Harry Turtledove - Clan of the Claw

“What do you think, lady?” Clawmaster Emoro asked, properly yielding authority to Cleotra.

“Lord Tae seeks to control us in here,” the Dancer said. “The force of his mind is oppressive. You can smell him.”

“I am sure he can hear anything we say,” Sherril said. “And much of what we think, though I feel more protected than I did on my first visit. It must be your presence, Dancer,” he added, as Cleotra glared at him.

“Do you feel our ritual left you unguarded?” she asked, her green eyes narrowing to slits.

“Oh, my lady, no!” Sherril exclaimed. “It is only the proximity to the Liskash lord that gives him the strength to probe us as he does. If we were here too long, and without your ties to Aedonniss, our minds would fall quickly under his influence.” He pricked his ears toward the walkways, where Mrem slaves climbed down the ladders with baskets tied to their backs. Any harness or jewelry that those poor creatures had owned in better days had been taken from them, along with identity, history, even independent thought.

The inference was not lost upon Ysella. If the New Sea had not drowned their homeland, she might never have had to face the horrors of the lizard-kin. Her granddam lived far to the north of her settlement. It used to be all they needed to do to visit the old one’s steading was to travel through the hot, broad valley as the sun crossed overhead twice from right to left. Now, it would take months, if not years, to rejoin her. She was sure that her granddam lived. A faint connection still existed between them. Oh, but Granddam was so far away!

Ysella yearned for her days as a kit, when she could climb into the old one’s warm embrace and be nestled close. Her own parents had died in some accident-no one had ever really told her the tale. Her brothers had gone to the warriors’ camp soon afterward, and she had been apprenticed to the hall of the Dancers.

Now all those buildings were gone in the flooding. The elders had all said the sea could not rise higher than the mountains at the west end of the great valley. They talked about the safe crossing they could make there. Behind them, various tribes of the clan had scorned them for retreating so soon. Ysella burned with shame. She chirruped to herself. The warriors looked down kindly upon her, especially one young recruit with a mask and chest of banded bronze fur. In an all black coat, those markings would be considered flaws, but to Ysella they looked like sunlight, a welcome sight in that dark place.

“May I help you, Dancer?” he asked, holding out a long, slender hand to her.

Shyly, she put her fingers into his, and was surprised by his strength as he hauled her upright with a quick jerk. She hastily smoothed her fur and straightened her necklaces. She closed her hand on the amulet of Aedonniss and Assirra that she had been given to celebrate making her first Dance as an apprentice and felt a warmth from it that was not from her own body heat.

“Thank you,” she said. He gawked at her, as what warrior might not? Dancers had an innate grace. She recalled Cassa Fisook’s stern lessons that it should be reflected in their manners as well. “What is your name, warrior?”

“Gilas Aulor. I know your brothers, Your Sinuousness. They said you were very beautiful.” His eyes shone. They were the same bronze as his breast-fur. “It is true.”

“Thank…” Ysella began shyly.

“Presumptuous kit, get on with your tasks!”

They jumped apart. Scaro stood there, his tail lashing from side to side. Ysella looked up in pleased surprise. The lieutenant must be jealous of the young male! She gazed up at him, her pupils spreading. Scaro moved to one side and took her arm, pulling her out of the way. Ysella preened, enjoying the feeling of his strong muscles and sinews under his fur. Oh, he did care for her! He just could not say it because of the differences between their ranks. She wondered if that day came when, long after Cleotra had taken Cassa’s place as senior priestess, she, Ysella, ascended to that position, she would be able to act upon the feelings that she knew she and Scaro shared for one another. But she couldn’t wait that long. He was here now, and so was she.

She ran a claw tip along Scaro’s muscular arm. The fur rippled under her touch. She shivered with excitement and peered up at him out of the corner of one green eye. He didn’t look down. Ysella realized that they were not alone. Scaro must not want to reveal his feelings before an underling.

Gilas finished sweeping and left the room. Behind him, a female Mrem shuffled in, fresh bedding in her arms. She kept her eyes low.

“Hello, lovely lady,” Scaro purred. He let go of Ysella’s arm and moved into the path of the newcomer. “And what is your name?”

She looked up at him with terror in her eyes. Scaro moved closer and took the sheets and featherbeds out of her arms. He tipped her chin up with one finger, the claw carefully retracted.

“No need to fear me. I’m friendly. I could be your new best friend. Where do you live?”

Her jaw opened, but no sound came from her mouth.

“Silence is good, too,” Scaro said, wrapping her in a solicitious arm. “Perhaps you would just like to show me?”

She shook her head, wide-eyed. Scaro pressed further.

“Maybe you don’t live alone. That’s fine. I don’t mind having more than one of you at the same time. I think you will find that I am equal to all things. Shall we go?”

Before Ysella could translate this baffling interchange, a hand smacked Scaro in the ear. His eyes went wide and he whirled, claws out in a defensive stance.

“I thought I’d find you up to your tricks!” Emoro said, the corners of his mouth upturned. Scaro let go of the serving Mrem and saluted his senior officer.

“Sir!”

“I suppose there’s a reason beyond wanting to seduce the locals that you came within instead of remaining on your post?” Emoro asked.

“Oh, he wasn’t…” Ysella hastened to assure him. “He was just trying to make friends with her! She is very shy. She doesn’t talk.”

Emoro frowned, his heavy brows making his eyes into yellow slits. “Scaro, it ill befits a warrior to have children make excuses for him.”

“I didn’t ask her to!” Scaro protested. The serving Mrem slipped out of his grasp and rushed out of the room, her eyes fixed on the floor. Ysella drew herself up at the insult.

“Clawmaster, I am not a child,” she said. “I am a Dancer. Please treat me with the respect of my rank. I would give my life for the Clan of the Claw as readily as you.”

“Of course, dear little one, of course,” Emoro said, in a soothing voice. “We all hope it won’t come to that. Well, Scaro? What is it?”

The officer looked a little sulky. “A messenger came from Lord Tae. He wishes us to visit him this evening. He wants to learn something new today, he said. The rest of my warriors protect the way in to this building. I have come to escort you out.”

“Right, then,” Emoro said. “Good thing you didn’t shout it from the roof like you do your other business.” He grinned and nudged Scaro with his fist. Scaro grinned back. “No time for that until we get home again, do you understand me?”

Scaro’s eyes narrowed mischievously.

“Clawmaster, there’s always time. It doesn’t take that long.” He and Emoro shared a juicy laugh.

Ysella looked from one to the other in bemusement. They couldn’t mean sex as such a casual encounter, could they? She had always thought every coupling was supposed to be meaningful! That meant that he was trying to…that servant girl…he wouldn’t, not when he was just starting to understand his feelings for her!

Ysella started to chirp to herself. Emoro took her by the hand.