“The sleeping draught that kills,” he said, “does it work on Liskash?”
“Even better than it does on us,” Tral said. “They’re so much smaller.”
“Give me what you have,” Ranowr said. “And give my love to Prenna for me.”
Tral handed over the flask. “What are you saying?” he asked.
“It may be some time before I catch up. Don’t wait for me,” Ranowr told him. Then he turned and trotted away.
Hisshah was glowing with pleasure. She had accepted the oaths of all of her mother’s court, her court now, and had just finished deciding a case that her mother had been neglecting in favor of the plaintiff she hated least.
Suddenly Ranowr was there, offering her a goblet of wine.
“You must be thirsty, great goddess,” he said, smiling.
She was parched, but also suspicious. How had he gotten into the great hall? And whence this good will?
But then…he has been very useful. Dangerous, but useful. A cunning Mrem could be even more useful in the future. I must sleep. If I make him hated enough, he will help guard me…perhaps a Mrem guard? I need never fear their trying to overthrow me…
“It is the custom here,” she said, “for the one who offers wine to taste it first.”
He took a sip, then offered the goblet again.
“You might as well drink it all,” she told him. “I won’t drink from the same cup as an animal.”
Still, part of her was gratified to think that even the Mrem were pleased to have her as the new great goddess.
Ranowr hesitated. “It is so fine,” he said. “Never meant for the likes of me.”
“Drink it,” she insisted, watching him closely.
He did, gulping it down in four swallows. “It’s good!” he said. “Thank you, great goddess.”
She laughed and reached out a hand for another goblet. He took another from the tray and filled it for her. Then she also gulped the fine wine down, gaily smashing the cup to the floor where it shattered, the dregs splattering a few unlucky courtiers. She laughed at that.
“Wine for everyone!” she said. “I would have us drink a toast to my new reign.”
As the servants began to circulate, she gestured to Ranowr for another cup and he quickly filled one for her.
When everyone had been served she raised the goblet she’d been sipping from and exclaimed, “To a new day!”
And the cup slipped from nerveless fingers to shatter on the ground.
She was suddenly ice cold and her heart was laboring, darkness was narrowing her vision. Hisshah drew a deep breath and tried to rise only to find it impossible.
No! she thought. Not now! Not when I’ve won! She turned her eyes to Ranowr. It was him. He’d killed her!
She tried to speak, tried to curse him, tried to kill him. Nothing worked. Her breath was coming hard now and the dark was closing in.
Ranowr suddenly dropped to his knees, dying himself from the poison he’d put in the wine.
“You…die…too,” she manged to hiss.
“I…die…free…and for…my people,” he said, laboring. “You…just…die.”
Her eyes closed. There was one last whispered sound:
“Prenna…our kit.”
Then nothing.
Battle’s Tide
MICHAEL Z. WILLIAMSON
And on the thirtieth day there rose before the clan a great mass of demons. And Rau wondered at their number. The Claws gathered and they too saw it was too many, but Aedonniss entered Hress Rscil and spoke to them, saying go this way and that and to strike as I instruct so that my own legions can join in the battle. So those in the claws took heart and fought with courage. But this was still not enough, for the most evil Sassin was powerful and his minions countless. Warriors fell and there was no one to fill the ranks. Then the Dancers came forth and stood with the warriors and everyone wondered. So the claws once more took heart and both fought on even as many more fell. Seven days and seven nights they fought, warrior and Dancer side by side, carving their way through a numberless horde. And finally when those who remained were exhausted and unable to even raise their weapons Aedonniss caused the sea to come forth. The waters rose and with them came a roar of vengeance. In the foam could be seen the face of every Dancer who had fallen and rising above the water on a silver chariot rode great Cmeo Mrist, priestess and lover. And the demon’s minions were torn asunder by the waves. But the warriors of the clan were touched by not a single drop. And so the way was once again open. – The Book of Nrao, verses eighty-four to eighty-six
N rao Aveldt liked his wagons and his spies.
In the colder lands to the north he had been an upstart. But here the Clan of Three Fangs was powerful enough to have even torn land from the Liskash. Times had been hard, still were, but the clan leader did not regret his decision to take his people south. At least he hadn’t until a few weeks ago, when the waters came.
He sat under the broad shade of his residence in a wicker chair, enjoying a drink of grer, fermented arosh milk. It refreshed the body and let his mind think clearly. He had much to think about. So did his advisors, seated in a ring with him on carved wooden chairs. His son Nef Esnrao benched quietly attentive off to the side, learning actual rulership along with the parchment lessons he took. The boy looked distracted, his long tail twitching impatiently from side to side, but Nrao understood that was partly an exploitation of his age. He was wiser than many suspected. He was tawny and handsome, certainly his mother’s son as well as his. Nrao’s warm, golden coat was striped with black on cheeks, wrists, tail and ankles. Distinctive markings, the seer Ingo said, for a male of distinction.
Nrao Aveldt’s neighboring Mrem sometimes mocked his taste in politics. They preferred decorated Dancers and large warriors. His corral of wagons, the extended wall and defense works around it, the shapers who maintained all, and the monies spent on distant rumors amused them.
He had Dancers and warriors, too. His warriors knew several fighting styles and tactics. His Dancers studied a variety of dances and incantations. When a fight came, the wagons moved his warriors rapidly, and he could place them in superior position to the enemy.
That was why his steading was larger than any within knowledge, and why he was amused at the mirth sent his way. Hidebound traditionalists would fall by the wayside. His clan was one of the first to take southern land from the Liskash. The ancient enemies were still licking their wounds. This meant he had some of the best water and grazing. They held a large if dusty savanna with three large rivers and numerous wells and oases. Clan herds beyond count browsed the tall grass. So it had been for over five years, an ideal home for a growing clan, but now…
When the sea broke through to the Hot Depths, he’d dispatched scouts, diplomats and spies to draw maps and tell him all they saw. They were here now, to counsel him on all they knew.
Nrao Aveldt began, “I would like updates on each aspect. Talonmaster Hress Rscil?”
It would be hard to miss Hress Rscil, the talonmaster, with his oiled fur looking darker than its natural tan tones, worn and abraded harness he seemed never to remove, and flat but heavy muscles. Next to him were spear, javelin, battle claws and knife, neatly leaning against the bench. He had come directly from fighting practice.
Hress Rscil spoke in his deep, confident voice. “The refugees continue to gather and approach. One large band has gathered the remnants of several clans. Few are a threat directly, but all need food and water. I still suggest guiding them west and then north to the cool streams and woods. It is not long before we will have to do the same. Isolated there is no question that eventually we will fall. We must also keep the way open until then for others who are farther in. Their strength will be needed.” One ear twitched as he finished.