It might take several battles, but the outcome was inevitable. The stronger mind-his-would win and acquire more slaves.
Thinking of that, he tried to tally old slaves, new slaves, and any casualties. He could feel the latter whimpering and hurting, but lacked the strength to twist them into death. They’d just have to suffer, so he shut them from his mind. Surviving slaves were down a bit. That was annoying. Buloth wondered if it were possible to count casualties in the even lines of the mammals. He’d remember that for next time.
Meanwhile, he should regroup his force, feed them enough to carry on, and then advance on the furry beasts again.
This whole venture of developing his own godhold was quite exciting, and very informative. He shivered in anticipation that once done with his he might even be on terms with his father.
Mutal wouldn’t matter, nor even hinder, if Buloth managed to absorb his father’s holding. When the old Liskash died or was frail, his slaves were Buloth’s for the taking. Then a simple advisory to his younger brother that he was assuming the minds should do it. There wouldn’t even be a need for fighting. Yes, that was a good plan.
With that settled, it was time to quickly crush these encroaching creatures and secure as much space and as many minds as possible, both for the prestige, and for the practice.
But first, dinner. He’d vowed to roast a Mrem. Now would be the time. He called his cook.
Hress Rscil’s tent was imposing in presence, even being no larger than the others. Perhaps it was the finer weave of the russet-colored fabric, or the small but comfortable and beautifully carved benches. Perhaps it was the guests, or just the presentation, but those within felt a sense of awe.
They had much to discuss. They were alive, with some casualties and low morale. That was first. Cmeo Mrist, Rscil and Scout Hril were all dusty and worn, but alert and waiting.
“I will start with my assessment,” Rscil said, not ungently. “It was bad, but to be fair, not terrible. The Dancers panicked when battle joined, recovered somewhat and stayed out of the way. Obviously, we could not practice real combat beforehand. Cmeo Mrist?”
The priestess looked somewhat embarrassed. Her whiskers slicked back and her ears lay against her skull. The tip of her tail twitched back and forth.
“Yes, they were scared and are. I saw the warriors stuck behind them, but couldn’t move fast enough to help clear the way. It did not go as we had hoped.”
“What do you suggest?”
“More practice is needed,” she said without hesitation.
He was impressed. She asked no respite, but was eager to press on. Was it safe to do so, though?
He said, “I don’t dismiss the idea, but I insist on proven tactics for future battles. Let the Dancers be close to the rear-they proved comfortable in that position-and let my warriors have their cohesive mass.”
Cmeo Mrist said, “Hress Rscil, I understand your caution, but we are less effective further away. We must make this work.” She gripped her tail to avoid fidgeting, and her ears betrayed agitation. She felt that strongly about it.
“With respect, I saw no effect to speak of. Morale was higher than normal, but much of that was taken away in the confusion. Then a number of warriors rushed to worry about the females instead of the fight, exactly as I warned.” He finished and braced for the return.
Cmeo Mrist was remarkably calm in response.
“Hress Rscil, how many did we lose to the thought stealing of the Liskash?”
“Why, none, that I’m aware of.”
“Very well, it has worked that much,” Cmeo Mrist concluded.
Rscil said, “That was with Dancers in the rear, as I propose.”
“I prefer that they stay with the warriors. We will train them not to hamper the battle.”
“We will see,” Rscil said.
Hril said, “I have a little favorable news to add.”
“Yes, Hril Aris?” the talonmaster asked, his ears betraying his curiosity.
The scout stood and paced, tail twitching. “Talonmaster, Priestess. First, let me offer that this godling of theirs appears inexperienced. He let his warriors loose enough to retreat, with no thought for gleaning or the wounded. I have other scouts and a few teamsters recovering javelins, swords, harness, and there are some wounded we can treat. We have mercied several, and there will be more. When convenient, we also mercied the Liskash wounded, regardless of their condition. I feel pity for them as slaves, but have no desire to friend such creatures. Their javelins, also, are being taken to the bronzewrights to be straightened and sharpened. We will use them. Some arosh and arogar have been butchered. I included yours, Talonmaster. With no disrespect to fine animals, but they are meat.” He bowed slightly.
Hress Rscil said, “Of course. I would expect no less.” A fine scout, and a potential Master of some kind. Hril Aris’s pupils swelled with the compliment.
“Thank you. Also, just before this council, we sighted eight and four Mrem who were held by the Liskash. They fled west and slightly north, back toward the New Sea.”
“They broke the mindbinding?”
“Yes, apparently when our retreat started.”
Cmeo Mrist said, “When our voice was surest. As I predicted.”
Hril twitched as Rscil leaped to his feet, but it was not a threat.
Instead, the talonmaster said, “Cmeo Mrist, we will drill our warriors and our Dancers so that we do better next time.”
Rscil knew it would not be quite so easy, but he would take the risk. He, all of them, would be remembered for generations once this was done. He only hoped it wasn’t as spectacularly brave failures.
Cmeo Mrist raised herself tall and said, “Talonmaster, as if things are not complex enough, it seems the Dancers can fight if they must, without weakening their voice, as long as they are in the formation.”
“Yes, we have agreed,” he said. What was she leading to?
She seemed a bit hesitant as she said, “How many javelins have we recovered from the Liskash?”
That was a striking notion.
“I see we must drill the Dancers as well.”
The warriors were not entirely happy with the decision to continue with the Dancers. They let it be known. Drillmasters reported hearing angry comments from their fists of warriors, and voiced their own complaints.
On the one fist, Hress Rscil understood both their need to release anger after the battle, and their frustration at a formation broken, with fellows left dead. Some two eights had been succored and would probably live, though many would never be fit to fight. Eight other eights and three had either died, or needed mercy. There would be other battles, and they were only two thousand and a few.
On the other, it must be driven to the haft that they were bound together.
Hress Rscil called the claws to order. “If you are unhappy, you may walk back to our steading in defeat. The warriors will remain for our glory. We’ll wait to begin practice until those who wish to leave have gone.”
The complaints quieted to mutters, and there was much shuffling, some bristling, and flattened ears. None wished to abandon the others, nor bear the shame attached. It was also clear there was no retreat, except as a whole. Individuals wouldn’t manage the trip, except a few hardy scouts, all of whom stood with Hress Rscil. They could form parties, but what if they were attacked, to then die unknown in shame and ignominy? And if this campaign were successful, what chances would they have of mates and land?
He and Cmeo Mrist watched from his chariot, led by two precious replacement arogar. The practice, no doubt spurred by the threat of disgrace, was much more vigorous, and the Dancers moved with urgency.