By Tooth and Claw Read online

  “Scattered,” provided Litunga. “You’ll likely never find any of them. Better you try to reach the Kororo. Even carrying a litter through these mountains you’ll be able to move faster than the whole army.”

  For the first time, Selani spoke up. “Why would the Kororo take her in?”

  “They probably wouldn’t,” replied Litunga. “But they’ll take you in. It’ll be up to you to persuade them to take the Mrem also.”

  She shrugged. “Whether they would or not, I have no idea.”

  “There’s a fair chance, actually,” said Njekwa. She gave Zuluku an intent gaze. “But you have to do it right. Talk a lot about Morushken—no, don’t do that; you’ll just get a tedious philosophical lecture about the unreality of deities. Just talk about your adherence and devotion to the principle of thrift.”

  Yet again, her jaws snapped sarcastically. “You shouldn’t have any trouble with that, since it’s true. You idiots.”

  The priestess rose. “Litunga and I will come up with a story to explain your absence—if the inspectors even ask, which I doubt. And now, you’d better get ready to leave. You only have a few hours until nightfall.”

  She turned and left the yurt, Litunga following behind.

  The three young Liskash females stared at each other, then stared at Nurat Merav. Then, they went back to staring at each other.

  Finally, Zuluku said, “We can make a litter easily enough. Can’t we?”

  Having a practical problem at hand steadied them all. “Oh, yes,” said Raish. “We can make the poles out of—”

  CHAPTER 11

  Meshwe

  The situation at the coast was just as bad as Meshwe had feared. If anything, the river was even wider than the scouts had made it seem—and, what was worse, the marshlands bordering it were extensive. He’d half-hoped that they could cross the river on rafts, but now that he saw the terrain for himself he could see how impractical that would be.

  The delta was so clogged with debris—logs from upstream mixed in with brush and decaying pieces of who-knew-what—that only small rafts could hope to wend their way through it. More like big coracles, really. And they’d make slow going of it. Too slow, with Zilikazi’s army not more than four days behind them.

  In any event, the monsters might be just as dangerous in the river as they were in the strait. The very biggest did not seem to enter the delta, neither the huge tentacled shell-creatures nor the things that looked like seagoing versions of gigantic lizards. But other hunters were found there. Just in the short time he’d been studying the area he’d already seen three of them. Strange beasts, that looked like a turtle crossed with a snake.

  None of the turtlesnakes he’d seen was big enough to capsize a large raft. But they could probably tip over a coracle, and even if they couldn’t they could easily pluck Kororo right out of their vessels. Those sinuous snakeheads looked like they could reach quite a distance.

  Warriors could fight off some of them, but how many were out there? And even if they could fight off all the turtlesnakes, the effort would slow them down still further. Zilikazi’s army would probably arrive long before most of the Krek could cross over the river.

  And even if they arrived later than Meshwe expected, they could cross the river much faster than the Kororo. Zilikazi’s army was so large that they could simply build pontoon bridges across the river and cross all at once. Then the pursuit would begin again—and where would the Krek flee? No scout had yet crossed that huge, marshy river. No one knew what lay in the lands to the south. They could very well just find themselves trapped against an obstacle that was still worse than the ones they faced here.

  No, better to make the attempt to cross over the strait to the great island he could see in the distance. They could do that in big rafts, which wouldn’t take much longer to build than small ones.

  Would they be safe from the monsters, in big rafts? There was no way to know until they tried. The giant lizards could probably capsize any raft—or simply smash them to pieces. And those hideous tentacled things might be able to seize a raft and pull it apart, or even pull it under entirely.

  Could, yes—but would they? It was possible the huge creatures simply wouldn’t see the rafts as prey to begin with, and would leave them alone.

  Of course, should that prove to be true, then Zilikazi could cross the strait on rafts also. But that was a problem for a later time.

  Besides . . .

  The thought taking shape in Meshwe’s mind came to the fore. Insane thought, he would have said, not so long ago. But who could say? Not so long ago he would have thought the idea of taming a gantrak was insane also. Yet Sebetwe had managed to do it, with the help of two Mrem dancers.

  If they could find more dancers . . .

  That assumed the dancers would be willing to help, but why would they not? The position of that shattered Mrem tribe was even more desperate than that of the Kororo.

  He turned to his small cluster of aides. “Send runners to find Sebetwe and bring him here. I have a better use for him than setting more traps for Zilikazi.”

  “And the gantrak?”

  Meshwe considered the matter. “Yes. I need the dancers here also. Without Sebetwe and those two the gantrak will run wild if we don’t bring her back.”

  Her mate and their two younglings were getting restless anyway. By now, they’d found that even without the dancers, any group of three tekku could keep the gantrak under control, so long as they were fed and left alone each night. But there was no telling how long that might last if they grew still more restless at the prolonged absence of the mother.

  Two of his aides left to find runners. To the remaining four, he said:

  “Start building rafts.”

  “Small ones, for the river?”

  “No. Big ones. As big as we can make them and still be able to cross the strait with oars and sails.”

  He pointed to the island on the horizon. “We’re going there.”

  Was it an island at all? he wondered. They didn’t know the answer to that question either. They’d been assuming it was because it looked like an island, but it might just be a promontory extending from another continent.

  He could remember a time—vaguely—when he’d thought uncertainty was rather pleasant.

  Zilikazi

  The army was now far enough into the second mountain range that the danger of traps and rockfalls had receded considerably. The terrain was not exactly a plateau but it had fewer of the steep slopes and narrow gullies that enabled the Kororo to make best use of their ambush techniques. Better still, none of the remaining streams and creeks were large enough, even when dammed, to produce devastating floods like the one that had struck the army when they first entered the range.

  There was something else, too. Zilikazi was almost sure that the extraordinarily skilled tekkutu he’d faced earlier had withdrawn. He still didn’t know the Kororo’s identity, but over the course of their contest he’d come to recognize his presence—his psychic taste, as it were.

  That taste had been missing for more than a day now. Halfway through the morning yesterday it had disappeared.

  Where? Zilikazi had no idea. It would be nice to think the tekkutu was dead, but he was almost certain that the two of them were not done yet with their struggle. Of whose final result there was no doubt, of course, but it was still aggravating.

  Zilikazi had little experience with long and protracted conflict. This was the first time in his life since attaining his full adult strength that he’d been unable to just overwhelm his opponent in short order.

  He could remember—vaguely—a time when he’d thought easy victories had grown a bit boring.

  Nabliz

  The next encounter with a party of Mrem almost erupted in a fight. This was a large party—twenty-eight of the mammals, in all, including four dancers. Unfortunately, there were also six warriors in the group and their leader was pugnacious. His name was Jora Ashag, and it seemed that Chefer Kolkin knew him
quite well. That was a very mixed blessing, however, since it also turned out that the two warriors detested each other and had almost come to blows on several previous occasions.

  As they might have this time, given the added tension of the unusual situation. Luckily one of the dancers, an older female named Yaffa Barak, had more authority than Jora Ashag in whatever manner authority was reckoned by Mrem, something which was still unclear to Nabliz.

  Also luckily, given Jora Ashag’s belligerent nature, the Mrem female was not timid herself. Not in the least—especially when the male warrior made the mistake of trying to bully her. At that point, Yaffa Barak did a fairly good imitation of a gantrak in full fury, and Jora Ashag withdrew into sullen obeisance.

  Good enough, so far as Nabliz was concerned. They had reached the limit of their search, anyway, since Meshwe had ordered him not to travel farther than three days from the Krek’s current location. Estimated current location, rather. By now, Nabliz was not exactly sure where the rest of the Kororo were to be found. They’d probably reached the sea, or were within a day’s march of it.

  So, once the initial antagonism subsided, Nabliz ordered the now-much-enlarged party to start toward the sea also. He was careful, however, to discuss the matter with the older Mrem female first, using Chefer Kolkin as his translator, and then successfully presented the order as coming jointly from the two of them.

  Yaffa Barak made no objection. Nabliz hadn’t thought she would. With his increasing experience in dealing with Mrem, Nabliz was coming to recognize the mammals’ personal characteristics. A bit to his surprise, he’d found these weren’t really that much different from those of his own folk.

  Yaffa Barak, for instance, was a familiar type. She reminded him of one of his aunts. An older female with considerable status and prestige, of which she was quite cognizant; not stupid, certainly, but not especially bright, either; ultimately rather easy to manipulate so long as you were careful to remain respectful and outwardly deferential at all times.

  Njekwa

  “They’re gone,” Litunga reported.

  “All of them?” Njekwa asked.

  “Yes, all three. And the Mrem and her kits, of course. They even did a good job of clearing away any traces of her presence in the yurt.” The shaman whistled amusement. “One of them—probably Zuluku; she’s headstrong but she’s smart—even thought to let a kessu run loose inside. She must have caught it rummaging in the garbage.”

  The priestess made a little grimace of distaste. Kessu were scavengers who were annoying but harmless enough, except for their noisome odor. The stench was strong enough to overlay whatever traces might have remained of the mammals’ stay in the yurt. The Mrem scent was not especially objectionable, but it was distinctive.

  Njekwa thought the precaution was probably unnecessary, since there were a number of Mrem slaves in Zilikazi’s army. It would be easy enough to explain the smell of a Mrem in the yurt to one of the inspectors, if they even inquired about the matter.

  Still, she was pleased. If Zuluku—and, yes, it had almost certainly been her idea—had been careful enough to use that ploy to cover their tracks, she’d presumably be careful enough to get away from the encampment altogether.

  Njekwa hoped so. She was rather fond of Zuluku, even if the youngster often aggravated her. She would not enjoy disavowing her and her companions if they got caught by Zilikazi’s inspectors.

  She’d do it, nonetheless, and leave them to their punishment, which would certainly be harsh. Whatever else, the Old Faith had to be protected.

  Zuluku

  Zuluku and her party were already far outside the army encampment. Far enough, she thought, to be safe from the inspectors. They’d passed through two groves where they might have tried to hide. Ahead of them was a low ridge, half-visible in the light of a crescent moon. Once they were beyond it, which they should be before sunrise, they would be completely out of sight of the army. Not even the sentries on the outer towers that Zilikazi’s engineers erected every day when the army camped would be able to see them. Thankfully, the towers were not very tall. They were temporary structures—not quite what you could call flimsy, but close—which had to be light enough to be erected and dismantled within a short time. Zuluku had never stood atop one of the things, since they were only for warriors. But they were not much more than twice the height of a tall Liskash, which was certainly not enough to enable a sentry to see over the ridge.

  She was glad of it. They were all very tired by now. By the time they made it over the ridge, they’d be completely exhausted and would have no choice but to rest.

  Rest wherever they could. Blessedly, from what she could see of the sky, it didn’t look as if rain was in the offing. They wouldn’t have to build shelters—which was a good thing, since she wasn’t at all sure they’d have the strength and energy to do so anyway.

  They started climbing the slope of the ridge. It was rather steep, but at least the footing wasn’t too treacherous. And it wasn’t a very tall ridge. Even moving as slowly as they were, they’d be across it well before dawn.

  It was Zuluku’s turn to rest from carrying the litter, so she didn’t have to devote all her attention to her feet. She looked down at the Mrem. The kits were asleep—they did that a lot; more than Liskash of that age would do—but their mother was awake.

  Awake, and looking back up at Zuluku.

  “Thank you,” the mammal whispered. “You are a good friend.”

  Zuluku didn’t know how to respond to that. She supposed it was true, as Mrem gauged such things. But Liskash—adherents to the Old Faith, at any rate—did not think the same way.

  Duty and obligation, not emotion, were paramount.

  She finally settled on: “It is the thrifty thing to do.”

  But she felt good, she suddenly realized. Really good. For the first time in her life, she was doing something.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sebetwe

  “So who are they?”

  “I have no idea, Sebetwe.” The scout, still breathing heavily from her long run, needed a moment before she could continue. “Three Liskash females—all young, from what I could see at a distance—and they’re carrying somebody on a litter. A Mrem, I think.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “I think I saw fur. There’s at least one little one riding in the litter also and it’s not acting like one of our younglings. It’s acting . . .”

  The scout gave Achia Pazik a sidelong glance that was partly apprehensive and partly apologetic. “You know. Weird.”

  Sebetwe rocked back on his heels and considered the matter. It was true that Mrem kits and Liskash younglings behaved quite differently, especially at a very early age. Much more differently, truth be told, than adults did. Mrem kits were all but inseparable from their dams, whereas Liskash younglings started to roam about as soon as they could engage in any sort of locomotion. Crawling, tottering, stumbling, it didn’t matter. The moment a Liskash could do so, it went exploring.

  It was a bit odd, really. As adults, the mammals were generally more inquisitive than sensible Liskash. But not their kits.

  He looked at the dancer. “If the person on the litter is a Mrem, who would it be?”

  Achia Pazik shrugged. “Could be almost anyone. Although, if there are kits, it will almost certainly be female.”

  Her face contorted in that overly mobile way the mammals had. Sebetwe interpreted this particular facial contortion as sarcasm. No, more like derision.

  “You won’t catch a Mrem male anywhere nearby, when kits need tending,” she said.

  That was another peculiar trait of the mammals. There seemed to be quite a bit of tension between the genders, to go along with what—from a Liskash viewpoint, anyway—was an excessive degree of mutual attachment. Sebetwe supposed it wasn’t surprising that creatures with such a surplus of energy would have to expend it in often frivolous and pointless ways.

  He rose to his feet. “Only one way to find out. Let’s go see.
”

  Zuluku

  Zuluku was astonished to see the group who accosted them just as they entered a meadow. It was a mixed party of Liskash and Mrem—but unlike their own, the two species seemed to be completely intermingled.

  Seven of them, in all. Five Liskash and two of the mammals. Both of the mammals were female. By now, from tending to Nurat Merav’s injuries, Zuluku could easily spot gender traits, which were more distinctive among Mrem than they were among Liskash.

  Of the five Liskash, at least three were clearly warriors. She was not sure of the other two. Both of them carried weapons, but no armor, and there seemed to be something . . . different about the way they carried themselves.

  Could these be the famous Kororo “tekkutu”? Zuluku hoped so.

  Desperately hoped so, in fact. They were becoming very weak. The work of trekking through the mountains was hard enough in itself, without having to carry the litter as well. Worst of all, though, was the hunger.

  Liskash were not often hungry. Not, at least, in the way Nurat Merav said her folk experienced the sensation. Mammals needed to eat often—two, even three times a day!—because their feverish bodies burned energy so rapidly. Liskash could normally go for days without eating much, or anything at all, because their bodies stored fat efficiently whenever they feasted.

  (There was this to be said for those feverish mammal bodies, though. It got very cold here in the mountains, and they’d learned quickly that by huddling around Nurat Merav they could get through the nights much better.)

  But Zuluku had never experienced the sort of strenuous effort this journey through the mountains had required. And it was so cold! None of the Liskash females had any experience with hunting, and even if they had it wouldn’t have done them much good because they hadn’t thought to bring any weapons with them.

  They had knives, of course. Liskash females always had knives. But they were small ones designed for the sort of work needed around a village or camp. They were not really weapons, and they certainly weren’t suited for hunting.