That was manageable, but the Dancers’ aggression caused a complete break of the two ranks of warriors behind them. They hesitated, unsure if they should shove their way past or wait. Several tried to rush in front to form a block around the Dancers, leaving a gaping hole in that line behind the unarmored females. Some warriors from farther behind broke ranks and ran to defend the Dancers, exactly as Hress Rscil had feared. They exposed more of the Dancers who were behind them and those too stopped chanting. The sensation of calm that the drums and chanting had instilled was fading.
The slaves and wild beasts were dead or fled. The smell of blood and fear was tangible. Drillmasters shouted, their strident orders almost lost in the din as the first rank now thrust and stabbed the leaping Liskash. They left the spears impaled in scaled muscles and drew swords and bronze claws, as the second rank poked their points between the fist warriors in support.
Well enough, Talonmaster Rscil thought, for a battle. He had withdrawn to a slight hill where he could overlook the field after the first surge had been broken. Despite the chaos among the Dancers behind them the clan was holding its ground. It was apparent the Liskash fighters were less skilled, but there was a great many more of them than the clan had warriors. Already he could see masses of Liskash beginning to flow around the edges of the clan.
“Fifth and Sixth Claw, split and wing! Either Flank!” he ordered, and nothing happened. The chanting was distracting at this point, and didn’t seem to accomplish anything. He heard his order relayed, and long moments later, those units ran to take positions angled back and on both forward flanks.
This wasn’t something they’d practiced enough with the Dancers. Upon seeing those warriors battle run, rather than jog into position, those females with the Seventh Claw reacted in fear, drawing up, fluffing up fur and claws for a fight, and disrupting the last two ranks, which he needed for support. For a moment the talonmaster felt despair, knowing that all was lost. But as he looked about it was clear that nothing had been decided. It took him a moment to realize the despair was not his, but a weapon of the Liskash. A few of the warriors near Rscil looked to him, ears low and teeth barred.
Cmeo Mrist and some others shouted and gestured at the laggard Dancers, pushing the last few into position and leading them in the Dance. Their chanting rose once more, and the talonmaster felt the Dancers’ spell in his mind. It returned with a feeling of exasperation and motherliness, or perhaps big sisterliness. It helped, and he saw the warriors gingerly form back toward some semblance of order. Swiftly, the peace in his mind was restored. With a near obscene hiss the formerly wavering warriors of the Clan of the Three Fangs tore into the Liskash.
Then the talonmaster had more to worry about, as he was in front right of the formation, with Liskash, stomp lizards and a pawful of ragged, sickly-looking Mrem charging at him. Gree was ready as soon as Rscil slapped his shoulder, drew up fast, and grabbed his own weapons. They each tossed four darts in quick succession, and one from the Liskash flew close between them from somewhere, its fletchstring brushing his whiskers and making his fur puff even more.
The flankers fanned around him and chopped their way forward, which was good, as the arogar were crippled and dying in whinnies, riddled with spears and cut by blades. For now, though, it was a platform from which to direct the fray.
They had a good front, and could manage an envelopment, but it was thin, only the two ranks. The Third and Fourth Claws had recovered, and he pointed and shouted for them to be general reinforcements to replace casualties.
The Dancers had pulled back, or rather, Cmeo Mrist had pulled them back. They were a few lengths away, but seemed comfortable enough there, and their chant was in full, deep resonance, an angry snarl of defiance. The drums were abandoned, and it was clear that Cmeo Mrist and three of her senior Dancers were holding the rest together.
The clan’s drillmasters at either end, realizing communication was impossible and seeing opportunity, began enveloping, their claws going from folded back to arcing around. That slowly put more blades against fewer Liskash, and the Mrem clambered over the bleeding green and tan enemy bodies. That also disrupted the lines, but that was for a positive reason.
Suddenly the talonmaster saw more coming. A lot more. On the crest of a hill ten long javelin throws away, another thick rank of spear-armed Liskash waved and shouted in their guttural, hissing equivalent of speech. With every clan warrior already engaged, there was nothing left to stop these new enemies from sweeping behind and trapping the entire clan. Or worse yet, slaughtering those of the clan who were too weak to fight and were waiting in the distant wagons.
“By the flanks arch back and fall back! ” Rscil shouted. “ Arch back and fall back! First Claw slow backstep!” The talonmaster took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult. “First Claw slow backstep. Everyone hold the line!” Others picked up the shout, and with dignified poise, the claws on both ends of the clan drew back, never turning away from the new force of Liskash. This formed a deep V as the center retreated faster than the flanks.
Whoever was commanding the Liskash must have realized what the formation was doing. As they reached the clan position, parts of the new Liskash force tried to get behind the V, but that meant running at an angle through the rush of their own fighters. That helped to disrupt the entire mass of charging Liskash. As they were hit by darts and confused, it became apparent that the Liskash warriors were simply not skilled enough to complete the maneuver. Nearly all turned to fight along the insides of the V.
The clan continued to draw back. The Dancers formed into two clumps, one each side of the point of the V, and moved smoothly back, a good distance behind the warriors.
At least the retreating claws had left a good crop of bodies for the scaly beasts and their lord to consider.
By the time the enemy reinforcements reached the place where the battle had been, the retreat was four hundredlengths back and still moving, still leaving a lot more dead lizards than Mrem, and stable in movement. The second force of Liskash attacked. It halted before even reaching the battlefield. Those who had been attacking the claws hesitated and desultorily retreated, just turning and bumbling off. A few darts and javelins took a few more in the back, until the drillmasters ordered a halt to it.
“Hold javelins!” The First Claw’s drillmaster shouted. The cry was immediately taken up by the others.
“Why?” a warrior yelled back. “There’s more of these overgrown pests to kill!”
“We’ll need them for another battle, lad!” the drillmaster bellowed.
The warriors shrugged. One of them stooped to the dusty ground and came up with a fist-sized rock. He heaved that at the retreating Liskash. A lizard caught it in the back of the head and sprawled face first on the ground. The Mrem’s fellows cheered and felt for more stones.
While not as effective as edged weapons, the rocks did cause a certain amount of damage. Several casualties were inflicted before the staggering Liskash were out of range. And, the barrage of stones made the warriors, many wounded and all reeking of Liskash blood, feel better.
It was a grueling march back to the wagons and fort, but the claws were left in peace, for the moment.
Buloth was delighted, lounging on his comfortable bed in the fading light. He’d lost slaves, yes, but he’d beaten back this force of individuals. Most amusing that they thought lining up in rows would match the power of his mind. It organized them, but they gave up some of their vaunted independence. More than his own slaves gave up; all he cared was that they attacked the enemy. How they chose to do so was their problem. These creatures, though, had voluntarily crippled themselves, and relied on shouted voice orders.