Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One (36 page)

Petru cleared his throat meaningfully, but Sherril did not speak again. Emoro stifled a grin.

“Welcome to you, and welcome back, Sherril and your companions.”

A reedy voice echoed forth. Emoro blinked. Through the wide doorway he saw a thin, very short Liskash with pale blue skin the color of a winter sky seated on a stone chair on a platform eight feet or more above the floor. His black eyes bulged in his narrow face. His skull was rounded except for a narrow ridge of scales that ran from just above his eyes over and down the back of his head to his collar. His raiment was bright orange with narrow black lines. Bronze ornaments jingled on his sleeves, and tall, vividly colored feathers stuck up around the collar like a picket fence. Statues of the Liskash lord in various outfits and painted garishly to match stood on plinths all around the room. The costume he wore that night was depicted on the third figure to the right of the doorway. Lord Tae could behold his own image whenever he chose.

“I shall be ill,” Petru said, feelingly.

“That is hideous,” Scaro said, in a rare moment of concord with the valet.

Sherril bowed again. “Greetings, Lord Tae. Thank you for this audience.”

The Liskash beckoned with one skinny finger. “Come forward.”

The first line of dinos formed a square around the Mrem, spears pointed in. Emoro wished again for his battle claws, or one little stabbing spear. The commander gestured them to move. Sherril glanced back imperiously and strode forward, following the double-line of Liskash into the throne room.

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.”

The Liskash guards behind them lifted the latch from the door.

Cleotra looked as if she might storm out. Scaro speculated on whether any of them would make it out of there alive. His task, should all things go awry, was to see to the Dancers’ safety. He stood on the balls of his feet, ready to spring to their defense. Liskash took a long time to die, but they were slow moving. He could probably kill six or seven of them before getting the Dancers out of the room.

Cleotra lifted her chin. She was still angry.

“For the sake of my people, then, I break my vows. Ysella!”

The girl ran to her side. Cleotra assumed a pose with her hands outstretched, palms down. Her fingers moved gracefully as if each was a bird flying through the air. Ysella moved at once to a distance of two Mrem-lengths and composed herself, her eyes cast modestly down, shoulders turned inward. She must be playing Assirra to Cleotra’s Aedonniss.

Cleotra leaped into the air. Her hands and feet kicked out, and her tail lashed. She was a storm, she was a cataract, she was a whirlwind! The mighty powers of nature were all contained in one slender, lithe body. Scaro could not take his eyes off her. She kicked high and twirled in midair, coming down on her toes. Then, staying poised on the ball of one foot, she crouched low, watchful and wary. The world was created, but Aedonniss was alone and lonely.

Ysella moved then, wafting her arms in gentle waves. As the dombek thrummed, she moved sinuously around the circle, exploring the domain that had been made. She stopped, withdrawing into herself, as she saw the hulking figure of Aedonniss. He was powerful and fierce, but she was clearly attracted to him. She held back, not knowing what she should do. She was alluring in her grace. She seemed to rub affectionately against the air, seeking someone to share that caress. Scaro yearned to be the one that she sought. He could give her the love she craved.

Then he gave himself a mental kick. That was Ysella up there! An immature girl! But she had a mastery of the art that he would not have dreamed. What she would be when she was older! Scaro glanced at the throne to see what Lord Tae thought of their performance.

The Liskash noble wasn’t even looking at them! He had his eyes closed. And so they remained throughout the rest of the magnificent dance.

Scaro shrugged. If he wanted to miss what he had asked to see, that was his problem. As long as no threat was imminent, he was going to enjoy the command performance. It must be good to be the lord of a whole domain.

* * *

Petru soothed and fussed over Cleotra all the way back to the guest quarters. He had wrapped her in a light cloak against the cool air. Night, thankfully, covered most of the horrors of Liskash architecture, artwork and décor. Nothing, sadly, could be done about the ugliness of their escort. It was even larger than the contingent that had brought them to the high keep.

“You channeled your anger at Lord Tae magnificently, Your Sinuousness. It was most impressive,” he said.

“It was odd to Dance without my sisters,” Cleotra said thoughtfully. “That ugly little worm did not show much appreciation.”

“He had his eyes closed, my lady,” Emoro repeated.

“The whole time?” Cleotra asked, outraged, as if she could not believe it.

“The whole time,” Sherril said glumly. “And he did not want to hear any of my poems.”

“No surprise there,” Scaro commented, from the ranks. “The Liskash already hate us.” Sherril shot an annoyed look over his shoulder. There would be ear-biting and rolling on the floor if they were safely at home.

“What I fear,” Sherril said, “is why.”

Petru massaged Cleotra’s hand. The tension in it was extreme enough that she would need a thorough rubdown once he got her settled in her chamber. Once the performance was over, he had collared one of the less dazed-looking servants and gotten her to agree to bring food to their quarters. He could have eaten an entire arosh by himself, but the Dancers had to have meat too after their exertion. Lord Tae had a lot to answer for, not letting them prepare properly and asking for a forbidden Dance. Petru did not like him. His attire, and how ridiculously heavily Liskash dressed, was an eyesore, as was the entire stronghold. A waste of craftsmanship and materials. If he had been in charge, and perhaps he could offer some guidance when they were permitted to cross Ckotliss to the west, he would correct their color sense at least. It pained him that his personal adornments clashed with his surroundings no matter how he arranged himself. He had a headache that made his temper short, but his duty was to Cleotra. He cosseted and soothed her.

“Why do you think?” she asked Sherril.

The counselor looked around them. Too many of the dinos were close enough to hear. Petru knew that what they heard, Lord Tae heard. He shot a warning look at Sherril, who waved it away impatiently.

“I think he was enjoying the drumming,” Sherril said.

Petru preened. He had been very good.