The next morning they were afoot, moving quickly and eagerly to this New Sea, larger than any lake. At midday they reached it. Even seasoned veterans halted in wonder at the sight. Hress Rscil was as awed as the others.
Gree said, trying not to sound too eager, “Talonmaster, I propose we allow a rest and play time.”
Rscil grinned at him. “I agree. In shifts of three, an eighthday each.” Not that he didn’t think it was a fun idea himself, but he recognized it would be a distraction until they all got it out of their systems.
Then they’d move north, and try this most bold of tactics, based only on information from scouts. This was a new way of war, and he wondered how it would be fought generations hence.
Cmeo Mrist was very beautiful, erupting wet and slick from the water, her glossy black fur clinging to her form. He looked away to avoid being distracted. Perhaps after this campaign he could consider a mate, but could any female compare with one as brave and intelligent as she?
The water was turbid and lukewarm, like runoff from a camp station for watering beasts, not at all refreshing. Bits of plant floated in it, and bubbles of deep decay rose occasionally. It was shallow, except where it dropped off suddenly, this being a plain at the edge of the hills, with the former Hot Depths east and below. It took only a short time for the polish to wear off for Rscil.
He formed them back up, and had the scouts and watchers move out to clear the way. They still had a long way to go on this new route, and at least one legendary battle.
There was surprisingly little grumbling, and the break seemed to have refreshed the Mrem, as well as inspired them, with this mucky, bitter water that lapped at the land. In short order, they were moving north. He studied the narrow but obvious tidal flat. How did one decide where the land ended and sea began? Especially with the sea changing?
Rscil walked, though he could ride. Occasionally he’d mount chariot and patrol around the army, to offer encouragement. Then he’d dismount to walk again. It saved the beasts, and let every Mrem know he walked with them, not above them.
It was good that he did so. It helped keep the pace even. Stragglers would be at risk, though he did urge them to greater speed.
“Dancer, I saw you fight. This is but a walk. You are well up to it!” “Wright, you hammer bronze all day. Move that strength to your legs.” “Warrior, you don’t want to be late for the glory.”
They were in good spirits, just fatigued. A long march could do that. He kept up the encouragement and had Gree at the van slow their pace slightly. Faster was preferred, but arriving all together and fresh to fight was more pressing.
Before night, a message came from ahead. A watcher sprinted back through the lines of wagons, slowed for the approach, and came alongside Rscil.
“Talonmaster,” he said, “we have sign. Drag and trail of an army, and fresh filth marks of Liskash scouts.”
“Thank you, Arschi. I will note both and send all the scouts out.”
Indeed he would. This was almost the end.
Oglut was very, very annoyed. Mutal had been unable to secure the south against the remains of Ashala’s godholding. Several offspring warred for position, leaving the entire area a shambles of discord and starvation. It would take time to resolve, and would have to be rebuilt from the bottom. However, Mutal had marshaled his creatures and brought them back largely alive. His report indicated that much fighting went on between the new aspirants and the stray Mrem. That was something that should be left for now. They could kill each other until Oglut was ready to move on them.
It had not been a great campaign, but it hadn’t been the disaster that Buloth’s was. There were now reports from his distant eyes of two Mrem mobs near the New Sea, south of the hills and moving north. This was after the ridiculous behavior of moving west. The new environment was prime for reptiles, not the steaming, stinking furries. If he didn’t know better, it seemed as if they’d meant to conquer his territory, and now were fleeing north. There were tens of thousands of them.
If Buloth had done his job, at least one of those packs would be slaves, scattered savages or slaughtered now. Instead, there were two, and he’d have to deal with them personally. One son was a former incompetent and now corpse, the other competent but untrained.
What annoyed Oglut most was it was his own fault they lacked in such skills. Still, there’d been no way to trust them with that power until there was expansion room. Between the cool continent to the north swarming with mammalian vermin, and the two strong, warring factions to the south, there’d been nowhere to go. Now there was, but it was a mess.
He called for his beasts and handlers, and pushed the army and loose auxiliaries into movement. This would be an excessive slaughter.
Hress Rscil pushed the army on into the night. They grumbled and snarled under their breaths, but he could tell they were at least as excited about meeting with Nrao Aveldt’s force. That would make them stronger.
The original plan was for Hress Rscil to drive around the hills, north of Oglut’s city, drawing that army along. He’d have the advantage of speed and a good map they couldn’t know he had, and that would free Nrao Aveldt’s force, with the civilians, to move north unmolested. With river, sea and hills, they’d have all the terrain advantages.
Now, they had to guard Nrao Aveldt’s rear, and challenge the approaching Liskash. He hoped it would work. It had to. They still had terrain, and from scout reports, the Liskash were heading to meet them.
It was profound how this sea had changed the world. The filling of a ditch, albeit a large one, was destroying entire kingdoms not anywhere near the Hot Depths.
Shouts from ahead roused him from his musing. They’d run into the tail of Nrao’s army. Warriors sent up cheers and yelled greetings to their mates. Drillmasters had to shout them back into order, but they had smiles on their faces as well.
It took most of an eighthnight to actually find the clan leader. There were that many warriors, and Dancers, and wrights and drovers. Add in the dark and few lamps, and it was a chore. Eventually, though, he heard Nrao Aveldt’s gravelly voice nearby.
He called, “Clan Leader, I greet you.”
The golden-coated male turned suddenly, and a smile spread across his face.
“Talonmaster! Well done!”
Hress Rscil bowed his head as the failures of the last several eightdays rushed into his mind. “Not so well. We are forced to an alternate plan.”
Nrao Aveldt put a hand on his shoulder. “Still within our plans. I have your reports, but would share grer and hear first hand.”
“Certainly.”
It felt good to sit on a bench in Nrao Aveldt’s tented wagon. It was big enough for four to talk or one to sleep. The grer drove the damp and chill from Rscil with its fermented warmth. Nrao Aveldt waited patiently until he was ready to speak.
Comfortable, and with big slabs of fruit-laden dried fat at hand, Hress Rscil told his tale. Their body heat warmed the small tent, though the humidity clung to their fur.
Nrao Aveldt sipped his own drink. He was polite and attentive, and seemed eager for the upcoming fight. When Rscil finished his story, he spoke.
“I am pleased by this. You have found a tactic that will work well in this position, even better than we planned. The Dancers have proven their worth. We can beat the lizards’ mind magic and their army. I am
