Who would have thought that magic had an odor and a sound of its own? Since childhood, when she had joined the corps of Dancers, the magic of the Mrem’s prayers had been a part of her life, her coming and going, her lying down and rising up, the food she ate, the air she breathed and the people she loved. Though she had Danced many a ritual for protection from them, she hadn’t had to interact with Liskash nobles, until one month into their journey the Lailah had to fight against one who had suddenly noticed that the tribe was cut off from its kin and vulnerable for the first time. He had tried to take over their minds. Only Cassa’s swift realization that something was wrong had saved them. She had whipped the Dancers out of bed and made them dance for their lives. Their talonmaster at the time, Mowar Echirr, had driven back the Liskash’s forces. Cleotra had never forgotten the unbelievable smell of decay that had permeated the camp, and the off-tone of everyone’s voices, birdsong and frogsong. When the Liskash noble fell, everything returned to normal.
She was aware of it now. Lord Tae felt at them with his mind. He was powerful and dangerous. How she hated being at his mercy!
So did her kin. They muttered and yowled among themselves, speculating as to the news. Bau strode into their midst, attracting more gossip. He had buckled on his war harness and donned his bronze clawed gauntlets. The bronze gorget that protected his throat was buried deep in his black and white fur ruff. Instead of the flint- toothed spear he might carry into battle, he held the staff of leadership, a wrist-thick pole carved down its length as a braid. The teeth of enemies studded the turns and folds of wood. From the top dangled strands of hide on which were strung faceted crystals that twinkled and danced. It was used by the designated speaker of the moment because no Mrem could keep his or her eyes off the swaying strings.
Bau snarled and bashed the staff on the ground. Gradually, everyone turned to look and fell silent. Bau fixed his lamplike golden eyes on each of them in turn. When they met Cleotra’s, she shivered. He spoke.
“We are now entrusted by Rantan Taggah to open the way for the rest of the Mrem and find a path to safety. We are now the tip of the talon for the Clan of the Claw. Two weeks ago, we passed what has survived of brother Rau’s Three Fangs. They were supposed to lead next, but you saw in what poor condition they were after their battles.
“The Clan and our herds are hungry and tired. It is up to us to find a way west. We have found it, we hope, but as our scouts report, there’s a hopeless bottleneck. A fortress greater then any we have seen before. Greater than that of the Liskash Rau defeated. The alternative is not an attractive one, and a sand desert in which many would die.”
Some of the gathered Mrem stirred nervously. The hot sands were a friend to the Liskash and doubly dangerous. The leader raised his voice to regain their full attention.
“Where once we were just a small clan concerned for ourselves, now us, Rau, and all who must join together are of the Claw.” Bau paused and held up one hand claws extended. “Now our talons must be swift and deadly.”
He paused, letting his words have effect. Then, in a more even tone, continued.
“You are aware that four days ago, we sent Sherril Rangawo to negotiate safe passage for us through the lands down there.” He gestured down the slope toward the wide valley, then turned to point at Sherril, who preened at the attention. “But there he sits! You can see that he has returned safely. The Lord Tae Shanissi has agreed that we can proceed unmolested…” Bau’s voice was drowned out by a chorus of pleased yowls. “Bury it, you fools! You know it isn’t that simple! This is still a Liskash we’re dealing with. Nothing is straightforward. The weakling dinos always have a reason. They always want an advantage. This is it: in exchange for allowing the tribe to pass through the land, he demands a cultural exchange.”
“They can’t understand culture,” Drillmaster Scaro Ullenh said, with a scornful flip of his tail.
Bau nodded agreement. “Not ours; not yet. That is what he claims he wants. We are interesting to him.” He held up a hand to forestall the outbursts. “No, I don’t really believe him. I think it is just a means of gaining power over Mrem, though I do not yet know how he plans to achieve that. We will not know until it’s all over and we’ve shaken the dust of his realm off our feet. But we can’t stay here on the edge of his lands forever. There are too few of us to fight, though we’d take many times our number to Aedonniss with us. To go back and choose another route would cost us months more of travel. I do not lie to you; we have little food left for us or our beasts. We need to trade or buy, and no one else is near enough to sell us grain. We lose Mrem and herds on the road every month we must travel. Those who go to perform for Lord Tae will likely save many lives. I do not pretend that those who go will come back, alive or unaltered. The Liskash magic has robbed many Mrem of their names, minds and freedom. We could lose all those who go into the citadel. Therefore I ask for volunteers.”
Nearly all the warriors leaped to their feet, yowling their willingness. Bau couldn’t help but feel pleased. They knew it was suicide, but that never stopped a true Mrem. He had to weed out the foolhardy, the inexperienced, those who were too young or too old, and especially those who did not rise until they saw their fellows spring up.
“I would die for the sake of the clan!” declared one warrior, shaking a fist above his head.
You’re not going, Bau thought to himself.
Then one he knew and trusted heaved himself to his feet, a stocky, grizzled male with scars on his arms and chest. Emoro Awr led a squad of picked warriors. Every one of them feared his wrath, yet strove for his approval. He prided himself on bringing all those under his command back, alive or dead. Bau nodded. Here was the first of a strong band.
“Emoro, will you lead a force to accompany our people into the city?” he asked.
“To Aedonniss’ gate, if need be,” Emoro said. “And back again.”
He wasn’t bragging, only stating what he believed to be true. Bau was pleased. He crossed to Emoro and put the staff into his hand. The strands of crystals danced and twinkled. All the Mrem’s eyes followed.
“Choose your fighters.”
Emoro looked around. It was a tribute to the old male that no one looked away, or sat down, to avoid being chosen. In fact, most of the young ones seemed eager. Bau watched with interest as Emoro made his decisions. He forewent most of his usual band, tapping instead fighters who were more than cadets but had seen only a few battles.
Bau frowned. “Will you choose none of your own warriors, brother?”
Emoro flicked his tail. “I don’t want to leave the clan with inadequate defenses.”
“You won’t,” Bau said, slightly amused. “We’ll make do.”
“All right, then.” Emoro pointed to Scaro, who had been one of the first to rise. “You’ll be my lieutenant, Drillmaster Ullenh.”
Scaro threw his chest out. “Of course, my Clawmaster! I am proud to serve.”
Emoro returned the staff to Bau, who immediately passed it to Cassa Fisook.
“The choice of a Dancer must fall to you.”
The elder female sighed. Her bright green eyes looked sad. “I would go myself. There is much more I would teach my students before I am confident that knowledge is safely stowed in their memories, but I am growing old. There may come a time when infirmity might cause me to hold you back. Better I give myself to this task. If I were not to come back, others could carry on. When the Clan of the Claw is reunited, that lore that I had not passed on to my Dancers can be restored to our collective memory.”
“There is another way,” Bau reminded her. In his heart he feared the loss of any of the priestesses. They protected the clan in ways that he and his warriors could not, and they were the guardians of their history and customs. Nearly three-quarters of the fighters could fall before it would mean the same as being deprived of one of the remaining Dancers. “We can go far to the south and skirt Tae’s land. It will add greatly to the length of our journey, though.”
“All the more reason for me to undertake it,” Cassa said. “Petru, you will come with me, won’t you?”
The valet cast himself upon the ground on his back before her, throwing up a cloud of scented glitter. “Anywhere and anywhen, my mistress.”
“No,” Cleotra said, alarmed. She rose. “I will go, Cassa Fisook. You can spare me. You have others who know as much as I.”
She said it, though she didn’t really mean her humble words. Cassa smiled at her kindly.
“No, my dear. I cannot ‘spare’ you, but I will be grateful if you will make this journey. You will be better than I.”
“Never that, Cassa!”
