Harry Turtledove: Clan of the Claw

His vision brightened. Scaro took in the numbers streaming past him. The first hundred and a hundred more had righted the ladders and were climbing the walls. He signed to Neer and one other warrior to follow them. They kicked as many Liskash off the rungs as they could, fighting their way to the top. Scaro danced on his toes, avoiding thrusts by Liskash soldiers with incredible ease. Lord Tae was no general. He must want to capture the prize that no noble had ever possessed.

“Save the Dancers!” he bellowed.

Six of them could not turn back the tide. Emoro had given his orders once they had seen the quarters in which the Mrem would be housed. Scaro knew which way they would try to escape.

“Mrem, with me!” Scaro shouted. The other three kicked away from the onrush, leaving dead Liskash in their wake.

He had patrolled the perimeter of the cursed building over and over again in the dark. Within a handspan he knew exactly where the ladders at the rear were placed. They rounded the rear of the building.

“Scaro!” A voice echoed down to him from above. He moved out from the high wall looked up and saw Emoro racing along the narrow walkway at the top of the pylon. Scaro counted the warriors with him. Half were missing. They must be defending within. But the Dancers were safe. Ysella’s golden eyes were wide and terrified. Cleotra only looked angry. That was good. “What’s the matter with you, Drillmaster? There were only two hundred of them?”

“Thought you could use the wakeup,” Scaro called.

“Thanks, boy! An eighthday of sleep would have been too much for me!”

“We’ll guard your way,” Scaro said. “I can lead you to the gates. I know several narrow ways where they will have trouble sending large forces after us.”

“No!” Cleotra shouted, furiously. “We’re going for the castle. Every hand will be turned against us unless we stop Lord Tae himself!”

“A Liskash noble?” Scaro asked. But those decisions were not his. “I will get you there safely, Your Sinuousness!”

Each of his warriors had a knife or a spear taken from Liskash they had slain at the front of the building. It wasn’t going to be enough, Scaro knew, but he would die trying.

Cleotra scrambled down the ladder of the third stage, four or five Mrem-heights above him, and stepped aside on the walkway. Scaro realized she was going to jump. She would break her legs! He ran to catch her.

“No!” she shrieked. “Out of the way!” She threw herself into space as dozens of Liskash appeared around both sides of the building.

No Mrem could make that leap and live, but Scaro moved. To his endless admiration, she tucked herself in a ball in midair, and hit the ground rolling. She came up on her feet with a look of satisfaction. She was hardly even dusty.

“My lady,” he croaked. He and Neer hastened to stand between her and the host of dinos now surrounding them. Cleotra moved her body, hands and tail in a hypnotic pattern. The closer he was to her, the stronger Scaro felt.

Less daring than she, Ysella slid down the ladder in Sherril’s wake. Petru and Emoro brought up the rear with the eight and half-eight of warriors. The big oaf of a valet was gasping for breath. He didn’t matter. What did was obeying the bidding of the Dancer.

“Come with me,” he said. He thrust out the dagger and prepared to fight his way through.

“No,” Sherril said. He walked up to Scaro and took the knife away from him. Scaro nearly kicked him in the belly for that, but Emoro waved a hand.

Sherril held up his hands as the countless uniformed lizards crowded them against the wall.

“We surrender,” he said. “Lord Tae wants us as his slaves. We give up. Take us to him.”

“What are you doing?” Ysella gasped.

“Why, giving in to superior numbers, child,” Sherril said, with a pitying expression. “We are overwhelmed. It is obvious that the noble has decided we are too great a prize to lose.”

A spear nudged Scaro in the side.

“Give us the weapons,” another brass-hat said to him.

Sherril passed over the dagger and signed to all the warriors to do the same. His innocent expression put Scaro on alert. He had to give credit to the wily elder. They wanted to get into the stronghold.

Surrounded by an endless field of ugly slate-colored faces, Scaro marched his warriors toward the keep. Above his head, he saw the flash of metal. More Liskash guards awaited them on the first level. His keen sight picked up not only spears, swords and blades, but chains. Lord Tae intended to bind them before he had them dragged into his sight.

“Clawmaster…?”

“Drillmaster, I see,” Emoro said mildly. “Don’t let it happen.”

“Yes, sir,” Scaro said.

“Climb,” the brass-hat said, as they reached the wall. Scaro put a foot on the rung. “The females first!”

“Sorry, I don’t understand your accent,” Scaro said. He swung up, signing to his men to follow him.

When they had all reached the first walkway, lizard guards reached out to seize him.

“Lord Tae wants only the females,” their commander said to the brass-hat. “Chain them and kill the rest.”

Scaro waited just long enough for one of the lumbering fools to come toward him with the chain in its hands. He stepped forward, grabbed the hanging links, and elbowed the guard in the face.

Momentarily stunned, it let go of the hank of chain and clapped its hands to its face. Scaro came around with a roundhouse kick and knocked the guard off the wall. It wailed as it fell. The guards took so long to react that he had time to whip another with the armful of chain. It dropped its pike. Neer seized it and stuck it between the guard’s feet. It, too, screamed in its death fall.

“Go, Dancers,” Scaro gritted, swinging the chain back and forth in a deadly figure-eight. He backed up toward them, keeping the dinos at bay. The enemy tried to pass, but he smacked down one after another. Blood lust rose in him as white bones pierced through gray skin and green blood spattered the walls.

“We can’t get to the ladders!” Ysella cried.

“Put your foot in my hand, child,” Emoro said. He boosted her upward. She scrambled over the edge of the next level and disappeared. Gilas followed her, finding clawholds invisible to the naked eye. Cleotra shinned up as easily as if it was a level floor. Scaro admired her. He hoped he would get to tell her one day. “Stay alive if you can, Drillmaster. I’d hate to lose you.”

Easier said than done, Scaro mused. But the others had gone, climbing the walls like spiders. It didn’t matter now what happened to him. He hissed at the onslaught of Liskash guards.

“Get me if you can, worms!”

Ysella sprang to her feet on the stone walkway and spat out a mouthful of dust. Gilas pulled her up by the elbow.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. She wanted to glance over the edge, but the roiling masses of Liskash at the base of the building terrified her. She felt the pounding in her head. Lord Tae was calling them. She would not submit! “Will he die?”

Gilas twisted his mouth and his ears lowered. “I don’t know, but he’s good, Dancer. I have to protect you.”

“Run, Ysella,” Cleotra said. Her eyes glowed with anger, Ysella hoped not at her. “We must reach the throne room.” She sped fleetly toward the next ladder. Two guards panted in her wake. Ysella and Gilas ran to catch up with them.

Their goal was all the way at the corner of the building. Ysella concentrated on reaching it, and not hearing the screams and the clashing of metal. Scaro must live!

A cry came, not from the walkway, but from behind her. Ysella spun. Gilas lay at her feet. Looming down on her was a gigantic Liskash with a metal helmet and a tunic covered with plates. More of his kind were coming up behind him.