Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One by Michael Z. Williamson, John Ringo Jody Lynn Nye Harry Turtledove S.M. Stirling Page B
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but he’d come close. Now that he’d succeeded against the odds, all at once he overwhelmingly wanted to go on living.
Enni Chennitats’s voice exulting in his mind gave him part of the reason why: “He’s dead! He’s dead! Grumm felt him die!”
“Now that you mention it, so did I,” Rantan Taggah answered. Nobody was going to be dryer than he was, not today.
* * *
Enni Chennitats eyed Grumm with a priestess’s curiosity. She sometimes thought that wasn’t so far removed from the curiosity of a kit poking a bug with a stick to see what it would do. Sometimes nothing happened. Sometimes you learned something interesting. Every once in a while, you picked the wrong bug and got stung—which was interesting, too, but not in a way any kit enjoyed.
She’d thought that, since Sassin held Grumm’s surname, it would be released when the Liskash noble perished. That would make Grumm his old self again…wouldn’t it?
Evidently not. The escaped slave had let out a fierce, triumphant yowl when Sassin died, almost as if he’d killed the Scaly One himself. But then he shrank in on himself again. He wasn’t quite so distressed as he had been before, but he wasn’t anything like a normal male Mrem, either.
She almost asked him why he wasn’t. Unlike a poked bug, he could answer. But, no matter how curious she was, she didn’t want to be cruel. She might not worry about a bug’s suffering, or a Liskash’s, but she did when it came to one of her own kind.
And so, instead, she told Demm Etter what she thought. The senior priestess inclined her head. “The name may not lie under Sassin’s tongue any more, but it is not in Grumm’s heart, either, where it belongs.”
“Where is it? Can we get it back?” Enni Chennitats asked.
“I cannot say,” Demm Etter answered. “Now and then, time shows us what we did not know before. It may here. Or”—she lowered her voice so Grumm couldn’t hear—“it may not. I think he has gained something by Sassin’s death. Now his surname is free to wander, free to find him again if it will, not trapped the way it was before. And I know—I am as certain as I have ever been about anything—how much the Clan of the Claw has gained from Sassin’s fall.”
“Aedonniss, yes!” Enni Chennitats exclaimed. “Did you see the Liskash run away after he died? What could be finer than that?”
“Their not attacking us to begin with,” Demm Etter said, which, once Enni Chennitats thought about it, was plainly true. Sighing, the senior priestess went on, “Too much to hope for, I suppose.”
“How many Liskash nobles’ lands will we have to pass through before we find our own kind again?” Enni Chennitats asked, disquieted.
“I don’t know. I don’t believe anyone knows, unless the Scaly Ones should,” Demm Etter said. “I do know this, though: if we win through, when we win through, Mremkind will sing our names and our deeds forevermore.”
Enni Chennitats wished she hadn’t put that if in there, even if she’d amended it right away. The consequences of failure…Well, were they any worse than the consequences of staying on the old grazing grounds? Rantan Taggah didn’t think so, and Enni Chennitats wasn’t inclined to doubt the talonmaster. On the contrary.
“Well, well,” Demm Etter said quietly. Enni Chennitats followed her gaze. Here came Zhanns Bostofa. He was limping. He had a bandage on his right leg and another on his left arm. But he carried himself with pride of a sort different from his usual arrogance.
He bowed, first to Demm Etter and then to Enni Chennitats. “My males and I, we did what was required of us,” he announced, as if he were summarizing a battle for the talonmaster. Rantan Taggah wasn’t here, though. The mental link between him and Enni Chennitats had broken when the Dance ended. She hoped he hadn’t come to grief after his great triumph.
Demm Etter received the report as gravely as he might have. “You did well,” she told
Enni Chennitats’s voice exulting in his mind gave him part of the reason why: “He’s dead! He’s dead! Grumm felt him die!”
“Now that you mention it, so did I,” Rantan Taggah answered. Nobody was going to be dryer than he was, not today.
* * *
Enni Chennitats eyed Grumm with a priestess’s curiosity. She sometimes thought that wasn’t so far removed from the curiosity of a kit poking a bug with a stick to see what it would do. Sometimes nothing happened. Sometimes you learned something interesting. Every once in a while, you picked the wrong bug and got stung—which was interesting, too, but not in a way any kit enjoyed.
She’d thought that, since Sassin held Grumm’s surname, it would be released when the Liskash noble perished. That would make Grumm his old self again…wouldn’t it?
Evidently not. The escaped slave had let out a fierce, triumphant yowl when Sassin died, almost as if he’d killed the Scaly One himself. But then he shrank in on himself again. He wasn’t quite so distressed as he had been before, but he wasn’t anything like a normal male Mrem, either.
She almost asked him why he wasn’t. Unlike a poked bug, he could answer. But, no matter how curious she was, she didn’t want to be cruel. She might not worry about a bug’s suffering, or a Liskash’s, but she did when it came to one of her own kind.
And so, instead, she told Demm Etter what she thought. The senior priestess inclined her head. “The name may not lie under Sassin’s tongue any more, but it is not in Grumm’s heart, either, where it belongs.”
“Where is it? Can we get it back?” Enni Chennitats asked.
“I cannot say,” Demm Etter answered. “Now and then, time shows us what we did not know before. It may here. Or”—she lowered her voice so Grumm couldn’t hear—“it may not. I think he has gained something by Sassin’s death. Now his surname is free to wander, free to find him again if it will, not trapped the way it was before. And I know—I am as certain as I have ever been about anything—how much the Clan of the Claw has gained from Sassin’s fall.”
“Aedonniss, yes!” Enni Chennitats exclaimed. “Did you see the Liskash run away after he died? What could be finer than that?”
“Their not attacking us to begin with,” Demm Etter said, which, once Enni Chennitats thought about it, was plainly true. Sighing, the senior priestess went on, “Too much to hope for, I suppose.”
“How many Liskash nobles’ lands will we have to pass through before we find our own kind again?” Enni Chennitats asked, disquieted.
“I don’t know. I don’t believe anyone knows, unless the Scaly Ones should,” Demm Etter said. “I do know this, though: if we win through, when we win through, Mremkind will sing our names and our deeds forevermore.”
Enni Chennitats wished she hadn’t put that if in there, even if she’d amended it right away. The consequences of failure…Well, were they any worse than the consequences of staying on the old grazing grounds? Rantan Taggah didn’t think so, and Enni Chennitats wasn’t inclined to doubt the talonmaster. On the contrary.
“Well, well,” Demm Etter said quietly. Enni Chennitats followed her gaze. Here came Zhanns Bostofa. He was limping. He had a bandage on his right leg and another on his left arm. But he carried himself with pride of a sort different from his usual arrogance.
He bowed, first to Demm Etter and then to Enni Chennitats. “My males and I, we did what was required of us,” he announced, as if he were summarizing a battle for the talonmaster. Rantan Taggah wasn’t here, though. The mental link between him and Enni Chennitats had broken when the Dance ended. She hoped he hadn’t come to grief after his great triumph.
Demm Etter received the report as gravely as he might have. “You did well,” she told
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