“We’ll turn into corpses if we continue this.” This was a voice that Sartas was not familiar with. It belonged to a young male, one of the ones who had joined them shortly after the flood. He wasn’t as tall as Sartas, but he was very fit; stocky, functional strength. He was not of the same body type as the Long Fangers. Unlike them, he had no ear-tufts, and he had a long and very mobile tail. He was tan with subtle reddish and cream markings rather than tan with a heavy frosting of gray. He had heavier jaws and a longer face, too, which had the effect of making his eyes look smaller. Scars on his face and shoulders said that he was used to fighting. But he had not become one of Sartas’ warriors. He didn’t seem to do much of anything around camp, either; just enough to keep anyone from bothering him. “Continuing is foolish. If it weren’t for you obsession with tucking tail and bowing down before the Clan of the Claw, we would have found a new home already.”
Sartas sized the young male up instantly. A bully, and used to getting his way. “Who is this that is speaking? I don’t know you.” Sartas had to tread carefully here, but already had an idea of what this would ultimately come to. There was only one thing that this young Mrem had on his mind right now: a challenge. For him, it was a no-lose proposition. Long Fang did not have so many young warriors that they could afford to cast him out even if he lost the challenge. And if he won? He would be the new Clan Leader—though probably not for very long—a jump in status that under ordinary circumstances he could not have dreamed of achieving.
“I am Shar Enthiss.” The young hothead puffed his chest out and stood tall, putting his fists on his hips.
“Strange, I’ve never heard of the exploits of Shar Enthiss. I haven’t heard how many warbands he has led, or how many Liskash he’s killed.” Sartas Rewl paced around the fire as he talked, keeping a wary eye on the bully. “I haven’t heard of his skill with javelin or sword, either. Yet here he is, it would seem.” He stopped, turning to face the male. “My only concern is the survival of the people of this clan. If that is what I’m obsessed with, as you put it, Shar Enthiss, then it’s not something I’m ashamed of.”
“Your words are strong, but your actions show the opposite,” the youngster huffed. “Here you have mothers with kits, the elders, and the injured and ill begging with you to leave off this pursuit of yours, and still, in the face of harm to your own clan, you insist on trying to find another Clan. And you don’t even know where it is! How long do you propose to drive us? Until everyone is dead?” There were more voices joining his in agreement, now. “You started us on this path, and now you need to end it. If you won’t, then—”
Miarrius Srell stepped through the crowd and snarled for quiet. Shar Enthiss, confused, went quiet. Miarrius looked around at the gathered Mrem, taking his time before speaking. Sartas held his breath. This was the last thing he needed…when Marius supported this youngster, there would be an avalanche of support piling up behind him.
“If we continue on, more will die. I assure you all of this.” The old bastard has sunk me. Sartas Rewl felt as if there were a block of slick ice in his belly, dragging him down. Miarrius fixed him with a stare, his face revealing nothing. “I can also tell you that if we stay here, all of us will die. In the lowlands, we were protected. Now, we are not; there are no more lowlands, only the New Water and the Liskash holdings that surround most of it. If we stay, we will either drown or eventually be found. Either way, we die.” Miarrius turned back to the bully, pointing at him and glaring now. “We are too committed, but more than that, the New Water will drive us no matter what our wishes are; we continue on if we want to save anyone.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I do not want to join Long Fang to Claw. But I also do not want to watch as our elders and kits starve or are slaughtered by Liskash. As the saying is, ‘when the avalanche has begun, the pebbles must go, whether they like it or not.’”
Sartas took his eyes off the youngster for just a moment to see what the rest of the clan was doing. Their body language would tell him everything he needed to know. Most of the ones closest to Shar Enthiss had shied away from him, and very few at all seemed as friendly towards him as there were moments ago.
“Sartas is our talonmaster, and has been for many seasons,” said Ssenna, from out of the crowd. Then her voice turned contemptuous. “What do we know of you, Shar? Only that somehow, you survived out of all of your clan.” She left unspoken anything else that might be implied; Ssenna was very good about saying only enough, and no more.
Someone else in the crowd—Sartas could not tell who it was—snickered and added “Dung always floats.”
“We know why we of Long Fang lived,” put in another of the hunters. “Because Sartas with the hunters, and Reshia with the foragers, both recognized something terrible was happening in time to get us to safety. I do not think we should abandon a path Sartas thinks is wise, given that.”
Shar Enthiss was not pleased to see the conversation turning against him. Abruptly, he kicked a log in the fire, sending sparks skittering out. “Enough of this pointless yammering! If you’re all too addled by your love of this fool, then I’ll handle this myself.” He unsheathed his claws and lowered his head, growling low. “I’ll lead this clan to safety. Not you, Sartas Rewl.”
Sartas nodded once, walking through the edge of the crowd into an open area. “If this is the way it must be, then know this; after it is done, there will be no more trouble from you, and you will do your share for this clan.” The younger male roared once and charged, barreling over some of the crowd to reach Sartas. At the last moment Sartas unsheathed his claws and squared his shoulders to meet the charge. Just Shar reached him, Sartas grasped the bully’s shoulders while rolling back with his momentum. Arching his back as they rocked to the ground he simultaneously planted a hand in his opponent’s chest, kicking him off and behind him. Shar impacted the ground with an audible thud, landing awkwardly on his back. Sartas had already spun around and readied himself in a low crouch; the youth was dazed for only a moment before him regained his senses and lifted himself from the ground.
Shar Enthiss still had plenty of fight left in him. He was more careful this time, however. They circled each other for several long moments before he lashed out again; two quick swipes and then a bull rush. Sartas dodged both blows, and sidestepped the rush; as Shar went under his arm, Sartas chopped the back of his neck to send him off-balance. His opponent recovered quicker than he had anticipated, and retaliated by raking his claws across Sartas’ ribs. A slick of red colored the tips of Shar’s claws; he grinned ferally, emboldened by drawing first blood.
Shar made what looked like another rush…but then, just before he would have hit Sartas, he suddenly dropped to the ground and rolled. He hit Sartas’ legs, knocking them out from under him before Sartas could avoid him, and turned the roll into a pounce. Sartas threw his arms in front of his face, blocking his opponent’s hammer blows. Shar raised up both arms to bring them both down in a powerful strike; Sartas countered by striking him in the chin with a palm, then flipping him off to the side. As a parting gesture, he took a backhanded swipe, digging into the flesh of Shar’s shoulder.
Time to end this. Shar could wear Sartas down, if he had endurance enough; he was certainly large enough to overpower the leaner Mrem. And Sartas had to show the clan something decisive. He stood up from the ground, allowing his arms to drop to his sides casually. Shar was confused by this; Sartas was dropping his guard, leaving himself wide open for attack. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Shar moved in and stabbed his claws at Sartas’ face, looking to blind him. At the last second before the claws reached him, Sartas locked an arm around Shar’s outstretched one at the elbow. The talonmaster used his free hand to push against the bully’s shoulder, forcing him down the ground; he then wrenched the arm, twisting it back and taking the strength out of it. Shar screamed in agony; his screaming grew higher in pitch when Sartas planted a hand against that same shoulder, standing on it as he bent down to place a claw at the rival’s throat.
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“Do you yield?” Shar ended his screaming to huff and grunt in pain instead. Sartas applied more pressure to the joint he was standing on. Eyes going wide in agony, Shar managed to yelp, “I yield! Stop, stop!”
Sartas let go of his arm but took his time in removing his hand from Shar’s shoulder. “Tend to your wounds. But do it somewhere else.” He waited while Shar slinked off into the darkness beyond the light of the fire before turning to face the crowd. “As soon as preparations are made, we will ready ourselves and continue on the march. Does anyone else wish to contend this? If so, speak, and it will be heard.” The entire clan remained silent, but it was an approving silence, with thoughtful nods. There was no more grumbling or chords of discontent within the crowd, now. Finally Miarrius spoke up.
“I would request a full day of tomorrow to properly pack, rather than the hasty thrown-together packing we have been forced to do until now, talonmaster,” he said, with great dignity. “Proper packing will enable us to move efficiently, and if any of the food has not dried completely, we can arrange for it to be eaten first, rather than spoil slowly in the bottom of a basket.”
“That is wise. We’ll make sure it is done.” The gathered Mrem began to disperse, then; to talk about what had just happened, and to discuss how to get ready for tomorrow. Reshia waited until after the last of them were gone from the fire before she approached Sartas.
Her ears were flattened. “That did not go as well as I had hoped,” she said, in a voice loaded with chagrin. “Let me tend your wounds.”
“Better you than Shar.” He winced as she began to inspect and poke at the claw marks. “I don’t think we will have any trouble from that one anymore, however. Thugs are easily broken when they find someone truly willing to stand up to them.” He watched her as she worked, speaking softly. “What are you thinking, my heart?”
“I am thinking that the clan is behind you, but even with this rest, they are weary and will only get more weary. Is there any way to make the march easier?” She sighed, and cleaned the blood from the slashes on his shoulder.
“Ask the gods to dry out the valley, to burn the Liskash from the lands, and grant us jars and baskets of clean water and food that never need to be refilled.” She ticked his nose at the jest. “Honestly…there is nothing more to be done, other than to continue forward. We have limited means. If it weren’t for the village that Ssenna had found…I don’t think we would be able to continue. Perhaps that was a mercy from Aedonnis; I hope we will gain more, but I do not count upon hopes to see me through.”
“I did not expect so much opposition,” she said slowly. “I hope it has been settled, but it surprised me, and I am not sure what to think.”
“Talking helps to lessen pain, especially when there are so many to listen. There may have been those that you did not know about, that needed to talk.” Sartas shook his head. “I agree, though. I did not expect to see so many that were ready to lay down and give up the march. They are tired, and they have every right to be. But this world is not fair; it is cruel and harsh. We must be strong and tough enough to face it, or we do not deserve it.”
She made a face. “Well, that is true, but no one ever wants to believe it. There. I think you will heal.” She smoothed down his head-fur. “I am glad Miarrius stood up for you. That he did, after openly grumbling, I think is what convinced many. They saw as he did in the beginning, and then as he did in the end.”
Sartas looked at her with puzzlement. “I thought you had spoken with him, like the others that expressed a wish to end the march. I was certain he was going to go against us until the very end.”
“I did speak with him. And he was still grumbling and saying that you were completely in the wrong when I left him.” She tilted her head to the side. “I do not know why he changed his mind, it was certainly none of my doing.”
Sartas looked up at the stars overhead, and spoke in faux wonderment. “The gods do still smile on us.” Reshia punched him in the shoulder, which caused him to look at her smiling. “Maybe we have a chance after all, love.”
* * *
Miarrius had been right about one thing; taking the time to properly and efficiently pack everything and distribute the loads more evenly was already making a difference. Even the kits could manage small packs—their own bedding, for instance—and every bit that was distributed to someone else made things easier on the pack-beasts and the adults. For the kits, having their own little packs seemed to be a source of pride; each competed with the other to have the smallest and best organized.
The food had been divided up into meal-sized portions, which meant, in addition, that everyone could carry his own midday meal. That meant the midday stop for the group wasn’t lengthened by trying to sort out food and squabbling over portion sizes. Everyone knew what they were getting, and it was done impartially with considerations made to the sick, young, and elderly. That in itself was a relief. It translated into less time and energy wasted on arguments and more on the task of surviving.
The edges of this valley were…a challenge to negotiate. Gnarled roots and vines everywhere, with boulders at the edge of a heavy slope to make walking difficult even if they hadn’t needed to fight their way through. No obvious paths, or even game trails.
Also, no sign of that missing clan, either. The empty camp still haunted Sartas. With the New Water in their way, and the edge of the valley on the other side, there were only so many places that a clan could have gone. Long Fang was on one of the only ways out, following a “path” of least-resistance and least-growth in the direction they needed to take; neither he, nor any of his scouts, had seen any sign of that missing clan.
Could Shar have been from that lost clan? There had never been any time to press him on how he’d survived the flood and where, exactly, he had come from. It didn’t seem likely, but this world had recently had a spat of the unlikely afflict it. Well at least he’s acting like a productive member of the group now. Sartas didn’t trust him as a scout, but he was doing fine as a guard on the rest, and carrying a full pack too. In time, he would be a worthy addition to the clan. If we live that long. The thought stayed in the back of Sartas’ mind, constantly toying with him. There was still such a long way to go, across unknown land with undoubtedly many dangers ahead. Not to mention needing to actually find the Clan of the Claw.
* * *
It seemed that Sartas’ fears all came true two days later. The sun was out, but it looked as if there were another storm coming from the direction of the Great Salt Water. Everyone still kept an eye for a renewed flood; if one part of the valley walls could come down, why not another? The New Water still kept rising, or so the scouts behind said. Slowly, but inexorably. It was the new constant for their world, it seemed.
The trail had been clear for the last few days, with the clan hardly seeing anything moving aside from the odd game animal. Sartas was at the head of the march again, talking with one of the wagon riders when Ssenna came from the rear of the line, riding her krelprep at breakneck pace. She leapt from her krelprep at the last moment, landing at a run before stopping next to the talonmaster. “Sartas Rewl! There is news!” Miarrius was a breath behind her. He looked even more grim than usual; never a good sign.
“What is it? What has happened?”
“Liskash, talonmaster.” Ssenna bit her lip, baring her fangs more than usual. “Hundreds of them. You know we have made no effort to hide our backtrail, and they are on it; even without a trail, there isn’t any other way for them to go other than to follow us. From what we saw, they are a motley group at best. They have no Nobles that we’ve seen, and don’t look to be as organized as other Liskash forces. Still, there numbers alone are enough to overwhelm us. There is one large scaled-fiend that seems to be in charge of them, however.”
“They’ve got archers, sling-throwers, and plenty of footmen with pikes. They’re a force, to be sure.” Miarrius shook his head. “They’ll be caught up with us in three days time, maybe four if we’re lucky.
They aren’t burdened with wagons or elders like we are; they’re a pillaging force, taking what they find and destroying the rest.”
“Not even slavers?” Sartas growled under his breath. Slavers were less likely to charge in with wanton violence; capturing Mrem was their goal, not slaughtering them. This spelled doom for the entire clan. A pillaging party would leave no one alive. Even an enslaved Mrem could scheme to escape, as long as he wasn’t mind-wiped by one of the Liskash magicians. It was better to die than to lose one’s name to one of those foul bastards.
“They had no slaves with them, nor the means to keep any. They’re out for blood and meat, and nothing more.” Miarrius took a deep breath. “We could try to hide our backtrail, but that would delay us a great deal, and I do not know how effective that would be. I am a warrior, not a hunter.”
“There’s no time for that, at this point. Even if we could hide our trail, there’s only so many places that we or the Liskash can go. They’re also more numerous than we are, and will find us eventually.” Sartas looked to Ssenna.
“We need to draw in the other patrols immediately, gather our strength to the center. We have very little time left to prepare.”
“Go, all of you. Bring all of our scouts back. We need to meet tonight, and decide—”
Mreiss Lrew chose that moment to ride in on his krelprep, pulling up short of the talonmaster and the rest where they had stopped. “I’ve got news, Sartas Rewl!” Mreiss paused for a few moments to catch his breath. “There’s a series of cliffs well ahead of us. A day and a half’s ride, by my ranging. They’re near impassible, with the wagons and whatnot. I tell you truthfully, I could hardly climb them, even with only my harness and sword—” He paused, canting his head to the side. “Why are all of you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?”
“How far do these cliffs go?” Sartas asked, carefully. “Half a day? A full day? More?”
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 5
