Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One (17 page)

Hisshah licked her lips and brought her breathing back under control. She’d felt a wave of heat just as she struck and knew she’d survived only by dint of the unexpectedness of her attack.

She mounted the dais and sat on her mother’s throne.

She smiled at the stunned courtiers.

“Remove that,” she said to the guards, gesturing at her mother’s body. “But save the gems, I’ll be wanting those.”The guards looked from her to Thress and she felt a flash of anger.

“It is by no means settled that you should take the great goddess’s place,” the captain said. “I demand that you rise from her throne!”

He grabbed her arm and yanked. Hisshah made his legs fail him and he almost dragged her from the throne as he fell. She put her foot on his chest and kicked him over backward. He drew a dagger as he fell and would have thrown it but she struck again, leaving him paralyzed from the shoulders down.

“Stop her!” he shouted. “Strike her down; she can’t get all of us.”

“Oh, yes I can,” Hisshah assured them, though she wasn’t sure herself. “I’m keeping the captain alive because I have a score to settle with him. But any of you who wish to die on his behalf I’m willing to oblige.”

She met the eyes of those she thought might rebel and saw them acknowledge the truth of what she was saying. She looked at the captain’s second.

“What is your name?” she asked, though she knew. She knew everyone in the compound.

“Sheth…great goddess.”

Hisshah smiled at him. “You are now captain of my guard. Have Thress taken to the prison.”

Once again she indicated her mother’s body. “Have that removed.”

“Can’t you see what she’s doing?” Thress screamed. “She’s a murderer, she must be stopped!”

Well, so was my mother,
Hisshah thought. Many times over.
She killed my father and countless others, often for nothing more than her own amusement. Where was your outrage then, my little captive captain? She considered taking his voice, but no, she wanted him to have a voice. Soon she would hear him in full cry.

“Captain Sheth?” she prompted.

The new-made captain gestured to the guards and they began hauling the two bodies away.

“You will regret this!” Thress warned them. “She’ll kill you all!”

Once the still shouting former captain was gone Hisshah turned to her court.

“I am prepared to accept your oaths of fealty now,” she said kindly.

The scent of fear was dense and sharp, and her nostrils flared. This wasn’t as spectacular as burning, but in its way…

Better,
she thought, and smiled.

One of the nobles stumbled as he came forward to grovel and swear.

Much, much better.

* * *

Tral hurried up to Ranowr where he was practicing strokes with Krar.

“I just saw them drag the body of the great goddess from the hall,” he gasped. “It was really her, the body was glittering with jewels and the guards were dragging it by the feet and they were dragging Captain Thress out, too.”

Ranowr stared at him, his breath frozen. This was it. This was what they’d been waiting for.

“Set everyone to gathering the food and the wagons,” he said to Krar.

To Tral he said: “Inform the females and then meet me at the prison with two Mrem and a handcart. Bring your medical kit.”

Then he headed for the guards.

“The young goddess needs you in the great hall,” he told them. “Something terrible has happened. I think Captain Thress has struck down the great goddess.”

Saksh, the head of Hissah’s guard stared at him for a moment, then slapped him.

“How dare you say such a thing?” He pulled out his whip. “I’ll have your back in shreds for that!”

Just then a guard came running up to them.

“The great goddess is dead!” he gasped. “Captain Thress is fallen!”

Saksh stared at him, then at Ranowr. “You and your fellows go back to your dormitory and stay there!” he ordered and ran off with the other guards trailing him.

Ranowr then nodded at Krar who began rallying the other Mrem and then headed for the prison at a run.

“The young goddess has commanded all the guards to report to the great hall,” he told the guard at the prison gate.

The guard looked uncertain, but he’d been given orders by this Mrem before. He immediately turned the problem over to his superior.

“We’ve just been given charge of Captain Thress,” that one said. “Why would she order us to abandon him?”

“Because he’s safely locked up and she needs your support?” Ranowr suggested.

The guard weighed that in his mind and decided that it made sense; everyone knew rewards and punishments flew full and wild during a change of power. He blew a whistle and the other guards came running.

“Fall in,” he ordered and they marched off.

Ranowr watched them go in disbelief.
This is going almost too well,
he thought and headed into the prison. As he rushed down the corridor he heard Thress’s voice from behind a door. Pausing to glance through the grill he saw the captain lying motionless on the dirt floor.

Seeing him, Thress narrowed his eyes. “You! Her pet! Come to gloat, have you?”

“No, Captain,” Ranowr said. “I have neither the time nor the interest.” And he was gone.

He removed the bar from the door of the Mrem’s cell and entered. Canar Trowr lay panting on dirty straw, no longer chained. Chains were no longer needed. His feet were a bloody mess as were his hands. As was most of him. Ranowr’s heart went cold. If they were too late it was all for nothing. Tentatively he reached out and touched him.

Instantly the prisoner sprang alert, only to sink back again.

“Who are you?” he asked in a voice that grated.

“Ranowr. I’ve come to get you out.”

Canar Trowr laughed weakly. “Surely you could have waited a bit longer?”

“Not if we want to get out of here. Can you walk at all?”

“No. But I will anyway. Help me up.”

He did so. There wasn’t a place he could touch that wasn’t wounded, but aside from a few groans the prisoner kept his pain to himself. Then, when he was upright and leaning heavily on Ranowr they stumbled awkwardly from the cell.

Once outside Tral and the others were there to meet them with a handcart. They stared at the prisoner; the two helpers in amazement to see a stranger Mrem, Tral in horror at his wounds.

“Take him,” Ranowr said, “hide him. As soon as you’re ready head for the gates. That’s where I’m going now.”

* * *

“That is what the new great goddess has commanded,” Ranowr said for the third time.

“But it makes no sense!” The guard said.

“Still, those were her orders. Perhaps it’s a loyalty test,” Ranowr suggested, hoping that would move the stubborn fool.

The guard looked over the Mrem’s shoulder and blinked. Ranowr followed his gaze. The first wagons were coming in sight and the gate remained closed. He’d been telling the guard that the Mrem were all to gather at the great bundor herd until Hisshah called them back, but the guard persisted in resisting.

Ranowr turned back to him, his face and manner calm. Everything about him proclaiming, “I am following orders. What about you?”

At the wagons’ inexorable approach the guard’s resistance crumbled and he shouted to his fellows to open the gates.

Watching them go through Ranowr saw Prenna sitting in one of the wagons. She met his eyes and raised a hand shyly. He smiled and gave the barest nod and ruffle of whiskers, then she was gone.

Now his people were on their way, he had one last thing to do. Towards the end of the slow-moving column he found Tral.

“The sleeping draught that kills,” he said, “does it work on Liskash?”

“Even better than it does on us,” Tral said. “They’re so much smaller.”

“Give me what you have,” Ranowr said. “And give my love to Prenna for me.”

Tral handed over the flask. “What are you saying?” he asked.

“It may be some time before I catch up. Don’t wait for me,” Ranowr told him. Then he turned and trotted away.

* * *

Hisshah was glowing with pleasure. She had accepted the oaths of all of her mother’s court, her court now, and had just finished deciding a case that her mother had been neglecting in favor of the plaintiff she hated least.

Suddenly Ranowr was there, offering her a goblet of wine.

“You must be thirsty, great goddess,” he said, smiling.

She was parched, but also suspicious. How had he gotten into the great hall? And whence this good will?

But then…he has been very useful. Dangerous, but useful. A cunning Mrem could be even more useful in the future. I must sleep. If I make him hated enough, he will help guard me…perhaps a Mrem guard? I need never fear their trying to overthrow me…

“It is the custom here,” she said, “for the one who offers wine to taste it first.”

He took a sip, then offered the goblet again.

“You might as well drink it all,” she told him. “I won’t drink from the same cup as an animal.”

Still, part of her was gratified to think that even the Mrem were pleased to have her as the new great goddess.

Ranowr hesitated. “It is so fine,” he said. “Never meant for the likes of me.”

“Drink it,” she insisted, watching him closely.

He did, gulping it down in four swallows. “It’s good!” he said. “Thank you, great goddess.”

She laughed and reached out a hand for another goblet. He took another from the tray and filled it for her. Then she also gulped the fine wine down, gaily smashing the cup to the floor where it shattered, the dregs splattering a few unlucky courtiers. She laughed at that.

“Wine for everyone!” she said. “I would have us drink a toast to my new reign.”

As the servants began to circulate, she gestured to Ranowr for another cup and he quickly filled one for her.

When everyone had been served she raised the goblet she’d been sipping from and exclaimed, “To a new day!”

And the cup slipped from nerveless fingers to shatter on the ground.

She was suddenly ice cold and her heart was laboring, darkness was narrowing her vision. Hisshah drew a deep breath and tried to rise only to find it impossible.

No!
she thought.
Not now! Not when I’ve won! She turned her eyes to Ranowr. It was him. He’d killed her!

She tried to speak, tried to curse him, tried to kill him. Nothing worked. Her breath was coming hard now and the dark was closing in.

Ranowr suddenly dropped to his knees, dying himself from the poison he’d put in the wine.

“You…die…too,” she manged to hiss.

“I…die…free…and for…my people,” he said, laboring. “You…just…die.”

Her eyes closed. There was one last whispered sound:

“Prenna…our kit.”

Then nothing.

Battle’s Tide

MICHAEL Z. WILLIAMSON

And on the thirtieth day there rose before the clan a great mass of demons. And Rau wondered at their number. The Claws gathered and they too saw it was too many, but Aedonniss entered Hress Rscil and spoke to them, saying go this way and that and to strike as I instruct so that my own legions can join in the battle.

So those in the claws took heart and fought with courage. But this was still not enough, for the most evil Sassin was powerful and his minions countless. Warriors fell and there was no one to fill the ranks.

Then the Dancers came forth and stood with the warriors and everyone wondered. So the claws once more took heart and both fought on even as many more fell.

Seven days and seven nights they fought, warrior and Dancer side by side, carving their way through a numberless horde. And finally when those who remained were exhausted and unable to even raise their weapons Aedonniss caused the sea to come forth.

The waters rose and with them came a roar of vengeance. In the foam could be seen the face of every Dancer who had fallen and rising above the water on a silver chariot rode great Cmeo Mrist, priestess and lover. And the demon’s minions were torn asunder by the waves. But the warriors of the clan were touched by not a single drop.

And so the way was once again open.

—
The Book of Nrao
, verses eighty-four to eighty-six

N
rao Aveldt liked his wagons and his spies.

In the colder lands to the north he had been an upstart. But here the Clan of Three Fangs was powerful enough to have even torn land from the Liskash. Times had been hard, still were, but the clan leader did not regret his decision to take his people south. At least he hadn’t until a few weeks ago, when the waters came.

He sat under the broad shade of his residence in a wicker chair, enjoying a drink of grer, fermented arosh milk. It refreshed the body and let his mind think clearly. He had much to think about. So did his advisors, seated in a ring with him on carved wooden chairs. His son Nef Esnrao benched quietly attentive off to the side, learning actual rulership along with the parchment lessons he took. The boy looked distracted, his long tail twitching impatiently from side to side, but Nrao understood that was partly an exploitation of his age. He was wiser than many suspected. He was tawny and handsome, certainly his mother’s son as well as his. Nrao’s warm, golden coat was striped with black on cheeks, wrists, tail and ankles. Distinctive markings, the seer Ingo said, for a male of distinction.

Nrao Aveldt’s neighboring Mrem sometimes mocked his taste in politics. They preferred decorated Dancers and large warriors. His corral of wagons, the extended wall and defense works around it, the shapers who maintained all, and the monies spent on distant rumors amused them.

He had Dancers and warriors, too. His warriors knew several fighting styles and tactics. His Dancers studied a variety of dances and incantations. When a fight came, the wagons moved his warriors rapidly, and he could place them in superior position to the enemy.

That was why his steading was larger than any within knowledge, and why he was amused at the mirth sent his way. Hidebound traditionalists would fall by the wayside. His clan was one of the first to take southern land from the Liskash. The ancient enemies were still licking their wounds. This meant he had some of the best water and grazing. They held a large if dusty savanna with three large rivers and numerous wells and oases. Clan herds beyond count browsed the tall grass. So it had been for over five years, an ideal home for a growing clan, but now…