The drums were abandoned, and it was clear that Cmeo Mrist and three of her senior Dancers were holding the rest together.
The clan’s drillmasters at either end, realizing communication was impossible and seeing opportunity, began enveloping, their claws going from folded back to arcing around. That slowly put more blades against fewer Liskash, and the Mrem clambered over the bleeding green and tan enemy bodies. That also disrupted the lines, but that was for a positive reason.
Suddenly the talonmaster saw more coming. A lot more. On the crest of a hill ten long javelin throws away, another thick rank of spear-armed Liskash waved and shouted in their guttural, hissing equivalent of speech. With every clan warrior already engaged, there was nothing left to stop these new enemies from sweeping behind and trapping the entire clan. Or worse yet, slaughtering those of the clan who were too weak to fight and were waiting in the distant wagons.
“By the flanks arch back and fall back! ” Rscil shouted. “ Arch back and fall back! First Claw slow backstep!” The talonmaster took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult. “First Claw slow backstep. Everyone hold the line!” Others picked up the shout, and with dignified poise, the claws on both ends of the clan drew back, never turning away from the new force of Liskash. This formed a deep V as the center retreated faster than the flanks.
Whoever was commanding the Liskash must have realized what the formation was doing. As they reached the clan position, parts of the new Liskash force tried to get behind the V, but that meant running at an angle through the rush of their own fighters. That helped to disrupt the entire mass of charging Liskash. As they were hit by darts and confused, it became apparent that the Liskash warriors were simply not skilled enough to complete the maneuver. Nearly all turned to fight along the insides of the V.
The clan continued to draw back. The Dancers formed into two clumps, one each side of the point of the V, and moved smoothly back, a good distance behind the warriors.
At least the retreating claws had left a good crop of bodies for the scaly beasts and their lord to consider.
By the time the enemy reinforcements reached the place where the battle had been, the retreat was four hundredlengths back and still moving, still leaving a lot more dead lizards than Mrem, and stable in movement. The second force of Liskash attacked. It halted before even reaching the battlefield. Those who had been attacking the claws hesitated and desultorily retreated, just turning and bumbling off. A few darts and javelins took a few more in the back, until the drillmasters ordered a halt to it.
“Hold javelins!” The First Claw’s drillmaster shouted. The cry was immediately taken up by the others.
“Why?” a warrior yelled back. “There’s more of these overgrown pests to kill!”
“We’ll need them for another battle, lad!” the drillmaster bellowed.
The warriors shrugged. One of them stooped to the dusty ground and came up with a fist-sized rock. He heaved that at the retreating Liskash. A lizard caught it in the back of the head and sprawled face first on the ground. The Mrem’s fellows cheered and felt for more stones.
While not as effective as edged weapons, the rocks did cause a certain amount of damage. Several casualties were inflicted before the staggering Liskash were out of range. And, the barrage of stones made the warriors, many wounded and all reeking of Liskash blood, feel better.
It was a grueling march back to the wagons and fort, but the claws were left in peace, for the moment.
Buloth was delighted, lounging on his comfortable bed in the fading light. He’d lost slaves, yes, but he’d beaten back this force of individuals. Most amusing that they thought lining up in rows would match the power of his mind. It organized them, but they gave up some of their vaunted independence. More than his own slaves gave up; all he cared was that they attacked the enemy. How they chose to do so was their problem. These creatures, though, had voluntarily crippled themselves, and relied on shouted voice orders.
It might take several battles, but the outcome was inevitable. The stronger mind-his-would win and acquire more slaves.
Thinking of that, he tried to tally old slaves, new slaves, and any casualties. He could feel the latter whimpering and hurting, but lacked the strength to twist them into death. They’d just have to suffer, so he shut them from his mind. Surviving slaves were down a bit. That was annoying. Buloth wondered if it were possible to count casualties in the even lines of the mammals. He’d remember that for next time.
Meanwhile, he should regroup his force, feed them enough to carry on, and then advance on the furry beasts again.
This whole venture of developing his own godhold was quite exciting, and very informative. He shivered in anticipation that once done with his he might even be on terms with his father.
Mutal wouldn’t matter, nor even hinder, if Buloth managed to absorb his father’s holding. When the old Liskash died or was frail, his slaves were Buloth’s for the taking. Then a simple advisory to his younger brother that he was assuming the minds should do it. There wouldn’t even be a need for fighting. Yes, that was a good plan.
With that settled, it was time to quickly crush these encroaching creatures and secure as much space and as many minds as possible, both for the prestige, and for the practice.
But first, dinner. He’d vowed to roast a Mrem. Now would be the time. He called his cook.
Hress Rscil’s tent was imposing in presence, even being no larger than the others. Perhaps it was the finer weave of the russet-colored fabric, or the small but comfortable and beautifully carved benches. Perhaps it was the guests, or just the presentation, but those within felt a sense of awe.
They had much to discuss. They were alive, with some casualties and low morale. That was first. Cmeo Mrist, Rscil and Scout Hril were all dusty and worn, but alert and waiting.
“I will start with my assessment,” Rscil said, not ungently. “It was bad, but to be fair, not terrible. The Dancers panicked when battle joined, recovered somewhat and stayed out of the way. Obviously, we could not practice real combat beforehand. Cmeo Mrist?”
The priestess looked somewhat embarrassed. Her whiskers slicked back and her ears lay against her skull. The tip of her tail twitched back and forth.
“Yes, they were scared and are. I saw the warriors stuck behind them, but couldn’t move fast enough to help clear the way. It did not go as we had hoped.”
“What do you suggest?”
“More practice is needed,” she said without hesitation.
He was impressed. She asked no respite, but was eager to press on. Was it safe to do so, though?
He said, “I don’t dismiss the idea, but I insist on proven tactics for future battles. Let the Dancers be close to the rear-they proved comfortable in that position-and let my warriors have their cohesive mass.”
Cmeo Mrist said, “Hress Rscil, I understand your caution, but we are less effective further away. We must make this work.” She gripped her tail to avoid fidgeting, and her ears betrayed agitation. She felt that strongly about it.
“With respect, I saw no effect to speak of. Morale was higher than normal, but much of that was taken away in the confusion. Then a number of warriors rushed to worry about the females instead of the fight, exactly as I warned.” He finished and braced for the return.
Cmeo Mrist was remarkably calm in response.
“Hress Rscil, how many did we lose to the thought stealing of the Liskash?”
“Why, none, that I’m aware of.”
“Very well, it has worked that much,” Cmeo Mrist concluded.
Rscil said, “That was with Dancers in the rear, as I propose.”
“I prefer that they stay with the warriors. We will train them not to hamper the battle.”
“We will see,” Rscil said.
