Valkyrie's Shadow

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 7, Chapter 8

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 7, Chapter 8

Chapter 8

17th Day, Upper Water Month, 0 CE

“Not fair.”

“Complain to your wife.”

“Kasturi will just laugh in my face,” Girika grumbled. “Our Gladestalkers are wiping out everything.”

Over the next two days, they purposely kept pace with Clan Ki’ra’s advance, never straying more than three kilometres ahead of the other warbands. Though Girika complained about there being nothing to fight, the fact of the matter was that, due to Clan Ki’ra’s delayed arrival, the dry season had done most of the pushing for them. They had crossed into the treeline on the eastern side of the pass during the late afternoon, but there was scarcely any sign of their opponents.

With evening approaching, they gathered in a grove that saw recent use by the retreating forces of the Jorgulan Commonwealth. Saraca sifted through the scant remains.

“They’re packed just as lightly as our side,” he muttered.

“And not a scrap of paper or anything more than bones left behind,” Girika added. “We might have to get Mitra to charm one of those snakes.”

“I’m not sure how much that would help,” Saraca said. “Unless we isolate a Lord. Even then…”

Gaining information from an enemy was never so simple. Green Dragons were by nature manipulative and treacherous. If they interrogated some of the locals, they likely wouldn’t gain much – at least not much about their Dragon overlords.

“Do you think they’ll have any degree of sophistication?” Girika said, “If our side is any indication, these ‘Jorgulans’ will be just as simple.

“‘Minions’ only know what they need to know,” Saraca told the Inquisitor, “and, even then, they could be fed misleading information or instructed to unknowingly perform diversionary manoeuvres. Scraps of information left behind could similarly be used to deceive an advancing opponent.”

“That assumes that any officers…chiefs? Whatever. That assumes any officers we capture report directly to the top.”

“We’re deep enough in the forest for a shift in strategy,” Saraca said. “I’ll go over it when the scouts return with dinner.”

Dinner consisted of natives of the surrounding forest, though they came in the form of two wild boars. Saraca listened to his scouts’ accounts after they settled down to consume their portions.

“The warbands moving to either side of us are spoiling for a fight,” Kasturi said, “but we haven’t seen or heard any fighting. Is this normal?”

“That’s a good question,” Saraca replied. “The informal way that they operate makes it hard to know for sure. The locals know what they need to know, but foreigners like us are entirely clueless.”

“It looks like you’re having fun, though,” Mitra noted.

“I can’t say that I’m not,” he admitted.

As a Warmaster, he found any form of warfare intriguing. The clash between two major powers was a rare thing, especially powers so close to their primal roots. It was unique in the sense that they had adopted what were usually the short-lived sparks of low-intensity tribal conflict into a sustained, large-scale venture.

The war between Rol’en’gorek and the Jorgulans was a valuable case study. It could even be that they were on their way to developing a form of warfare unfamiliar to the Beastman Confederacy.

“Karuvaki,” he turned to his second wife, “how does this place look in terms of negative energy presence?”

“There are no clear signs of negative energy accumulating in the areas that we’ve traversed,” Karuvaki replied. “With how long they’ve been fighting one another, I think the people understand how much the land can take. It’s remarkable how they can continuously maintain the balancing act: if it was back around the Confederacy, things would be bound to get out of hand.”

“I believe they have the type of fighting they’ve chosen to engage in to thank for that,” Saraca said. “Escalation can only occur if there are forces to escalate with. Not only are their armies spread out over a four-hundred-kilometre front, but the back and forth that they’ve established effectively cycles the burden that comes with death.”

“It must be a coincidence,” his second wife replied. “I can’t imagine the two sides collaborating so smoothly on this. From my discussions with the various shrines and temples along the way, the Undead are extraordinarily rare in Rol’en’gorek. They only occasionally appear in the southern and northern extremes of the country.”

In other words, the arid and frozen regions where the energies of life were not so abundant. The two sides here didn’t fight at the barren top of the pass, nor did they engage in set-piece battles.

“Well, enough about the dead. How about the living? Have you encountered anything beyond scouts?”

“Barely even those,” Kasturi replied. “They’re all the same species of Serpentfolk: four to five metres long. Two arms. No legs. Their scales are dark on top and light grey on the bottom. Some subrace of Ophidian, I think.”

“Equipment?”

“They’re not wearing anything. The ones we’ve seen are all up in the branches. Wearing clothing would impede their movement through the canopy.”

“So how do they fight?” Girika asked, “Do they drop down on their targets and bite them? They said they’re venomous, right?”

Saraca couldn’t imagine a five-metre-long anything dropping on someone like that. Unless they were capable of flight or had some sort of ability to prevent injury from the fall, attacking in that manner was just as harmful to the attacker as it was to the target if they fell from the branches dozens of metres above.

“We haven’t fought any yet,” Kasturi answered. “We’ve just been watching how they behave. If anything, they’re getting around in the canopy layer because it’s safer and provides a better vantage.”

“That part should be changing soon,” Saraca said. “Rana Saj said that nature dictates the terms of the engagement, and we should be approaching the point where the other Jorgulan races will be present. Do they know we’re here yet? Us, specifically.”

“Hmm…we haven’t let any get close, but we’ll stick out even if we’re Baagh just like Clan Ki’ra. Once the fighting starts in earnest, we’ll be marked pretty quick. Assuming any witnesses survive, of course.”

“We’ll start screening more aggressively tomorrow,” Saraca told his entourage. “Kill a few at most. Leave the other scouts injured badly enough that they’re more interested in escaping than skirmishing. With luck, they’ll expose their allies and let us observe their forces more closely.”

At some point, they would need to engage the Jorgulans decisively, but collecting information was by far more important at this stage. Aside from the mamba-type Serpentfolk, they had no idea what awaited them, never mind anything else.

“What about Dragons?” Girika asked, “Seen any flying around?”

“The canopy is getting too dense to see the skies above,” Kasturi said. “But that also means any Dragons up there won’t spot us unless we cross any meadows or rivers.”

With that, they divided themselves into two watches and turned in for the night. A cool drizzle greeted them the following morning, softening the layer of dried leaves littering the forest floor.

“We had a visitor last night,” Kasturi said. “Enemy scout.”

“How close did they get?” Saraca asked.

“Not close enough,” the Gladestalker answered. “One of our pickets chased it off. With how quickly it fled, they’re probably trying to gain intelligence just like we are.”

“It’s still a change in posture. They’ve been withdrawing this entire time; now they’re actively scouting our advance.”

“Maybe they knew they were getting some rain soon,” Girika said.

Saraca looked over to his entourage’s Druids. One of them shook her head.

“This much isn’t out of the ordinary for a dry season. The rain will end by midmorning.”

“How about something like Control Weather? As long as the spell is known to the locals, it can be easily cast using ritual magic.”

“We’ll have to wait and see, Yuvraj.”

Ritual magic raised the maximum casting tier of the circle leader by two, so a Fourth-tier circle leader could cast the Sixth-tier Control Weather. If a Druid using Extend Magic cast the spell, they’d be rained on for up to eight days. It was more than enough to turn terrain conditions against them.

Every power in the central continent had teams of casters stationed to counteract the use of Control Weather. Not only was the spell invaluable for industry, but, without those who could cast it, any country could be ruined by droughts or floods magically induced by their neighbours. The spell couldn’t be detected until after it was cast, so all they could do was observe the weather and discern whether the Jorgulans were using it.

They departed the grove and followed an animal trail deeper into the forest, eyeing the partial canopy through the dripping leaves. The chance that any enemy forces had gotten by their screen was slim, but the ever-present threat of a Dragon coming down through the trees kept them on their guard. Saraca occasionally checked the trail’s surroundings, but the growing tangle of undergrowth made it impossible to see further than a few dozen metres.

“I hope we break through to proper jungle unchallenged,” he said.

“I doubt we would lose on a battlefield like this,” Girika said.

“We don’t know the exact details of the races that dwell here,” Saraca replied. “They may be specialised in unprecedented ways.”

The world was a mystical place where ideas could manifest to shatter mundane realities and common sense, and every new place they visited presented at least a few new things. Forest and jungle terrain was said to be the domain of Beastmen, but it favoured some Demihumans more than others. Some races could phase through trees and undergrowth, as could certain specialised Rangers with Forestwalking abilities. While Kasturi and the rest of Saraca’s Gladestalkers could do it, it wasn’t innate to Baagh.

To his relief, the canopy became solid, preventing any substantial growth in the understory. His entourage spread out into a proper formation. Girika stayed close at hand: he was originally a Thuggee from the cities of the Confederacy, meaning that his wilderness skills were lacking. His detection ability was still top-notch, however, and his anti-magic Skills and Abilities as an Inquisitor always came in handy for escort duties.

“Kasturi’s back,” he said.

Several moments after Girika’s announcement, his wife appeared from up ahead.

“We found an encampment about three kilometres south by southeast,” she said. “A spring feeding a large pond. It’s occupied by some sort of Frog Demihumans about half our size.”

“Do they know we’re here?”

“Maybe not us specifically, but they’re alert to Clan Ki’ra’s advance. They were rubbing wooden javelins on their skin…probably poisoning their weapons.”

“How strong are they?”

“Not very,” Kasturi shrugged, then produced a wooden ornament. “They didn’t notice me snatch this right out of their camp. There are about two hundred, not counting any patrols they may have sent out.”

“Were they talking about anything?”

“Nothing noteworthy. Local things. There’s no sign that they’re coordinating with any other warbands nearby.”

An opportunity to gain information?

“What about the Ki’ra? How far behind us are they?”

“We’ve gotten ahead of them since this morning. If you’re thinking of interrogating that warband, we might have two or three hours.”

“Let’s be quick about it, then,” Saraca said. “I’m tired of knowing next to nothing about these Jorgulans.”

Since the Frog Demihumans’ skin appeared to secrete poison, they settled on a simple ranged ambush. Those who weren’t adept at concealed movement stayed back while the others went ahead. The panicked reaction of the Frog Demihumans was their cue to tighten the encirclement.

The camp was already disintegrating by the time Saraca arrived. Bullets unerringly struck down the brightly-coloured Demihumans who tried to flee. In the end, they were left with a few dozen, who had taken refuge in the water. Saraca gazed up at the clearing from the trees, but no Dragons came down to save their subordinates.

?Eyes on the sky. Mitra, see if you can’t get a few out of the water.?

Mitra stepped out from the trees. The Chaaran made her way to the edge of a pond, where a javelin flew out to greet her. It bounced off of her hide and plopped powerlessly into the pond.

“I’d like to speak to your leader,” Mitra’s voice issued calmly over the water. “If you answer a few questions, we’ll let you flee this place.”

Her tail drooped and curled in an expression of curiosity, but Saraca wasn’t sure if they understood Baagh body language. Not that it mattered. Mitra’s bardic powers were already at work before she walked up to the shore. A Frog Demihuman sporting bright orange skin with blue splotches raised its head out of the water.

“You…you are a Bard! Do not try your tricks on us – the Creeikli have many Bards!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Came Mitra’s delightful reply, “Since you have many Bards, you must know that Bards have a love for lore. That’s what I’m here for: to learn about your people.”

“…no one has asked this of us before. Why now?”

Mitra walked over to a slab of stone overhanging the pond, settling on her haunches.

“Well, to tell you the truth, we’re not from this jungle. We’re visitors from a far-off place called the Beastman Confederacy. Have you heard of it? I’m called Mitra, by the way.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” the Creeikli replied. “But if you are not from here…I am called Ichiktikiiliiktik. Before we would speak further, I desire a gesture of trust. Let my people go, and I will stay to answer your questions.”

?What do you think, ji??

?That’s fine by me. They’re sure to be overrun if we keep them here for long.?

“Very well,” Mitra told Ichiktikiiliiktik. “Your people may leave, Ichiktikiiliiktik. You may join them as well after we’re done here.”

A long series of high-pitched croaks rose into the air. Since they weren’t translated, they must have been expressions unknown to Saraca’s society.

Three dozen Creeikili heads emerged from the water. Half of them scooped up huge mouthfuls of pond water. The other half loaded squirming black tadpoles the size of Saraca’s paw into the makeshift containers.

“I wonder if his gratitude will compel him to tell the truth,” Girika mused.

“They at least care for their young,” Saraca said. “Many amphibian Demihumans just lay their eggs and leave them.”

“Yeah, because they lay thousands of eggs,” Girika snorted. “Imagine trying to take care of that.”

It was a good sign. The more similarities in social structure that there were between races, the easier it was to get along. Concepts of family and community were among the most potent when it came to building diplomatic bridges.

In all, the operation was going smoothly. Though it was messier than Saraca would have liked, dominance was proven beyond a doubt in the fashion that tribal societies usually followed. With that out of the way, they could communicate properly. Showing compassion when it was unnecessary was a strong suggestion that coexistence was possible.

Once the last of the Creeikili waddled out of sight, Ichiktikiiliiktik waded over to the slab where Mitra waited.

“I will call my companions here now,” Mitra told the Frog Demihuman. “Please don’t be alarmed.”

Saraca and his entourage came forward and joined the Chaaran. Ichiktikiiliiktik’s bulging red eyes glanced at the closing Beastmen nervously. Mitra gestured to Saraca.

“This is my mate, Saraca,” she said. “This is one of my mate’s other mates, Karuvaki. They will have questions for you, as well.”

“Greetings, Ichiktikiiliiktik,” Saraca bobbed his head. “Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to speak with you. Though we are on opposite sides of this conflict, let us conduct ourselves as civil beings for now.”

“You are the leader of this warband?”

“I am.”

“What is your tribe called?”

“I am of the royal house of Gond, one of the many member states of the Beastman Confederacy.”

“Then I greet you, Lord Saraca of Gond. This one is Ichiktikiiliiktik, Lord of the Kriiliililii tribe.”

The Creeikili Lord made a sort of bow, which put his face into the water. Saraca went to sit down beside Mitra, and Karuvaki went to sit beside him. The priestess’ eyes went to the many corpses at the edge of the clearing.

“You brought your children to a battlefield,” she said. “Does this mean that your whole tribe was here and not just a warband?”

“We did not bring our children to a battlefield,” Ichiktikiiliiktik replied. “Our tribe came here because there was no place for us. All of the spawning pools below were taken by stronger tribes. We…we knew that our young wouldn’t develop before the dry season came, but we had to try. This is the best we could do.”

“What about the places out of harm’s way? At least not in a known war zone. The rivers that tumble down from the Worldspine, perhaps?”

Ichiktikiiliiktik licked one eye clean, sending its gaze to the north.

“It was too far. If we lived closer to the Worldspine, we might have done as you said.”

“Does that mean that the Jorgulan tribes travel freely between the territories of their masters?” Saraca asked.

“Ah, so you know of our masters,” Ichiktikiiliiktik’s voice drew out strangely. “But there are masters, and there are masters. The lesser and the greater. The greater styles himself the Raja of Erelesa, the Green Dragon Berylvostitherix. His kingdom is divided between the brood that he has sired. These lesser masters do not care about any minor tribes that come and go; only that they recognise their supremacy and pay tribute while dwelling in their domain.”

“What is Erelesa’s relationship to the Jorgulan Commonwealth?”

“The songs say that, long ago, Erelesa was the last free realm of the Jorgulan Reach. But it was beset on all sides by savage foes. In the end, it was the Green Dragons from the east that won the race to seize Erelesa. Then they drove the Beastmen out.”

The events described by Ichiktikiiliiktik roughly lined up with Rol’en’gorek’s account, but it presented an angle previously unknown. The Creeikili Lord did not seem like the entirely unreasonable fellows that Rana Saj spoke of. Saraca eyed the Frog Demihuman’s bright orange and blue skin. If one extrapolated from their apparent biology, the Creeikili were a placid race that relied on their natural defences to deter aggressive foes.

“So are these Dragons seen as conquerors or defenders?” Saraca asked, “It’s puzzling that Green Dragons would form any sort of ‘commonwealth’.”

Considering the nature of Green Dragons, any ‘commonwealth’ that they ruled was probably nothing of the sort.

“It is a name, nothing more.” The Creeikili Lord answered with a wave of his webbed hand, “Dragons are obsessed with such things, yes? Prestige. Wealth. Power. We are merely pieces in a great game to them.”

“Seen one, seen ‘em all,” Girika spat. “Green Dragons are the same no matter where you go. Their existence is pure poison.”

According to other Dragons, they did serve a purpose. To mortals, however, all they represented was malignant evil.

“But what about their subjects?” Karuvaki asked, “The natives of the Jorgulan Reach? What are they like?”

“Some play the game willingly,” Ichiktikiiliiktik answered. “The rest suffer what they must. Only the strong may occupy the places of power and the best territories. It is a vicious competition – our masters do not care who lives and who dies: only that the strongest compete for their favour.”

“Does that mean the ‘warbands’ we see out here are merely weak tribes being pushed out by the strong?”

“Many, but not all. As I said, some play the game willingly. True warbands come to earn prestige for their masters, but this is usually during the wet season. There is no fame to be won in retreat, after all.”

Saraca weighed the Creeikili Lord’s words. Was there anything to be gained from deception? For the most part, he appeared to be relating the plain truth of things. There was no underlying motive or unifying theme that suggested an attempt at misdirection.

“In that case,” he said, “is there any way to minimise the amount of conflict in our advance? If we are facing weak tribes, they will stand no chance.”

“…minimise?” Confusion laced Ichiktikiiliiktik’s voice, “We are here because there is no place for us. ‘Minimising’ conflict would mean that we are allowed to settle this land.”

Right. Stupid question.

Tribes migrated because all would perish if they did not. Minimising casualties only meant that they remained to consume local resources, which would be unacceptable to the resident tribes they were intruding upon. That was at least one thing that all tribes seemed to understand, regardless of race or region.

After several more queries over what Ichiktikiiliiktik had seen on his side of things, they released him and continued on their way. They stayed far ahead of Clan Ki’ra’s advance, questioning the dozen or so tribes they came across on their way east. Their accounts were similar to one another: they were weak tribes pushed to the front line. Battle fodder to absorb Rol’en’gorek’s counteroffensive.

“If it’s like this,” Saraca said, “I wonder if Rol’en’gorek is putting any pressure on the Commonwealth at all.”

“What do you mean?” Girika asked.

“The way I see things,” Saraca answered, “the bulk of the Jorgulan force is tribes being forced to migrate from overpopulated territories. The dominant tribes only send warbands during the wet season. I doubt they stick around to get trapped when the dry season comes. They’re partly there to see that the undesirables stay out.”

“Hmm…makes sense.”

“I wish you wouldn’t agree so easily.”

“If it makes sense, it makes sense. Most of the world doesn’t adhere to lofty principles like yours. You have too many mouths to feed, you gotta do something about it. Like feeding those mouths to other hungry mouths. Attempted expansion is probably one of the more efficient uses. And it’s not as if it’s unprecedented: that damn Yeti Raja or whatever it was did the exact same thing to us two weeks ago.”

“That’s not quite right,” Saraca said.

“Mitra’s Yeti friend said so.”

“The Yeti that Mitra questioned only saw it that way. What the new Yeti Raja was doing was displaying his supremacy as a war leader to secure the loyalty of the conquered. All Commanders need to earn the loyalty of their subordinates in some way.”

“That implies that he plans on doing something else with them.”

Saraca fell into brooding silence. That was the one piece of the puzzle that still eluded him. The Yeti Raja was so dominant that he found it hard to imagine that he was merely replacing lost forces. He either had a campaign running elsewhere, or he intended to extend his current campaign along the Worldspine.

The end of the week saw them past the fortress at the end of the pass, and they arrived at a silty, meandering river that he assumed was where the Ki’ra forces would consolidate. They camped a day away from the riverbank while Kasturi and her reconnaissance forces kept an eye on the surroundings.

Clan Ki’ra arrived over the next few days. Rana Saj’s warband ended up nearby. Saraca took his entourage over to join them.

“Saraca,” the Baagh Lord called out jovially in greeting. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“We learned much, Rana Saj,” Saraca replied. “Unfortunately, we didn’t sample much of the local fare.”

“Yes, they were almost all inedible this time around,” Rana Saj grumbled. “Still, there was plenty of game to be had.”

Saraca came forward to join Rana Saj at his ‘table’, which was an old stump cleared of moss and debris. Some of his hunters had brought in a twenty-metre-long python and were trying to figure out how to butcher it.

“How will we advance from here?” Saraca asked.

“The reports so far state minimal losses,” Rana Saj answered. “With what happened to us up north, however, I’m inclined to hold here. The warbands may raid across the river as they please, but we’ll be running a conservative front this time around.”

“Has anything out of the ordinary happened?”

“Nothing that really caught my attention. We came in late, so the ease of our initial advance was to be expected. The forces going along the northern slopes of the pass are going slower than the rest of us, but they have to work their way across the mountain streams flowing down from the Worldspine, which is where many of the retreating Jorgulan tribes may linger.”

“I see. Do you have any maps of the Jorgulan Reach?”

Rana Saj motioned to one of his aides, who brought them a crude map of the area.

“The seasonal flooding significantly alters the landscape from year to year,” Rana Saj explained. “The only things that stay relatively constant are the mountains and the major settlements along the main waterways.”

The nearest town wasn’t overly distant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go that far into Erelesan territory.

“What about the resident tribes?” Saraca asked, “Do they have any patterns of migration or permanent holds aside from these towns?”

“That, I do not know. What I do know is that resistance past this river is far greater. I suppose it’s the same on our side when you get to established tribal territories in the lowlands.”

We can work with that. All we need is real information from one of the prominent tribes playing the ‘game’...

“Rana Saj!”

Heads across the encampment turned up as a runner rushed in.

“Speak,” Rana Saja commanded.

“Jorgulans crossing the river! Ichaani, Ophidians and Ka’ak.”

“Where?”

“About a kilometre northeast of here. Our hunters are trying to hold them off, but there are hundreds in the water.”

Rana Saj rose to his feet. His roar reverberated through the trees.

“Raid to the northeast! Get to the river!”

The encampment quickly emptied. Sounds of battle washed over them shortly after.

“Ichaani are crayfish,” Girika said as he kept pace with Saraca. “Ophidians are Serpentfolk. But what the hell are ‘Ka’ak’?”

“They’re those round biscuits that they make all along the Sapphire Coast,” Mitra said. “The people that can eat them say that they’re tasty.”

“I don’t think we’re being attacked by biscuits,” Saraca frowned at the mental image.

A gout of fire roared through the trees, setting a dozen Baagh aflame. The charging Beastmen simultaneously stopped at the sight.

“Well, that’s new,” Girika said.

?Switch to slings! The Ichaani here have venomous shells anyway and I don’t think we want to get close to whatever these Ka’ak are.?

As they waited for whatever horror would emerge from the flames, the Lord of Ki’ra charged past them.

“Don’t falter!” He called out, “Push those damn beetles back into the water!”

“So beetles,” Girika said. “That spit fire. I bet you want to try talking to them too.”

They followed after the last of the Ki’ra warriors, crossing the barrier of flame. A chaotic melee raged on the other side. One of the mamba Serpentfolk lunged at him from an overhanging branch, black maw opened wide. Girika leapt up and batted it out of the way with a vicious slash that tore its hooded head from its shoulders.

Saraca didn’t watch its body tumble away. Instead, he calmly took inventory of the growing brawl.

?Let’s forge some order out of this chaos. Vajra-vy?ha!?

His warriors formed a compact diamond around him. Within, three ranks formed. Kasturi led the front rank with the entourage’s Gladestalkers, Karuvaki was with the divine casters in the rear rank and Saraca formed the centre rank with Mitra and Girika.

It was a formation meant to condense the power of a numerically inferior force, but it was still usually employed with at least a small army. Then again, each member of his entourage was worth at least an army or two.

?Advance to the river. Keep those Ichaani away from our warriors. Mitra, set a cadence.?

The formation advanced to the rhythm of Mitra’s song. Except it was a silly song about fishing for Aboleth through holes drilled in the Frozen Expanse.

?You really know how to kill the mood.?

?And what mood is that? I think it’s most suited for my audience – anyone challenging us must surely be insane.?

?I doubt they’ll recognise the use of a formation at all, never mind this one. It’s just the most convenient for our purposes.?

?Irony is still humorous, even if it is born from ignorance.?

Its bonuses to troop performance aside, Vajra-vy?ha made a small army seem even smaller, inviting encirclement by the enemy. Anyone from civilised lands would have recognised it and kept their distance, but there was no such recognition here. Bullets flew out and shattered the carapaces of the swarming Ichaani. Ophidians sprung forward and were casually dispatched by the warriors on the perimeter. Realistically, their attackers had no chance, but they didn’t know that until they were dead.

“This is probably how the instructors at the military academy think this works every time,” Saraca mused.

“That’s why they’re instructors and not field commanders,” Girika snorted. “Shouldn’t we be picking out an officer to question? We’re going to run out of candidates soon.”

“I’m looking,” Mitra said. “Oh, there’s one. Nope, his head just exploded.”

?Leave any Lord-looking ones alive.?

A huge beetle appeared from behind a tree. It pointed the end of its abdomen towards them.

?Squish that bug!?

The beetle exploded. The formation ducked in unison as a wave of scorching heat rippled over the surroundings. Saraca raised his head a second later, surveying the carnage. Several Ichaani on the opposite side of his formation from the explosion were cooked bright red. Needless to say, those closer to the blasted crater didn’t do so well.

“Uh, just so you know,” Mitra said, “I’m not bringing a Ka’ak Lord to us.”

“No argument here,” Saraca shook his head. “Karuvaki, how did we do?”

“We’re fine. It was only about as strong as a weak Fireball.”

“If a Fireball could cover sixty metres,” Girika said. “No wonder they wanted the damn things in the water.”

?Gladestalkers, prioritise those Ka’ak! I don’t want to find out what happens if fifty of them come scuttling in.?

Explosions occurred at a more reasonable distance and they made the remaining few hundred metres to the shore. Their advance had attracted so many of the raiders that the rest of the front simply crumbled. Still, the warriors of Clan Ki’ra eyed the waters of the river warily. Not that he could blame them.

“Is it like this every time?” Saraca asked Rana Saj when he came by on his inspection of the shore.

“Ka’ak are rare, “the Rana answered. “They’re as much a hazard to their allies as us.”

“Then it must be some special occasion.”

“Not that we’ll ever know.”

Mitra appeared at his side. She gave Saraca a look that was far from her usual, playful demeanour.

“That may not be true,” Saraca said. “What did you find out, Mitra?”

“We need to get out of here,” Mitra told them. “Now.”