Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One (28 page)

He called for his beasts and handlers, and pushed the army and loose auxiliaries into movement. This would be an excessive slaughter.

* * *

Hress Rscil pushed the army on into the night. They grumbled and snarled under their breaths, but he could tell they were at least as excited about meeting with Nrao Aveldt’s force. That would make them stronger.

The original plan was for Hress Rscil to drive around the hills, north of Oglut’s city, drawing that army along. He’d have the advantage of speed and a good map they couldn’t know he had, and that would free Nrao Aveldt’s force, with the civilians, to move north unmolested. With river, sea and hills, they’d have all the terrain advantages.

Now, they had to guard Nrao Aveldt’s rear, and challenge the approaching Liskash. He hoped it would work. It had to. They still had terrain, and from scout reports, the Liskash were heading to meet them.

It was profound how this sea had changed the world. The filling of a ditch, albeit a large one, was destroying entire kingdoms not anywhere near the Hot Depths.

Shouts from ahead roused him from his musing. They’d run into the tail of Nrao’s army. Warriors sent up cheers and yelled greetings to their mates. Drillmasters had to shout them back into order, but they had smiles on their faces as well.

It took most of an eighthnight to actually find the clan leader. There were that many warriors, and Dancers, and wrights and drovers. Add in the dark and few lamps, and it was a chore. Eventually, though, he heard Nrao Aveldt’s gravelly voice nearby.

He called, “Clan Leader, I greet you.”

The golden-coated male turned suddenly, and a smile spread across his face.

“Talonmaster! Well done!”

Hress Rscil bowed his head as the failures of the last several eightdays rushed into his mind. “Not so well. We are forced to an alternate plan.”

Nrao Aveldt put a hand on his shoulder. “Still within our plans. I have your reports, but would share grer and hear first hand.”

“Certainly.”

It felt good to sit on a bench in Nrao Aveldt’s tented wagon. It was big enough for four to talk or one to sleep. The grer drove the damp and chill from Rscil with its fermented warmth. Nrao Aveldt waited patiently until he was ready to speak.

Comfortable, and with big slabs of fruit-laden dried fat at hand, Hress Rscil told his tale. Their body heat warmed the small tent, though the humidity clung to their fur.

Nrao Aveldt sipped his own drink. He was polite and attentive, and seemed eager for the upcoming fight. When Rscil finished his story, he spoke.

“I am pleased by this. You have found a tactic that will work well in this position, even better than we planned. The Dancers have proven their worth. We can beat the lizards’ mind magic and their army. I am 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.

Talonmaster Rscil woke to it. He’d had a couple of eighths of rest at least. It would have to do. It was morning, but he’d been up most of the night, conducting his own reconnaissance, placing stakes to mark key points, and examining approaches.

“Form up!” he shouted as he sprang from his cot. He heard Nrao Aveldt shouting, and Cmeo Mrist, Gree, several other drillmasters calling out their orders in response.

Once out in the sun, he checked its position. If the chart the scouts had was correct, it was a full eighth and a quarter until the river filled. Behind them was a wide, muddy flat, strewn with rocks, deadwood and debris, with a shallow river splashing leg-deep down the middle. It was poor protection, though harder for the enemy to cross while under defensive fire. If the Liskash came down from the heights, though…

The scout Ingo’s report had detailed times based on the position of the moon, and a prediction of eventual depth. This narrow beach would soon be a shelf under the sea, probably within a month. The hardscrabble cliffs above and west would be the shore then.

The warriors were well-blooded, and all his Dancers too. Nrao Aveldt’s claws were somewhat less so, as they’d marched straight here. Between them, though, it should be fine, he told himself. They were side by side, filling the beach from cliff to water, as the drillmasters had been instructed. The line between them was apparent to him, but probably not to a reptile. It was a weak spot. One of several.

Several fists of scouts scurried up the cliff, to hold high ground against a flank. Nor had a force come around the mountains. South was the distant, dusty mass of a Liskash army, led by some godling or other, hopefully Oglut himself.

Whoever it was approached slowly. Rscil realized they might be standing a long time. Given that, he ordered, “Rest in place!” and indicated to the nearest drillmasters to give Mrem turns to relieve themselves, drink water, grab a chunk of meat, even if they weren’t hungry.

It was almost a stately advance, of a formal meeting. Except neither the Mrem nor Liskash cared about dignity or formalities with each other, only about killing the other as a threat.

Dust in the distance informed him that the enemy was close. Here they came, in the advance, moving to a faster walk. They were perhaps five hundredlengths from the south bank.

“Watch for leatherwings and attacks from the cliffs!” Rscil ordered.

It was none too soon. There were leatherwings all over. High above, the scouts shot arrows and slung stones at them, but the enraged beasts stooped and dove at them. That kept many away from the army on the ground, however the flocks seemed endless.

Several soared down the cliff and over his formation, only to be slashed by warriors and Dancers. They quickly gave up and retreated, cackling and cawing in pain. The warriors on the cliff kept up a barrage to speed them. Sending a prayer to their bravery, he turned back to the approaching Liskash.

“Steady!” the talonmaster commanded loudly, trying to sound assured, as a stampede of wild animals bore down on them, ahead of the approaching Liskash army. It was large, mostly lizard and all ugly, until the lead beasts piled into the narrow angled trenches they’d cut across the ground. Shrieking and stumbling, they piled up in a wreck of bodies and dust, flinging grass and debris. It was an abattoir of legendary scale, with the smallest animals racing through to be speared, the half-sized game lamed and injured in the pits, to be smashed under the hooves and claws of the tumbling, trumpeting wall of large meat.

If they survived this battle, the Mrem would all eat very well indeed.

* * *

Oglut seethed. These too-clever furballs did seek to challenge him. He gurgled gleefully as a soarer flung one of them from the rocks to dash to its death below. He sent them to gang up on the cliff-scaling creatures one at a time, if that’s what it took.

But ahead, madness. The stampeding animals were to smash this neat little box, crush the stinking beasts under claw and foot, and leave only scattered, panicked individuals for his army to finish off.

Some had made it through near the water. There, the Mrem slashed and fought, their proud formation broken into groups who could only prod at trunklegs with their bronze spears. Oglut had his mind and the trunklegs’ weight.