Harry Turtledove: Clan of the Claw

Automatically, he turned to the right, making for the ladder on the inside of the west wall. The officer halted the line and put a hand into Sherril’s chest.

“Do you truly wish to serve the god Lord Tae Shanissi?” he asked.

“Of course,” Sherril said, opening his eyes wide with feigned sincerity. “That is my dearest wish.”

The guard grinned. “Then it is the god’s wish that you fling yourself off the building and sacrifice himself in his honor.”

Sherril sighed. “Oh, very well,” he said. “But I prefer that the god himself watch me perform my sacrifice.”

The guard pointed down. Sherril followed his finger to a shining figure seated on a raised, royal blue dais, surrounded by dull-colored guards.

“Lord Tae is there. Now, jump!”

Sherril moved to the edge, and the guards stayed with him.

“What are you doing?” Cleotra demanded.

“Sacrificing to Lord Tae, of course,” Sherril said. He spread out his arms. Then he dropped onto his back and braced himself. With his long, strong feet, he kicked both guards under their tails. They bellowed surprise as they plummeted to the first walkway below. The first struck the edge with the back of his head and went limp. The second clawed at the edge, then fell helplessly down, bounced, and down again. Sherril grinned.

“Is that enough of a sacrifice?” he called down to Lord Tae.

The commander bellowed and charged at him. Sherril dodged out of his way, avoiding the point of the spear. Emoro signed to his warriors to defend. Petru took Cleotra’s arm and towed her toward the ladder.

Sherril dodged and dodged again. The walkway was a Mrem-height wide, but that wasn’t much room. The lizards had the advantage of numbers. They charged at him. He took to his heels and ran, his slower foes in pursuit.

In the courtyard, Lord Tae shrieked his displeasure. Guards made for the ladders on all sides and began the long climb up to intercept them.

Sherril raced to find a way down that was not filling up with angry Liskash. For once, he had not completely thought out his exit strategy. That is not like me, he chided himself. But at least I buy time for the Dancer. Emoro had her fully surrounded, on the opposite side of the building, heading for the way down. Lord Tae danced and shook his fists in anger. Sherril felt the pressure of his mind, pulling at his muscles to make him slow down. He felt as if he was crawling through mud.

The noise was deafening. Sherril had to concentrate to think. If Cleotra could break his hold over those Mrem below, they would have allies. Perhaps enough to overwhelm the Liskash noble. If not, enough to get the Lailah to the gates of the city would do. They had to survive. He had to survive. He looked for a hiding place. Yes, there was a door standing ajar just past the corner ahead. He threw himself down the ladder, raced in, slammed the door closed, and flung himself against it. The room was full of rolled tapestries and wooden chests stacked to the ceiling. They were too tightly packed for him to hide among.

BAM! The door jerked against his back. BAM! Sherril dug in his heels on the stone floor. BAM!

He was flung forward against the chests, striking his jaw. Sherril lay dazed for a moment, thinking how much his mouth hurt. The door opened and Liskash poured into the room.

Sherril had not always been a pampered counselor to the clan leader. Once he had been the second-youngest kit in a large family. As the Liskash made for him, he sprang up and bared his claws and teeth. He threw himself on the nearest lizard and bit into his neck. He spat out bitter-tasting blood and kicked the still-flailing body away. His claws lashed out at the next guard. The Liskash screamed as his eyes were gouged out. Sherril wasted no more time on him, but flung himself down and kicked upward with his powerful legs. He raked bellies and buttholes with his toe-claws, driving the wounded out of the room.

But there were always more Liskash. Sherril fought as hard as he could, but he began to tire. The walls of the small room seemed to loom up and strike him on the shoulders, the back, the head. Hands grabbed him and pummeled him. He was a mass of bruises, but he could not stop fighting.

He spun and leaped for another Liskash that tried to get behind him, biting his throat and tearing it like one of his feral ancestors.

Suddenly, he felt his head jerked backwards. He found himself looking into the eyes of the commander who had ordered him to jump. He knew Lord Tae was looking out of the creature’s eyes.

“How do you like this sacrifice, slave?” the guard captain asked. He raised his fist, and brought it smashing into Sherril’s temple. The counselor collapsed, disappointed in himself.

Emoro watched the guards pouring upward, but they were pursuing Sherril. Good. Lord Tae was ruled by his ego. Sherril had insulted him, so he must be punished first.

“I hope that leaves us enough time to get down,” he said.

“That way, Clawmaster,” said his lead warrior, Nemru Ssar. He pointed to a ladder that had just been vacated by a contingent, all of which was intent on pursuing Sherril. The counselor led the Liskash down the west wall and down a level on the south. Eights of lizards scrabbled at the door behind which he had barricaded himself.

The mental pressure he had been feeling since they came over the wall eased ever so slightly. Lord Tae had fixed his attention on Sherril. That meant Emoro had a brief gap of time in which he must try and get the Dancer as close to the evil bastard as he could.

“Four of you ahead,” Emoro said. “Lady, Petru, you stay close to them. The other four, follow. I’ll be at the back. Nemru, I’ll trust you to find us a way down.”

“Yes, sir,” Nemru said. He set off running. At the ladder, he stopped to let two warriors proceed the Dancer downward. Petru slid along the rails like a kitten and thumped onto the floor. Nemru went afterwards, with his remaining warrior. Emoro kept one eye on them and the next on the Liskash noble. Petru kept throwing him anxious looks. There was no time to respond. All Emoro’s thoughts must be on helping the Dancer to her goal. She kept her arms and body moving in the rhythm that brought the gods’ protection. As long as she was alive, they had a chance.

Two more levels to the courtyard. The next ladder was to the east. The levels got progressively larger as they descended, so it was a longer and hence riskier run. Emoro watched out for the guards.

Nemru bore grimly down toward a set of steps propped in the southeast corner. It was leagues from where they wanted to be. Emoro almost ordered him to turn back. What they were doing was in full view of Lord Tae. There were no secrets now. It would be a full battle.

Emoro felt the pressure on his mind return. He turned a wary eye to Lord Tae and discovered the noble was watching them. Though there were Liskash on the same level, they did not approach. Tae was letting them come down, into the midst of his elite guards. Arrogant bastard. He was sure he couldn’t lose.

He was about to get a surprise.

“Take the easy way down, Nemru,” Emoro said suddenly.

“But, sir…?”

Emoro cut him off. “It’s a war game now. We need to live as long as we can.”

Nemru led them to a ladder above the eastern wall, facing the entrance to the throne room. The lizards actually let them descend, making room for them at the bottom.

“Your power is impressive,” Lord Tae said, peering at Cleotra. “But I see the weakness in it. Even in a group, you are not as strong as I am.”

“Strong enough,” Cleotra said, her eyes flashing like emeralds. She wove a pattern in the air with her hands and threw them forward as if casting handfuls of sand. “Strong enough to set your slaves free.”