Then he understood, for once he had seen the Great Sea.
The moon called the sea to her, causing it to rise on the beaches. The sea broke in waves, twice a day, retreating in between. But beyond this the new sea filling was still sloshing like a wine cup set too hard upon a table. When both forces joined, the water ate more land.
Here, though, the New Sea narrowed in a long indentation caused by the river’s former valley. It was quite deep further along, and looked like a water funnel. When water was poured into a funnel…
The moon poured all the water of the sea into that small funnel twice a day. It rushed higher and deeper up the long valley, tumbling rocks, disturbing growth, ripping mud from the ground. Nor would it move in waves; there was nowhere for it to go with the weight of a sea behind it. It would stay here, retreating slowly over a quarter day, gradually releasing back into that long bay. The reeds and grass would look scoured by flood, but the rocks would remain upstream and tumbled, in odd contrast.
He realized that as the sea continued to rise, this whole plain to the mountains could flood. It would become impassable, and make a great strategic barrier against attack.
It was even possible some of these foothills would become islands.
“Let us go,” Hril Aris said with a faint smile. “We have seen what we need.”
If they could move the clan across it soon, they would have a sea to protect their rear.
It certainly was lush, Buloth thought. The rains greened things up tremendously. They also cooled it down somewhat. Hopefully, that would change once the New Sea was full. For now, he kept a wrap over his shoulders, and ate nuts for the fat. Tonight he’d have another warm fire and tasty meat. He had to eat almost as much as a mammal did in this climate.
The soarers said there were Mrem to the east, and moving west. That was serious. It was his territory, not even mapped yet, and the vermin were moving in. He praised the flying beasts, bid them wait their time, and find out more. There were also Mrem in the south, trying to move into this territory.
Buloth enjoyed the campaign. He could feel his mindpower increasing with practice, and he was grateful to his father for this opportunity. As they advanced, he drew in more animals, a few stray workbeasts, and even the population of a small village by a stream, all to add to his army. At times, he could even feel insects and snakes drawing to him. He rewarded his fighters by causing many rodents and digging lizards to stand up and wait to be harvested. He’d learned that well-fed slaves were happy slaves. He attributed his gains in power in part to that. His father was frugal to the point of stinginess, and kept them hungry. Distractions like hunger, though, weakened the grip on their mind. There was a positive side of that as well, though. He had no desire to be mind-linked to a slave upon its death.
Later that day he did feel the ugly touch of Mrem to the east, scrabbling through the hills. They were refugees from the river valley into the Bottomlands, distressed, tired, sore and hungry. That would make them hard to manage. However…
Yes, they’d eat well on the rats he’d just suggested present themselves. That would settle them down in a camp for a time. He determined where to the east they were, and maneuvered the army that direction. Their camp would make a convenient place for his army to rest, after he incorporated them.
The trunklegs turned in that direction, and he decided to take a nap in the swaying carriage, atop the fluffy mammal-hide mattress he’d brought.
Nrao Aveldt received the scouts in his home, and made sure they were offered good refreshments, of grer brew, honeyed mottlecoat livers, and less rich, overbearing fare, like the delicate graygull stewed in arosh marrow and water.
They sat at his bidding, drank copious amounts of brew in guzzle rather than lap, followed by even more herbed drink. He didn’t mind. They needed water and energy and salts. Formal manners were for formal occasions. This was about information. He let them make a start on replenishing their withered hides while he called for Ingo and Tckins.
The scouts were eager to report, but did so between mouthfuls of soup and meat.
Hril Aris pointed at the spot on the map with his spoon and said, “The water rises, slower, but steadily. It occurs to me that as the ground flattens and widens, the rise will be slower, but it doesn’t mean the far flooding is less.”
As he limped in the door, Ingo said, “That is correct. I am awaiting an architect with measuring sticks to return from the coast near the Great Flood. That will tell us more.”
The other scout, Flirsh Arst, added, “All is chaos. The sea also comes and goes.” He indicated the movement with his hands.
Ingo said, “That is the tide. As the moon circles overhead, it draws water up toward it. It should be a footlength or so different, but that can matter in the marshes. Perhaps being a new sea the tides are stronger?”
Tckins Mestri said, “It is more than that in the narrow valley here,” he pointed at the map. “This used to be Cracked Mountain Pass. Now it is a stream, as Hril Aris has said, and water beats against the rise twice a day.”
Ingo said, “Yes, with nowhere to go to spread out, the water must splash high, much like in a bathing tub.”
Tckins Mestri agreed, “Any advance will have to work around it, higher up the mountains or around, or time the approach carefully. It’s like a flash flood in the desert hollows, twice each day.”
Nrao Aveldt tapped his chin with a claw. “This interests me greatly. It’s a predictable barricade we can hide behind and sally from, that can’t be removed. It’s intermittent, but impenetrable during that time.” And more than that, he thought.
“We will find more,” Hril Aris said eagerly. He and Flirsh Arst were justifiably proud of the information that they had brought home. Nrao Aveldt nodded.
“Please. An accurate schedule is most desirable,” Nrao Aveldt added.
“At once,” the Mrem scouts agreed.
They drew on the map and told of their observations, then Nrao Aveldt gave them leave to go rest.
“You serve well,” he said, placing a hand on the shoulders of each of them. “We will all be grateful to you.”
Once the scouts departed, the clan leader grinned to himself, and scratched his ear in thought. He sent a messenger for Talonmaster Rscil. It was time. Aedonniss had given them the tools they needed.
He turned to his son, Nef, watching from his favorite bench.
“Do you see what I do, young one?”
Nef was maturing quickly. He’d sat still for most of the council.
“Father, the water has power. If it moves rocks, can be harnessed to move rocks for us, or to cut more ground.”
Leader of the Three Fangs Clan Nrao Aveldt was proud of his son’s insight. “Yes, cutting ground is what I have in mind for now, and moving rocks later.”
Then, with no one around for the moment, he grabbed the boy in a tussle. They laughed and snarled and sweated until the day’s scribe rumbled a reminder. They sat back and recovered their breathing.
“Scribe, you may take a break for an eighth. I thank you.”
“Thank you, Clan Leader. I will return.” The Mrem bowed slightly and walked out.
Hress Rscil arrived, dusty from training. Yet another reason less formality was good. There was no delay while his talonmaster cleaned and put on a polished harness. He took Rscil and led him to a bench in the corner of the enclosure.
“Hress Rscil, this is in private, because I have a most exciting strategy in mind…”
Talonmaster Hress Rscil was pleased with how the long march was going, given that they were leaving the Veldt forever. He was not a sentimental Mrem, but he had felt a pang turning his back on their home for the last time. From that moment forward, they would be strangers anywhere they went.