Again voices buzzed behind her, and eyes grew bright with visions of such a future.
“Be silent!” she hissed, as much at them as at Shongshar. The flame sank into its bed of ashes and tumbled coals. Slowly the fierce red glow faded.
Ratha felt herself start to tremble with the triumph of her victory. The cave-fire was dead and Shongshar’s power crippled. She waited, feeling the air around her grow cool.
“It is over,” she said, rising. “Firekeepers, leave the cave.”
One by one, they passed in front of her, with lowered heads and dragging tails until only one was left. Shongshar.
“Do you come, or do I have you dragged out?” she growled.
The two orange slits glared at her from the blackness. His form was a deeper darkness than that of the cave and she tensed, fearing that he would use the instant that he passed her to strike out at her.
Suddenly the eyes were gone. She saw them again as she heard coals break under the slap of his paw.
“You of the clan!” he roared. “Look! It lives!”
A tiny flame burst from the broken embers and grew as he breathed on it. Then she heard the sound of running feet, and before she could fling herself toward the fire to scatter it and beat out the remaining life, she saw that someone had broken from the herders’ ranks, bringing Shongshar wood and tinder.
Her roar of rage filled the cave and she charged him, but several more herders had already joined him and they threw her back She struck hard, rolled over, and when she staggered to her feet again, the flame was rekindled, surging up with new strength.
Shongshar’s roar called the Firekeepers back into the cave. They mingled with the deserting herders until Ratha could no longer tell them apart. Even those herders that tried to stay with her were seized and dragged away from their positions by the woodpile. She saw Cherfan’s despairing look as he was surrounded by Firekeepers and forced to the back of the cave.
The fire crackled with malicious energy as it consumed the new offerings of wood that were laid upon it. Ratha saw by the harsh light that only Thakur stood beside her, his nape and tail flared, his lips drawn back from his fangs.
“Take the herding teacher,” Shongshar commanded, standing near the flames. “He is the one who would mock us by giving the keeping of the Red Tongue to treelings. Bring him here and have him bare his throat.”
Nyang led the eager pack that fell on Thakur. Ratha leaped on them, raking their backs and their ears, but again she was flung aside and could only look on as Thakur fought with savage desperation. He bloodied several pelts before they subdued him. Teeth fastened on his scruff, his forelegs, his tail; someone got their jaws around his muzzle to keep him from biting.
Slowly they dragged him, writhing and kicking, toward the fire. His claws, dragging on the rock, made a sound like the death shriek of a herdbeast. There was a gasp that made Ratha glance toward Fessran and she saw the Firekeeper’s eyes grow wide with horror and helplessness.
Once more she flung herself at Thakur’s captors, but another pack pulled her off and held her. They brought her close and forced her to watch.
“Now, herding teacher,” said Shongshar, leering at Thakur. “Bare your throat to the Red Tongue.”
Again Thakur fought, but again he was stilled. His captors pulled him closer to the flames and forced his head back so his throat lay open and exposed.
“I bare it, but it is to you I bare it, Shongshar,” he growled between his teeth. “This talk of serving the Red Tongue’s power is nothing but a lie.”
They shook him to silence him. Ratha thought then that Shongshar would slash Thakur’s throat with his long fangs, but he stepped back from the herding teacher with satisfaction on his face.
“Good. He has begun to show his loyalty. Hold him. We will need him to guide us to the renegade Firekeeper Bira and the treelings.”
He turned, fixing his eyes on Ratha, filling her with an icy fear that she could not overcome with anger. He began to pace toward her, seeming to grow with each step.
The Firekeepers that held Ratha drew back, leaving her alone facing him.
“You are worthy of my fangs, clan leader,” he said softly. “You know I can’t leave you alive. If you lie still, I will be quick.”
Ratha dodged his first strike. They circled each other, ears flat, tails lashing. She forced her trembling legs to tighten for a spring and she leaped onto his back, driving her teeth into the side of his neck. He shuddered, but did not fall, even as she threw her weight out to drag him off balance. His blood welled into her mouth, but she knew her strike was not a killing wound.
He shook her to the side and rolled on her, but she kept her jaws locked, despite his crushing weight. Her teeth sank deeper, and she flung her forelegs around his neck, adding their pull to the strength of her straining jaws. He wrenched his head back and forth, but he could not break free, and she thought for an instant that she might be able to keep her hold until loss of blood weakened him.
He shoved a paw between her chest and his and began to pry her away. She could not sustain her grip against his powerful forelegs. She twisted her head, trying to bite deeper, but her teeth tore from the wound. The great pressure of his massive paw against her chest threatened to crush her ribs, and she drew short painful breaths.
She lost her hold and he forced her to the cave floor, one paw on her neck, the other on her chest. She writhed and wriggled, but only exhausted herself.
Above her, his teeth gleamed and his eyes burned. His jaw dropped far down, exposing the full and terrible length of his fangs. He lowered his head, and she felt the hard curve against the pulsing of her throat. His claws drove into her to hold her still as he reared his head back for the killing downslash.
“Ratha!” The scream filled the cave. From the corner of her eye, she saw the circle of herders give way as someone burst through. She grunted at the sudden impact of a body hurtling on top of her own and felt scrabbling claws as Fessran’s smell washed over her.
Ratha caught a glimpse of Shongshar’s fangs driving down toward her; then Fessran heaved and jerked. She felt the shock as Shongshar struck and heard the shriek of teeth against bone. She wrenched herself out from beneath them as a dismayed hiss welled up from those watching.
In her blurred sight, Shongshar lifted his reddened fangs from the body of the Firekeeper who had once been her friend.
“I bare my throat to you again, Ratha,” Fessran whispered, rolling her head to look up at her. “Forgive my foolishness.”
A sudden commotion broke out near the fire. One of the Firekeepers guarding Thakur recoiled from his slash. Using the moment of confusion to break free, he streaked across the cave floor to Ratha.
“Run!” he cried. She gave Fessran one last, despairing look and plunged after Thakur as he passed her. They dashed out of the cavern, down the gallery, and were out in the sunlight before roars and howls broke from the cave behind them.
Thakur rushed to the stream that spilled from the base of the falls, leaping from rock to rock until he was nearly lost in the spray. She followed, fighting to keep her footing on slick stones. He ran downstream and leaped onto the bole of a tree that leaned out from the steep slope rising before them. She sprang up behind him and together they bounded through the brush until they reached the crest of the hill.
“That should confuse them,” Thakur panted, looking back. “They’ll think we took the trail.”
Ratha was too numb to hear his words. She still seemed to feel the shock and shudder as Fessran took the strike meant for her. Softly she moaned her friend’s name aloud.
“Ratha,” Thakur said. “Ratha, there’s no hope for her. Even if he hasn’t killed her, she will die soon. Those fangs went deep.”