Still, they might eventually learn to build, and that would be problematic. The time to eliminate a pest was when it was first found. That meant now.
He could see them frantically running around, and forming neat little squares. They really were like birds or insects in their simplicity, unable to work independently and lacking the mind to control others. He smiled faintly and pushed his army forward.
Upon boarding his chariot, Talonmaster Rscil first made sure his warriors were arrayed as they should be, then that the Dancers looked right, with Cmeo Mrist nodding approval from the ground. After that, he checked that those defending the followers on the redoubt were on the ramparts with arrows, stones and javelins, and the gates ready for instant blocking. Only then did he turn his gaze to acknowledge the enemy. It was a thought out policy, and it was also a visible display of his respect for his own and contempt for the scaly ones. He checked his own weapons by touch. He had a fistful of javelins, a heavier stabbing spear, and the bronze gripclaws he’d use up close, if any lizard survived to reach the chariot. It wasn’t wise to wish for that, but he’d enjoy it if it happened. In front of Gree was a box of heavy, weighted darts.
Up the hillside were creatures. He couldn’t tell precisely what type since they wore enveloping leather armor and helmets with spikes or crests, and clouds of dust surrounded them, but their arrangement made it clear they were organized, and therefore hostile. They were either Liskash or controlled by them.
He knew he had the best scouts because he was not surprised, knew the approximate terrain, and already had his warriors ranking up. Against that was foreign terrain with a much easier supply line for the enemy, but he’d maximized his chances.
Hress Rscil watched his warriors stand unmoving in formation, and the Dancers hold their now familiar places among them. The terrain was clear, but uneven, with rills, dunes and rises, occasional patches of scrub and a bare fistful of trees. As battlefields went, it was excellent. However, it would take maneuvering, and besides the usual unblooded warriors, there were the Dancers. He was concerned, but they could not be his first priority.
The talonmaster watched the attackers’ movements to determine their strategy. Quick was good. Planned was better. They were a loose formation, but steady at the low end of a charge as they advanced down the hill. Probably, they were at a brisk walk, and their weight and the slope pulled them forward. Loose, though, and not a proper square of ranks.
“At the pace, advance!” he ordered. Gree heard him, and tapped the chariot’s fast-running arogar into a trot. They were valuable beasts, and could speed him anywhere. These two were well-blooded and as experienced as any old soldiers.
Hress Rscil decided they might as well take the fight to the enemy. There was no advantage to waiting further, and he hoped to disrupt the obviously less well organized Liskash formation, if it could be called that. The enemy came forward in clumps and groups, but not in lines. He had to resist the urge to underestimate them, rabble but with twice the warriors he commanded. And if their lord was on the battlefield, all would be of one mind.
The talonmaster was concerned that some of the force he faced might be Mrem. There appeared to be some familiar shapes. They had fought a few of their own kind before. The enslaved Mrem all had shared the same expression of pain and horror. Most had also fought to the death. In a perfect world, Aedonniss would let those be captured alive in this battle. But to do that the clan would have to hold the field against a determined, often suicidal foe and have the time to subdue those Mrem controlled by the Liskash lord. Rscil sighed and flicked a claw. In this world, they would likely have to be killed. There would likely be no choice. His best and most veteran were in front, and some mixed among the rest. He trusted them to do what was necessary.
Still, it would not do to underestimate that force. More dust rose as they advanced, and they were on higher ground for now, coming down from the mountains. They would be motivated by whichever Liskash styled himself their “god.”
The Claw drillmasters kept up a steady, encouraging shout as they advanced, until Cmeo Mrist started her chant. In moments, the other Dancers voiced with her, and the thump of the claw’s drums soon matched those of the Dancers’ footbeats.
It was an inspiring sound. It looked…odd. Even after long practice, to see the Dancers twisting forward between paired ranks of warriors was disconcerting, and felt slightly wrong, and even unmasculine. Better than being enslaved in mid spear thrust, Rscil reminded himself. If it worked…
There were some slight ripples in the ranks as the enemy became visible. Liskash in plenty, some mounted on several eights of beasts, behind a charging wall of literal meat-herdbeasts including mottlecoats, pests, scavengers and some lupins, anything the ruling Liskash could stir up and control enough to drive forward. Yes, there were Mrem approaching too, with their body language and fur showing extreme distress. Poor creatures.
Behind them was a mass, not really a formation, of scaled Liskash. Most were spear armed. Many held round shields made of some sort of plant. The fighters stood a bit taller than the Mrem, with thick legs ending in splayed toes. Their scales were mottled, tending toward shades of gray, green, and tan. The Liskash warriors’ reptilian heads were long and ended in a long toothy mouth that on most sagged slightly open. Yellow and white teeth, sharp and longer than a claw, were visible even in the distance. Few of the Liskash wore any armor and fewer held swords. Those who rode were better equipped, carrying long lances with bronze points, backed up by two long, curved knives in leather belts.
Then the smell of the enemy mass hit him. The reeks of fear, anger, despair, anguish and the stench of unwashed bodies from enslaved Mrem and uncared-for animals all rushed up his nose. He winced, sneezed, and shook his head. The Liskash didn’t care about their slaves so their slaves did not care for themselves.
“Forward!” the talonmaster shouted.
The horde came on fast, and there were more ripples, and he realized one significant problem. The chanting of the Dancers drowned out the encouragement and orders from the drillmasters. The formation was more ragged than he liked.
He pointed, and Gree cropped the arogar into motion. Together they hurried down to the front line of warriors.
The talonmaster shouted as he went, matching the first drillmaster he passed. “Keep your spacing! Keep your spacing!” He hoped to turn that into a chant itself. Gree repeated the command. A couple of others caught on, and it spread.
It worked. Fist leaders within the ranks echoed it, and order improved. Rscil neared the front and hefted his bundle of javelins, then checked the bronze claws at his side. He would be in the battle directly. The front two ranks tossed their first volley of bronze darts. They whistled as they flew and landed among the animals and slaves with deadly effect. The talonmaster knew, though, that their darts and javelins would have more effect against a cohesive force of thinking beings than they were having on the disorganized gaggle of dull-witted slaves being driven into the clan ahead of the Liskash.
Then the oncoming wall of enemy smashed into them, and a fistful of leatherwings dropped from the sky to clap their wings low over the first group of Dancers still chanting behind the front line of warriors.
Instinctively those Dancers hissed, snarled and lost their Dance. A couple of the front Dancers froze; the rest nearby fluffed and arched and poked at things running between their feet and flapping overhead, dancing around in disgust or surprise. One stretched her claws and ripped a tear into a low-flying leatherwing. Two others tore at a small snarling beast that had been driven through the warriors, until it came apart in gobbets of flesh and bone.