fight. This new leader, if he is someone new, will reveal himself in time,” Shonahn said. “But if it is the one who sent the machines against you, a change of command may not be enough.”
“Shon, we may need you to pull ambassadorial duty again. See if you can get help from any of the human tribes, starting with the Caravaners. If you can find them.”
“Yes, my Kha,” Shonahn replied. “By your leave, I shall assign my finest apprentice to tend to your health. But what shall you do?”
“The men need to see we’re fighting back with our brains as well as our blades. Starting tonight, we stop retreating. We are establishing a field command post. A den away from home where we can plan strategy and house troops, as well as stockpile supplies, weapons, and armor.”
“Can you really spare the resources? The men?” Shonahn looked doubtful.
“We don’t have a choice. It’s either draw the line here, or lose the Glimmervoid to the nim. Taj Nar will never fall,” he added with a toothy grin, “but we’ll be damned if we going to lose any more of the ancestral plains.” Raksha walked gingerly to the tent flap and drew it back slightly, allowing the clamor of battle to suddenly burst into the tent. The Kha’s ears twitched, listening to the night. His whiskers detected nothing moving in the blackness. Greenish-silver mist, a foul blend of the dust of the plains and the necrogen atmosphere of the Dross, obscured the distant fighting, but the howling nim and roaring leonin fighters sounded just a little closer than when he had gone into the tent. He twitched his ears and focused his sharp hearing on a particularly violent fight that he should have been leading.
Raksha’s ears snapped forward. For a moment, he could have sworn he’d heard a human voice chanting. He vainly scanned the night with feline ears, but the voice, if it had been there at all, was lost in the din of clashing blades and dying warriors.
Despite his promise to Shonahn, he instinctively rested a hand on his sword hilt and waved in one of the guards at the door, a young leonin named Jethrar. The inexperienced warrior somehow simultaneously straightened to attention and ducked awkwardly into the tent, careful not to jab the Kha with the silverbattle-scythe clutched in his hand. The warrior was new to the Raksha’s guard detail, and was painfully and obviously anxious at being called into an audience with his lord and master.
“Y-yes, my Kha?” Jethrar stuttered.
“We need to speak with Yshkar. Fetch him immediately.”
“My Kha, sir, Commander Yshkar is on the front line.”
“We know that, Jethrar, we sent him there.” Raksha grinned. “We have every confidence in you, warrior.” The Kha slipped a slim dagger from his belt and offered the hilt to the youthful guard. The small dagger had been a gift from Yshkar, and carried a moderate morale-boosting enchantment. It would help the young guard’s confidence, he knew. “Show him this, and he’ll understand the urgency. But do not give him the dagger. That would be an insult. Do you know why?”
“Presenting a weapon to a field commander in the field, even if his life is threatened, symbolizes a lack of confidence. A commander must rely on what he brings with him, for he leads alone,” Jethrar said crisply, falling into the military discipline of the well-trained leonin warrior.
“Correct, Jethrar,” Raksha said. “But remember also that only a fool refuses an ally. You want to know a secret?”
“Er, of course, my Kha,” Jethrar stammered.
“The prohibition against giving weapons to field commanders arose long ago, before Great Dakan united the tribes of leonin,” Raksha said.
“Yes, my Kha.”
“Be quiet and listen. It started as a competition among the strongest fighters of tribes at war, who led those tribes. Our people knew the futility of waging all-out war against their own kind even before Dakan, and these leaders, these champions, settled disputes
“Shon, we may need you to pull ambassadorial duty again. See if you can get help from any of the human tribes, starting with the Caravaners. If you can find them.”
“Yes, my Kha,” Shonahn replied. “By your leave, I shall assign my finest apprentice to tend to your health. But what shall you do?”
“The men need to see we’re fighting back with our brains as well as our blades. Starting tonight, we stop retreating. We are establishing a field command post. A den away from home where we can plan strategy and house troops, as well as stockpile supplies, weapons, and armor.”
“Can you really spare the resources? The men?” Shonahn looked doubtful.
“We don’t have a choice. It’s either draw the line here, or lose the Glimmervoid to the nim. Taj Nar will never fall,” he added with a toothy grin, “but we’ll be damned if we going to lose any more of the ancestral plains.” Raksha walked gingerly to the tent flap and drew it back slightly, allowing the clamor of battle to suddenly burst into the tent. The Kha’s ears twitched, listening to the night. His whiskers detected nothing moving in the blackness. Greenish-silver mist, a foul blend of the dust of the plains and the necrogen atmosphere of the Dross, obscured the distant fighting, but the howling nim and roaring leonin fighters sounded just a little closer than when he had gone into the tent. He twitched his ears and focused his sharp hearing on a particularly violent fight that he should have been leading.
Raksha’s ears snapped forward. For a moment, he could have sworn he’d heard a human voice chanting. He vainly scanned the night with feline ears, but the voice, if it had been there at all, was lost in the din of clashing blades and dying warriors.
Despite his promise to Shonahn, he instinctively rested a hand on his sword hilt and waved in one of the guards at the door, a young leonin named Jethrar. The inexperienced warrior somehow simultaneously straightened to attention and ducked awkwardly into the tent, careful not to jab the Kha with the silverbattle-scythe clutched in his hand. The warrior was new to the Raksha’s guard detail, and was painfully and obviously anxious at being called into an audience with his lord and master.
“Y-yes, my Kha?” Jethrar stuttered.
“We need to speak with Yshkar. Fetch him immediately.”
“My Kha, sir, Commander Yshkar is on the front line.”
“We know that, Jethrar, we sent him there.” Raksha grinned. “We have every confidence in you, warrior.” The Kha slipped a slim dagger from his belt and offered the hilt to the youthful guard. The small dagger had been a gift from Yshkar, and carried a moderate morale-boosting enchantment. It would help the young guard’s confidence, he knew. “Show him this, and he’ll understand the urgency. But do not give him the dagger. That would be an insult. Do you know why?”
“Presenting a weapon to a field commander in the field, even if his life is threatened, symbolizes a lack of confidence. A commander must rely on what he brings with him, for he leads alone,” Jethrar said crisply, falling into the military discipline of the well-trained leonin warrior.
“Correct, Jethrar,” Raksha said. “But remember also that only a fool refuses an ally. You want to know a secret?”
“Er, of course, my Kha,” Jethrar stammered.
“The prohibition against giving weapons to field commanders arose long ago, before Great Dakan united the tribes of leonin,” Raksha said.
“Yes, my Kha.”
“Be quiet and listen. It started as a competition among the strongest fighters of tribes at war, who led those tribes. Our people knew the futility of waging all-out war against their own kind even before Dakan, and these leaders, these champions, settled disputes
Similar Books
