“Ten hundreds is a thousand,” the prisoner said. “And we are more than ten times that many. We journey toward a land of Mrem hundreds of thousands strong.”
Ranowr caught his breath. So many, unimaginably many. He heard the prisoner shift his weight and chains clinked.
“Can you get me out of here? I will lead you to them. You could come with us.”
“Get that dung cart moving!” a guard shouted.
Ranowr hastily emptied the bucket and shoved it back through the hole.
“I’ll try,” he whispered and moved on.
Through his shock and the whirling awe of a world huger than he could have imagined, resolve hardened in him. He would free the prisoner, and Canar Trowr would lead all of them to freedom. Now that they had a place to go.
“Today when you deliver my message you are to stand straight and look Captain Thress in the eye,” Hisshah commanded.
She was smiling, quite happy at the thought of Thress’s reaction to such boldness. She’d have to be hard on Ranowr’s heels to make certain the captain didn’t kill him, because she intended the slave to be her messenger every day.
Her message was much the same as the previous one, his orders were approved with minor changes. But, oh! how he would burn.
The damn smerp means to kill me, Ranowr thought bitterly.
He blinked. This was the first time, even in his thoughts, that he’d been so disrespectful. But he felt justified. Thress would undoubtedly beat him again.
“Yes, young goddess,” he said aloud. He took the wax tablet from her and trotted off.
This time Thress went at him with claws and teeth. Ranowr dodged and backed, covering his face with his arms and letting a swipe knock him down; then the kicks started, the killing claws poised.
It was almost worth it to hear the frustrated rage in Thress’s hisses, the rage that could not be assuaged. Would still scorch like lava even if Ranowr died.
Once again, more quickly this time, Hisshah intervened; Ranowr coughed cautiously, felt no broken ribs grating, and stood blinking in the bright dry sunlight. As they returned to the practice field Ranowr could tell that she was elated by the captain’s humiliation.
“Tonight you will deliver a message to the gate guards, I’m changing the password. You will do this every night.”
“He will kill me, young goddess,” Ranowr said.
“No, he won’t,” she said blithely, with a lithe flex of tail and neck. “He wouldn’t dare. If he were to displease me so much the great goddess would punish him. He is being disciplined and he knows it. He would be very unwise to resist his punishment. Don’t worry, I won’t let him go too far. It is my plan that he should come to recognize you and dread your coming. That should please you, Ranowr. That a Liskash will dread your coming.”
She laughed gaily. Ranowr throttled a snarl with a massive effort of will that left his male ruff bristling; thankfully a Liskash wouldn’t know what that meant. The hideous thing was that it was almost worth it to think of the guard captain trembling in fear at the sight of a Mrem face.
Nevertheless, Thress will kill me.
Necessarily, slaves were better at reading their masters than the reverse, and Thress was on the verge of madness. Ranowr would have to find a way out soon. First he must find a way to kill the great goddess. She had the power to burn out their eyes if they were anywhere near her. If she didn’t just set them all alight. He glanced at Hisshah. She was so full of hate, perhaps she hated her mother, too?
“Perhaps the great goddess would not want him too humiliated,” he ventured.
Hisshah pressed her lips together. “He will not show weakness by complaining,” she said, with notably false confidence, and added:
“Be silent now.”
And she hastened her pace. Ranowr’s heart smiled within him. She didn’t trust her mother. And that probably meant she hated her.
Though she probably feared her, too. How could you not fear the great power of fire born from the mind? In a way, it was a pity that the younger Liskash had only the small power of-
Ranowr blinked. A thought scurried, like a little seed-eating beast in dry grass. His mind stalked, ready to pounce.
That night Ranowr cornered Tral away from the others.
“You can talk to the females’ healer,” he said. “I need to know how many females and kits there are. Also I need to know what supplies they have charge of, where such are located and how much they have. I will find out how many of us there are.”
“Are you trying to take over the steward’s job?” Tral asked, puzzled.
“No, I am preparing us to leave. I will free the prisoner and he will lead us to thousands of free Mrem. He doesn’t know that yet, but if we come with our own supplies I don’t think he can complain.”
Tral was aghast. “Free?” he said and went silent. “What are thousands?” he asked at last. “Are they soldiers?”
“Thousands is a number. But I think they all are soldiers; if they were not, would not the Liskash have killed them or made them slaves?”
Agreement dawned in the healer’s eyes, and his astonishment-slack face firmed.
“We just have to find them and we’ll be too many for the Liskash to attack.”
Shaking his head the healer warned, “It could never work, Ranowr. The Liskash are armed and they are more than we are. We can’t just all decide to go, it’s impossible. Think of what the great goddess will do! Think of the kits!”
“I am,” Ranowr said grimly. “I’m thinking of them growing up thinking the Liskash are gods and therefore impossible to fight. I am thinking of something we’ve never known, Tral. Freedom! We can do it, I know we can. If I can work it right they’ll be too busy to worry about us. But first I need to know how many wagons we have, how many krelprep, how much food we can carry. Where are the bundor and hamsticorn herds and how many of them can we take with us. And we need to know all of this soon.”
“What makes you say that?” Tral was clearly frightened.
Perhaps by the size of the idea, perhaps thinking his friend had gone mad.
“They’ve sent out a scout, the one the Liskash have captured. The Liskash have moved our training forward. Why else have these things happened if not because the free Mrem are close and coming closer every day.”
Ranowr clawed the air before his own face and lashed his tail. “We must act!” He put a hand on Tral’s shoulder. “Are you with me?”
The healer took a deep breath and held it, then nodded.
“Maybe freedom is worth dying for,” he muttered. He looked up at Ranowr. “Can I tell the female healer why we’re doing this? She’ll want to know; she’s not stupid.”
Ranowr thought about it; it was a danger, but Tral was right. He was going to have to trust people if this was going to happen. Hard to do; the Liskash had raised them all to watch one another and to report any strange behavior. But for this to work it couldn’t just be him and the healer.
“Yes,” he said. “And she should tell those she trusts.” He smiled. “Be convincing, my friend, be very convincing.”
When they got back to the circle before the dormitory Ranowr began to question Retys, who supplied the herders. Asking him what exactly he did and how many he served.
“There are eighteen herders for the hamsticorns, we have less of those, only about three hundred or so. Twenty-three take care of the bundor, four hundred of them at least and they’re more frisky. I just bring them supplies and take their count of the herds for the steward’s records. What I mostly do is stare at the back end of my krelprep as I go from one herd to another.”
“What’s it like to drive a krelprep?” Ranowr asked. “Are they difficult to manage?”
“Why do you ask? Are you angling for my job, Ranowr? Being the young goddess’s favorite too hard on you?”