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.”
“What?” Lord Tae demanded.
The Mrem who were in the square of fighters fell out of their perfect formation. Confusion was on their thin faces. But not only Mrem; Liskash soldiers wavered. Lord Tae shook his fists.
“You hairy mammals are weaklings! You cannot defeat my strength.”
Emoro grinned. They were about to try. He made a gesture.
Before the noble could restore full control, the Mrem warriors leaped at the guards.
Five whole eights guarding the lizard noble faced only one eight of Mrem. In spite of the fights he had already fought, Emoro was ready for this one.
The floor under their feet had a sheen of water on it from overnight condensation. Emoro used the slick surface to glide around his enemy, an immense, slate-faced Liskash in jingling plated leather. The guard chopped at him, but he was too slow to hit the clawmaster. With the protection and interference created by the Dancer, Emoro almost felt at an advantage, even though he was unarmed. He ducked in under the lizard’s guard and kneed him in the stomach. The guard’s grip weakened momentarily, but long enough for Emoro to disarm him and stab him in the throat with his own weapon. The body began kicking and convulsing. Emoro leaped back, and fell on his tail because of the slippery floor.
“Careful!” Petru’s voice reached him through the din of battle. Emoro glanced up at the valet. Petru stood with his hands on his hips, his broad body and thick fur concealing the Dancer. Only the tips of her fingers and tail were occasionally visible as she Danced behind Petru. She was fighting the battle none of the rest of them could see.
Two of the guards made for Emoro, chopping at him with their rectangular-bladed swords. He didn’t bother to get up, but slashed at their legs with his captured weapon. He gashed one of them on the thigh badly enough that the soldier staggered back.
Lord Tae let out a high-pitched laugh. Emoro scanned the battle to see what had struck him as so funny. To his horror, a circle of Mrem in armor were beating a warrior. The Mrem had fallen to his knees and had his hands over his head.
He glided over the cold stone floor. With the sword in both hands, he swung. The blow severed the spine of the first Mrem. It fell dead at his feet. Emoro felt sorry for the creature, but at least it was a clean, fast death. The others turned toward him, clubs in hand.
Never in his life had Emoro thought he would have to battle fellow Mrem, but he had to see these as puppets, only the skins of good people. If they were lucky, when the battle was won they would have their minds restored, but they were the most dangerous beings in the field at the moment. They did not behave as true Mrem because they were being controlled by a lizard, but they were faster than the Liskash soldiers. Emoro had to dodge swiftly to avoid being bludgeoned.