Hril said, “I have a little favorable news to add.”
“Yes, Hril Aris?” the talonmaster asked, his ears betraying his curiosity.
The scout stood and paced, tail twitching. “Talonmaster, Priestess. First, let me offer that this godling of theirs appears inexperienced. He let his warriors loose enough to retreat, with no thought for gleaning or the wounded. I have other scouts and a few teamsters recovering javelins, swords, harness, and there are some wounded we can treat. We have mercied several, and there will be more. When convenient, we also mercied the Liskash wounded, regardless of their condition. I feel pity for them as slaves, but have no desire to friend such creatures. Their javelins, also, are being taken to the bronzewrights to be straightened and sharpened. We will use them. Some arosh and arogar have been butchered. I included yours, Talonmaster. With no disrespect to fine animals, but they are meat.” He bowed slightly.
Hress Rscil said, “Of course. I would expect no less.” A fine scout, and a potential Master of some kind. Hril Aris’s pupils swelled with the compliment.
“Thank you. Also, just before this council, we sighted eight and four Mrem who were held by the Liskash. They fled west and slightly north, back toward the New Sea.”
“They broke the mindbinding?”
“Yes, apparently when our retreat started.”
Cmeo Mrist said, “When our voice was surest. As I predicted.”
Hril twitched as Rscil leaped to his feet, but it was not a threat.
Instead, the talonmaster said, “Cmeo Mrist, we will drill our warriors and our Dancers so that we do better next time.”
Rscil knew it would not be quite so easy, but he would take the risk. He, all of them, would be remembered for generations once this was done. He only hoped it wasn’t as spectacularly brave failures.
Cmeo Mrist raised herself tall and said, “Talonmaster, as if things are not complex enough, it seems the Dancers can fight if they must, without weakening their voice, as long as they are in the formation.”
“Yes, we have agreed,” he said. What was she leading to?
She seemed a bit hesitant as she said, “How many javelins have we recovered from the Liskash?”
That was a striking notion.
“I see we must drill the Dancers as well.”
The warriors were not entirely happy with the decision to continue with the Dancers. They let it be known. Drillmasters reported hearing angry comments from their fists of warriors, and voiced their own complaints.
On the one fist, Hress Rscil understood both their need to release anger after the battle, and their frustration at a formation broken, with fellows left dead. Some two eights had been succored and would probably live, though many would never be fit to fight. Eight other eights and three had either died, or needed mercy. There would be other battles, and they were only two thousand and a few.
On the other, it must be driven to the haft that they were bound together.
Hress Rscil called the claws to order. “If you are unhappy, you may walk back to our steading in defeat. The warriors will remain for our glory. We’ll wait to begin practice until those who wish to leave have gone.”
The complaints quieted to mutters, and there was much shuffling, some bristling, and flattened ears. None wished to abandon the others, nor bear the shame attached. It was also clear there was no retreat, except as a whole. Individuals wouldn’t manage the trip, except a few hardy scouts, all of whom stood with Hress Rscil. They could form parties, but what if they were attacked, to then die unknown in shame and ignominy? And if this campaign were successful, what chances would they have of mates and land?
He and Cmeo Mrist watched from his chariot, led by two precious replacement arogar. The practice, no doubt spurred by the threat of disgrace, was much more vigorous, and the Dancers moved with urgency.
A drillmaster shouted, “Step aside!” and the Dancers gathered in pairs, leaving gaps for supporting warriors to use. It was also hoped this would be their default movement if agitated, with enough practice.
Gree took over, ordering, “Advance!” and the supports flowed through the Dancers, who resumed their normal spacing.
“Retreat!” “Flank right!” “Flank left!” “Envelope!”
Rscil watched with satisfaction tempered by caution. They knew the moves, and with better relay through the fist leaders, the orders propagated across the field in heartbeats. It was going much better since they understood the faults of the first attempt.
Cmeo Mrist said, “I am more confident, now that they’ve seen battle.”
“Only a little,” he said. “I wonder what will happen the first time one dies.”
The Dancer hesitated. Her lovely eyes turned sad. “I don’t know.”
“Pardon me if I seem brusque. There’s some increase in resentment, given that the Dancers were in some part a hindrance, while suffering no harm. Even the benefit of spells is hard for a warrior to grasp and see.”
“I understand,” she replied. “How did the retreat go? It seemed to me to be orderly.”
“Surprisingly so. The Dancers moved well enough, and the warriors were busy focusing on line and fighting.”
“I felt the Liskash was happy with it. We retreated from him. It built his ego.”
He felt rage fill him as it had not at the end of the battle. “Is this something you see as a positive?” he snapped. “Because I don’t feel the benefit.”
Cmeo Mrist laid a long, very soft paw on his arm. “Please bear with me for a moment, Hress Rscil. I need information.”
“Go on,” he prompted, corralling his temper.
“How did our casualties do in retreat?”
“If I understand your question, we gave a lot more than we took, but there was very little succor for those we had to leave.”
“Would a further advance have meant more?”
“For us? Yes. For the enemy? It’s hard to say. Cursed Liskash don’t retreat as they should, and killing them seems to only lead to more of them.”
“What if we planned to retreat?”
He flared his nose, ears and eyes at that, then considered the question as a matter of strategy.
“I think I see,” he said. “We face off, take a smash, fight an orderly retreat killing as many as we can. We stay cohesive, and the scaly godling believes he is doing well.”
Cmeo Mrist’s eyes danced eagerly. “Could we repeat it?”
Rscil considered. “Possibly. If we could fake an actual panic…”
“How often must we do it, or can we do it, to even the odds?”
It shook him from his pondering. He took a breath of the rich, fresh air and remembered the story he had heard.
“Oh, that. That’s not the goal. The goal is to get near the godling and kill him, which destroys the entire army’s will to fight. Our task is to protect the clan as they move along the shore. We will all meet up in good time.”
“Does that mean a concerted thrust?”
He tensed and felt his fur fluff. “There is a specific plan for that, but it is not for sharing. I require that you not try to read it from me.” He bristled his whiskers and hoped she’d comply. Now was not the time for any such intimacy.
“I understand your caution. Of course I would do no such thing.” Rscil chided himself for not trusting her. She was diplomatic, and honest, and a fine companion.
He said, “So let us continue to improve the legend.”
Upon next daybreak, the warriors were in much better spirits, and slivers of sweetened dried fat for breakfast boosted their morale. They’d worked hard in attack formation, and been praised.
That changed when drill started. The first few practice retreats were accepted and went well. Obviously, it was important to be able to disengage.
However, with each iteration, the fidgeting and fluffing of fur increased.
