He pondered the power his mind gave him, to take peripheral information from entire gis away, if one of his slaves saw something, and then to integrate it into his plans. The future belonged to Liskash.
It was at that moment that he saw a flash of a Mrem wagons, well within the borders of his godhold. Buloth growled and grew tense, and sought the source of the vision. There. That one, and through it he saw the filthy creatures had even constructed a crude fortification, of sticks and mud. Somewhat like ants they were, but far too clever for stupid beasts.
He flicked a finger in their direction. That excrescence would have to be dealt with at once.
He directed the slaves to abandon their digging and walk. If he was satisfied with their progress, they could eat tonight.
In a crack in a grassy hillside littered with fractured rocks, Hril Aris felt the vile punch of Buloth’s mind. He focused on the grass in front of him, absorbing its smell, its color, its springy coils, fighting to be one with the grass, not that mind. It worked. He wasn’t enslaved.
To his surprise he realized he had gained information from that brief but intrusive touch. He knew that mind was sending a large army toward them, based on something seen by a creature in thrall to it. That spy had to be one of the browsing pebbleskins they’d passed earlier, or even one of the leatherwings drifting overhead in lazy circles, may Aedonniss curse them. Given all that, it would be best to wait for dark for him and Flirsh Arst to move. The reptiles were not only slow and cold, they couldn’t see in darkness, either.
He gestured to Flirsh, and they both crawled deeper into the crevice to await the night.
It took all their training not to panic. Their fur fluffed in fear as well as for warmth, and they huddled like kits. Hril listened and felt the thud of footsteps. He lost count of the number of reptilians who came past, from little scavengers to herd beasts to adult, armed Liskash in singles and small groups. Even a trio of bedraggled, half-starved Mrem caught in the spell wandered not far enough away for comfort. He and Flirsh didn’t speak, but he knew they were both terrified of winding up just so-brainless, pitiable slaves of a scaled monster. He wasn’t sure if it would be better to rescue those Mrem or kill them in mercy. All he and Flirsh had were knives and hand axes, though, for food and shelter.
Eventually, dusk gave way to darkness. They eased themselves out of the crack in the rock, and he led the way, fur stiff and heart thrumming, in a low, silent slink between rocks and tufts, toward the distant fortification, which didn’t feel as safe now.
After a few hundredlengths of aching muscles and grueling fear, he deemed it safe to rise and walk erect. When he was sure there were no other creatures about, they ran.
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.