Harry Turtledove: Clan of the Claw

Once inside, the doors closed behind the Mrem with a hollow BOOM. Emoro glanced back to see two guards hefting a huge latch into place across a pair of brackets. Easily undone if necessary.

The lines of Liskash spread out again into a double border between the Mrem and Lord Tae. Sherril stepped off, Emoro close behind him. The Liskash shifted with them, keeping their beady eyes fixed on them. The closer they got to Tae, the more the headache he had felt coming on increased. The Dancers were aware of it, too. Both of them had been moving their hands and bodies in light, subtle motions as they walked. Those increased in intensity, and the pressure receded from Emoro’s mind. It was still there, though.

Sherril halted at the prescribed limit and bowed again. Emoro followed suit, signing to his warriors to do the same. His knees felt as if they wanted to bend, too, to take him to the floor where he would prostrate himself. He fought the impulse. It was no doubt coming from the lordling on the throne. Tae was going to keep trying to control them.

“We came here of our own free will,” Emoro growled, forcing the words out as he forced his back to straighten. “We do not bend to yours.”

Sherril turned so the Liskash lord couldn’t see him, and glared. He purred at the Liskash, offering a supplicating gesture.

“I apologize, Lord Tae. It was agreed that I would speak for the group.”

“It was not,” Cleotra snapped. Sherril’s fighting ridge went up at the sound of her voice. “I speak for myself.”

Lord Tae smiled. His face moved but his eyes bore no expression at all. “No offense is taken. All these reactions teach me more of your culture.”

Sherril seemed relieved. “We are pleased to bring you the fruits of our history and our arts,” he said. “I have memorized the sagas of our people, from the cold days until now. There are many heroic poems that you will enjoy, translated into your own language by myself. The first one I would have you hear is of the first Clan Leader of the Lailah. In fact, Soroo was an ancestor of mine. He lived-”

“No.” The refusal was dry but final. “I may wish to hear your poetry another time. Frankly, your voices hurt my ears. I am a student of your religion. I wish to see your dance.”

Cleotra threw back her head proudly. “The hour is late and we were not given time to refresh ourselves,” she said. “Our Dance is not a simple thing. My apprentice and I have been marching for two days. In our normal routine, we limber up and do exercises before beginning our rituals. They are sacred things, not mere entertainment!”

The ridge above Lord Tae’s eyes went up. “I would see those exercises as well as your dance. You may begin.”

“ We begin with refreshments and repose upon comfortable seats,” Cleotra said.

Lord Tae looked a little bored. “Oh, very well.”

He did not move or speak, but very shortly, a rap sounded upon the door. Emoro and the other warriors tightened their muscles in preparation, but when the portal was unlatched, it was to admit an eight of gray-scaled servants. They bore huge pillows in a mismatch of colors and hammered metal trays with enameled pitchers and bowls upon them.

Petru took charge. He ordered the servants, who were as dull as their skins, to place the pillows on the shining floor to one side of the area they had been allotted. Once they were placed to his liking, he escorted the Dancers there and assisted them to sit down. Cleotra settled gracefully upon the ugly cushions. Ysella plumped down beside her.

Sherril swaggered after them. A low argument ensued between Petru and the counselor. Her green eyes blazing, Cleotra stood up between them. Effortlessly, she lifted her left foot and kicked each of them in the head. Emoro rumbled in his own throat. What a warrior she would have made!

Lord Tae rolled back on his padded throne, laughing. “Fantastic! So limber!”

She stood glaring as they both staggered backward. They didn’t look at one another or at the Dancer, but Petru pulled a drab purple cushion along the floor a short way from the Dancers, and Sherril sat down on it, waiting patiently for Petru to serve refreshments to Cleotra and Ysella before bringing him a selection of dainties.

Lord Tae watched with curiosity as the Dancers lapped the pale white liquid from the wide goblets and sampled the savory brownish nuggets of food. Some looked chewy, others crunchy. Emoro licked his chops. It had been hours since he had had a decent meal, out on the road, though he had eaten the nuts and dried fruits that served as field rations, but he was a warrior. He could wait until the lizard had finished toying with them and they were safely back in their fish-trap. Cleotra set down her goblet.

“Are you satisfied?” Lord Tae asked. Cleotra rose in one smooth motion. Behind her, Ysella was as awkward as a frog.

“I thank you, our host,” Cleotra Mreem said.

“Then dance for me.”

Scaro Ullenh made sure that his guards were well deployed, keeping watch on the Liskash. He stood as close to the Dancers as he could manage without getting in their way. He didn’t want to miss a moment. As a warrior, he saw Dances performed during sacred feasts and other occasions, such as the circle to protect them here in Ckotliss. He had never beheld the warming-up sessions. He had fantasized about the females throwing themselves about in their exercises, lithely and energetically in wild abandon. He had mated with many a Dancer after they had finished their rituals for the day, but it would add spice to see what made them so hot and ready. Now he would. And perhaps he could approach Cleotra later on to help her burn off that excess energy. He grinned to himself.

The valet settled himself on a pile of cushions with the dombek drum between his knees. He rattled off a quick roll, then began a slow, syncopated rhythm. One, two-three, one, two-three, one, two-three.

Cleotra and Ysella touched fingertips and paced off a circle about two Mrem-lengths in diameter. Scaro fancied he could feel the power of the gods sealing it, so intent were the Dancers’ expressions. Ysella, for all her adolescent awkwardness, once she began to focus, moved almost as smoothly as her mentor. A pity she was too young for mating. He couldn’t blame her for fixing on him. He was handsome, well groomed, and possessed of enviable style that attracted the eye of many a Mrem female. Still, until she matured, he wasn’t going anywhere near her!

Once they had created their sacred space, Cleotra led Ysella through a series of exercises. They began with simple steps and stretches, and moving into thrusts, kicks and claw swipes, shifting sideways, jumping backwards, leaping and pirouetting. The steps swiftly became more complicated and rapid. In fact, if he did not know they were Dancing, he might have thought they were fighting one another. The drum beats sped up until they were moving so fast he could hardly follow. Ysella was open-mouthed and wide-eyed, but Cleotra looked serene, as though she was Dancing with the gods themselves. No wonder she was to be Cassa’s chosen successor.

Scaro found himself breathing hard. His resolution deserting him, he wished to mate with both of them right there in the middle of the throne room.

They stopped. The drum ceased. Cleotra strode magnificently to face Lord Tae. She was not even breathing hard. Ysella was.

“Our exercises are complete,” Cleotra said. “Now we will perform for you the Coming of the First Dawn.”

“I would rather see the Wooing of Assirra by Aedonniss,” Lord Tae said. “It is a story I have heard of, and have long been curious about.”

Cleotra’s eyes flashed. “That is a sacred Dance, not suitable for outsiders.”

Lord Tae’s brows drew down. “If you do not want my help, you may leave.”