ally.
Tral had volunteered to come along to back up what Ranowr had to say.
They found the other Mrem mending a fence in an empty practice field.
“Krar, I would speak with you,” Ranowr said.
“You can speak with me during supper,” Krar growled. “I don’t intend to court a beating by chatting with you when I should be working.”
Ranowr picked up one of the fence rails and held it in place. “Now I’m helping you. So you shouldn’t suffer any ill.”
“What about Tral?” Krar asked indicating the healer with his hammer. “What’s his excuse for being here?”
“I need to confer with the speaker about something. Don’t worry, they won’t ask what.” Tral glanced around, then continued, “Though there’s no one to ask.”
Krar gave an impatient hiss and began hammering in a peg. “What do you want?”
“I want to be free and to free all of our people,” Ranowr answered.
Krar snapped back as though Ranowr had burst into fire, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Are you mad?”
“No. And there is a real chance for us.”
Ranowr told him about the strange Mrem and what his arrival portended. Then he explained most of his plan, holding back only the parts he himself was uncertain of. When he was finished he studied his rival, waiting for his response. If it was the wrong one he was prepared to kill him. But he hoped that Krar would see things his way.
“I can’t believe this,” Krar said, shaking his head.
“It’s true,” Tral said. “I’ve seen the prisoner myself.”
“But so much relies on chance,” Krar insisted. “Does everyone know what you’re planning?”
“Just us,” Ranowr told him. “But we’ll have to tell everyone soon. If we wait too long they’ll kill the prisoner, or the free Mrem will be past the great goddess’s territory.”
He waited, watching his rival think. After a long pause he asked, “Are you with us?”
Krar took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It’s so much to think about.”
Ranowr shook his head. “I can’t give you time to think about it,” he said. “We need to know now if you’re with us.”
He leaned close, holding the other Mrem’s gaze with his own, letting him scent his determination.
“Think quickly, but carefully.”
“Think what this could mean for all of us,” Tral said passionately. “To do what we wish, when we wish, to own our own bodies, to know our kits. To be free!”
“It’s madness,” Krar said.
“Madness to stay when we could go,” Ranowr told him. “This is our one chance. If we don’t take it then we deserve to be slaves.”
Krar nodded slowly his eyes on a distant thought. Then he met Ranowr’s eyes.
“You know I hate you.”
“You don’t hate me,” Ranowr said with a laugh. “You just want me not to exist.”
“You can say that because you’ve never had to live in your shadow.” He licked his lips. “What do you want me to do?”
“Back us up when we talk to the others. Help me convince them in spite of their fear. And help me make any possible traitors more afraid of us than of the Liskash.”
Ranowr held out his hand.
Krar looked at it, then up at his rival.
“You don’t want much, do you?”
“I want to be free. I want you to be free. Then if you wish, we will take spears or swords or knives and you can see about making the world one where you don’t have to think about me.”
A smoky light came into Krar’s amber eyes.
“Take his hand,” Tral said impatiently. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”
With another deep breath Krar shook his head, but grasped Ranowr’s hand.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” he muttered.
“Maybe we all will,” Ranowr said. “But it’s still the right thing to do.”
Hisshah approached her mother’s riding krelprep cautiously; it was an unpredictable beast that liked to kick and bite. It pulled its muzzle out of the feeding trough and looked at her across the polished saccar-wood railing, its skin gleaming with health and careful grooming.
It had bitten her, almost trampling and killing her twice while her mother looked on, waiting to see if her daughter could control it. The animal was a beauty though, strong and sinuous with fancy yellow-and-green markings. She hated it. She stood looking at it for a few moments, then she struck.
First a push at the nervecord within the spine, which caused the beast to bellow in confusion as its legs collapsed. That was delightful, but painfully loud, and Mrem slaves would come running to see what the trouble was-they would pay for any injury to the prized beast. So she cut off its air, just a little pinch within the windpipe. She watched it thrash helplessly, its golden eyes rolling in panic. Then she ended it, grasping at the delicate tissues of its brain, like dragging mental claws through jelly.
It collapsed, kicked, voided and died in less time than it took to think the words, so much dead meat, its colors dimming already and its tongue lying out across its teeth.
Hisshah smiled. Her mother would be displeased; she’d been proud of her mastery of this willful beast. But Hisshah was thrilled. This had been the first large creature she’d tried out her new power on. And it had gone exactly as she’d expected. Her whole being was alight with joy. She had a great power. As great as her mother’s if less spectacular.
I feel…I feel so happy. Happy as I have not been since I was a little hatchling.
She looked around; no one had heard the commotion, it seemed. With a soft laugh she turned and walked from the stable. Her mother would be so annoyed.
The guard struck Ranowr with a couple of light blows, almost for form’s sake. Then he said wearily:
“What’s the password for the day?”
“ Mighty is Thress, master,” Ranowr said cautiously.
Three of the closest Liskash warriors hissed uncontrolably. One of them clapped both hands to his snout, covering his nostrils in horrified surprise. Another’s spear clattered on the stones, its steel head clanging with a discordant ring that died into the sudden stillness of the morning. A third was backing away, his lips and nose squeezed tight, his whole head jerking with the need to hiss laughter.
“ What was that? ”
“Master! I said Mighty is Thress! ”
This time he did say it, working to keep his tone hard-edged and crisp like one of the rulers. He was almost as horrified as the guards at the-unintentional-slip. For a moment he thought Thress would die then; veins were visible under the fine scales beneath his throat, and his pupils opened until they were ovals that were almost round.
It was exactly the sort of petty but cunning spite the young goddess would come up with.
“Go,” Thress said, his hands trembling; his voice was beyond rage, almost pleading. “Go, go.”
The Liskash was turning to his subordinates even as the Mrem backed away. Hissing and snapping-stone shrieks rose as he walked away.
Soon, Ranowr thought as he walked away rubbing his arm.
He had everything in readiness; the wagons and tack were arranged for a swift departure under the guise
