Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One (16 page)

“Could you tie a knot inside a bottle?” he asked.

She hissed a scornful laugh. “Yes, easily. And what good would that do me?”

“If I could do such a thing,” Ranowr said fervently, “I wouldn’t have an enemy left alive.”

Hisshah missed a step and then continued on her way.

“You have enemies?” she asked casually.

“Not many, but I do have them. Thress for one.”

She spun and slapped his face. “You grow overbold,” she snarled. “Do not think because you can use a practice sword that you are more than a slave. You will be silent now.”

They walked on in silence, but Ranowr was pleased. He knew he’d planted the idea he wanted in her mind.

* * *

Hisshah’s mind churned. Thress would never have suggested the great goddess having another clutch if he hadn’t heard her mother mention such a thing. This was bad. Her whole life hinged on being the goddess’s sole heir. Without that prospect she’d be nothing.

And what did the slave mean about tying a knot inside a bottle? Did he mean what she thought; that you could tie a knot inside someone’s head and kill them that way?

She liked the idea. No one had ever thought of it before. It was…it was
deliciously
sneaky. It meant you didn’t need to be strong enough to destroy in bulk, from the outside, battering at someone.

It hinted that the Mrem were even more vicious than her people, which was unnerving. She listened to the slave’s footsteps behind her. She should practice…

No, this one is too useful. I don’t think Thress would be as insulted if I sent a new Mrem messenger. I’ll start on small animals. There are always smerp in the barns.

Satisfied she walked on, busily thinking up tonight’s new password.

Then she hissed laughter. She would make the password
Mighty is Thress.

Because if you pronounced that with the soft, wet, mushy accent a Mrem’s mouth-parts gave to the words, it meant something a little different, or could be mistaken for such. If you had been driven mad by frustration anyway.

Tickle me, Thress.

Her hissing grew as loud as water flicked on a heated bronze griddle.

* * *

In the short time he’d had Ranowr had collected just about all the information he needed. People were growing curious about his newfound thirst for knowledge, but so far no one seemed to find it too strange. The kind of strange they’d report to an overseer.

But now he needed to bring in more people. Today he would start with the hardest to convince. Krar.

He did not like Krar, who was a rival and a close one at that. Ranowr was speaker solely because he was marginally more popular. There was no room in their relationship for being friends. But he respected the other Mrem. Krar was smart and capable when he wasn’t letting jealousy get in his way and would be a valuable ally.

Tral had volunteered to come along to back up what Ranowr had to say.

They found the other Mrem mending a fence in an empty practice field.

“Krar, I would speak with you,” Ranowr said.

“You can speak with me during supper,” Krar growled. “I don’t intend to court a beating by chatting with you when I should be working.”

Ranowr picked up one of the fence rails and held it in place. “Now I’m helping you. So you shouldn’t suffer any ill.”

“What about Tral?” Krar asked indicating the healer with his hammer. “What’s his excuse for being here?”

“I need to confer with the speaker about something. Don’t worry, they won’t ask what.” Tral glanced around, then continued, “Though there’s no one to ask.”

Krar gave an impatient hiss and began hammering in a peg. “What do you want?”

“I want to be free and to free all of our people,” Ranowr answered.

Krar snapped back as though Ranowr had burst into fire, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you
mad
?”

“No. And there is a real chance for us.”

Ranowr told him about the strange Mrem and what his arrival portended. Then he explained most of his plan, holding back only the parts he himself was uncertain of. When he was finished he studied his rival, waiting for his response. If it was the wrong one he was prepared to kill him. But he hoped that Krar would see things his way.

“I can’t believe this,” Krar said, shaking his head.

“It’s true,” Tral said. “I’ve seen the prisoner myself.”

“But so much relies on chance,” Krar insisted. “Does everyone know what you’re planning?”

“Just us,” Ranowr told him. “But we’ll have to tell everyone soon. If we wait too long they’ll kill the prisoner, or the free Mrem will be past the great goddess’s territory.”

He waited, watching his rival think. After a long pause he asked, “Are you with us?”

Krar took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It’s so much to think about.”

Ranowr shook his head. “I can’t give you time to think about it,” he said. “We need to know now if you’re with us.”

He leaned close, holding the other Mrem’s gaze with his own, letting him scent his determination.

“Think quickly, but carefully.”

“Think what this could mean for all of us,” Tral said passionately. “To do what we wish, when we wish, to own our own bodies, to know our kits. To be free!”

“It’s madness,” Krar said.

“Madness to stay when we could go,” Ranowr told him. “This is our one chance. If we don’t take it then we deserve to be slaves.”

Krar nodded slowly his eyes on a distant thought. Then he met Ranowr’s eyes.

“You know I hate you.”

“You don’t hate me,” Ranowr said with a laugh. “You just want me not to exist.”

“You can say that because you’ve never had to live in your shadow.” He licked his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

“Back us up when we talk to the others. Help me convince them in spite of their fear. And help me make any possible traitors more afraid of us than of the Liskash.”

Ranowr held out his hand.

Krar looked at it, then up at his rival.

“You don’t want much, do you?”

“I want to be free. I want
you
to be free. Then if you wish, we will take spears or swords or knives and you can see about making the world one where you don’t have to think about me.”

A smoky light came into Krar’s amber eyes.

“Take his hand,” Tral said impatiently. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”

With another deep breath Krar shook his head, but grasped Ranowr’s hand.

“I know I’m going to regret this,” he muttered.

“Maybe we all will,” Ranowr said. “But it’s still the right thing to do.”

* * *

Hisshah approached her mother’s riding krelprep cautiously; it was an unpredictable beast that liked to kick and bite. It pulled its muzzle out of the feeding trough and looked at her across the polished saccar-wood railing, its skin gleaming with health and careful grooming.

It had bitten her, almost trampling and killing her twice while her mother looked on, waiting to see if her daughter could control it. The animal was a beauty though, strong and sinuous with fancy yellow-and-green markings. She hated it. She stood looking at it for a few moments, then she struck.

First a push at the nervecord within the spine, which caused the beast to bellow in confusion as its legs collapsed. That was delightful, but painfully loud, and Mrem slaves would come running to see what the trouble was—they would pay for any injury to the prized beast. So she cut off its air, just a little
pinch
within the windpipe. She watched it thrash helplessly, its golden eyes rolling in panic. Then she ended it, grasping at the delicate tissues of its brain, like dragging mental claws through jelly.

It collapsed, kicked, voided and died in less time than it took to think the words, so much dead meat, its colors dimming already and its tongue lying out across its teeth.

Hisshah smiled. Her mother would be displeased; she’d been proud of her mastery of this willful beast. But Hisshah was thrilled. This had been the first large creature she’d tried out her new power on. And it had gone exactly as she’d expected. Her whole being was alight with joy. She had a great power. As great as her mother’s if less spectacular.

I feel…I feel so
happy.
Happy as I have not been since I was a little hatchling.

She looked around; no one had heard the commotion, it seemed. With a soft laugh she turned and walked from the stable. Her mother would be so annoyed.

* * *

The guard struck Ranowr with a couple of light blows, almost for form’s sake. Then he said wearily:

“What’s the password for the day?”

“
Mighty is Thress,
master,” Ranowr said cautiously.

Three of the closest Liskash warriors hissed uncontrolably. One of them clapped both hands to his snout, covering his nostrils in horrified surprise. Another’s spear clattered on the stones, its steel head clanging with a discordant ring that died into the sudden stillness of the morning. A third was backing away, his lips and nose squeezed tight, his whole head jerking with the need to hiss laughter.

“
What was that?
”

“Master! I said
Mighty is Thress!
”

This time he
did
say it, working to keep his tone hard-edged and crisp like one of the rulers. He was almost as horrified as the guards at the—unintentional—slip. For a moment he thought Thress would die then; veins were visible under the fine scales beneath his throat, and his pupils opened until they were ovals that were almost round.

It was exactly the sort of petty but cunning spite the young goddess would come up with.

“Go,” Thress said, his hands trembling; his voice was beyond rage, almost pleading. “Go, go.”

The Liskash was turning to his subordinates even as the Mrem backed away. Hissing and snapping-stone shrieks rose as he walked away.

Soon
, Ranowr thought as he walked away rubbing his arm.

He had everything in readiness; the wagons and tack were arranged for a swift departure under the guise of a new efficiency. Stores of food and blankets and tents were ready to hand, allegedly in the event of a neighbor attacking. So far they’d gotten away with everything and the steward was pleased that they were working so diligently.

It’s easy to work hard when it’s for your own benefit,
Ranowr thought grimly.
We’d never have shown them how hard we
can
work, otherwise.

* * *

“You were seen leaving the stable,” Ashala screamed, her voice echoing through the hall. She pounded her fist on the arm of her throne. “Tell me what you did to my krelprep!”

“What makes you think I did anything to it?” Hisshah asked her mother boldly.

Ashala paused. This was most unlike her daughter, who, though on her knees where she belonged, was otherwise upright, instead of her usual cowering posture and was meeting her eyes. She leaned back in her throne. If there was one thing she’d learned in her years as ruler of this domain it was that such a change of attitude could be dangerous.

“What were you doing in the stables?” she asked.

“I merely visited my own krelprep to see how it fared.”

“You never visit your beast,” Ashala reminded her. “You hate krelprep.”

“I’m not fond of them, it’s true. But we’re about to go to war and I don’t intend to walk.”

Hisshah paused. “What happened to your krelprep?”

Ashala glared at her. “As if you don’t know,” she growled.

The younger female returned the glare with a look of innocence.

“You know I would never go anywhere near your krelprep. It’s tried to kill me twice. What could I possibly have done to it without getting in reach of its teeth?”

“It’s dead,” Ashala said through clenched teeth.

“What happened to it?” Hisshah asked.

Hiding her glee was as hard as anything she had ever done. Boldness seemed to be working. At the start of this conversation she’d thought she’d be receiving a whipping by now. Possibly that she’d be a bubbling grease-stain on the stones.

“We don’t know. There isn’t a mark on it,” the great goddess said.

“There’s been some sickness in the barn, the hostlers have been complaining of dead smerp and worrying that whatever killed them will spread to the krelprep. Perhaps that’s what happened to yours.”

Indeed I know for a fact that’s what happened to yours,
Hisshah thought. “Perhaps we should clear that barn and burn it down.”

Ashala was still visibly angry, but also thoughtful. What her daughter had said was not unreasonable.

Thress leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“You could have poisoned my beast,” the great goddess said.

Hisshah gave an exaggerated sigh. “If I tried to give food to your krelprep it would have taken off my hand. And if I bribed a stabler to give it food he would report it to you instantly.”

She raised her hands. “Has anyone made such a report?”

It was beginning to feel like she was going to get away with this.

Once again Ashala looked thoughtful, once again Thress whispered.

“Did you kill my krelprep?” she demanded.

Hisshah stared at her for a long moment.

Why not now?
she asked herself. Now is as good a time as any.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Her mother’s eyes flared and she knew herself in danger. She still thought she was safe from burning, but she could see that her mother was thinking about it. She readied herself to strike.

“That thing hated me,” Hisshah said. “It wanted to kill me, but I didn’t want to die. It was me or the krelprep, Mother. Which would you rather have alive?”

Ashala actually blinked in surprise to hear her daughter call her
mother
in open court. She looked out at the assembled courtiers and then frowned at her heir. If Hisshah was clever enough to be able to kill a beast so much stronger and more vicious than she was then perhaps she was too dangerous to have around. She prepared to strike her.

“You can be replaced,” she said at last.

“No, I can’t,” Hisshah said.

The great goddess stiffened and her eyes rolled back in her head, foam formed at the corners of her mouth and her body bucked three times. Then she slid bonelessly from her throne to lie on the burned spot where so many others had died.