Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One (33 page)

“It would go ill,” he said, aloud, to no one in particular, “if we reached Lord Tae and had to tell him that his invited guests were treated badly by one of his own subjects.”

At the mention of the noble’s name, the rider’s neck pouch deflated. The Liskash turned and hunched over the neck of his mount.

Sherril spat out the terrible taste in his mouth. All of the Mrem rolled their tongues to rid themselves of it. The Dancers in particular seemed most troubled by the sensation. Ysella gasped and extended her tongue as if trying to spit it out. Petru rushed forward to cluck solicitously over Cleotra and Ysella. He hurried back and stopped one of the bearers to rummage among the bundles in his cart. Petru drew from it a stoppered bottle and a bronze goblet chased with a pattern of flying birds. He poured liquor into the goblet and offered it to Cleotra. She took a sip, then nodded. Ysella took her draught and made a face, but got it down.

“Make sure all are treated equally,” Cleotra instructed him. Petru bowed. He brought the goblet to Emoro, then Scaro, then each of the males. Sherril waited impatiently for his turn.

At last the big servant undulated up to his side. Sherril pretended not to notice the delay. Petru offered the cup. Only a few drops remained in the bottom.

“I will need more than that to restore me,” he said.

The words reached the ears of the Dancer a few paces behind him.

“Give him what he needs, Petru,” Cleotra said.

Petru shot a reproachful look at her, though it was tinged with deep adoration. “Lady, I am. He recovered better than most on his own!”

Cleotra widened her eyes. Petru grudgingly tipped a tiny measure of potion into the goblet. Sherril drained it. The strong liquor raced through his veins like hot lightning. The smell of the lizards lessened immediately. He stood up straighter.

“Thank you,” he said, handing the goblet back to Petru. Even better than dealing with the effects of the malicious magic, he had made the valet do something he did not want to. Perhaps he could leverage it into further service. “Now, my fur has become slightly disarranged. If you would brush me, it would settle my nerves. And,” he added with a daring glance, “I would like some of the sparkling powder sprinkled over my shoulders. Perhaps the blue?”

“Now, let’s just address one misconception before we go one step farther,” Petru said, putting his big hands on his hips. “I am not
your
valet. I do not serve you. I serve the Dancer Cleotra. If I have any time left over from my care of her, that time belongs to this young one, Ysella. They are the most important people in this caravan. I will see to their well-being, their meals, and
their
grooming. You are the leader. Lead. I will not interfere with that.”

The warriors behind him laughed.

Sherril was disappointed, but he waved a hand diffidently, as if it did not matter at all what the valet did or what the warriors thought. “Very well. Back to your place. We must turn at this next crossroads.”

He knew that Petru glared, but he pointedly did not look back. Too much terrain lay ahead of them, and too many dangers, not so easily dealt with by veiled threats and herbal remedies.

* * *

“How ugly!” Cleotra said, staring up at the edifice at the heart of the city. After an entire day’s walk they came to stone-and-mortar walls the thickness of two Mrem-lengths. Upon those walls were carved lines in the language of the Liskash. She puzzled out the inscription, and discovered that it was a warning. Anyone passing inside the walls of Ckotliss was considered to have taken an oath of loyalty to Lord Tae Shanissi. Woe betide those who broke that oath: they would be punished with lashings and spikes. The rest of the carving went on to detail in what way those spikes would be administered. Cleotra shuddered. To either side had been carved likenesses of a noble, with huge crystals set in the eyes. Cleotra found their stony stare unnerving, and was glad when they went through the gate and could no longer see it.

She followed the escort under gates perforated with secret peepholes and arrow slits, and into a courtyard large enough to encompass three or four good-sized Mrem farms. Before they had emerged into the sunlight, they were surrounded by Liskash warriors who leveled pole arms at them and disarmed her escort. Once all spears, bows and knives had been confiscated, they steered the Mrem toward the center of the citadel.

Inside the confines lay dozens or hundreds of smaller buildings, it was difficult to say, since the whole place fluttered with small tents, lean-tos and laundry on lines. Bundor, hamsticorns, krelprep, and many other animals ran wild within the space, looked after by dead-eyed Mrem or Liskash children with little care for their charges. She had always felt an antipathy toward Liskash but fought against it. A Dancer must embrace life, whatever form it took. There was simply something about them that made the hair down her spine stand up in a fighting ridge.

The curtain walls were meant to protect Liskash and their goods and cattle in case of attack. Few of those coming and going that evening lived there. The exodus as they entered was heavy, many thousands of dinos finishing their day’s toil and going home. Lord Tae and his household enjoyed relative isolation in the keep.

Within the walls, the feeling of being imposed upon was stronger than ever. The sensation had built ever since they left the mountainside, until it impinged upon her mind like a headache. She took comfort in the rhythm of the Dance beating in her soul. It meant she was not separated from the other Dancers. They were with her now, as always. The Dance was a protection for which she was grateful. The sun had baked them on their journey, but the air was damp as if the valley was full of water, and now that the sun was setting she felt chilled. While it was a relief not to feel dried to leather, the sensation of being cold and damp added to their perception of vulnerability.

The squared, pyramidal center block loomed over her almost ten Mrem-heights. The walls had been built of stone and covered with painted plaster. The covering must have peeled away often in the humidity. Liskash on ladders with buckets slathered a new coat over the exposed blocks. Cleotra spotted several different levels colored many different shades of ochre. The lip of the tower itself gleamed in the setting sun as if made of gold. Polished metal would make it difficult to hook a grapple or claws to pull oneself up. It could be done, though. In her childhood, she had made much more difficult ascents, she thought mischievously.

One would think that since it was the most prominent building for a hundred leagues that there might be some attempt to make it beautiful. If it had been an animal, Cleotra would have said it was molting because of some parasite.

Flanking it were two smaller, similar towers made of wood, neither close enough to the main tower to leap to it. Lord Tae or his ancestors took no chances of ambush. They were also ugly, their purple-gray timbers clashing horribly with their taller member. If pressed for a compliment, she would have to say that the three towers were nicer looking than any of the clothes of Ckotliss’s inhabitants.

Petru echoed her very thought.

“Surely it would be better to go naked than to wear
that
tunic and
those
trousers,” he said, as a Liskash strutted by, resplendent in a turquoise-dyed tunic that went well with neither his nether garment nor his pale blue skin. Cleotra smiled to herself. She adored Petru, and he was devoted to her. They understood one another. One day he would be her personal valet.

Large, muscular Liskash warriors in plate-sewn hide armor and heavy helmets patrolled the walls. They vanished into square towers in which she could see archers crouching. Flying lizards swooped in and out of the guardhouses, no doubt carrying messages and intelligence for the garrison. With such powerful magic at his command, whom did Lord Tae fear?

Surely not them. The Lailah was such a small tribe. They had come to supplicate him. She did not like the thought of begging a dino for their lives, but her pride must bow down and serve the needs of the clan. Ysella’s ridge was up, too. She felt the overwhelming power of the noble. She hissed to herself, and her eyes flashed at the Liskash escorting them. They did not seem very impressed by her or by Cleotra.

Good,
the Dancer thought.
They see us as harmless. All the better
.

“We are here as peaceful envoys,” Sherril kept reassuring the Liskash captain. The spears and bowmen made the Mrem nervous. “The warriors are an escort of honor for our Dancers. The Dancer Cleotra must be protected and kept from outside interference, you understand. And of course, I am a person of great importance among the Mrem. I would not come unaccompanied. I did not before, if you recall. The weapons are only to keep us safe from brigands and thieves on the road, not to attack our host or his loyal servants. You are loyal to Lord Tae, are you not?”

This last question made the bright blue spots on the captain’s cheeks pale to gray.

“You dare to question me?” he hissed.

That put the proof to what Sherril had maintained, that Lord Tae ruled by fear. Cleotra dreaded meeting him.

The minister put an innocent hand to his chest. “You must not think that he has sent me out among you as a
spy
,” he said. “I am but a humble visitor from a distant land. My question is an innocent one.”

Innocent or not, it set the rest of the lizards on edge. Sherril strutted ahead of them, even outside the ring of bronze-tipped weapons that ought to have contained him. Cleotra wanted to laugh out loud. She was almost sorry she had not had Petru adorn him when he had asked. Perhaps she would grant him that favor later. His daring was as great a protection as the Dancer’s rituals or Emoro’s warriors.

The guards marched them around to the west side of the great keep. At the wooden tower, they came to a halt. A ladder made of sticks tied together with ill-cured hide thongs rested against the wall.

“Go on, then,” the captain said. “Up and over.”

Cleotra looked up. Three Mrem-heights above her was the first occupied level. To either side of the ladder were doorways set into the wall. Many lengths to the left along a very narrow walkway, nearly at the corner of the building, was another ladder leading to the second stage. Above that, at the center of the wall, a third ladder led to the roof, where two Liskash guards with ruddy-colored skin peered down at them.

“Which of these quarters is ours?” she inquired.

“Inside,” the captain said. His pikemen braced their weapons as if the question was a threat. “Go.”

Emoro barked out orders. Two of his warriors took their place to steady the ladder. He swarmed up it like a kitten a sixth of his age. Six males followed him. They spread out to await the Dancers’ ascent.

“Come up, Your Sinuousness,” he said, extending a hand.

Cleotra ascended to the stage and waited for Ysella to join her. The child was wide-eyed with nerves. She took the girl’s hand and squeezed it. Ysella gave her a nervous glance. She was doing well. Cleotra was relieved that the girl was holding up.

“Aedonniss will protect us,” she said.

Sherril made as if to climb up, but Petru shoved past him. He put one foot on the bottom rung and shot a smug look at him.

Cleotra shook her head. Their feud bid fair to put them all in danger. She was going to have to speak sternly to Petru, although little good seldom came from interfering with the valet. He was like a boulder rolling down a hill. He tended to crush anyone in his way, though usually for the sake of someone else, such as Cassa.

Sherril, his ruff fluffed out with annoyance, joined them. All but five of the remaining warriors and Scaro came up.

“Well, go on!” the Liskash captain ordered.

“My men and I stay here,” Scaro said, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “My clawmaster’s orders. I guard the entrance to their quarters. This is where they are domiciled while they are guests of Lord Tae; this is where we wait until they come out again.”

The dino grunted. He was not smart enough to puzzle this out himself. He did seem to know that Mrem were faster and more nimble than his kind, so there would be injuries even if he summoned help to make all the pesty visitors stay in one place.

“Lord Tae did say that we could come and go as we pleased,” Sherril called down to the captain. The Liskash frowned, drawing his low brow even lower toward his muzzle.

“Very well,” he said. “I will see what is my lord’s will. Go on. Up and over.”

People lived within the walls of this pylon, Cleotra observed. Through an open door she spotted a female in an ugly orange shift tending an egg lying on a bed of straw. The top stage, though, was no more than a walkway half a Mrem-length in width. The Lailah tiptoed along it. The captain directed them to the other end of the wall to a ladder. Cleotra looked down.

Below them were two more stages with doors in the wall, but at the bottom was an open courtyard with a fountain where more guards waited.

“A fine trap,” Emoro growled, echoing her very thought. “Kick away the ladders and we’d be fish in a tidal pool, ready to be scooped up.”

Cleotra closed her eyes. She reached inside herself and felt for the strand of warmth that tied her to the other Dancers. They were there, comforting their distant sister. She sensed Cassa’s warm wisdom, the love of her fellow priestesses, and a more remote touch that she had always associated with Assirra. Cleotra sent a quick prayer to the goddess to plead with her husband to protect them, and felt a surge of energy in return.

“We are not alone,” she reassured Emoro. “Aedonniss is strong with us.”

“The gods be blessed,” the grizzled clawmaster said. “But we may need earthly strength to supplement His gifts.”

They climbed down to the ground level. Night had fallen by then. Torches lit the square with feeble, twisting spires of yellow light. Cleotra was hungry and footsore. The sound of the water tinkling in the fountain made her want to go and dunk her head. She longed to wash the dust off her face and out of her ears, but that would not be dignified. Instead, she played with the leaves and ropes of vines hanging from enormous metal openwork baskets on poles around the fountain. The desert through which they had been trudging for weeks had no such lush greenery. The scent soothed and pleased her.