Harry Turtledove: Clan of the Claw

He reached for her. Ysella cowered.

“Cleotra!” she cried.

Her mentor was almost to the ladder.

“You are a Dancer, Ysella!” she shrieked. “Act like one! You have the skills! I must reach Lord Tae!”

With that, she leaped for the ladder and swarmed up it. Petru and Sherril stayed close behind her. A claw of warriors went with them.

Emoro ran back with the rest of the Mrem. He wielded a bronze-hafted spear. “Behind me, Priestess!”

“No,” Ysella cried. “Cleotra is right! I can do it!”

She began to weave back and forth before the enormous Liskash. It watched her in fascination as she bounded in past his guard. The ritual of the Destruction of the Great Mountain would serve here. Ysella felt deep inside herself for the connection to the infinite. The power of Aedonniss was with her, as were her distant sisters. She felt the power growing inside her.

Emoro charged past her and struck the Liskash with the polearm. The point caught between the plates on the creature’s chest. It grabbed for the shaft and twisted. Emoro staggered within a hand of falling over the side. His warriors swarmed over the huge guards. They screamed out war cries that stirred Ysella’s blood. She Danced faster.

The guards began to look confused. The throbbing in her head subsided. Lord Tae’s presence was driven not only away from her, but from the Liskash as well!

“That’s it, girl,” Emoro said, encouragingly. He took swift advantage of the first guard’s wavering, and plunged the spear into its open mouth. Green blood spurted out. It splashed on Ysella. She gasped, looking down at the green liquid running through her fur. It was hot.

The shock made her lose her place in the dance. The constricted feeling came back in force. Lord Tae wanted her to surrender, to kneel on the ground. She felt her knees go weak. The hot sun beat down on her head, making it ache more. She trembled with fear. Emoro glanced away from the guard he had just smashed in the teeth.

“Help us, Priestess!” he shouted. “Do it for the sake of that boy, if nothing else! He worships your very feet! If you don’t Dance us out of here, I can’t see how we can retrieve him and heal his wounds.”

“Gilas?” she asked, shakily. “Not Scaro?”

“Yes, Gilas! He’s a good youngster. I want him to grow up and be a mighty warrior. Help us! Help him.”

Ysella put her soul into her Dance, more deeply than she had ever done in her life. Gilas was in love with her. She should not have ignored that. When a heart was given, it was a precious gift!

She flung herself at the enemy. Energy poured through her from the heavens and the earth. She was the volcano, she was the tree, she was the lightning! She Danced under the noses of guards, leading the warriors behind her. They took advantage of the spell she created, breaking Lord Tae’s hold on his slaves’ minds.

Then she made the mistake of looking back, just as Emoro speared one of the guards in the eye. The bursting of the black orb into dark green goo made her stomach heave. Her rhythm faltered. She hummed to herself to get it back, and found she was chirping instead. She should be angry. They had been tricked into the city to become slaves! She didn’t want to die here.

Ysella began the Dance again, but her momentum was broken. The guards’ eyes lost their haze, and they pressed forward, stepping over the bodies of their own dead.

“Retreat!” Emoro shouted, yanking his spear out of a guard’s belly. “Come on, girl, you’ve done well.”

Priestess, she wanted to say. But she hardly felt she deserved the accolade. The warriors closed around her and hurried her toward the next ladder. The lizards feinted toward them. Ysella tried to restore her link to the other Dancers. They saw the same sun she did. They were together in mind and intention. She twirled, trying to gain power.

“Dancer!” Emoro shouted, moving to shield her, but it was in vain. A wall of armored Liskash overwhelmed them. Ysella was knocked off her feet by a heavy weight striking her in the back. Her head hit the stone. Color exploded in her vision, followed by blackness.

“This way, to the north side,” Sherril said, pointing over the lead warrior’s shoulder as they came off the ladder. He heard the war cries behind him but did not look back. “We’ll come down right over the throne room.”

“Yes, sir,” the warrior said. He and the two claws who had sheared off from Emoro’s contingent to escort Cleotra had one Liskash weapon apiece in their grip. Not enough, Sherril feared. Their greatest defenses were the Dancer’s protection against the Liskash noble-and his own brain. He had memorized all the ins and outs of the keep when he had been there. He had flattered Lord Tae mightily to get a tour of the building and its environs, and carefully memorized all that he could about it. The noble knew where they were, but not necessarily where they were going or how they would get there. It was a game of The King Dies, with both sides truly fighting for their lives. Sherril intended to win.

The long stone walkway on the north was deserted except for a frightened female Liskash who leaped back into her doorway as the Mrem raced by.

“Curse it,” Sherril said. “Tae will see through her eyes. We will be interrupted.”

“I will get you through, sir,” the lead warrior of the first claw promised him. He was a big, rangy male with black and gray stripes and a jagged scar where his left ear ought to be.

The sounds of panting behind them caused the warriors to spin in place.

“As you were!” Emoro growled, racing towards them. The Mrem were streaked with blood, both red and green. One male was limping on a badly wounded foot. Others bore bleeding gashes. Emoro himself had a cut on his upper arm that missed his shoulder joint. Cleotra’s eyes widened with dismay.

“Where is Ysella?”

“Down,” Emoro said, his voice tight with pain. “I set her in an empty chamber and closed the door. With luck no one will notice her until this is over. If any of us live.”

“One of us must,” Sherril said, with determination, pointing to the ladder. It had been painted to blend in with the wall, but it cast a shadow he could see. “There’s our way up. Lord Tae hasn’t ordered his soldiers to draw the ladders up. He could trap us, but he hasn’t.”

He pushed past the warriors to be the first on the rungs. Behind him, Emoro let out an exclamation of irritation. Sherril turned to glare, then realized another shadow was looming over him. An enormous Liskash guard with a metal helmet peered over the edge of the level at him. Many more figures were behind him.

“Greetings,” Sherril said, as if he was glad to see them. “Lord Tae called for us. We were frightened by the battle at the front, so we came this way. Will you take us to his presence?”

He hadn’t believed it when it worked the first time, nor could he believe that it worked again. Lord Tae was much too confident in his powers. The big-jawed lizard seemed to chew over this information for a while, then stood back.

“All right. Come ahead.” He beckoned Sherril up.

The counselor ascended, and straightened out his coat with dignity. The others scrambled upward. Sherril noted with dismay that there was only a single eight of warriors left behind Clawmaster Emoro. The Liskash took the hard-won weapons away from the Mrem.

“Escort us. We must abase ourselves in his presence.” That ought to please the wretched worm’s ego, Sherril thought.

Each of the Mrem was flanked by two Liskash guards. Sherril regarded the creatures marching beside him as nonentities, of no importance except as messengers to Lord Tae.

With spears pointed at their backs, the Mrem ascended to the top of the building and made their way along the hammered-metal of the walkway. It was slippery in the dew of dawn. Sherril looked down. He was not afraid of heights, but a misstep would be fatal. Below, in the courtyard, a square formation of guards waited. They all wore the same metal helmets and leather tunics, but Sherril saw that some were the elite guards that had flanked them the night before, and some were Mrem.