Blood In the Water (26 page)

“Yes,” Yikkit confessed. “Yes, I am. I have missed this,” he said, realizing
it was true. He didn't have the wind he'd once had, but his muscles remembered the strokes of their own accord.

“Halik enjoys it too,” the man said, slashing lightning fast at a head full of ravening teeth that suddenly appeared before him. “As do I,” Niwa continued conversationally when the head fell away, cut half in two. “Against
this
enemy. I did not enjoy fighting the Alliance, for a number of reasons. But do you not find an interesting contrast here? We are generals, yet fight right alongside our lowliest Uul.” He almost spat the word “lowliest,” and it was heavy with sarcasm. “That is good, for a time. It builds their confidence and gains their respect. Something ‘proper' Grik have never imagined a need for. Yet, while we are here, enjoying ourselves so immensely, all we can do is fight. We can't influence the greater battle around us.”

“You think we should stop?” Yikkit demanded, slashing a guard with his own sword and pounding it away with his shield.

“Fighting like this? Yes, for now. It's a sad but apparent fact that the appropriate place for a general in battle is somewhere between this and what ‘proper' Grik do. We must quickly finish this, or the rest of Halik's plan may fail. To do that, we must step back and direct others to take advantage of what we cannot see from here. For example,” he said, benefiting from a momentary lull to physically drag General Yikkit back from the shield wall. Yikkit resisted at first, but then followed.

“What?” he asked.

“Join me here,” Niwa said, clambering atop a jagged slab of granite, seemingly oblivious to the occasional crossbow bolt or musket ball that whistled past. The Guard Swarm had some matchlock muskets, obviously, but was so tightly packed they were having difficulty using them. “Look,” he said when Yikkit stood beside him, gasping and licking blood from his claws. The Swarm beyond the shield wall was attacking almost frantically now, even slowing its advance in places. They weren't attacking with the same . . . purpose as before, however. It looked like they were more urgently trying to get
past
the shields than to come to grips with those who held them. In an instant, from there, it was obvious why. Sheets of crossbow bolts were slamming into the enemy flank from high up to the left, and volleys of musket balls hacked at it as well, though the reports of the weapons were nearly drowned by the din. Behind the fire, shapes were hurtling down the slope through the trees, screeching
predatory cries. Individually at first, then in increasing numbers, General Shlook's 2nd Division splashed across the creek and crashed into the faltering enemy right. Already shattered by the cataclysmic blast that brought a mountain down upon them and caught between the new attack, Yikkit's and Niwa's divisions in front, and the roaring flames behind, Shighat's elite Guard Swarm suddenly just . . . broke, and began “turning prey.” Many turned their weapons on those around them, simply because they were there, blocking their flight in whichever direction they were facing. Others ran screaming through the fire behind them. Most tried helplessly to claw their way up the loose, gravelly slope to their left. In mere moments, the battle in the boulder field turned to a slaughter—with the enemy doing most of the work to itself.

“Forward now!” Niwa yelled in his very best Grik. “Push them! Kill them!” The cry was taken up and became a mighty, chanting roar. The shield wall lurched forward.

“How did you know?” Yikkit yelled over the noise, amazed.

“I've seen it before,” Niwa shouted back. “Too often to our own, I admit, but I doubt they're susceptible anymore, after what they've endured.”

“What should we do?”

“Keep pushing, of course. The flames will soon die out and we can charge onward. Do you hear?” A deep, pounding, thumping rumble reached them from farther up the gorge. “Those guns signal the beginning of Ugla's sweep. We'll join his charge up the road to link up with General Halik at Shighat's field palace.”

“But . . . what should we do with these?” Yikkit waved at the panicked Grik. He'd never seen “Grik Rout” before.

Niwa looked thoughtful. “We can almost ignore them. They're finished. Or, they are easy enough to kill now that their senses have left them. I wonder, though . . .”

“What?”

“To my knowledge, no one has ever offered battle-panicked Grik their lives. I wonder what they would do if you simply spoke to them?”

*   *   *

Despite the fact that the battle had been underway for over an hour before Halik's 5th Division launched its attack, the surprise was near complete
and it easily overran Shighat's field palace. Unfortunately, Shighat himself managed to escape within a mass of bodyguards that physically carried him into the protective embrace of the nearby swarm still choking the road, untainted by the panic in the gorge. Halik led attack after attack, but his diminishing force simply couldn't break through. Nor could it force its way through to the road and become the anvil he'd envisioned. By then he realized not only would Shighat have been carried safely away, but he'd bitten off a bit more than he could chew. He should've either brought a larger force to execute this part of his plan, or not attempted it at all. Fortunately, Shighat had apparently been sufficiently rattled by his very close call that he chose to draw back before his whole army was infected by the panic pouring back from Niwa's, Shlook's, Ugla's, and Yikkit's combined drive up the road from the bloody gorge. 5th Division took a strong defensive position to the south of the road but couldn't do more than watch the enemy stream past, back into the mountains. Toward evening, the flood became a trickle, then ceased altogether. And that's how Halik's generals had found him, at dusk, when the first elements of Ugla's 1st Division finally trotted into view, reptilian eyes casting about for threats. There were none. The last of the enemy that hadn't fled in panic had broken contact before it could be tainted.

“What now?” Niwa asked. He looked terrible in the light of the braziers burning in Shighat's great tent. He wasn't wounded, that Halik could tell, even if he was almost covered with blood, dry and flaky, more black now than red, but he was exhausted. The whole army was. Outside was the sound of lethargic but contented feasting. The army was spent, but it was also happy. As far as it was concerned, it had won a great victory—its first in a very long while—and there was plenty of meat. Halik would no longer countenance his army eating its own, even those killed in battle. Shlook and Ugla considered that a rather extreme overreaction to a time when he'd been forced to feed his warriors with other live warriors, but they didn't argue with his decree. And enough of the enemy had been slain that the army couldn't possibly eat them all before they turned unhealthy. They'd already prepared sufficient provisions for a long trek over the mountains, and the same provisions would serve if the trek became a campaign. The fresh meat they'd gorge on now was a bonus. Of course, then there was the question of what to do with all the
“prey” they'd taken alive. Ordinarily, they'd be used as walking rations, but Niwa seemed to have other ideas. Halik shook that off.
Later.

“We must rest a day,” Halik said, annoyed with himself. “I should not have allowed the pause that resulted in the gluttony underway, but there is nothing for it now. A day of satiated rest, and we can resume the chase.”

“Chase?” Yikkit inquired. He looked at least as worn as Niwa, but he'd certainly proven himself that day. All Halik's generals had. The only one that failed to achieve his objective had been Halik himself.

“Yes. The victory is not complete.”

“But . . . why? Shighat is beaten. Ghaarrichk'k armies do not fight to exterminate one another. He will retreat back to his capital at Sagar, in the distant southwest of his regency! He will not return until he has gathered another swarm, or another army is sent to his aid. But he is old and he has failed. I doubt either will occur before his life is over, one way or another. You will not see him again.”

“We will,” Halik said, “when we move to take Sagar from him. I would rather destroy him now. I hoped to destroy him today.” He looked around at his generals, his friends. “We have all decided what we are to become. But if we are ever to be more than just a wandering horde, we must have a home. That means we must take one, and Shighat's suits me well enough.”

“Ahh. Indeed,” Yikkit said, realization dawning.

“All of Persia,” Niwa said softly, a small smile on his face. “General Halik, King of Kings.”

“What?” Shlook asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

“So,” Halik continued. “Tomorrow evening, we resume the chase. That in itself should surprise Shighat. He still outnumbers us, but his warriors have no notion of defense, so we will pick at him, bleed him, drive him mad—until we can pin him and force him to give proper battle.” He looked at Niwa. “Do you think Colonel Enaak, at least, will continue to scout for us? We will need his assistance now more than ever—and I would be very grateful for it.”

“And he will remain skeptical of your gratitude,” Niwa said. “He cannot be comfortable with a Grik leader of your skill gaining such
power as you aspire to, but then this campaign, at least, will take you progressively farther from India. I will ask.” He rubbed his chin, balling up the mix of sweat, blood, and dust he felt there. “Even if he agrees, you should not expect any further assistance from him—certainly nothing as dramatic as he provided today. But has it occurred to you that we may not be as outnumbered as you imagine?”

Halik looked at Niwa, his jaws opening slightly in what looked like a terrifying grimace but was actually a sign of amusement. “The ‘prey' warriors?” he asked.

“Yes. I suppose General Yikkit didn't have an opportunity to tell you yet. Well, it seems that we might have made a rather profound discovery. What is it that officers ordinarily shriek at their warriors as they are turning prey? They tell them to stop, to fight, to continue the attack—something the poor Uul under their command have already decided is hopeless. General Yikkit and I attempted something different today, and though I remain unsure how successful it was, I have some hope.”

“What did you do?” Halik asked, genuinely interested.

“General Yikkit very loudly, and still quite severely, I might add, began yelling for them to stop fighting and . . . lie upon the ground. Any who did so would be quite safe, accepted by their conquerors, and fed.”

“And what did they do?” Halik asked, amazed.

Niwa shrugged, but his smile broadened. “Some, perhaps a third, who had not already completely lost themselves to panic . . . did as he commanded. Essentially, they surrendered.”

“I saw it myself,” General Shlook declared, his tone carrying an equal measure of disgust and wonder. “Never has such a thing occurred! Obviously, they can't be trusted.”

“Why not?” Niwa asked. “They didn't lose their minds; they merely obeyed a sensible command from a general they recognized. I think they will even still fight—particularly if mixed with more mature warriors who can help them make sense of what happened and begin encouraging their awareness. I suggest that such a thing has never happened before simply because surrender has never independently occurred to any Grik Uul as an option.”

Halik stared at his Japanese friend for a long moment, absently picking at a gobbet of something stuck to his blood-smeared armor with a finger claw before shaking his head in wonder. “We will . . . contemplate
this matter, and I will interview the prisoners myself. But tomorrow evening, the army shall move. Shighat will not have fled far or fast. He won't expect pursuit.” He looked at Yikkit. “The time may come, if we can make the enemy desperate enough, that we will attempt another, larger ‘offer' such as the one you made. It could be quite interesting to see what happens then.”

CHAPTER
17

Central Mada-gaas-gar
October 6, 1944

Chack, Courtney, Silva, Lawrence, and Miles moved mostly at night, aided by a bright, growing moon. Courtney had reasoned that Lemurians here, like Aryaalans and B'mbaadans from long-established land Homes in the East, were most likely to associate the Maker of All Things with the sun since they had no need for sophisticated celestial navigation. It stood to reason they'd be most active when the sun could “see” them. This theory was supported when Lawrence, watching from a distance, observed the hunting party he shadowed climb into one of the great baobab-galla trees to spend the night. They even cooked their food in the high branches, though Larry didn't see how they did that. He saw only the fire.

There were other considerations that prompted them to stick to a nocturnal schedule. The hunting party was generally moving in the same
direction they were, dispersing into pairs at dawn, and it was inevitable they'd eventually run into each other if they all traveled by day. Best to let them settle for the night and then move along. That left them to focus on avoiding the many predatory monsters ranging the prairies of this Mada-gaas-gar. Courtney was enraptured by their variety but wasn't so lost to reality that he wasn't concerned by how many there were, far more numerous than any natural environment would've evolved, and they fought and ate each other as often as they preyed on the abundant herbivores. Though always apparently on the hunt, most of the predators did seem more active in daytime as well, so Chack and Courtney elected to move at night as long as the visibility was good.

Silva didn't care. With Lawrence's help, they'd managed to avoid the really big “boogers” so far, and he'd killed a number of smaller creatures with his Thompson, the brisk breeze erasing the relatively light report before it traveled far. They had meat and water and were making good time. All were amazed by how much ground the 'Cat hunters covered each day, and soon the moon would fade. They'd eventually have to take their chances in daylight. But they
had
to be getting close to a village of some kind. The notion that the 'Cat hunters flat couldn't carry—or preserve—enough meat to justify so long a trip began to intrude upon their initial theory, and they started to wonder if the ten 'Cats might be some wandering band, or even a war party after all.

“Why don't we just try to meet them?” Miles groaned softly as they picked their way through the tall grass, staying as far from the river as they dared. “I mean, if they're friendly, we can team up. It would be safer.”

“Could be,” Silva agreed. Miles's griping annoyed him, but at least he didn't do it as much anymore. He had, in fact, managed to make himself marginally useful ever since their little “talk.” He still didn't volunteer much, to carry extra stuff or help gut something Silva shot, but he didn't exactly shirk either.
Tell him what to do, he'll do it,
he thought.
Maybe he just still don't put himself forward 'cause he's afraid to screw up?
Silva shook his head.
Givin' him the benefit o' the doubt,
he decided piously.
An' everybody's got a right to gripe
. He frowned in the dark.
He takes to
whinin'
, though, I'll just go ahead an' kill his sorry ass
.

“Could also be they'd try to kill us an' then we'd have to kill them. Every damn one, to keep 'em from stirrin' folks up against us. An' then,
let's say we got 'em all, what if we wind up someplace where everybody's friendly as puppies—but ten members o' their clan just never show up? Even if they didn't take to wonderin' if it was us who rubbed 'em out,
we'd
know, an' that's a hard thing to keep on your mind. Even harder not to let slip. Nah, I used to be a ‘kill 'em all, sorry if you didn't really mean no harm' sort, but I'm reformed, rehabilitated, an' reconsiderated.”

Up ahead in the gloom Lawrence had returned, just drifting back into existence, apparently, out of the surrounding grass. He stepped up to Chack and murmured something, pointing west, and the two went to Bradford. “Why, ever' time I look at poor Larry I'm reminded of my youthful unrepressibleness,” Silva continued. “I actually shot him once, you know? Now he's one o' my best pals. Nope, I give powerful attention to whoever I just rear up an' kill these days.”

“What have you decided about me?” Miles snapped.

“Still has my attention,” Silva said seriously. “An' we still got a talk comin'. But goin' back to your first question, I guess we'll be meetin' those 'Cats pretty soon after all, one way or other.”

“Really? Why?”

Silva snorted. “Pay more attention to what's goin on, an' less to what's aggravatin' you, an' you'll see a lot more in life.” He nodded ahead. Down a long slope where the river jogged to the south was a large cluster of the enormous trees, dark against the almost silvery sheen of the tall, dewy grass. The trees seemed to sparkle as well, with dozens of orange fires high in their branches. Slowly it became clear that the trees were surrounded by lower, but still elevated artificial structures, and lights emanated from within some of those as well. Double-ended boats were dark against the gray water along the shore of the river, and a palisade surrounded the whole area, encompassing thirty or forty acres. “Hey, Chackie,” Silva said a bit louder. “Looks kinda like a teeny tiny Baalkpan, first time I saw it. You reckon they have beer?”

Courtney chuckled quietly, appreciatively. “Indeed! Let us hope that's another common, um, tradition that's stood the test of time.”

“What do we do now?” Miles asked, head swiveling toward every sound around them. They were suddenly uncomfortably close to the river in his view, where all manner of creatures, benign and malevolent, tended to concentrate.

“We shall move closer and wait for dawn,” Chack decided, “and introduce ourselves to wakeful folk.”

“Yeah,” Silva agreed. “Bangin' on the gate o' that palisade in the middle of the night, wakin' folks up, prob'ly won't make the best first impression. Let's just hope they ain't grumpy risers.”

Carefully, they eased down the slope, Lawrence occasionally returning from his scout ahead to report drowsing herds of herbivores they should avoid. He saw no predators, causing Courtney to speculate that dangerous carnivores might possibly avoid the village. Finally, they stopped to rest amid a clump of brush on a little rise a mere few hundred yards from the palisade. Lower down and closer, the village was even more impressive. The trees were huge, bigger even than the great tree in the center of Baalkpan that Adar's Great Hall was built around. The palisade looked more imposing as well, consisting of sharpened tree trunks ten to fifteen feet tall, densely woven together in a fashion that reminded Silva of frontier forts in Western pictures, but these were angled outward to defend against taller assailants.

“I imagine Baalkpan, Maa-ni-laa, or any number of Lemurian land Homes looked exactly like that for hundreds of years,” Courtney whispered.

“Until the last few hundreds,” Chack agreed, “when they had to grow larger with increased populations both on land and sea.” The great seagoing Homes had existed virtually unchanged since Chack's ancestors first left this land uncounted generations before, but they'd grown in number, and the land Homes that built them, repaired them, and traded with them for the oil of the gri-kakka fish had expanded accordingly.

“Quite amazing,” Courtney mused. “And surprising. Not only do the people here seem to have thrived to some extent, living much the same as they probably have for thousands of years, but the Grik haven't molested them. Why not? This land, on this side of the mountains, would seem to epitomize their ideal. It's generally wide-open, warm, and full of food beasts.”

“We already know they kept Mada-gaas-gar as a preserve for ‘worthy prey' they could hunt for sport in better times. How do we know these remain always unmolested? Might the Grik not also have preserved
sufficient populations for larger groups to ‘conquer' from time to time?” Chack surmised bitterly. Courtney looked at his dark profile and blinked. “Why . . . I expect that's exactly right. Before the current war, the Grik often fought battles among
themselves
for the sheer fun of it—and to curb their population. And that would certainly explain why these folk remain so apparently unchanged when it's all each generation can do to simply rebuild after the latest visit by some small Grik swarm bent on entertaining slaughter.” He nodded at the village. “Perhaps we'll know soon enough. I do so wish Adar was here! He'll be insufferable with envy!”

The sky began to lighten, diffusing the three-quarter moon that still stood on the horizon, and the village began to stir. More smoke from cookfires drifted skyward, and a few sleepy sentries replaced others that had been hidden along the tops of the palisade. Silva grunted at that with satisfaction. “Not just sleepin' lazy behind their wall. My guess is, we'd approached in the dark, we'd'a been porky-pined with arrows before we ever reached the gate.”

Lawrence slithered back into their midst.

“Dammit, Larry!” Silva hissed. “I didn't even know you was gone! Don't you ever sleep?”

“Just doing 'at I do. I
like
scouting.”

“Well, you've got pretty good at
sneakin'
, that's for sure. What did you see?”

“The 'Cat hunters are co'ing in. They stayed out last night to enter 'ith the dawn—like us—and to decorate they like I'joorka's Khonashi did, I think.”

“That's . . . interesting. Wanna make an impression an' look pretty for the dames after being gone awhile. How close?”

“Close enough to hear, you not quiet down.”

Silva glanced behind them, at the first rays of the sun, then looked at Chack. “I guess we're up.”

Chack started to nod, but something caught his attention. The palisade gate nearest them was opening. 'Cats came, fanning out with bows in their hands and arrows at the ready. Their only clothing was a leather breechcloth-type garment arranged like a diaper, but they looked alert and formidable. Behind them, flocks of fuzzy creatures like a cross between a sheep and a pig darted out, en masse, headed for the river just below the party's hiding place. Gangs of naked younglings armed with
long switches they applied with a will flanked the herd, keeping it concentrated as it moved.

“Wilya look at that!” Silva said.

Suddenly, the tall grass below them just a short distance away seemed to . . . swell.

“What the . . . whoa! Goddamn!” Silva said, his voice rising. Less than fifty yards away, something almost perfectly camouflaged was rising in the grass. At a glance, it was still invisible, but the motion of its movement gave it away as it appeared to . . . flow toward the odd Lemurian livestock—and the younglings herding it along. Perhaps the most amazing thing was that the grass was only about three feet deep, but the creature was quite large. It seemed impossible that it could've remained hidden at eye level. No matter how well camouflaged, it would've looked like a new mound or something where none should be—unless . . . “Damn,” Silva swore, “it's a puff adder lizard!” He started to stand, raising his Thompson. Well trained by now, Petey hopped down in the grass with a panicked chirp.

“Wait!” Chack hissed, pulling at him. Silva blinked incredulously. “That thing ain't a pup they let out for the night! It's gonna get them
kids
!”

“Wait!” Chack insisted more firmly. “Watch!”

The younglings yipped and scampered away from the lunging monster, slapping at the sheep pigs as they went, herding them back. Armed 'Cats converged with a shout and a rising trilling sound from the palisade behind them. Long, heavy arrows sleeted at the thing, some penetrating shallowly, but most deflecting off the thing's tough hide. Snarling, the big lizard paused and rose higher, confirming it was indeed considerably larger than mere arrows should have to contend with, and quickly
changed colors
to a menacing black, a frilly, reddening crest rising above its head. Mighty jaws reminiscent of a komodo opened wide, and it lunged at the closest 'Cat. Even as it did so, however, several arrows slammed straight into its gaping maw, and it clamped its mouth shut with an incongruous squeal.