Mestri trembled slightly at the question.
“I believe we can find a good position early, run wagons to small strongholds to keep them supplied, and build a solid steading. The Liskash are fighting amongst themselves. We might find a defensible position north of the hills, without needing to fight our own kind.”
“That would be good, but is not the only consideration. We must have enough people to occupy and hold the land against violent Liskash and displaced Mrem. Priestess Cmeo Mrist?”
The only female present, the priestess had the circling symbol of the Sky Lord around her neck. The bronze of the medallion stood out against her glossy black fur. She stretched out a hand. The very grace of it attracted the attention of all the males, but it was what she said that mattered. Her round, gold eyes were sincere with concern.
She spoke, “Aedonniss does not speak directly. We must infer. If this is to be a new, rich land with a broad sea to fish in, and has caused much distress for the Liskash, it is clear he is offering us an opportunity. He does not guarantee it will be easy, or successful, but I feel he wants us to try. Challenge is what makes Mrem great, over those indolent, lazy Liskash.”
Nrao Aveldt saw it, too. There was risk, though it was manageable with preparation and forethought. There was also the chance of great expansion. Rich territory, plentiful food, and perhaps a secure border against the scaly Liskash.
“Then first, I will have the wagons checked, and meat dried.”
Oglut was excited and nervous, though he’d never let the underlings know that. His fathers had built this palace of carved marble and scented wood through the power of their minds to control others. His limits had always been those who could also force others to their will. Now some of those who had lived in the lowlands were gone, or had lost their slaves. He sat on his throne and thought.
There seemed no end to the water. Where there had been rich holdings now there would be nothing. His own lands had been considered too high and cool. But now his holdings were intact and the riches he had coveted lost. Where he had once ruled at the edge of the lowlands, now he would control the far side of a new ocean. At least if it stopped rising before the whole world was flooded.
There was potential for great expansion, with Sassin and Ashala dead and their holds in tatters. Then, those accursed Mrem who had challenged them in the warm jungles were also fleeing ahead of the New Sea. Most went north to the cold lands they had been spawned in. The few heading directly west would be easy to incorporate as they reached the range of his mind. It was a silly game they played, but what could one expect of semi-sentient mammals with no mindpower? They weren’t good for much, but could serve as a buffer against other attacks, rather than waste more valuable lives.
The New Sea would also bring rain and growth. More food meant more slaves, and a finer godhold. He needed to move quickly, to secure it before someone from far south did so, or it got overrun by those accursed hairy Mrem from the north.
He pondered it all while sitting on his favorite throne, comfortably fanned by slaves, caressing the new female he had recently acquired, and occasionally sipping from a golden goblet of wine. He enjoyed his godhood. He put that aside and chose action. Yes, it was time the boys grew up.
Oglut wished for his servants to appear, and shortly they did.
“I am moving to secure the empty godholds of Sassin and Ashala, to claim the slaves and resources that they abandoned. I need my chariots and guard ready. My sons will lead the campaigns.”
Then he called his sons.
Mutal arrived, young and eager with trappings worthy of himself. He had had his scales gilded and painted in handsome colors to resemble a mosaic. His garments had been woven of the finest cocoon strands and dyed regal purple. Behind him, dull-eyed Mrem servants carried his gilded weapons and armor on plush pillows. Buloth didn’t appear at once. He was big enough now to be a slight challenge. That was another issue for Oglut to address.
He waited for Buloth, who arrived with hints of incense and sage smoke. His costly blue and yellow raiment was askew. Had the boy been breathing dimweed again?
Oglut spoke to him first.
“I have decided to annex the lands left vacant by our departed neighbors, all the way to the coast of the New Sea. Once this is done, there will be a large godhold for you, so you need not wait for my demise.”
“Thank you, Father.” The boy, now grown, didn’t seem appreciative, but smug.
Oglut frowned. Perhaps Buloth did not understand the gift he was being offered. “Rather than you fight me for control, you can have a new holding, and larger than this one. Mutal,” he said, shifting his gaze and his power to the younger male, “you will have my holding, or a large part of it, what you can control, when I am too old to rule. If we expand further, it may be larger as well.”
“Thank you, Father. It is a great offer, but I wish you long life.” The younger one, at least, was sincere.
Oglut dismissed the comment with a wave. “Of course I will live long, but I am older than you. We will plan now to secure our new lands. I will have Buloth ready at the east with an army, to expand as far as possible along the new coast against the furry pests as the weather warms. Mutal, you will go south. Success awaits us. All we need to do is be ready for it.”
His sons smiled in approval, as did he. No backstabbing or mind-forced retirement as a helpless elder needed. They could have three large holdings now, and his sons would expand after he died. If one of them died in the process, it would just mean more for the other, and for himself.
Oglut was pleased. Some of his hatchlings would die. Those who survived would have lands of their own that would take them many seasons to secure. They would have no time to turn on him and try to claim their inheritance early. And by the time they were strong, he would be much stronger.
“By the end of this season you will all be lords of your own lands,” the Liskash finished.
No need to offer them his already stable holding. He hadn’t lived this long through trust. They could create their own. Their triumphs would reinforce his own borders and set them up as shields for his realm.
If the Mrem and their beasts showed up after things were secure, they’d just make useful slaves.
The massive hide tent that served as both the residence and command center for the clan was nearly full. None could twitch their tail without hitting another. There was a strong scent off the moist fur of the nervous Mrem as those Nrao Aveldt had summoned stood and sat inside, sheltered from a light rain. The two dozen Mrem waiting were of every size, color, and type. They seemed to have nothing in common; none carried himself like a warrior. But then that was the idea. Most appeared to wear the tools of merchants or tinkers. In reality they were the eyes and ears of the clan.
All were strangers to each other. Nrao Aveldt had never before called in so many of his scouts and spies at one time. Ears and tails twitched as the normally solitary and cautious Mrem watched each other with calculating eyes. None were armed, but all labored to keep their claws sheathed.
The clan’s spies usually sent messages in code, or brought reports back after a tour of merchanting or as envoy. Rarely did they report in person and always in private. Just being known to the other put them at risk. Nrao Aveldt had ordered them all in quickly when the full extent of the water’s rise became apparent, sending replacements with the call. Those Mrem were not as experienced as the existing spies, but this was how they learned. Those who survived. Nrao Aveldt and the clan needed every fact now, but still had to keep up their guard, even at a cost.
Also, Hress Rscil’s scouts were on a steady rotation, to map the New Sea and watch for migrations. Nothing but Liskash had lived in the very bottom of the Hot Depths, but the river courses were lush and fertile, to the point where they evaporated. With the flood, a few tribes had moved north, more south, an unknown number west,
