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 conquest.”
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
