Chapter 34 – Testing
“Keep close together”, cautioned Winter to his troops. They continued at an easy trot over the rough terrain. He led them directly towards the heart of the Black Hole. A gibbous moon hung overhead giving them a fair amount of light to navigate by. Winter kept them to the soft sandy bits where possible, and where the terrain might hide them.
“Nacre”, Winter called to her, seeing her head dart around suddenly. “What did you hear?”
She continued to listen intently. “I heard some rocks tumble. It may have been ones we disturbed.”
“It may have been”, said Winter. “What do you think?”
“I think we have picked up a tail”, she said. He nodded to her to elaborate. “Twice we have definitely seen Forsaken. Given how fast they fell on us before when we discouraged their scout, it would only make sense for them to keep tabs on us.”
“But”, said Winter, “given their tenacity, why haven't they mobilized a unit to attack us yet? It's been much longer than last time.”
Nacre thought. Now that they were on their own, free of obligations and baggage, Winter was treating the whole thing like a classroom. He varied between sounding like an old fish herder passing on knowledge to a bunch of sprats, and sounding like Penelope lecturing them on Triton architecture. “I do not know”, Nacre finally admitted.
Winter nodded. “That's fine. You do not have complete information. Let me add to that.” He picked a direction and waved them into motion again. “What I was able to learn when we visited the mess tent was that The Forsaken have broken into four main raiding parties. This means two things.” Winter counted on his fingers. “First, there are going to be fewer of them in the center. I figure they've little nostalgia for their prison and it's probably stripped of resources. Second, at worse the four divisions mean four separate chains of command. At best they mean mutually antagonistic factions. Either way, by steering a course right along the boundary of the two groups, and straight for the middle of their territory, I figured we should meet minimal resistance.”
Heads around him nodded. Smiles flickered over faces. They gained a spring in their step. Winter watched this closely. It was almost like when he had finished an intense body language lesson from his mother. For a moment, it was as if he could read people's minds. But then he forgot.
Not this time. Whatever knowledge Conscience had put in his brain had stuck. He could see and gauge each of these people. He had known them all his life, but only distantly. Now he felt like he had been best friends with each and every one of them for a lifetime. He could sense when his instructions sunk in, and when they did not. Alternative explanations just floated to the surface. Just from the way they tensed their muscles, he could predict how they would react to any force around them.
It was time to test that out.
He looked to the terrain. In a similar way, he saw the land differently now. Each feature leaped out at him with the knowledge of how many could hide behind it, the best way to align forces with it, and how it might be used tactically.
At least three people were tailing them. Two together, and one separately. The two had sent off a runner who had returned, so he also knew reinforcements would be on their way. Some of this he knew through obvious clues like when they stepped on loose rocks he placed. Other information was just derived from what made sense given the terrain and positioning.
There was going to be a confrontation. Better he chooses when and where, rather than leave it up to them. He ran up a nearby ridge and scanned the surroundings. Just a bit ahead he saw the perfect spot. It was built for ambushes. And, if they headed directly towards it, there was no way the enemy could resist ambushing them there. If everything he had been told was true, they had probably ambushed people there countless times over the centuries.
“Over this way”, said Winter, rejoining the group. “And lets slow down a bit and have a walking rest. Pass around the water.”
His troops did so and he smiled. They were bait. They all were. And he was going to dangle himself right in front of their noses in the most tempting way possible. If he created an irresistible opportunity, he knew exactly how his enemy would react.
Something stirred within Winter at the thought of the upcoming battle. A day ago he would have been anxious and threatened by placing his friends in danger. He was their liege; their protector. It was his job to protect them by putting himself in harm's way, not them. But his horizon had expanded. His vision now saw beyond the immediate next move. Looking at it that way, to enable them to protect themselves tomorrow, he had to put them in danger today. The more controlled the situation, the less real risk there was. And the better learning opportunity it presented.
When the attack finally came, Winter was almost disappointed in the predictability of it. With a quick command he sent the main body of Tritons into close formation to the side. That evaded the main volley of light spears. A cast from his own spear deflected two more and a mid-air kick from him intercepted the last.
Wasting no time the Forsaken charged from several directions. Some with clubs, others with spears. Winter quickly worked out those that were the major threats, and those that had some infirmity or injury that was holding them back. He feinted towards the second most dangerous cluster and leaped to attack the most dangerous one.
Two quick strokes lowered the most dangerous threat several notches, and a blast of lightning furthered the dispersal of the number two problem. He ducked and rolled back to see how his troops were doing.
They held together like a finely crafted puzzle. Winter had placed the least likely to bolt in the positions that were easiest to flee from and the less doughty in their shelter. Consequently they kept the strongest advice he had given them: stick together.
The Forsaken who had made it that far were harassing them soundly, but there were, roughly, three tridents to each spear, and they were holding their own, to their surprise.
Winter wormed between combatants like they were standing still. A thrust to cut sinew here, slowing the hell bent attacks of one. Grabbing another with the barbs of his spear there, throwing off where the warrior thought it was going to be just enough to create an opening for the Tritons to take advantage of. Then, he dialed Gungande up to full extension and took out one of the shambling horrors twenty feet away, giving pause to the others closing in.
With a strong voice Winter started to sing. It was a simple song celebrating the return of the mackerel season. He's never sung it before, but he had heard it often enough. It was a happy song celebrating simple pleasures. It fit how he felt. Culling the warriors before him just enough to provide a challenge to his troops, but not a threat, was simple. Seeing his people put his lessons into action, and their skills and self-confidence blossom was a pleasure. The song reassured them. If their commander had time, energy and confidence to sing, then everything must be going right.
And everything did go right. The tide turned several times. Whenever the Tritons got the upper hand, Winter withdrew a little more, tilting things back in favor of the Forsaken. And, creating one irresistible opportunity after another, the undead warriors didn't break and run at any point. They always did seem to be on a verge of winning. Winter sensed they were well used to battling to the last fighter anyway.
Finally, where there were but three left, Winter strode back into the center and offered them the right of single combat. He didn't speak their language, but he didn't have to. They understood each other well enough.
Winter surveyed his troops and chose the three he thought would learn most from the experience. Like an instructor at a martial arts academy, he conducted each fight. He did not intervene, except just as a Triton was about to receive a fatal blow. Then, with a jab of Gungande he spoiled the shot. But, in fairness, he declared the Forsaken the winner and let it run off with a salute. Two Tritons lost in this way but since they had acquitted themselves well, there was no shame in it. They all seemed buoyed by the experience and a cheer went up from them when the fi
eld was clear.
“Good job my friends”, praised Winter, “Good job.” He beamed at them and clashed his spear against each of their tridents in triumph. “Let’s take to that promontory over there and take a break. You all deserve it.”
Food was passed around, and more water. Drinking was a bit of a novelty to them, and they were as happy to just splash it over themselves. Since they were the magic water skins of Romitu, there was no end to it. They all talked animatedly about the battle and congratulated each other on the maneuvers they had performed.
Winter ran them through, step by step, how it had progressed from start to finish. Each clash and exchange of blows he commented on, praising good moves, but always suggesting better ones. He confessed to setting them up, but they readily forgave him.
They were his now. Winter saw that through and through. Before, many of them would have done what he asked. But out of a fatalistic sense of duty and hope. But now they did not hope any more. They believed in him. Completely and without reservation.
A small part of Winter felt dirty. He had manipulated them into this. Was it really honest if it was so constructed? But the greater part of him felt that he had given them real experiences. And what they felt as a result of that was as real as it could get.
For the first time since ascending the throne of the Northern Seas, he really felt like it was his. Before he had striven to do his duty and the best for his foster people. But always with the knowledge that, when really put to the test, he would not be up to it. Bullied and beaten for most of his life, kept from his mother and mostly ignored by a foster father, he was just not the right material. But now, he had taken a group of his people, equally unsuited to the task set them, and helped them succeed at it. That's what a leader did. And it felt good doing it.
All he had to do was to keep doing it.
Black Warrior Page 34
