stood to the back of the platform, not joining in the levity, looking back over the tuskvor's heavily swaying tail. I have started something today which I can no longer turn back. There will be war between czrav and Tzaatz. He took out the severed bowl-table. On closer examination he could see the indentations made for serving ladles. It was meant to hold blood sauce for feasting. He turned it over to examine the almost polished surface where Ftzaal-Tzaatz's slicewire had cut through it with little more resistance than if it had been air. Krwisatz. Will you trip pouncer or prey? They had won this engagement, but the war was far from over. What unseen factor might yet turn victory into defeat?
