Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One (21 page)

Nothing was said for a time. Gree kept count, shifting beads on the string. They were drilled copperstone, the rich blue that became ore when heated. Rscil shifted his pack slightly, to relieve pressure on his back. Cmeo Mrist kept pace well enough. She took more steps with shorter legs, but seemed unbothered by the exertion.

Behind, the lines of warriors and Dancers stepped off, with drums beating a time. The rearmost ranks had to wait in order to move. There were noises of shuffling and shifting, occasional curses from the drillmasters, but shortly, it evened out and they were all en route.

Gree counted aloud as he reached the first mark. “Seventy-six, seventy-seven, one hundred…” Then he resumed a barely audible mutter under his breath.

Hress Rscil said, “Gree can be trusted with all information. So, Cmeo Mrist, did you advise the Dancers on our plans?”

“Only as you did the warriors. A route march, with water.”

His ear twitched acknowledgement. “Very well. I hope it turns out as it should. Though I do wish Mrem had the endurance of arosh. Even a few thousandlengths is barely a morning’s work for them. It would last us all day.”

She said, “In exchange Aedonniss has given us our brains, and not as slaves to Liskash, but as individuals.”

“Indeed. Our tools are our strength.” He gestured slightly with the javelin he carried over his shoulder. It was cast and hammered, ground to a fine, gleaming edge, decorated with etchings and chiselings of praise to the sky god. He observed that hers was as well made, though it had not seen service.

It was a hot day, and dusty, with little wind. Despite that, Hress Rscil could smell the army. The whole didn’t smell too fatigued yet, and he could tell the females by their different scent. They managed. Behind, the arosh hauled light carts for any injured. Inevitably, someone would step in a rut, take sick from the sun, or otherwise need to be carried. The Liskash usually left casualties to crawl or die. Mrem made sure to recover them, both for practicality and in compassion.

Gree counted, “…seventy-six, seventy-seven, four hundred…” The tempo was perfect.

A while later, a thought struck Hress Rscil. He turned to his companion. “Cmeo Mrist, it seems to me that a good route march is a bit like a Dance. Ideally, every warrior should have the same stride, the same speed, and move in an even line.”

“A bit,” she said. She sounded a little breathy, but still fit. “This is another benefit of mixing the Dancers. We can help keep the time, with our drummers.” She signaled behind her to the female drummers at the head of the file of Dancers. They stopped playing their complicated rhythm of worship and changed to a rapid double-beat that matched the pace the marchers were keeping.

Hress Rscil found it lightened his step. “The drums are enticing. Once they are steady, I look forward to them and walk with them.”

“That is part of the magic,” she said. “The Dance, the drums, the chants, all reach the brain, and keep it focused and free from distractions and mind magic.”

She sounded somewhat winded now, as Gree reached a thousand paces. Hress Rscil used that as an opportunity to say, “We are two-thirds to our turnaround today. Yes, I will arrange for the drummers. Let us be quiet a time. I wish to listen to the army and hear for trouble.” Quiet would also save breath.

They strode on, Cmeo Mrist occasionally quickening to catch up. She didn’t fall behind, but she did have to work at it. Rscil made a point not to slow his pace. His warriors knew how he moved, and this was to prove a point.

When Gree counted one thousand five hundred lengths, Hress Rscil stopped and raised his arm. He turned, shouted, “Circle and rest!”

It was obvious the Dancers hadn’t seen this maneuver before. Some warriors broke out of ranks, formed eight points with spears jabbed into the ground, and the rest swarmed through brush and behind rocks looking for threats. In beats only, the area was secure, with watchpoints on a few rises to supplement the defensive positions, and a clutch of small lizards, rodents and eggs piled next to a fire lay and ready for Hress Rscil’s orders.

“In rotation, eat and rest!” he shouted.

One of the drillmasters struck a fire plunger, coaxed out the tinder, and blew it under the lay. The fire caught, and there was a frenzy of skinning, skewering and placing of meat for a quick roast. Someone placed a pot to boil leaves, and the groomer-surgeons dropped tools into another pot to boil clean. There were some blisters and small lacerations to attend to, male and female both.

Across the warm, hummocky field, that scene repeated with other groups, each of eight fists. The Dancers watched with growing admiration. Rscil was pleased.

Satisfied, he sat himself, on his pack. Gree was already comfortably squatting, and Cmeo Mrist cautiously stretched out on a blanket. She stretched the pads of her feet to ease them.

“They will take turns on watch and eating, then?” she said.

“Yes, with a few mouthfuls of fresh meat to improve this harness leather,” he said, holding up a flat, translucent piece of dried mottlecoat meat.

She tightened her face and flattened her ears. “Are some of them eating…those?” The plants the warriors were chewing on looked like weeds, unappetizing weeds at that. The brown seed packets looked very different from the rich crops Mrem raised in more peaceful times.

“Emergency training. Some seed pods contain enough substance to keep one alive a few days. The spies and scouts practice that in case they have to escape without supplies.”

“I see. It just seems so unappetizing.”

“It is, and causes digestive trouble without practice. They eat a mouthful now and then for preparation.”

The females had grouped themselves apart from the males, which he approved of. There was some mingling, but it seemed courteous and appropriate. Two latrine pits were dug, one east and one west, to allow some modesty. Those would be filled as they left.

He allowed an eighthday for food and rest, with light naps in the sun. It was arid and clear in their part of the world, but not too warm. To the north, though, he could see clouds above the New Sea. The sun drew water that would fall to the west. With Gree on guard nearby, he allowed himself to take a short sleep. Cmeo Mrist had already curled up on her blanket to nap.

On his order, the warriors rose, drew in the circle and formed into ranks. The Dancers shuffled among them, and did so fairly quickly. They were learning.

He felt a little stiff himself, being no longer a youth. Still, this was something he could manage, and he led off with a shout.

The day would be pleasant at rest. It was hot for striding, and they all panted and sweated much of the way back, but almost all made it without issue. Before supper time, they were within the low stone walls of the city.

At the warrior compound, fresh towels aplenty waited with clear water for wiping fur and cooling down. Gree immediately acquired a large bundle from the caretakers, and brought them over. He handed a large one each to Cmeo Mrist and Rscil.

“It went well, I think,” Cmeo Mrist said, neatly cleaning dust from her coat. She was most careful to wipe around her eyes and in her ears. “Only three Dancers fell out, and all are older. So did two warriors, both saying they were injured.”

“Yes, some Dancers are older than any of the warriors. An old warrior becomes a smith or farmer. That is something I had not considered.” He scrubbed his face and drew his whiskers through the soft cloth.

“Acceptable?” she asked.

“It is,” the talonleader assured her. “Have the comments lessened?”

She smiled. “From what I’ve heard, they lessened throughout the march. It was my Dancers who had comments. They found the exercise boring.”

“We must do this, as boring as it may be, regularly before we begin the long walk to the war. Though Nrao Aveldt tells me it won’t be many days. He awaits more information.”

“So I was told also,” she agreed. “Do you prefer more practice?”

“I always prefer more time to drill,” he said. “However, there’s a point where it’s more important to get on with the task, rather than boring and tiring the warriors.”

“I understand.”

Once clean, they both walked up the cobbled road to Nrao Aveldt’s broad house. Hress Rscil pondered that he typically ate with the warriors except when the clan leader summoned him. As a warrior himself, he was not mated, and never bothered with a servant. His own house, made to be easily broken down and carried in a wagon, was small, with a sleeping bench, sitting bench and a hearth. Someday, perhaps, he might settle down with a mate and need a larger dwelling. He glanced speculatively at Cmeo Mrist. What would such a one be like as a mate?

* * *

Nrao Aveldt greeted them, and he nodded in courtesy, ears out.

Hress Rscil offered, “Our training goes well. A little more is desirable, but we stand ready to leave on your word.”

“Excellent, Talonmaster. And you, Priestess?”

Cmeo Mrist said, “the Dancers are fitting in better, I think, and there is less unrest with their presence. I will defer to the talonmaster’s advice, but I believe they are ready.”

“I concur,” Hress Rscil agreed.

“I am glad to hear it,” Nrao Aveldt said. “I have word from one of our observers. There are Mrem held captive by the scaly worm’s accursed mind magic. He saw them without harness. They differed in height and face, as well, so two clans. Oglut binds them to his bidding and forces them to the basest of chores.”

Hress Rscil said, “I think Aedonniss speaks to us. Territory, improved land, two Liskash tribes eliminated and the third made easy. Succoring our fellow Mrem from such desolation is the pointing star. How are the preparations?”

Nrao Aveldt said, “Eight eights of wagons threefold, each with five eightyweights of meat, darts and tools.”

The talonmaster did some mental calculation. “It will be enough. If you wish, let us plan to move an eightday hence.”

“I do wish. Aedonniss guide you, Talonmaster and Priestess.” He looked wistfully around at the dusky horizon, dark to the east and mottled pink in the west, his tail flat against his body.

“It will be a challenge to leave our home for new lands.”

* * *

Hril Aris checked the time. The moon was full and almost full high. It took some study, as it didn’t rise as high here toward the north. It should lower again to the far south, if the philosophers were right. They claimed the world was a ball 29,000 thousandlengths across. A huge distance. More than three times that around.

All he knew was that they’d wagoned, walked and now slunk and crawled 650 thousandlengths. They had spears, slings and large packs of dried meat, and would have to return unseen. They would be heroes; no scouts had traveled this far and fast. Spies took their time and sent missives of gathered stories. Scouts watched directly. It was thrilling to be so far, well within Liskash territory, but unseen. Their splotched coats of brown and tan were supplemented with crushed ochre and bark, so they blended with the ground. More importantly, though, were their abilities in stealth.

The river below flowed into the New Sea, helping fill it, ripple by ripple, as the massive waves tumbled in from the far east. Oh, to see that. Reportedly, it was a waterfall two hundredlengths high, four thousandlengths across, acting like a hose for a waterwheel, blasting across the former Hot Depths, flooding villages and driving herds before it.

But the river was their current task. It would have to be crossed on the way north, and they needed an easy ford. The hills were a poor choice, for the thin air, steep slopes and rocky terrain, not to mention being much closer to several Liskash strongholds. Lower here was less predictable, constantly shrinking, but probably the only practical choice.

“River” was charitable. It probably was one farther down, where it was inundated by the New Sea, now only a few thousandlengths away in a pointed bay. Here though, it was a broad stream over rocky shallows, filled with cobbles and pebbles and a few larger rocks from uphill. It would be easy to ford across. He had to decide if they should do so, and explore further, or just record this location and report back.

The rocks were a bit odd, and looked tumbled and displaced. He’d have to consider what had caused that. Large beasts pushing? An army? Earthquake? Recent heavy flooding? Perhaps that. The banks were scoured. The rocks seemed not to match, though.

It was a cool evening, slightly damp, and quite pleasant on the whole. His fur was slowly soaking up dew from the air, but it wasn’t so cold as to be a problem. The wind brought wet, pungent smells from the east.

His musing was interrupted when his fellow scout, Flirsh Arst, whispered, “Do you hear something?”

Hril Aris flared his ears and listened. There was something.

“Thunder?” he muttered back, but it went on and stayed steady, but got closer.

“Earthquake?” Except there was no shaking.

Then there was a little tremor. Only a little, faint and again, oddly even.

“Downstream,” Hril Aris said. He couldn’t believe what he thought he saw.

“It is the sign of Aedonniss,” Flirsh Arst hissed reverently.

The river was flowing backward, in a solid wall of water. It was the new sea pushing up to claim more land.

Hril Aris stared, still outside but shaking within, as a wave six Mrem high rushed below in an almost sheer wall, the air seeming to hold it straight. He saw rocks tumble before it, weeds and branches thrash.

Then he understood, for once he had seen the Great Sea.

The moon called the sea to her, causing it to rise on the beaches. The sea broke in waves, twice a day, retreating in between. But beyond this the new sea filling was still sloshing like a wine cup set too hard upon a table. When both forces joined, the water ate more land.

Here, though, the New Sea narrowed in a long indentation caused by the river’s former valley. It was quite deep further along, and looked like a water funnel. When water was poured into a funnel…

The moon poured all the water of the sea into that small funnel twice a day. It rushed higher and deeper up the long valley, tumbling rocks, disturbing growth, ripping mud from the ground. Nor would it move in waves; there was nowhere for it to go with the weight of a sea behind it. It would stay here, retreating slowly over a quarter day, gradually releasing back into that long bay. The reeds and grass would look scoured by flood, but the rocks would remain upstream and tumbled, in odd contrast.