by S. M. Stirling, Harry Turtledove, Jody Lynn Nye, John Ringo; Michael Z. Williamson
The younger warriors used the large bronze tube hammer to set their stakes into the rampart, and the fist leaders followed along, each with their rope and thong, lashing them into a solid defense. The wagons, their wheels blocked, made a defensive inner circle. A large, frontal assault might still overwhelm the post, especially if the attacker was willing to trample his own warriors, but it would give enough time to mount and depart, or at least flee on foot. The wagons were left packed, and items only withdrawn as they became essential.
It was tough, panting work, and might have to be done several times, but it would leave them with a trail of defensible positions. All Nrao Aveldt’s group would have to do to augment it was drive their own stakes in the existing rampart.
That done, watches were set, well-hidden firepits dug for food, and latrines cut to drain downslope, rendering those areas even less approachable. If there was time, more earthworks and stakes might go in. It was not nearly as good as a stone castle, but stronger than the natural terrain.
Once done with that, they rested a day. Progress would be slow. Clan Leader Nrao Aveldt’s neighbors would laugh at this, as they had at many of his practices in the past. They’d prefer to rush headlong. Nrao and Rscil preferred to minimize risks. Those left in camp would be charged with reinforcing it daily until no longer needed, starting with more earth, then adding any rocks or timbers they found.
* * *
Buloth took great delight in the acquisition, or near-acquisition, of more slaves for his army. He was somewhat nervous, and fought not to let it show in front of his senior servants. Ahead were the Mrem escaping from the Hollow Lands, numbering some two hundred. He cautioned his lead slaves to restrain themselves, and they simply trudged over the landscape, like the mindless beasts all non-Liskash were. He prodded his drivers and beasts to move ahead, to give him range. He sat back in his padded seat aboard the trunklegs and patted his hands together in gleeful anticipation.
One hundred and ninety was his improved estimate. A little closer.
It was exciting. He could feel their minds, feel them becoming distinct entities, and knew they were unaware of him. They were beyond that next ridge. Some suggested they were on watch, but they were not atop it yet. He knew of them, they not of him. He grinned.
Suddenly it clarified in his mind, like melted sandglass. One hundred and eighty-eight exactly. Three of them approached the crest of the ridge. He continued to approach but focused on them. They were near the peak, he could feel their unease and then…he had them. He felt for the symbols, but could make nothing of their harsh, unorganized language. He pushed what he needed, though, and one of them turned and signaled below. Then they began back down.
A little while later, he felt the minds of the others in his circle. He stretched out, felt a mass shriek of panic and fear, then a huge swell as their minds fell under his. It was almost sexual, the warm flood of power and anguish, and then they were his. They could not withstand him. They must see their new master!
His beasts topped the ridge, he looked down on his new vassals. The dull eyes of the Mrem refugees stared up at him. It was not the welcome he would have liked, but he loved the sensation that all the creatures he could see belonged to him. With a casual hand, he suggested his army build its camp for the night around his new charges.
To drive home the point, he set the filthy furbags to work digging cesspits.
Buloth could feel his power growing day by day. It was a combination of practice and distance from his father. That made sense and also proved the need to set his own godhold a safe remove from Oglut’s domain. They could be allies. They could not be cohabitants. The weaker Liskash didn’t matter; he could control them if he wished, or ignore them to their peace. Only a few were worthy of godhood, though, and while they must mate to keep the lines pure, otherwise, distance was needed.
He’d been directed northerly, and there were allegedly Mrem that way. He wasn’t keen on north. North was cold, and hard on people. However, it was now a lot more moderate, and humid, than the previous time he’d been here with his father. It seemed to be true the weather was changing with the New Sea. He’d have to make sure to see it, after he secured a godhold. He’d have to go to it to assuage his curiosity, he thought wryly. Creatures would take his orders. The sea would not.
A few more gis of distance should be enough for now. That would put him beyond the Low Mountains, and create an easy border at a safe distance. He could always relocate his capital at a later date. The labor was free, after all.
He pondered the power his mind gave him, to take peripheral information from entire gis away, if one of his slaves saw something, and then to integrate it into his plans. The future belonged to Liskash.
It was at that moment that he saw a flash of a Mrem wagons, well within the borders of his godhold. Buloth growled and grew tense, and sought the source of the vision. There. That one, and through it he saw the filthy creatures had even constructed a crude fortification, of sticks and mud. Somewhat like ants they were, but far too clever for stupid beasts.
He flicked a finger in their direction. That excrescence would have to be dealt with at once.
He directed the slaves to abandon their digging and walk. If he was satisfied with their progress, they could eat tonight.
* * *
In a crack in a grassy hillside littered with fractured rocks, Hril Aris felt the vile punch of Buloth’s mind. He focused on the grass in front of him, absorbing its smell, its color, its springy coils, fighting to be one with the grass, not that mind. It worked. He wasn’t enslaved.
To his surprise he realized he had gained information from that brief but intrusive touch. He knew that mind was sending a large army toward them, based on something seen by a creature in thrall to it. That spy had to be one of the browsing pebbleskins they’d passed earlier, or even one of the leatherwings drifting overhead in lazy circles, may Aedonniss curse them. Given all that, it would be best to wait for dark for him and Flirsh Arst to move. The reptiles were not only slow and cold, they couldn’t see in darkness, either.
He gestured to Flirsh, and they both crawled deeper into the crevice to await the night.
It took all their training not to panic. Their fur fluffed in fear as well as for warmth, and they huddled like kits. Hril listened and felt the thud of footsteps. He lost count of the number of reptilians who came past, from little scavengers to herd beasts to adult, armed Liskash in singles and small groups. Even a trio of bedraggled, half-starved Mrem caught in the spell wandered not far enough away for comfort. He and Flirsh didn’t speak, but he knew they were both terrified of winding up just so—brainless, pitiable slaves of a scaled monster. He wasn’t sure if it would be better to rescue those Mrem or kill them in mercy. All he and Flirsh had were knives and hand axes, though, for food and shelter.
Eventually, dusk gave way to darkness. They eased themselves out of the crack in the rock, and he led the way, fur stiff and heart thrumming, in a low, silent slink between rocks and tufts, toward the distant fortification, which didn’t feel as safe now.
After a few hundredlengths of aching muscles and grueling fear, he deemed it safe to rise and walk erect. When he was sure there were no other creatures about, they ran.
* * *
Hress Rscil received two panting, dirty scouts, and served them bowls of water and a plate of soft meats at once. They guzzled and lapped the water, and smacked down the meat between comments.
Hril Aris said, “The Liskash approach, or at least their slaves. Too many reptiles to count. A trio of starven Mrem. Eights of small beasts, with that look of mindless focus.”
“How far away are they?”
While Hril Aris drank some more, Flirsh Arst said, “Over the next hills. They will arrive within two days, if they continue this way.”
“You didn’t feel the spell?”
Hril nodded. “We felt it. We avoided it by thinking like plants. It felt angry, focused. I believe he knows we are here. He intends conques
t.”
Rscil flattened his ears.
“That was inevitable, but perhaps it’s a little early. Still, the world is what Aedonniss decrees. We will get to try our new tactics soon, it seems.”
It was then that a distant shout was relayed by a closer watch. “Liskash are sighted on the hill!”
The scouts rose, but Hress Rscil gestured for them to stay. “Drink, eat, sit a few breaths. Your bravery is needed again, but I would have you in best health.”
He turned and stepped out of the tent to give orders.
* * *
When Hress Rscil shouted “Form up!” Cmeo Mrist shivered in thrill and fear. This was it. They were going to test her belief that Aedonniss’ dance and chant would protect them from reptile mind magic. If she was wrong, they would all be filthy slaves of a filthy lizard. If she was correct, they only had to fight for their lives against them. She gathered her females together, waking a few from sleep.
Many of the Dancers were agitated, and their smell, fur and ears reflected that. A few even lashed their tails in fear.
“Hurry now!” she cajoled, urging them toward the sound of the talonmaster’s voice. “The warriors need us in place.” She didn’t say “Depending on us.” That seemed too heavy for the moment.
Warriors sprinted past her, with shields, javelins and swords, some with daggers and pouches, a handful with stiff leather visors against sun or stones. They fell into line surely, and with a few shuffles were in perfect formation. Despite eightdays of practice, the Dancers didn’t look nearly as neat or skilled. It was nerves. That, and perhaps Hress Rscil was right about the different ways males and females fought.
They looked it, too, with their fur and ears like that. A few warriors betrayed eagerness, or trembliness. The Dancers, though, were nervous or afraid. Cmeo Mrist had to stop that.
She waited for the initial orders from the drillmasters to echo down, then called out herself.
“Dancers, now is the time to be put your trust in Aedonniss and Assirra and the Dance. We are here to fight as warriors, to make the males even more powerful and sure. We act as their shield against the filthy mindrape of reptiles. Stand fast and ready.”
It wasn’t a bad speech, though not entirely what she’d wanted to say. Rscil had coached her carefully in how to phrase it so the warriors wouldn’t be offended. It increasingly was obvious to her that the warriors were rather sensitive Mrem, and needed constant reassurance. Still, they were expected to wade into battle and perhaps die. She would hold her tongue and phrase it to honor them, if it helped.
It did seem to work. The eldest and youngest Dancers steadied a bit, and that spread throughout the troupe. The eldest of them had some experience with violence, but the youngest had no grasp of it. In between were the many with enough knowledge to know fear, without the practice to handle it. Together, though, they had their years of training, and the eightdays of practice they had with the warriors. It might not be enough, but it would have to do. Cmeo Mrist nodded to Hress Rscil. They were ready.
He nodded back.
* * *
Buloth sat at the peak of the hill and looked below. He had an excellent vantage point of the entire valley. The terrain here was drier and coarser than farther south, due largely to this being out of the old cloud line before the New Sea. His godhold would end not far from here. Still, these filthy furred things were in his territory, and would never go away of their own accord. They were intruding now, from the desolate wastelands they spawned in.
He sat under the awning of a comfortable tent, with a bed stuffed with fluffpods and dressed in trunkleg hide, tanned to supple softness. He had a fine clusterberry wine, delicious shoots and tubers, and a delicate stew of some fast running bird his domestics had brought for him. Nothing could be finer, if he could only eliminate the rotten mammals.
It was amusing to see this stronghold of theirs, all mud and sticks and rocks. No carving, no hewn stone, no buttresses. They showed the sophistication of savages generations past, as he’d seen on a hill near his father’s capital, that had been a Liskash holding lost in the dawn of time. That was all this kind could aspire to.
Still, they might eventually learn to build, and that would be problematic. The time to eliminate a pest was when it was first found. That meant now.
He could see them frantically running around, and forming neat little squares. They really were like birds or insects in their simplicity, unable to work independently and lacking the mind to control others. He smiled faintly and pushed his army forward.
* * *
Upon boarding his chariot, Talonmaster Rscil first made sure his warriors were arrayed as they should be, then that the Dancers looked right, with Cmeo Mrist nodding approval from the ground. After that, he checked that those defending the followers on the redoubt were on the ramparts with arrows, stones and javelins, and the gates ready for instant blocking. Only then did he turn his gaze to acknowledge the enemy. It was a thought out policy, and it was also a visible display of his respect for his own and contempt for the scaly ones. He checked his own weapons by touch. He had a fistful of javelins, a heavier stabbing spear, and the bronze gripclaws he’d use up close, if any lizard survived to reach the chariot. It wasn’t wise to wish for that, but he’d enjoy it if it happened. In front of Gree was a box of heavy, weighted darts.
Up the hillside were creatures. He couldn’t tell precisely what type since they wore enveloping leather armor and helmets with spikes or crests, and clouds of dust surrounded them, but their arrangement made it clear they were organized, and therefore hostile. They were either Liskash or controlled by them.
He knew he had the best scouts because he was not surprised, knew the approximate terrain, and already had his warriors ranking up. Against that was foreign terrain with a much easier supply line for the enemy, but he’d maximized his chances.
Hress Rscil watched his warriors stand unmoving in formation, and the Dancers hold their now familiar places among them. The terrain was clear, but uneven, with rills, dunes and rises, occasional patches of scrub and a bare fistful of trees. As battlefields went, it was excellent. However, it would take maneuvering, and besides the usual unblooded warriors, there were the Dancers. He was concerned, but they could not be his first priority.
The talonmaster watched the attackers’ movements to determine their strategy. Quick was good. Planned was better. They were a loose formation, but steady at the low end of a charge as they advanced down the hill. Probably, they were at a brisk walk, and their weight and the slope pulled them forward. Loose, though, and not a proper square of ranks.
“At the pace, advance!” he ordered. Gree heard him, and tapped the chariot’s fast-running arogar into a trot. They were valuable beasts, and could speed him anywhere. These two were well-blooded and as experienced as any old soldiers.
Hress Rscil decided they might as well take the fight to the enemy. There was no advantage to waiting further, and he hoped to disrupt the obviously less well organized Liskash formation, if it could be called that. The enemy came forward in clumps and groups, but not in lines. He had to resist the urge to underestimate them, rabble but with twice the warriors he commanded. And if their lord was on the battlefield, all would be of one mind.
The talonmaster was concerned that some of the force he faced might be Mrem. There appeared to be some familiar shapes. They had fought a few of their own kind before. The enslaved Mrem all had shared the same expression of pain and horror. Most had also fought to the death. In a perfect world, Aedonniss would let those be captured alive in this battle. But to do that the clan would have to hold the field against a determined, often suicidal foe and have the time to subdue those Mrem controlled by the Liskash lord. Rscil sighed and flicked a claw. In this world, they would likely have to be killed. There would likely be no choice. His best and most veteran were in front, and some mixed among the rest. He trusted them to do what was necessary.
Still, it would not do to underestimate that force. Mor
e dust rose as they advanced, and they were on higher ground for now, coming down from the mountains. They would be motivated by whichever Liskash styled himself their “god.”
The Claw drillmasters kept up a steady, encouraging shout as they advanced, until Cmeo Mrist started her chant. In moments, the other Dancers voiced with her, and the thump of the claw’s drums soon matched those of the Dancers’ footbeats.
It was an inspiring sound. It looked…odd. Even after long practice, to see the Dancers twisting forward between paired ranks of warriors was disconcerting, and felt slightly wrong, and even unmasculine. Better than being enslaved in mid spear thrust, Rscil reminded himself. If it worked…
There were some slight ripples in the ranks as the enemy became visible. Liskash in plenty, some mounted on several eights of beasts, behind a charging wall of literal meat—herdbeasts including mottlecoats, pests, scavengers and some lupins, anything the ruling Liskash could stir up and control enough to drive forward. Yes, there were Mrem approaching too, with their body language and fur showing extreme distress. Poor creatures.
Behind them was a mass, not really a formation, of scaled Liskash. Most were spear armed. Many held round shields made of some sort of plant. The fighters stood a bit taller than the Mrem, with thick legs ending in splayed toes. Their scales were mottled, tending toward shades of gray, green, and tan. The Liskash warriors’ reptilian heads were long and ended in a long toothy mouth that on most sagged slightly open. Yellow and white teeth, sharp and longer than a claw, were visible even in the distance. Few of the Liskash wore any armor and fewer held swords. Those who rode were better equipped, carrying long lances with bronze points, backed up by two long, curved knives in leather belts.
Then the smell of the enemy mass hit him. The reeks of fear, anger, despair, anguish and the stench of unwashed bodies from enslaved Mrem and uncared-for animals all rushed up his nose. He winced, sneezed, and shook his head. The Liskash didn’t care about their slaves so their slaves did not care for themselves.
