Chapter 5

7th Day, Upper Water Month, 0 CE

“So, how do we split things up?”

“I’m staying behind the lines,” Devi said. “You won’t catch me romping around a battlefield.”

The Merchant had, in fact, ‘romped around a battlefield’ before. She didn’t fight personally, instead focusing on somehow making a profit. Even so, Saraca supposed that it wasn’t really her thing.

“I meant the rest of us,” he said.

Rana Saj needed to situate the tribal warbands that had accompanied him to the Gor’lior, so he bid Saraca and his entourage to wait in their accommodations. They were guided to a small barracks with simple furnishings, which most of them didn’t mind. Devi and Karuvaki looked a bit displeased as they were accustomed to having more privacy.

“Would you like to stay with me, Mitra?” Devi asked, “We could sell up a storm between us.”

“I’m going with them,” Mitra answered. “This is a rare chance to let loose, after all.”

Devi’s striped tail drooped and her sigh drifted into the air. In the end, the Merchant remained with four of Saraca’s house guard. They would go back and forth peddling their wares throughout the season. The rest of the entourage would remain with Saraca, acting as his ‘warband’ on the Jorgulan Frontier.

After waiting in their room for an hour with no word from Rana Saj, Saraca went to take a look around the fortress. The guards stationed on the cliffside walkway outside straightened at his appearance. He approached them with an unassuming air while gazing out at the landscape of the valley.

“Rana Saj said he’d send someone for us…”

“Ah, about that,” one of the guards replied. “A runner arrived from the north.”

He looked over the edge of the walkway. Due to the structure of the fortress, it didn’t have a courtyard, but the clearing at its base served as a mustering field. Most of Clan Ki’ra’s forces remained below, as they would be deployed over the pass once Rana Saj was updated on the theatre’s situation.

“Our Lord is in the war room atop the plateau,” the guard said. “I can guide you there if you wish.”

“Please, thank you.”

As Gor’lior was built on a butte, its limited space meant that most of its rooms were carved out along the upper third of its three-hundred-metre height. The fortress could sustain an army of thirty thousand for several years, though the regular sieges experienced by its defenders were more or less half the duration.

Gor’lior’s design was especially problematic for Rol’en’gorek’s semi-aquatic adversaries. The fortress was exposed to the elements and remained dry throughout the season. It was impossible to scale and occupy for many races that might find themselves at home in a flooded rainforest.

The citadel atop the fortress took up every square metre of space. Additionally, it had many long hoardings jutting out over the edge of the butte, which allowed its defenders to attack the single spiralling approach from above with impunity.

“I like the way this place is set up,” Saraca said, “but how do you deal with flying opponents?”

“Aside from Dragons,” the guard said, “the Jorgulans have no flying combatants. Gor’lior was purposely designed to withstand Green Dragon attacks.”

The guard gestured to the stone walkway.

“All of the surfaces here are purposely angled to prevent a Green Dragon’s breath attacks from pooling. We learned that lesson the hard way early on when our holds here were more conventional.”

He could imagine the excruciating fate of those who had to find out the hard way. The breath attack of a Green Dragon was heavier than air, allowing it to flow into structures and fill the rooms and hallways. It was a poisonous gas that would pool underground and eat away at food stores and equipment with its corrosive potency. Needless to say, those caught in the attack would find their lungs melted and hides burning away.

Several unfamiliar faces were present with Rana Saj in the war room. At the head of its long stone table was one of the Lords of the ‘Ocelo’ race unique to the west. Opposite Rana Saj was a member of the ‘Con’.

“Saraca,” Rana Saj greeted him. “You have my apologies for the delay.”

“It’s not a problem,” Saraca replied. “We’re simply guests who have imposed ourselves here, after all.”

“An honoured guest nonetheless,” the Rana replied, then gestured to the others at the table. “May I introduce you to Rana Owiori of the Ocelo. He’s served as the commanding officer of Gor’lior over the past season.”

The Ocelo Lord bobbed his head in greeting.

“We don’t get visitors here often,” he said. “You have the bearing of a mighty Lord, however, so perhaps you might be interested in testing the mettle of some of the locals?”

“Among other things,” Saraca grinned. “Our journey has been mostly peaceful and some of my warriors would appreciate a good fight.”

Rana Owiori thumped a paw on the table.

“Excellent,” he nodded. “We have a major raid coming down from the Worldspine. Winter is on its way and with it come the savage northern tribes. Are you familiar with any of them?”

“I have experienced the Worldspine, but not this part of it. But I guess it’s equally hostile wherever you go.”

“Is that so? Well, I guess we shouldn’t feel so singled out then. According to the runner here, the raid started over a week ago. The Yeti tribes living in the icefields to the northwest all came down from their homes at the same time.”

“I assume that’s not normal here?”

“Not at all. Their raids are usually from single tribes against single tribes.”

“I see. How would you usually respond in this situation?”

Saraca came forward and joined them at the table, standing beside Rana Saj. Rolled out between the warriors was a map inked out on a roll of vellum.

“We’ll have to delay the relief of my forces,” Rana Owiori said. “The Ocelo are not suited for winter fighting, so Clan Ki’ra needs to divert while Clan Owiori holds its positions. I’ll warn my warbands of the additional delay.”

The passing of duties in a theatre from one force to another was always a vulnerable point in any defensive scheme. Given that the Jorgulan forces should be retreating with the dry season, however, it probably wasn’t too difficult or risky of an adjustment to make.

“I believe that half of my tribes can continue deploying over the pass,” Rana Saj said. “The good runner here delivered an estimate of five thousand Yeti warriors. Fifteen thousand Baagh will be enough to contain them and help shore up the northern defences against other wilderness tribes that might cause mischief while we deal with the Yeti.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Rana Owiori nodded. “I appreciate your consideration. It’s been a long season and our warriors would like to see their families again.”

“When do we march north?” Saraca asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Rana Saj answered. “I assume you have something for the cold?”

“We do. Our travels necessitate Endure Elements items. A bit of cold won’t be a problem.”

They departed before dawn, making their way northeast around the mountains to the north of the fortress. As they gained altitude, the vegetation transitioned from a dense tropical jungle to a primal conifer rainforest. Over the next two days, as their provisions dwindled, a thought occurred to Saraca.

“We’re in someone’s territory, right? We’ll be hunting their game at this rate.”

“It’s not a problem,” Rana Saj replied. “We can hunt as we need to in this situation, but the holds along the way should do most of the provisioning out of their stores. The best part about the Worldspine is that it’s easy to preserve meat. The Con will be scrambling to clear their frozen stores to make room.”

“Make room?” Saraca narrowed his eyes.

“Yeti are delicious, you know?” The Rana told him, “That layer of fat they all have is exquisite. A single adult Yeti can sustain one of us for five or six months as long as their flesh can be preserved.”

“You make these raids almost sound a welcome thing.”

“The fact that they asked for help says something in itself. Usually, the Con keep their frozen treats to themselves.”

Low laughter rose from the nearby warriors. The prospects of the coming battle only seemed to lift their spirits.

A guide from the front lines awaited them at a camp near the treeline. Even as high as they already were, the icy peaks of the Worldspine stood in stark relief to the surroundings. The mere sight was intimidating, and Saraca’s senses picked up countless indications of unseen danger.

“Thank you for coming,” the guide said. “Rana Pwilere’s been coordinating a fighting retreat since the last blizzard. The front is another thousand metres above – ten kilometres northwest of here.”

“Did Rana Pwilere leave any instructions or information for us?”

“No,” the guide shook her head. “The front is changing too quickly. I was instructed to bring you to him. Your warriors can rest here for now.”

The guide led them out of the camp. A landscape of shrubs, lichen-covered boulders and patches of snow replaced the forest above the treeline. Tongues of long glaciers flowed out from the icecap above. Frigid winds, tinged with the scent of bloodshed, lashed their way down the slope.

As they approached a large patch of bush sheltered by the boulders of an old moraine, a head popped out to look in their direction. They entered the vegetation, finding the interior spacious enough to shelter dozens of Beastmen. Several Con Lords looked towards the entrance at their approach. A particularly large one came forward to greet them.

“Rana Saj. That was unexpectedly slow.”

“Rana Dratha’s offensive in the Draconic Kingdom has added delays to everything,” Rana Saj replied. “Not that our enemies mind. How are things here, Rana Pwilere?”

“There are more of the Yeti than usual, but their offensive patterns are still the same.”

“How long until their Shamans recover?”

“Nightfall. How many warriors did you bring?”

“Fifteen thousand. Are the other wilderness tribes up to anything?”

“Not that we’ve seen,” Rana Pwilere replied. “At least not on our side. They may be waiting for the Yeti to be weakened before attacking them instead of us.”

“If only life were that convenient. Winter is their opportunity to strike at our territories.”

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Saraca glanced at Rana Saj out of the corner of his eye. It was a dangerous assumption to make. Many a novice Commander relied entirely on ‘logic’ – believing warfare to be rational and follow established behaviours – only to have the enemy Commander purposely do something ‘irrational’ to bring about their end. Or worse, a Commander might have their own forces do something unexpected to the same result.

Additionally, information was rarely perfect and timely, resulting in each side having a different perspective of an unfolding conflict.

“I’m not familiar with this Lord…or Lords?”

“Ah,” Rana Saj turned and gestured to Saraca, “forgive me for the late introduction. This is Saraca, a visitor from the world beyond. The lady here is Mitra, one of Saraca’s wives.”

“Welcome to Rol’en’gorek,” Rana Pwilere bobbed his head in greeting. “Visitors to our country are usually the hostile sort, so I hope you don’t mind our rough welcome.”

“We are pleased to be here, Rana Pwilere,” Saraca returned his greeting. “We’re all warriors, so seeing how your people conduct themselves in battle is of great interest to us.”

“In that case, I hope we don’t embarrass ourselves,” Rana Pwilere chuckled. “The Yeti are brutes, so we must answer in kind. It’s far from elegant.”

The Con Lord brought them to the centre of the thicket. A map of the nearby mountains was rolled out on a slab of granite.

“Our patrols detected Yeti scouts about two weeks before the offensive came,” Rana Pwilere told them, “but we had no idea of its magnitude. There weren’t any more scouts than in the years before, so we assumed that it would be more of the same. Fortunately, they’re not very stealthy, so we saw them coming before they made it halfway down the nearest glacier.”

“Do you know what’s driving this raid?” Rana Saj asked.

“We’ve made out at least ten different tribes so far–”

“Ten?” Rana Saj gave the Con Lord a sharp look, “The estimate delivered to Gor’lior was half that.”

“The estimate is a week old. Half the current number was enough to convince us to request assistance.”

It appeared that ‘tribe’ was used as a unit for estimating army strength – one tribe representing one thousand warriors. Still, it didn’t indicate how strong the local Yeti tribes were. On the western side of the Worldspine, the average Yeti was more powerful than the average felid Beastman warrior.

More accurately, the Yeti tribes still existed in a primal state, meaning that every member of a tribe could and did act as a warrior. This meant that a Yeti Warrior was noticeably stronger than a felid Beastman warrior in a physical sense, but they lacked the martial training of a Confederacy warrior.

“If there are at least ten tribes,” Rana Saj said, “we’re dealing with a Yeti Lord strong enough to be considered the equivalent of your Clanlords. Have your warriors seen anyone that matches the description?”

“Not yet,” Rana Pwilere replied. “Yeti aren’t exactly shrewd opponents, so it probably means there are even more coming. Between us, we have twenty-three thousand warriors. This might turn messy.”

“What percentage of the enemy must be put out of commission to force a withdrawal?” Saraca asked.

“Going by past raids,” Rana Pwilere said, “one-third. We’ve killed about two thousand so far.”

“…and how many have you lost?”

“The same number.”

Saraca looked down grimly at the map. All else being equal, trading one felid Beastman warrior for one Yeti warrior was a good deal. However, the Yeti were not the only enemies of Rol’en’gorek. Rana Pwilere’s clan needed to preserve their strength to defend against raids from other wilderness tribes over the winter while Rana Saj’s forces were supposed to be fighting on the Jorgulan Frontier. Sustaining significant losses against the Yeti would cascade into difficulties elsewhere.

“How do the local Yeti tribes fight?” Saraca asked.

“Like many alpine races,” Rana Pwilere replied, “they use the elements to their advantage. Fighting them in blizzards is impossible for us. When the weather is unfavourable to them, their Shamans summon fogbanks for their forces to advance in. Like many races that live in high mountain conditions, Yeti can see through fog, snow and other weather.”

“So, tonight, we’ll have a fog filled with Yeti rolling down the mountainside.”

“That’s what we expect. We still have a half dozen or so kilometres to manoeuvre, so skirmishes will be opportunistic.”

“Is there anything else we should know about?” Rana Saj asked.

“No,” Rana Pwilere answered. “Aside from the scale, it’s been surprisingly normal.”

Rana Saj left the thicket, heading back down to the camp where his forces awaited. Saraca and his entourage followed, examining the surroundings more thoroughly. From a distance, it might appear as a ‘bare slope’ due to the lack of trees, but there was plenty of cover to be had if one lay low.

“They lost many warriors,” Saraca noted.

“They did,” Rana Saj agreed. “It was probably the size of the raid that initially caught them off guard. The runner that came to Gor’lior was unsettled, but the tribes here seem to be calm.”

“What are your expectations for this conflict, and how will they affect your work on the frontier?”

“That would depend on how much more is coming. At the least, my warbands have to stay here to help counter the main thrust of the Yeti offensive. As for our duties on the frontier, the Jorgulans are still limited by the changing seasons, so, at the worst, we’ll withdraw early and keep things light.”

Upon returning to the camp, Rana Saj divided his forces into their respective tribal groupings and deployed them across the front. A general overview was provided, but no specific instructions were issued. They were to collaborate with the local defenders who better understood how the battles on the mountain took shape. Saraca and his entourage elected to stay with Rana Saj, who returned to the Rana Pwilere’s thicket.

It wasn’t long after their arrival that scouts started reporting activity above. Another five Yeti tribes were added to the running estimate, negating the defenders’ strength advantage entirely.

“How far up into the mountains have your forces been?” Saraca asked the Con Lord as they watched a fog begin to form up the slope.

“We’ve only been up to the toe of the glacier,” Rana Pwilere answered. “It’s pointless for us to go further. Our raids go along the valleys below the mountain, but they can’t get very far before the resident tribes make any incursion untenable. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to develop a better picture of these tribes’ war potential,” Saraca said. “Right now, it only seems as if there’s an endless number of them coming down from the icefields. But there must be a limit, and that limit is determined by available territory.”

“In that case, based on the number we kill every year and how quickly they replenish their numbers, the total population associated with the local Yeti tribes should be close to sixty thousand.”

“So they’ve sent nearly a quarter of their population to attack you.”

“Assuming the estimate is correct. It could be that there are many unassociated groups and there’s been a migration of some sort up there that has changed the numbers from the norm. It’s impossible for us to know.”

Except that it wasn’t. Saraca sent a glance at Mitra, who nodded slightly in response.

With the Yeti tribes on their way, they left the thicket to take their positions for the coming assault. The final traces of sunlight vanished from the tops of the icy peaks by the time the fog came within a kilometre of them. Saraca’s nose wrinkled as the sour scent of Yeti started to permeate the air.

“I forgot how much I hate that smell,” he muttered.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Mitra held a paw over maw.

“Warriors of the Rol’en’gorek!” Rana Pwilere’s voice boomed over the mountainside, “Our foes approach! Staunch allies have arrived to bolster our ranks, but this great raid is not to be taken lightly! Do not let our numbers fill you with overconfidence – we fight as we always have!”

Well, that’s interesting…

The conservative stance was to be expected, but the fact that Rana Pwilere cast his voice the way that he did was not. Commanders who drew attention to themselves made for attractive targets. Not to mention that the enemy could also hear what they were trying to do.

『What are we doing, ji?』

『Let’s not distract them. We’ll see how things go for now.』

Saraca’s entourage visibly relaxed, but they still closed around him and remained alert to their surroundings. His whiskers picking up heavy footfalls vibrating through the air was the first tangible sign of an imminent clash.

“Think Rana Pwilere did that on purpose?” Girika asked from beside him, “Calling attention to himself, I mean.”

“Yeti aren’t like them,” Saraca answered, “so the Lord won’t come running to issue a direct challenge. I suppose it’s still useful if the General’s bodyguard is much stronger than the rest…”

The alpine Demihumans were elusive, but ultimately simple in their approach. Not many could withstand beings so large, after all. By drawing attention to himself, Rana Pwilere relieved pressure on the warbands nearby.

A chunk of ice shattered on a boulder nearby, sending shards spraying into the lurking Beastmen. More crude projectiles came flying out of the fog, but the effect was minimal.

『Should I heal them?』

『Let them do their thing.』

『It’s weird that they don’t have any Bards here.』

『I don’t think they have anything like the Chaaran. Their caste system doesn’t recognise Bards as warriors.』

Though Rana Pwilere had announced his rough location, the Beastmen still lay in ambush. The Yeti couldn’t pinpoint any single target – only the vague location of where they had last heard Rana Pwilere. Saraca supposed that another reason why the Con Lord had raised his voice was to make sure the Yeti were going in the right direction before concealing himself.

The fog rolled over them. At the edge of his Darkvision, a rotund silhouette appeared. Atop a four-metre-tall form covered in long white fur were two pairs of horns shaped like an Aurochs’, their points facing forward. Between those horns was an ape-like face with a mouth lined with fangs. The Yeti thumped forward, its gleaming yellow eyes searching for enemies to fight.

None of the Beastmen obliged. They continued hiding where they were as more and more Yeti advanced.

Saraca grinned. Their military tradition wasn’t formalised and their tactical organisation was rather haphazard, but it was clear that the warriors of Rol’en’gorek knew how to fight as a group.

Rana Pwilere was the first to pounce. Unlike Hobgoblins who would act in purposeful solidarity or Minotaurs who took personal initiative to create displays of raw prowess, Rana Pwilere’s attack was an independent move purposefully made to set off a chaotic chain of events.

The ambush drew the attention of the nearest Yeti. When they turned, other Beastmen pounced on them from behind. After inflicting grievous wounds, the Beastmen didn’t stick around to fight. Instead, they dashed down the slope. Their adversaries bellowed in rage and gave chase, only to be ambushed by other warriors hidden further along.

Organised chaos expanded across the front, filling the air with bellows, roars and the stench of viscera. The fighting rapidly rippled toward them.

『Are we running too? We’re right at the back.』

Dozens of Beastmen sprinted by and kept going.

『It doesn’t look like they’re stopping. We’ll run, too.』

More Beastmen ran by. Saraca addressed his ‘warband’.

『Let’s pretend to be unaccustomed to this tactic. Remain hidden until my signal.』

Bloodied Yeti howled as they stomped by, completely focused on their fleeing assailants. After the last of the Beastmen passed, Saraca waited an additional minute.

『Kill everything in the way as we catch up. Go.』

Saraca and his entourage exploded out of the bushes. He bowled over his target and gave it an experimental swat.

Ah, it died.

The Yeti was about the same as those on the opposite end of the Worldspine. Another came up behind him, its stained yellow claws brandished. A swift kick disembowelled it, sending the one-tonne Demihuman spinning away with its innards trailing behind.

Around him, the members of his House Guard were having no discernible difficulties. Several had four or five Yeti tribespeople dead around them. A dismembered arm arced over his head.

『That should be good enough. Let’s get out of here.』

He loped down the slope, casually ending any Yeti that blocked his path. Karuvaki fell into step beside him.

“I don’t see what’s so fun about this,” she said. “We obliterated those hapless people.”

“Well, there’s usually not much hope for a challenge anywhere we go,” Saraca said. “It’s still a part of our job. Just think of it as helping Rol’en’gorek.”

“A temporary reprieve, at best. Helping people out of their problems requires what causes those problems to be remedied.”

“And they seem to understand that,” Saraca replied. “Since they’re on their way to solving their problems on their own, it won’t hurt to do this much.”

“The Ashta Pradhan isn’t as positive as you are on foreign matters, ji. For all of the light that you see in others, they tend to focus on the shadows.”

“It would be irresponsible of them to not consider all angles,” Saraca said. “With us always being on foreign assignments, we aren’t up to date on what’s going on at home. The balance of power is a delicate thing.”

With six superpowers around the centre of the continent, nothing could be simple. Everything affected everything else. The Confederacy couldn’t recklessly expand their hegemony: they needed to be mindful of who they focused their resources on, what conflicts they involved themselves in, and the effects their actions had on the world at large.

At the same time, they couldn’t remain idle and not forge new relationships at all. It would be foolish to believe that their rivals weren’t doing the same thing that they were. Stagnation was the path to ruin.

Five kilometres downhill, they arrived at the Rana Pwilere’s reconsolidated lines. The Yetis who managed to chase them that far were put down forcefully, forming a row of corpses that stretched out along the front. Mystics tended to wounds as they prepared for the next assault. Rana Saj breathed out a sigh of relief as Saraca and his entourage came into view.

“You look pretty much unscathed,” the Rana looked over at them. “I was worried when you didn’t appear on our tails.”

“Your forces are well practised,” Saraca replied. “It was impressive to witness. Especially when so many different tribes were involved. We couldn’t quite move in step with you this first time.”

The latter part aside, what he said was genuine. While the warrior tribes were full-time combatants, they weren’t professional soldiers. They were also from many different clans and of two different races. A not-insubstantial amount of practical combat experience facilitated their smooth manoeuvre.

“You honour us with your praise,” Rana Saj bobbed his head. “By the way, I don’t see your other wife.”

As if on cue, Mitra appeared out of the darkness. She waved a claw–no, the claw of the Yeti arm she was waving waved. The beautiful white tigress licked the fresh blood off of her maw.

“You were right, Rana Saj,” she said. “They’re delicious!”