By Tooth and Claw - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  “And to find us again head north and east, for that is the way we’ll be going,” Tral added.

  Krar raised an eyebrow at that; it was the first he’d heard of it.

  The lead herder nodded his thanks. “I am Whar,” he said and turned to Krar. “Thank you, leader. We will return and we will have our herd and our brothers with us. Possibly some Liskash tails.”

  “I wish you luck, Whar. Our thoughts will be with you.”

  Each of the herders said his name and then followed their leader to the wagons to get their supplies. Then without another word they jogged off in pursuit of their friends.

  As Krar watched them leave the head bundor herder stepped boldly up to him. It was the Mrem he had confronted at the water hole and his tail thrashed once before he could stop it.

  “If they can go and get their herd then I think we should be allowed to do the same with ours,” the herder said belligerently.

  The young leader turned to him with a sigh. “If all of you go, then who will care for the bundor we have left? Because I don’t know how to move them and neither do the rest of us.”

  “Of course we’ll leave some to watch the remaining herd. We want our bundor back and you can’t stop us from going. Especially not if you’re going to allow them to go.”

  Krar studied him with his arms folded. Apparently there was a rivalry between the herders. But more importantly… “I hope when you say ‘our bundor’ you mean the bundor belonging to all of us.”

  “Well,” the herder spluttered, “if we go and gather them up at risk of our lives it’s only fair that they should belong to the herders.”

  “I don’t see it that way. The herds belong to all of us. Or are you and herds planning on living on your own?”

  The herder huffed and thrashed his tail, his ruff rising in agitation. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that you are either with us or against us. If you deny that the herd will be held in common, but will be all your own wealth and the rest of us can die hungry and poor then you’re not welcome here.”

  Krar looked each of the bundor herders in the eye, just long enough to signal seriousness.

  “I mean this. What’s more, if you go after them we will not wait for you, any more than we will wait for the hamsticorn herd.”

  The herder stared at him with his mouth open then clenched his jaw and took a stance. “And will you also supply us with swords and spears as you did them?” he demanded.

  Krar looked thoughtfully after the departing hamsticorn herders. “All right,” he said. “If you agree that the herds belong to all of us.” He gave the Mrem a questioning look.

  Reluctantly, and with every appearance of resentment, the lead herder nodded, his tail lashing.

  “Then, even though I think we’re throwing them away, since you insist on running into the arms of the Liskash, you may arm yourselves. Do not become so obsessed with recapturing every one that you forget we’re moving away from you as fast as we can.”

  “Remember,” Tral said, “north and east.”

  “Thank you, Tral,” the herder said, ostentatiously turning his back on Krar.

  He gestured to his followers. Fourteen Mrem followed him; the rest, mostly older, looked uncomfortable at staying but glad they weren’t going, either. Whether it was because they were missing out on the adventure or because their leader had just disappointed them by releasing their claim to the herds only they knew.

  Or maybe they think their glorious leader is leading the rest to certain death or slavery. Because I certainly do.

  * * *

  Whar and the other hamsticorn herders moved fast through the dimness of the savanna. The stars were many and bright, and the moon two-thirds full, plenty for Mrem eyes—Liskash were much less at home in the night.

  The trail was easy to follow, a broad trampled swath through the tall grass, and the herd hadn’t pounded it to dust as they would have if they were moving at speed. They jogged on relentlessly until Whar called a halt. They were tough Mrem, used to a hard life, but they were also very tired. And tired Mrem make mistakes.

  While they rested squatting on their hams they gnawed on jerky, alternating leathery bites torn loose with strong teeth and sips of water of stale leather-tasting water from the bags.

  “I’m hungry,” Shum said, “I’m starving. But I’m so tired I’m ready to give up on this dried krelprep shit.”

  “You’ll save energy if you just shut up and eat,” Vrar suggested.

  The others rumbled a tired laugh.

  As they’d traveled the ground had risen around them and the herd was moving through the narrow space between hills. So far they hadn’t encountered one stray. Though they had found the body of a calf that had apparently died of exhaustion. No sign of its mother though, which struck them as strange. Usually when a calf died the cow wouldn’t leave it for at least a day.

  “That calf…” Vrar suggested.

  “The meat wouldn’t have been any good by this time,” Whar said.

  “No. The mother…maybe that’s the mind control that the elders were talking about.”

  “Thank you for this thought, Vrar,” Whar said sardonically, looking at the moon in overelaborate politeness. “Perhaps you think this jerky was poisoned, too?”

  Vrar frowned and twitched his ears. “No, I don’t—”

  “Shut up! We’ve rested long enough. Let’s go get our herd.”

  * * *

  “Bedding down for the rest of the night,” he whispered two hours later.

  Mrem had better hearing than Liskash, too.

  “Confident monsters aren’t they?” Shum said, lying not far away, running a thoughtful thumb along the edge of his spearhead.

  “They have no reason to think they’ll be followed,” Whar said. “They’re not heading for Ashala’s holding, so they weren’t after us. They’re not the Liskash whose slaves we were. I think they just happened on us and took the chance to steal our herd.”

  “Enemies of Ashala?” Shum asked.

  Whar shrugged. “Even Liskash don’t like Liskash. I’m sure she has many enemies.”

  A whisker-twitching grin: “I know I’m one of them.”

  They approached the herd carefully, staying well away and downwind. Below they could see a campfire start up and in its light they saw Liskash soldiers, their spears slanting into the night. One of the Liskash sent two of its fellows off toward the herd.

  “Guards,” Shum murmured.

  Whar nodded. “Arrogant to think they’d only need two,” he said.

  One of the Liskash went around the herd to the far side, while the other climbed partway up they hill from which they watched.

  Suddenly, Hath, who was farther down the hill closer to the herd, stood up. He swayed where he stood and then took a stop forward. Whar rose and whirling his lariat over his head dropped the braided-leather rope over Hath’s shoulders. Then he and Shum pulled him in as the herder struggled to go forward. Then, just as suddenly he turned and ran toward them, dropping to the grass beside them, panting as though he’d run a race.

  “It took me!” Hath said in a panicked whisper. “The elders didn’t lie, if you get too close they can just make you do their will!”

  The herd leader put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “What did it want you to do?”

  “Guard the herd. I didn’t hear words or like that, I just knew that was what I was supposed to do.” He shuddered. “I didn’t even want to get away.”

  The Liskash below them had turned to look up the hill toward them, flicking its tongue out. After a few moments it turned back to the herd and sat down, taking off its boiled leather helmet.

  “If we can’t go near them we might as well not have these,” Shum said lifting his spear off the ground. “The swords are useless, too.”

  Whar picked up a good sized stone. “But not these,” he said, detaching his sling from his belt.

  He whipped the sling around his head with a flexing motion of
arm and body and released the stone at just the right moment. There was a subdued crack as the stone struck the narrow scaled head, lost in the buzzing and clicking and animal-calls of the night.

  “Is it dead?” one of the others asked.

  “It’s dead all right,” Whar said. “I’ve killed wild bundor at that range and Liskash skulls aren’t as thick.” He snarled slightly. “How long I’ve wanted to do that!”

  “Now to get the others,” he said. “Find some rocks and follow me.”

  They all had a supply of small stones, used to move a recalcitrant hamsticorn, but what they wanted now where those of a size that might kill.

  For now the Liskash on the far side of the herd was safe. There was too much risk they’d be seen if they tried to approach it. The campfire, on the other hand…

  Some four were asleep, or at least lying down, two were eating. Those would be dealt with first.

  “Don’t miss,” Whar told his fellows. He stood, whirling the sling and released the stone. It struck one of them right in the forehead and the Liskash went down, its body twitching. Two others were struck as successfully, but the other three sprang to their feet and took up their bows.

  The Mrem had the advantage of being in complete darkness as far as the Liskash were concerned and their arrows fell far short. Meanwhile the herder sent stone after stone out, invisible in the night and a brief flash of speed when they came in range of the campfire. Another fell, his head bloody, and the remaining two ran to the herd. The hamsticorns parted almost miraculously from before them and the Mrem knew this must be more of the Liskash mind tricks.

  The herders held back, fearful that they, too, would be taken over. Then the herd began to move, the exhausted animals calling out in protest, but following their leader none the less. They moved up the hill toward the Mrem; massive creatures, usually placid…but right now they represented a serious, unstoppable danger. The herders sought to move out of their way.

  “You head that way,” Whar told them. “I’m going down to cut some throats.”

  “I’ll watch your back while you do,” Shum said and followed him, while the others led the hamsticorns.

  Whar found that two of the Liskash were dead and he made short work of the third. Then he felt the strangest sensation, as though a band had gone around his head. Without hesitation he took off running in the opposite direction from the herd. He’d gone about a hundred paces when he noticed that the sensation had stopped and he turned. That was when he realized that Shum wasn’t with him.

  He dropped to the ground and crept back toward the campfire carefully. Stopping just within sight of the small campfire.

  Shum was just standing there, his head and shoulders bowed, while a Liskash with a bloodied head came toward him.

  Whar crept forward until he felt that strange sensation and then pulled back. While he watched the Liskash went up to Shum and viciously slashed his throat.

  They will pay! Whar thought, keeping the snarl that lifted his lips silent. How they will pay!

  He crawled in a wide circle, careful not to approach too closely.

  Then, one by one, the captive herders came into view. They stopped by the Liskash, their arms dangling awkwardly, heads bowed. But Whar knew each Mrem and his heart stuttered in his chest in dread.

  “Come out!” the Liskash bellowed. “Come now or I’ll cut their throats one by one!”

  Whar put a large rock in his sling and stood. After a moment he began to whirl it around his head until it had reached a good speed, then he ran forward as fast as he could roaring at the top of his lungs. He felt the band fall over his head and kept running, when he felt his will slip he let the rock fly. For a moment his mind completely stopped.

  Then the stone struck the Liskash full in the face, shattering the delicate bones and driving them into the lizard’s brain. It fell thrashing to the ground and after a moment was still.

  One by one the captive Mrem raised their heads and looked around, several dropped to the ground in exhaustion.

  “Shum!” one of them said, reaching out for his friend’s body.

  Whar came up to them then and kneeling put his hand on Shum’s forehead.

  “Shum was a good Mrem,” he said, his voice choked. Then he turned to his friends. “We cannot rest,” he told them. “There are three Liskash left and they’re driving the herd after our brothers.” He handed his water flask around. “Take their weapons and follow me.”

  They loped off toward the herd, following carefully lest they come under Liskash influence. Whar vowed that if they survived this he was going to sleep a day and a night.

  * * *

  Vrar and the other herders ran from the hamsticorns for a while. Then at his signal when they were briefly out of sight of the herd they moved to the side, hiding in the tall grass to let it flow past them. The exhausted beasts went by bawling and complaining all the way.

  They lay still, watching for the Liskash. At last they came, the three of them spread out behind the herd, following them at a distance.

  For some reason the Mrem felt no compulsion from the Liskash and each of them knew cautious relief. They watched them go by, noticing that the missing Mrem were not with them.

  “Stupid Liskash can’t see in the dark,” Vrar said softly.

  “What shall we do?” Hoff asked.

  “We shall kill them,” Vrar said with more confidence than he felt. He and the others spread out, stalking their prey with a natural silence.

  The Liskash stopped and gathered together while the herd went slowly on. The Mrem froze and watched carefully. The three lizards seemed to argue, one pointing back the way they’d come while another waved in a general way around them, the third pointed to the herd which had begun to slow.

  “What do you think they’re saying?” Hoff asked softly.

  “Who cares?” Vrar said. “Let’s get them while they’re distracted.”

  He held up a stone the size of his palm and the others hefted rocks of their own. Then the Mrem began to creep forward, slowly, carefully, the grass barely whispering with their passage. When they were about fifty paces from the Liskash they rose almost as one and let fly.

  One of the lizards had time to point at them before the stones found their marks knocking them to the ground.

  Vrar was the first one to reach them and his sword was out and flashing down before he came to a full stop. Within moments the Liskash were so much dead meat and the Mrem were hooting with victory.

  “Stop it!” Vrar said, coming to his senses. “We’ll scare the herd. You, Hoff, take six Mrem and guard the hamsticorns. The rest of you come with me.” He turned toward the Liskash encampment and, he hoped, Whar and Shum.

  They hadn’t gone far when they met with Whar and the six missing herders. There were embraces and backslaps all round.

  Then Mazer asked: “Where’s Shum?”

  Putting a hand on his shoulder, Whar said, “Shum was a good Mrem.”

  Mazer gasped and went to his knees. “Shum is no more?”

  Whar shook his head and the other Mrem caterwauled grief. He and Shum had been lovers. The others stood around him, silently offering support.

  After a few minutes, Whar knelt beside him and gently said, “We must go. We will have to mourn later, there is no time for it now. The others are moving away from us as we weep.”

  Mazer nodded, took a few deep breaths and got to his feet. “Yes, we must go.” And with that he started back the way they had come, the others following.

  * * *

  It had been Ashala’s Holding, before the Mrem rebelled. Then her daughter Hisshah’s Holding, briefly. For about twenty minutes.

  Captain Thress lay in his own filth in the dark cell and cursed his life; cursed Hisshah who he had always despised; and cursed the guards who ignored him. He heard the door open and wondered if they’d finally come to kill him.

  Sheth, Thress’s former second in the military hierarchy of the Holding, came into the cell. A soldier behi
nd him put down a stool and at a gesture from Sheth left the cell. He didn’t bother to lock the door.

  “You still can’t move,” Sheth observed.

  “Can’t I? I hadn’t noticed,” Thress sneered. “Give me some water.”

  “I no longer have to obey your orders, Captain.” Sheth sat on the stool, flicking his tongue once disdainfully. “You stink.”

  “If it displeases you then it pleases me,” Thress said. “What do you want?”

  “Maybe just to admire how the mighty Thress has fallen.”

  The Captain turned his head away and there was silence for a while.

  “I thought you might like to know what’s going on,” Sheth said. “Hisshah’s pet slave Ranowr poisoned her, and all the nobles are wrangling about who is now the god among us.”

  Thress barked a laugh; Hisshah had used that Mrem to humiliate him over and over again. He strongly suspected that the fuzzy beast had enjoyed it, despite the beatings.

  “And I thought I would never smile again!” he said, and looked at his second in command. “And do you aspire to take Ashala’s place?”

  Sheth snorted. “Not I. I am but a humble soldier. My parents are still alive as far as I know, and I have no particular desire to kill them. So I lack the basic qualification for leadership.”

  “You do,” Thress agreed drily. “Why haven’t I heard screams and cries from the Mrem?” he asked. “The torturers seem strangely idle. Hearing him suffer would complete the joy of this day.”

  “Ranowr? He convinced Hisshah to drink by drinking first. Really quite well done for a beast.”

  “Then why not torture a few of the others? Screaming is one of the few things they do well.”

  The other Liskash studied the ceiling. “It seems the Mrem have all escaped. Every last one of them. Along with our bundor and hamsticorns and seven wagons and fourteen draft krelprep. Not to mention seven wagonloads of supplies. Oh, and weapons. It was probably a mistake of the great god to have them trained in the use of weapons.”

  The Captain stared at him in disbelief, then laughed until he started to cough. His numb, inert but awkwardly still living body jerked.