They all laughed, for by now the others were listening.
“No,” Ranowr said casually. “I was just curious. Sesh once said to me that knowledge is never wasted.”
He shrugged. “And I’ve always had an interest in krelprep. Did you ever ride one?”
Retys burst our laughing. “Me? Do you think the Liskash would let a slave mount their precious riding beasts? They’d whip me for thinking of it, and you too, so you’d better watch out.”
Ranowr decided to take that advice and watch out. Tomorrow he’d ask someone else something just as casually. The need to hurry was on him. Who knew what shape the Mrem prisoner was in by now or would be in a few days?
And the great crowd of free Mrem were on the move; he couldn’t risk his people being left behind.
Thress had taken to carrying a club for the sole purpose of using it on Ranowr. He could always get in at least a few solid hits before Hisshah stopped him.
“Why do you persist in annoying me?” Hisshah asked the captain after once again catching him at beating her messenger. “You know I’m the great goddess’s only heir. One day I will sit on her throne and your life will be in my hands.”
“In your hands?” Thress sneered. “What would you do to me? Pout me to death? You will never sit on her throne, never! She could still have a clutch. And then you would have a whole new set of young rivals to worry about.”
He stopped short as though shocked at his own temerity. But he didn’t back down. Hisshah felt as though she’d been doused in icy water. She glared at him.
“One day,” she said softly, “you will regret those words.”
Then she turned on her heel and walked away, Ranowr following.
“Young goddess,” he asked, “why do they think you have no powers?”
“Because it’s true,” she snapped. “I can move small objects with my mind and that’s it.”
“Could you tie a knot inside a bottle?” he asked.
She hissed a scornful laugh. “Yes, easily. And what good would that do me?”
“If I could do such a thing,” Ranowr said fervently, “I wouldn’t have an enemy left alive.”
Hisshah missed a step and then continued on her way.
“You have enemies?” she asked casually.
“Not many, but I do have them. Thress for one.”
She spun and slapped his face. “You grow overbold,” she snarled. “Do not think because you can use a practice sword that you are more than a slave. You will be silent now.”
They walked on in silence, but Ranowr was pleased. He knew he’d planted the idea he wanted in her mind.
Hisshah’s mind churned. Thress would never have suggested the great goddess having another clutch if he hadn’t heard her mother mention such a thing. This was bad. Her whole life hinged on being the goddess’s sole heir. Without that prospect she’d be nothing.
And what did the slave mean about tying a knot inside a bottle? Did he mean what she thought; that you could tie a knot inside someone’s head and kill them that way?
She liked the idea. No one had ever thought of it before. It was…it was deliciously sneaky. It meant you didn’t need to be strong enough to destroy in bulk, from the outside, battering at someone.
It hinted that the Mrem were even more vicious than her people, which was unnerving. She listened to the slave’s footsteps behind her. She should practice…
No, this one is too useful. I don’t think Thress would be as insulted if I sent a new Mrem messenger. I’ll start on small animals. There are always smerp in the barns.
Satisfied she walked on, busily thinking up tonight’s new password.
Then she hissed laughter. She would make the password Mighty is Thress.
Because if you pronounced that with the soft, wet, mushy accent a Mrem’s mouth-parts gave to the words, it meant something a little different, or could be mistaken for such. If you had been driven mad by frustration anyway.
Tickle me, Thress.
Her hissing grew as loud as water flicked on a heated bronze griddle.
In the short time he’d had Ranowr had collected just about all the information he needed. People were growing curious about his newfound thirst for knowledge, but so far no one seemed to find it too strange. The kind of strange they’d report to an overseer.
But now he needed to bring in more people. Today he would start with the hardest to convince. Krar.
He did not like Krar, who was a rival and a close one at that. Ranowr was speaker solely because he was marginally more popular. There was no room in their relationship for being friends. But he respected the other Mrem. Krar was smart and capable when he wasn’t letting jealousy get in his way and would be a valuable ally.
Tral had volunteered to come along to back up what Ranowr had to say.
They found the other Mrem mending a fence in an empty practice field.
“Krar, I would speak with you,” Ranowr said.
“You can speak with me during supper,” Krar growled. “I don’t intend to court a beating by chatting with you when I should be working.”
Ranowr picked up one of the fence rails and held it in place. “Now I’m helping you. So you shouldn’t suffer any ill.”
“What about Tral?” Krar asked indicating the healer with his hammer. “What’s his excuse for being here?”
“I need to confer with the speaker about something. Don’t worry, they won’t ask what.” Tral glanced around, then continued, “Though there’s no one to ask.”
Krar gave an impatient hiss and began hammering in a peg. “What do you want?”
“I want to be free and to free all of our people,” Ranowr answered.
Krar snapped back as though Ranowr had burst into fire, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Are you mad?”
“No. And there is a real chance for us.”
Ranowr told him about the strange Mrem and what his arrival portended. Then he explained most of his plan, holding back only the parts he himself was uncertain of. When he was finished he studied his rival, waiting for his response. If it was the wrong one he was prepared to kill him. But he hoped that Krar would see things his way.
“I can’t believe this,” Krar said, shaking his head.
“It’s true,” Tral said. “I’ve seen the prisoner myself.”
“But so much relies on chance,” Krar insisted. “Does everyone know what you’re planning?”
“Just us,” Ranowr told him. “But we’ll have to tell everyone soon. If we wait too long they’ll kill the prisoner, or the free Mrem will be past the great goddess’s territory.”
He waited, watching his rival think. After a long pause he asked, “Are you with us?”
Krar took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It’s so much to think about.”
Ranowr shook his head. “I can’t give you time to think about it,” he said. “We need to know now if you’re with us.”
He leaned close, holding the other Mrem’s gaze with his own, letting him scent his determination.
“Think quickly, but carefully.”
“Think what this could mean for all of us,” Tral said passionately. “To do what we wish, when we wish, to own our own bodies, to know our kits. To be free!”
“It’s madness,” Krar said.
“Madness to stay when we could go,” Ranowr told him. “This is our one chance. If we don’t take it then we deserve to be slaves.”
Krar nodded slowly his eyes on a distant thought. Then he met Ranowr’s eyes.
“You know I hate you.”
“You don’t hate me,” Ranowr said with a laugh. “You just want me not to exist.”
“You can say that because you’ve never had to live in your shadow.” He licked his lips. “What do you want me to do?”
“Back us up when we talk to the others. Help me convince them in spite of their fear. And help me make any possible traitors more afraid of us than of the Liskash.”
Ranowr held out his hand.
Krar looked at it, then up at his rival.