“Yes, sir,” the warrior said. He and the two claws who had sheared off from Emoro’s contingent to escort Cleotra had one Liskash weapon apiece in their grip. Not enough, Sherril feared. Their greatest defenses were the Dancer’s protection against the Liskash noble-and his own brain. He had memorized all the ins and outs of the keep when he had been there. He had flattered Lord Tae mightily to get a tour of the building and its environs, and carefully memorized all that he could about it. The noble knew where they were, but not necessarily where they were going or how they would get there. It was a game of The King Dies, with both sides truly fighting for their lives. Sherril intended to win.
The long stone walkway on the north was deserted except for a frightened female Liskash who leaped back into her doorway as the Mrem raced by.
“Curse it,” Sherril said. “Tae will see through her eyes. We will be interrupted.”
“I will get you through, sir,” the lead warrior of the first claw promised him. He was a big, rangy male with black and gray stripes and a jagged scar where his left ear ought to be.
The sounds of panting behind them caused the warriors to spin in place.
“As you were!” Emoro growled, racing towards them. The Mrem were streaked with blood, both red and green. One male was limping on a badly wounded foot. Others bore bleeding gashes. Emoro himself had a cut on his upper arm that missed his shoulder joint. Cleotra’s eyes widened with dismay.
“Where is Ysella?”
“Down,” Emoro said, his voice tight with pain. “I set her in an empty chamber and closed the door. With luck no one will notice her until this is over. If any of us live.”
“One of us must,” Sherril said, with determination, pointing to the ladder. It had been painted to blend in with the wall, but it cast a shadow he could see. “There’s our way up. Lord Tae hasn’t ordered his soldiers to draw the ladders up. He could trap us, but he hasn’t.”
He pushed past the warriors to be the first on the rungs. Behind him, Emoro let out an exclamation of irritation. Sherril turned to glare, then realized another shadow was looming over him. An enormous Liskash guard with a metal helmet peered over the edge of the level at him. Many more figures were behind him.
“Greetings,” Sherril said, as if he was glad to see them. “Lord Tae called for us. We were frightened by the battle at the front, so we came this way. Will you take us to his presence?”
He hadn’t believed it when it worked the first time, nor could he believe that it worked again. Lord Tae was much too confident in his powers. The big-jawed lizard seemed to chew over this information for a while, then stood back.
“All right. Come ahead.” He beckoned Sherril up.
The counselor ascended, and straightened out his coat with dignity. The others scrambled upward. Sherril noted with dismay that there was only a single eight of warriors left behind Clawmaster Emoro. The Liskash took the hard-won weapons away from the Mrem.
“Escort us. We must abase ourselves in his presence.” That ought to please the wretched worm’s ego, Sherril thought.
Each of the Mrem was flanked by two Liskash guards. Sherril regarded the creatures marching beside him as nonentities, of no importance except as messengers to Lord Tae.
With spears pointed at their backs, the Mrem ascended to the top of the building and made their way along the hammered-metal of the walkway. It was slippery in the dew of dawn. Sherril looked down. He was not afraid of heights, but a misstep would be fatal. Below, in the courtyard, a square formation of guards waited. They all wore the same metal helmets and leather tunics, but Sherril saw that some were the elite guards that had flanked them the night before, and some were Mrem.
Automatically, he turned to the right, making for the ladder on the inside of the west wall. The officer halted the line and put a hand into Sherril’s chest.
“Do you truly wish to serve the god Lord Tae Shanissi?” he asked.
“Of course,” Sherril said, opening his eyes wide with feigned sincerity. “That is my dearest wish.”
The guard grinned. “Then it is the god’s wish that you fling yourself off the building and sacrifice himself in his honor.”
Sherril sighed. “Oh, very well,” he said. “But I prefer that the god himself watch me perform my sacrifice.”
The guard pointed down. Sherril followed his finger to a shining figure seated on a raised, royal blue dais, surrounded by dull-colored guards.
“Lord Tae is there. Now, jump!”
Sherril moved to the edge, and the guards stayed with him.
“What are you doing?” Cleotra demanded.
“Sacrificing to Lord Tae, of course,” Sherril said. He spread out his arms. Then he dropped onto his back and braced himself. With his long, strong feet, he kicked both guards under their tails. They bellowed surprise as they plummeted to the first walkway below. The first struck the edge with the back of his head and went limp. The second clawed at the edge, then fell helplessly down, bounced, and down again. Sherril grinned.
“Is that enough of a sacrifice?” he called down to Lord Tae.
The commander bellowed and charged at him. Sherril dodged out of his way, avoiding the point of the spear. Emoro signed to his warriors to defend. Petru took Cleotra’s arm and towed her toward the ladder.
Sherril dodged and dodged again. The walkway was a Mrem-height wide, but that wasn’t much room. The lizards had the advantage of numbers. They charged at him. He took to his heels and ran, his slower foes in pursuit.
In the courtyard, Lord Tae shrieked his displeasure. Guards made for the ladders on all sides and began the long climb up to intercept them.
Sherril raced to find a way down that was not filling up with angry Liskash. For once, he had not completely thought out his exit strategy. That is not like me, he chided himself. But at least I buy time for the Dancer. Emoro had her fully surrounded, on the opposite side of the building, heading for the way down. Lord Tae danced and shook his fists in anger. Sherril felt the pressure of his mind, pulling at his muscles to make him slow down. He felt as if he was crawling through mud.
The noise was deafening. Sherril had to concentrate to think. If Cleotra could break his hold over those Mrem below, they would have allies. Perhaps enough to overwhelm the Liskash noble. If not, enough to get the Lailah to the gates of the city would do. They had to survive. He had to survive. He looked for a hiding place. Yes, there was a door standing ajar just past the corner ahead. He threw himself down the ladder, raced in, slammed the door closed, and flung himself against it. The room was full of rolled tapestries and wooden chests stacked to the ceiling. They were too tightly packed for him to hide among.
BAM! The door jerked against his back. BAM! Sherril dug in his heels on the stone floor. BAM!
He was flung forward against the chests, striking his jaw. Sherril lay dazed for a moment, thinking how much his mouth hurt. The door opened and Liskash poured into the room.
Sherril had not always been a pampered counselor to the clan leader. Once he had been the second- youngest kit in a large family. As the Liskash made for him, he sprang up and bared his claws and teeth. He threw himself on the nearest lizard and bit into his neck. He spat out bitter-tasting blood and kicked the still-flailing body away. His claws lashed out at the next guard. The Liskash screamed as his eyes were gouged out. Sherril wasted no more time on him, but flung himself down and kicked upward with his powerful legs. He raked bellies and buttholes with his toe-claws, driving the wounded out of the room.
But there were always more Liskash. Sherril fought as hard as he could, but he began to tire. The walls of the small room seemed to loom up and strike him on the shoulders, the back, the head. Hands grabbed him and pummeled him. He was a mass of bruises, but he could not stop fighting.
He spun and leaped for another Liskash that tried to get behind him, biting his throat and tearing it like one of his feral ancestors.
Suddenly, he felt his head jerked backwards. He found himself looking into the eyes of the commander who had ordered him to jump. He knew Lord Tae was looking out of the creature’s eyes.
“How do you like this sacrifice, slave?” the guard captain asked. He raised his fist, and brought it smashing into Sherril’s temple. The counselor collapsed, disappointed in himself.
