sympathetic to the former slaves, but I agree they should be offered the chance to die bravely, or win through. It is the only way for them to be free.”
“Thank you.” Rscil replied.
“It is only days until this comes through.” Nrao Aveldt warned.
“Then a new home?” Hress Rscil hardly dared consider it, it was so far out of his plans. Nrao Aveldt understood. He smiled.
“Yes, then a new home, but I will need you behind until we are out of danger. Then you will build a fortress. Do you still prefer Outpost Master Shlom?”
“I do. He commands well without supervision, and I will leave seasoned drillmasters with him.” Hress Rscil assured Nrao Aveldt.
The clan leader’s throat hummed with approval. “Excellent. Our welcome in the north will be better if we leave a strong position here, I believe. Then let us rest and prepare for the fight.”
Nrao Aveldt stretched, shifted and curled again on his bench. He tilted his cup and drank thoughtfully.
“You do realize, Hress Rscil, that we could have left in small caravans and likely been unseen, most of us, spreading out across the north. We would sacrifice our steading, perhaps half the clan, and our past, but our bloodlines would continue. My son suggested it, in fact.”
Hress Rscil was uncomfortable with the idea.
“A bloodline is more than just blood,” he said.
“Yes, that is why it is only a desperate last plan. We must remain a people.” Nrao Aveldt emphasized his words by slapping the wood. He raised the crockery bottle for a refill as shouts came from outside. He placed it on the table and scooped up a javelin. Rscil followed suit, and both were outside in moments, with Nrao Aveldt’s guards and servants falling in around them.
There was a Liskash present, but only one, looking somewhat bruised and worse for wear. Two scouts held him by his scaly arms. He was greenish yellow, and well concealed in darkness.
Nrao Aveldt spoke at once to his talonmaster. “Do you have anyone who speaks their oily tongue?”
Rscil said drily, “I rather hoped one of your spies did.”
“They are busy elsewhere,” Nrao Aveldt said, without elaborating.
Rscil thought. “Then no, but wait.” Possibly…He turned to a scout. “Send for Trec, among my camp.”
Nrao Aveldt said, “Ah, one of the escapees you spoke of. Good.”
The Liskash didn’t fight, and his expression was creepily blank. No ears, no smile, little way to tell what they thought, if they thought. Though at least some of them built castles. He did seem to twitch whenever the grips on him were lightened, pondering escape.
“Hold him well,” Rscil said.
The warriors nodded and all but sat on the cold-skinned thing. He struggled a few beats, then seemed to accept his position.
Trec arrived in short order. Despite the long route and field rations, he looked fitter and fuller than he had when he’d dragged his worn self into their camp. That said much.
“Greetings, Trec. Are you skilled in the tongue of these creatures?”
“Talonmaster, and you are the lord?” he asked, turning that toward Nrao Aveldt.
“I am. I greet you, Trec. I will meet with you later.”
“Understood, lord,” he nodded and turned back. “Talonmaster, no one I known speaks language this. Do not the commoners project thoughts. They only hear, and not much.”
“That is unfortunate. I am reluctant to kill him in case he is expected. He may also prove useful to send a message back, as well, if we knew what to say.”
Trec said, “I can translate you thought hearably, I think.”
Clan Leader Nrao Aveldt didn’t want to think overly on that. The poor Mrem had had those disgusting creatures in his mind. That by itself helped color his response.
“Tell him this: ‘Go tell the slimy lizard we await him.’ ” He gestured, and the guards hauled the lizard upright.
Trec strained, gripping his head and shivering until he drooled. He sank slowly to his knees. Suddenly, though, the Liskash stiffened and recoiled, whipping around and reacting in horror, even while on the ground.
Trec stood and said, “I did my best.”
“For us?” It was harsh, but a valid question.
Trec nodded and took it like a Mrem. “I did, Talonmaster. My mind is breakable to rulers of they, but not here, and not of things like that.” He pointed at the now panicky Liskash.
The sentries looked to Talonmaster Rscil for assent and, receiving it, prodded the creature with the butt of a javelin. The Liskash trotted unsurely away, before increasing to a run into the damp, foggy darkness.
Rscil smiled and said, “Aedonniss and Assirra willing, we shall meet this Oglut in a day or so. For the first and last time.”
Nrao Aveldt said, “I hope that optimism is well-placed, Talonmaster.”
“It is. You will be impressed.”
The clan leader observed, “It’s near dawn. We may as well awake and on with it now.”
Rscil was exhausted, but concurred. The sooner they arrived on their chosen terrain, the sooner they’d be ready for battle.
The next day, they reached a wide, shallow river in a loamy plain, and Hril Aris assured them it was the one he and Flirsh Arst had observed. It flowed steadily over the rocks, and they certainly did look disturbed. They were wet, as the tide retreated.
“On this side we have a wall to stand against,” he said. “Across, we have a barrier against attack.”
Hress Rscil nodded. Though it was more than that.
“For half a day at a time, yes. It is as you describe.” Timing was critical, though. “We will bivouac here,” the talonmaster ordered. “I want stakes and pits.”
Then they’d await this creature who styled himself a god. In this terrain, they had a steep hill to east and lapping water to the west. With a river as a third side, they’d pin him down regardless of his meaningless slaves, and eliminate him.
Oglut was in his tent at a meal when his servants brought a messenger to him. The creature was worn, abraded and weak. He also seemed reluctant to speak.
“Out with it. I am in a hurry,” he said. The roasted trot bird was most tasty. He belched up its essence and inhaled it.
The Liskash trembled. “Great Oglut, the message is unpleasant.”
Tell me.
“The message was…speak to slimy reptile of our presence and impatience.”
Oglut grew cold. His entire body grew still from that comment. It has been a very long time since anyone had spoken to him thus.
The messenger cringed and huddled, awaiting a terrible backlash. Oglut stared down at him.
“I will not kill you,” he said. “That is the message. If the furry filth wish to meet me, they shall.” He ripped the location from the scout’s mind, enjoying his flail and gasp as his mind was violated. “I must go to the New Sea anyway. I will do so to drive their broken bodies into it.”
To his servants he said, “They are at the steep mountain creek, above what used to be the cataract. We go there now. Toss scraps to the slaves and get my carriage.”
He looked down at the nervous, hesitant creature before him.
“Stand. Get ready to march with me.”
One didn’t kill messengers. One could, however, move them to the front.
“They come!” was the call.
