Ahead of them, heavy-bodied marsh birds flew back and forth among the hanging vines and thick-leaved branches of the trees. He watched where they stooped for food, and where they deposited the fruits of the hunt. Bright-blue, thin-skinned amphibians seemed to be plentiful as well as frogs in every shade of green. When they reached the boggy shore, the guards put short-handled, almost dull harvesting knives in their hands and pushed them forward.
“Work!” the captain said.
“There is plenty here,” Petru said. “Why aren’t your foragers at work? I could feed our entire clan—that is, when we were at home—on what I can see within three Mrem-lengths of where I am standing!”
“We don’t wallow in mud like you Mrem,” Captain Horisi said with a sneer. “Hurry up! You have until the sun’s at its peak. Then we go back. If you don’t have enough for the general’s nooning, the meal will be you.”
Petru shot him a peeved look.
“Let us do our job. There is no need for threats.”
For answer, the senior pulled a dagger from his belt and ran a thumb up and down the short curved blade. Petru shivered when he realized that the hilt had been cut from a Mrem’s thighbone. If Aedonnis was kind, he would have revenge for that lost kinsman.
Petru turned to the others.
“There are birds’ nests in the roots of the biggest trees,” he said, pointing. “There, there and there. I’ve watched the males feeding the brooding females.”
Bireena nodded, her large eyes watchful. “I will gather eggs,” she said.
“Help her,” Scaro ordered Taadar and Golcha. “Take frogs and birds, too. Fish if you can get them.” They saluted and trudged into the shallows after the female. Imrun stayed by Nolda’s side, helping her to pull roots and plants from the sucking wet soil.
* * *
“No, councilor, that way.” Scaro grabbed Sherril by the arm and pulled him toward the patches where they had been picking vegetables before.
“Hands off me, drillmaster,” Sherril said, straightening his back and brushing his fur smooth again. It wasn’t easy, considering how much mud was trapped in his coat. “Remember your place! My rank is loftier than any you will achieve in your life.”
“With respect, councilor, time is fleeting,” Scaro said, keeping his voice as level as he could. They were badly outnumbered. Aedonnis only knew what would happen if he was the only one to return to the camp without the Dancer. Sherril Rangawo’s ego was the least of his problems. He sniffed mightily, trying to clear his nose, and glanced over his shoulder at the Liskash guards following them. “Well, captain, what do you want us to look for? What tastes good to you?”
The guard, by no means a captain, looked startled to be addressed directly by a Mrem.
“Don’t grows about here,” he said, curtly.
Sherril picked up immediately on Scaro’s approach. The drillmaster was a clever one, appealing to the vanity of the guards, who occupied the lowest stratum in Liskash society.
“Well, what did you call them, captain? Though my pronunciation may sound incorrect to one such as you, I spent some time in the citadel of Ckotliss, and I know the tastes of the satrap there.”
The scaly blue brow ridge rose toward the pink crest.
“You knows Tae Shanissi?” the Liskash asked. Sherril didn’t doubt he was impressed.
“Oh, yes,” Sherril said. “You may say I was very close to him for a time.” He glanced at Scaro, admonishing him with a look not to tell the truth about that encounter.
“Well, we calls them marsh plums, but they isn’t fruits. Exactly. But juicy eatings.”
This was a slow thinker, Sherril realized.
“I know marsh plums. We call them ‘racano.’ They’re vegetables, but very juicy. You know, Tae Shanissi never got fresh marsh plums, as you call them. They only came to him dried. So you were getting better food than Lord Tae himself.”
The guard looked pleased.
“Well, hurry up and finds them! Hasn’t ate in days. Don’t want stringy meat.” He plucked at Sherril’s arm. Sherril withdrew it hastily.
“Yes, captain. As you say, captain.” He glanced around for Petru. The valet stood with his hands on his broad hips, barking orders. The big oaf had managed to conscript the three Liskash who were supposed to be guarding him into picking caltha, a flowerlike pod that contained succulent seeds like those in a pomegranate. He did not so much as deign to hold a bag open for them to throw the fruits into. “Oh, my lord Petru!”
Petru glanced back, startled at the title, then undulated toward Sherril, enjoying the moment. Oh, that big fool was going to pay once they returned to the camp!
“And what do you want, Sherril?” he asked, without a courtesy title of any kind.
Sherril held his tongue. He assumed a humble expression such as he would wear when addressing Bau Dibsea.
“The good captain here would like to eat racano. This ignorant servant of yours knows not where to seek them. From your vast knowledge, tell me where they are to be found?”
“They shelter, as my ignorant servant ought to know,” Petru said, “under the leaves of their parent plant, which looks like the folded wings of two doves placed side by side, just above the water of this lifegiving region.” He pointed to a flattened, bushy shrub the size of a mature Mrem. Its broad leaves had two rounded edges on either side of the stem, and terminated in a sharp single point. “There is one, and several more beyond. You can just see the rounded shapes of the fruits beneath. If the skin gives slightly under pressure, they are ready to eat. Unripe ones are too sharp of flavor.”
“Yes, Lord Petru,” Sherril said. He beckoned to the guards to follow him. They did, but when he handed a green-faced subordinate a net to receive the racano, it dropped the seine to the ground.
“Pick!” the green guard ordered. He grabbed Scaro by the scruff of his neck and shoved him down next to Sherril. “Both!”
Scaro bounded to his feet at once, glaring at their captor, but he was met by a circle of sharp flint spear points.
“Come help me, drillmaster,” Sherril said. He handed the discarded bag to the soldier. “At least we don’t have to dirty our paws to take these. They are above the water.”
Scaro nodded and began to gather fruit as Petru had instructed them. He cleared the first plant of all the ripe ones and moved onto another bush nearby. Sherril felt gingerly at the first one he encountered, wondering if there was enough give in the flesh to ensure it was ripe. He had no wish to endure the kind of mistreatment that he had heard of from the captive Mrem they had freed from the citadel of Ckotliss. The Liskash were horrifically creative in their torture of those who displeased them. At least underlings such as the guards were not capable of the kind of magic of their superiors. Perhaps even General Unwal lacked that mental control. He glanced back at the green-faced guard.
“How did all of you end up here in the midst of this forest, captain?” he asked, in polite tones. “It is not usual for your kind to live in wild settings. I thought you preferred stone houses. You must have a very fine home somewhere, captain.” It was purest flattery, as the wrist flashings on the gaudy uniform indicated this Liskash was barely above recruit rank.
“Gnopsmal was walled on a cliff,” the guard said, with an expression that might almost have been nostalgic. He took the jug from his shoulder strap and poured some of the yellow liquid into his mouth. “Not as big as some, like Ckotliss big. Saws the floods. Lord says no fear, stays, we ups high. The waters ates the cliff and all falls down half a moon ago on top of port. Ships sinks. Three in four dies. All Mrems still alive ran away. Lord Oscwal takes half army and workers see to rebuild it in the south, high dry. If you lives, you wills become part of the labors on the new walls.”
“We would be honored,” Sherril said. This was not the time to argue. “I am sure it will be a great city once again. And all of your cropland?”
“Gone first in waters rush,” the soldier said, curtly. He waved a scaly hand. “Hurry. I hunger
s!” He withdrew to stand with his captain on a hump of land that rose a mere Mrem’s height above the marsh. It was not tall, but it provided a vantage point from which they could see all the Mrem. They didn’t need to be swift on their feet; their bows would take down fleeing prisoners. Sherril reached for a racano, judged it to be too hard, and threw it over his shoulder. It landed with a plop on the water and sank. Scaro sneezed, spraying pale green slime over the plant before him. Sherril jumped back, brushing at himself.
“Ugh, drillmaster, that’s disgusting!”
Petru suddenly loomed over them.
“And why are you not working?” he asked.
“You need to gather plants and food, too,” Sherril said, sourly. Petru shook his head.
“I must maintain my subterfuge of being your liege lord,” Petru said. “General Unwal finds me impressive. To surrender that position now would only confuse matters.”
“He only seeks to eat you,” Sherril said.
Scaro sneezed again.
“Gah!” he said. “My guts are rumbling, even though there’s nothing in them.”
Petru regarded him with worried eyes. The slender Mrem’s eyes had filmed over with their nictitating membrane, but also by a thin layer of mucus. If their strongest arm was falling ill, they were doomed.
“Stay away from his breath,” Petru warned Sherril. “I will put together a measure of the potion to aid you, drillmaster.” He glanced back toward their captors. “If I can do it without drawing their attention to what I am doing.”
Reluctantly, Petru moved away from them and went to oversee Bireena. The former slave looked up at him with a triumphant gleam in her big gold eyes. Beside her, three sacks had been padded thickly with marsh grasses. The white curve of an egg the size of Petru’s fist peeked out from among the greenery.
“What an excellent addition to the larder,” Petru said. “You must have been a marvelous gatherer as a child.”
“I worked hard,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I have always worked hard.”
“I know, dear lady.” He patted her on the shoulder.
More than any of the others, she was unbothered by the presence of armed Liskash. Petru shivered. How horrible to live that way, never being certain of your safety or your future.
“Could you gather a handful of triangle reeds, some swamp garlic and goldthread? Not very much, just a little,” he said, in a light tone, keeping his voice very low. “Don’t put them with the other food. Set them aside on a branch in that tree.” He pointed toward a thorny, overgrown black trunk whose roots humped over the watery expanse. Bireena glanced up at him in surprise. The two guards nearest him trudged closer. “You’re doing very well. Keep going!”
“Yes, Petru,” she said. With a puzzled shake of her head, she moved away into the undergrowth.
As the morning progressed, Scaro became weaker and weaker. He sat breathing hard in between tasks. The guards that oversaw him and Sherril kept pulling him to his feet and throwing him down beside other plants to pick racano or other vegetation, making the birds the others were hunting rise up in alarmed flocks. Taadar and the other warriors helped him, but it was clear the drillmaster’s fever was progressing rapidly. The congestion from his nose had moved into his chest. Besides the explosive sneezes, he had acquired a raspy cough. He needed rest, food and a cure.
The means for the last named was at hand. Petru saw that Bireena had followed his instructions. The green parcel he had requested gleamed wetly on the ancient mremgrove. How he could get to it and process it into a potion without being noticed was a puzzle he had not yet solved. Still, he had the benefit of unrestrained mobility. The guards had accepted his parepatetic behavior as normal.
“Will he live?” Sherril asked, when Petru came by to inspect his progress. In spite of the councilor’s dilatory methods, he had accumulated four bags of fruit.
“I don’t know,” Petru said, glancing at the ailing Scaro. The drillmaster held himself against a tree trunk while he stripped clusters of sweet white drupes from its branches. “If we were back home, I would put him to bed for a quarter moon at least.”
“He can’t let himself be seen as too weak to work,” Sherril said. “They’ll just kill him. They are so hungry they will certainly eat his body. Do your best to avoid direct contact, valet, and keep the Dancer away from him. We must not fall ill!”
“I know!” Petru hissed. “I am the one who told you that!”
Squawking arose beyond a clump of trees, followed by a triumphant howl. Imrun appeared from the undergrowth. He was covered with mud and broken twigs, but he held a pair of flapping geese by their feet.
“Look at these, drillmaster!” he cried, holding them for Scaro to inspect. The birds fought hysterically to free themselves. One of them tried to peck at Imrun’s eyes. He swung the bird out at arm’s length. “I trapped them in a snare made of lianas. You ought to eat their livers. Give you strength.”
“Good work, Imrun,” Scaro said. “Those’ll be good eating for all of us.”
To their surprise, the guards came running toward them. They pushed Scaro aside, seized one of the geese from Imrun and tore the screaming bird to pieces. Without waiting for the body to stop twitching, they stuffed gobbets of meat into their mouths. Blood ran down their unlovely faces onto their even uglier tunics. The rest of the guards ran to seize their share. Petru brushed feathers from his coat and watched them in astonishment.
“The Liskash are starving, in the midst of plenty,” he said. “Why do they not see all the food to be had?”
Sherril smiled slyly. “These are town-dwellers, valet, the most protected occupants of what must have been a large city. I suspect that their farmers and flocks, and even fishing vessels were swept away in the sudden floods. Even their army is accustomed to having food brought to them instead of foraging. In spite of General Unwal’s brave words, I think we see them at the edge of despair. We have not been on the roads for long, but we have always been hunters.”
Captain Horisi waded toward them, drawing his knife from his sheath. He stabbed the second bird in Imrun’s paw and wrenched its suddenly limp body away from the surprised Mrem. He rushed away, the guards who had failed to take a piece of the first bird striding after him and yelling for a share like hungry kittens.
“All doubt is gone,” Sherril said. “Now, how can we turn this to our advantage?”
The greenfaced Liskash came toward them. His gray tongue darted out of his mouth and licked all the blood off his face up past his flattened snout. Petru grimaced.
“You don’t normally eat raw meat, do you, captain?” he asked.
“Hungry,” the guard said, curtly. “Long time without meat. Herds gone. Officers takes our catch. Like you saws.”
Sherril, just behind the green Liskash’s shoulder, nodded, his eyes watchful.
“The drillmaster can teach you to hunt birds like the ones Imrun caught,” he said. “Scaro has been vital to the survival of our small band. You want to learn from him.”
The guard snorted. “No. You catches. I eats.”
“As you say, captain,” Petru said, resigned.
* * *
As high noon approached, the Mrem collected all the bounty that they had gathered and loaded it onto the back of one of the beasts of burden. Encouraged by Petru to make themselves more useful as tame predators than prey, the soldiers had outdone themselves. Twenty huge marsh birds were strung over a pair of sagging poles carried between Taadar and Golcha. Nolda and Bireena bore baskets of fragile raw eggs layered among spongy leaves, not letting any of the males touch them. Petru flatly refused to carry any of the several bags of racano and other fruit, leaving Sherril, Scaro and Imrun to shoulder the rest. None of the Liskash noticed that Imrun took the bulk of Scaro’s burden. The drillmaster staggered to carry a nearly weightless sack stuffed with leaves. Once the beast was fully laden, the soldiers tied the Mrems’ hands behind their backs and strung them together with another of the crude, scratchy ropes.
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br /> It was a long hike over damp, marshy ground uphill toward the makeshift camp. Like his fellow Mrem, Petru had sampled a number of the fresh fruits and drupes during the harvesting, so his belly wasn’t twisting with hunger. He grew very thirsty, though. He wished he could drink some of the dinos’ beer instead of the swamp water, but none of them responded to his hints to share.
Poor Scaro had had to break out of the line more than once to go behind a tree. By the smell, he was purging hard. He must have felt like an empty shell. It could be only his strength of will that kept him upright and on the march, though he drooped farther and farther as they went. Bireena and Taadar walked almost pressed up against Scaro’s sides to keep him from stumbling. Petru kept the packet of healing herbs hidden in his thick fur. When chance permitted it, he would dispense the first dose to the drillmaster. Scaro was in terrible condition. He wouldn’t live more than a day or two without it.
* * *
Only fierce orders and blows from spear hafts kept the rest of the Liskash from leaping upon the finds when they arrived back at the makeshift camp. The beast of burden, usually a placid creature, danced and trumpeted to avoid the onrush.
“Well?” General Unwal demanded, from his chair in the middle of the clearing. “What have you found?”
Petru picked the most tender bird and the ripest of the racano. He put them into Sherril’s arms and shoved the councilor toward the general. Sherril aimed a sullen look at him, but went to lay the bounty at the general’s feet. Unwal’s flat eyes gleamed.
“Cause these to be prepared!” he shouted. “Make the rest a feast for all! Well? What is the delay?”
The female dinos near the tents murmured to one another. Captain Horisi cleared his throat nervously and signed to some of the lower-ranking soldiers. One shuffled forward, tilting its head in an abject manner.
“We aren’t sure of prepares feast worthy of you, General,” he said. “Best cooks goes with Lord Oscwal.”
By Tooth and Claw - eARC Page 29
