Beers and Beards-Chapter 73Book 4, : The Beastfolk March
The squadron we were assigned to mostly consisted of younger mages of various Titles. They were eager to serve their tribes, though fractious as they jockeyed to prove their tribe the best, and terrified at the thought of what lay ahead. They were good kids; clearly the next generation of leaders, meant to live on and preserve their culture as best they could.
Adrian, Alba's student was amongst them, the young beastfolk now wearing the white and blue of a [Shaman], which clashed rather horribly with his speckled brown and yellow fur. He looked simultaneously disappointed that he wasn’t part of the main army, and proud of his station as a newly minuted [Shaman]. He was one of four young [Shamans] in our group, which numbered a total of twenty four, not including Brightstar.
We stayed in the central camp as the army of the Coalition tribes assembled. Thousands of warriors, all in the unique armour of their tribe gathered and stood in silence before the [Shaman’s] tent. The tension was palpable, and I felt a shiver run through my bones at the rows upon rows of grim looking warriors.
They ran the gamut from fresh faced youth to grim silver geriatrics. If they were hale of body and mind, they were here and ready to fight. Both beasts and beastesses were in attendance, though the ratio was skewed slightly towards the male side.
One beastfolk walked out of the mob and approached Isen’s giant red pavilion. I could barely make it out at our distance, but it looked like Marco. He was dressed in heavy splint mail, and carried a longsword and roman style shield.
He stopped ten paces from the tent, raised his blade, and lightning crackled out from it and into the sky. He shouted, “Shamans of the Tribes! The warriors of the Tribes seek your counsel!”
“COUNSEL!” The assembled warriors repeated in a cacophonous wave. They stomped their feet and banged swords on shields. The nearby hills reverberated with the sheer force of it. This continued for a minute or so, until the din eventually died down.
When there was finally silence, a paw reached out from the tent and brushed the flap aside. A white robed beastess stepped out. Her dappled fur was grey, and red face paint had been applied to her fur, giving her a fierce look. Her horns had been similarly applied with red, making them look like they were dipped in blood.
A section of warriors carrying the banner of an elk beneath a tree hooted and hollered as she stepped out of the tent and walked around to the back. She was followed by another [Shaman], a similarly painted white-furred elder. This time a larger group of warriors holding a banner of an eagle on a blue field cheered and stamped their feet.
“They’re cheering for the [Shaman] of their tribe,” Captain Conrad whispered to our curious group. “None of them have ever seen one, but have heard from their elders of their importance to the Tribes. It’s like seeing something from legend.”
Indeed, many furred faces were stained with tears as they roared their approval for their newly minted leaders.
The last person to step out of the tent was Isen, and all the tribes cheered for him. He looked shocked at the recognition, but raised a hand and waved nonetheless.
“Shamans of the Tribes!” Marco shouted once more, stepping forward. “Have you reached a consensus?”
Isen deferred to a [Shaman] beside him, who I realized with shock was Alba! She looked nothing like the jolly and dusty mead-maker I knew. Her fur was slicked back and stained with red, her Leonine snout was a rictus, and her eyes blazed with an inner fire that made her look like an avatar of fury.
Alba’s voice peeled out over the silence. “We have reached an accord! The Tribes will stand united as one! Our ancestors and your [Shamans] bless this battle! We name Marco Aurelez warleader! Do any speak against him?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
There was a beat of silence, before Alba nodded and spoke again. “Then, as your forebearers once did, let us run rampant upon the plains of our people! [Meld Spirit]!”
Her eyes began to glow with an inner golden light, and she held her hands out towards a group bearing the banner of a cloven hoof treading on a field of white. They too held their hands out, and their eyes began to glimmer a similar shade of gold. The other [Shamans] followed suit, and soon there was a shimmer over the entire camp. The [Shamans] then held hands, closing their eyes in concentration, and the light grew in a crescendo until with a sudden flash, it was gone.
The mass of beastfolk stood stock still, quite literally like deer in the headlights, and I had to tamp down a nervous giggle at the thought – it was not the time.
Suddenly, there was a shudder in the ground as every single one of the warriors, in unison, stamped their left feet on the ground. They did it again, and again, still with that deathly silence. Then, as one they swirled around, facing the direction of the far-off battlefield.
The area chosen for the armies to clash was a flat plain with a set of low lying hills providing high ground for the defenders. They’d been setting up defenses there for weeks, and from what Captain Conrad had said, it was a maze of traps, trenches, and trouble. It was about a kilometer away, close enough that the fast-moving beastfolk could get to it quickly and still be in fighting shape, but far enough away that the battle shouldn’t affect the camps.
I shuddered as the grim faced beastfolk walked to war in silence. Not a single voice called or cried out, as the onlookers matched the stoney faces of the warriors with their own stoic respect. The only sound was the staccato rumble of thousands of simultaneous footfalls, which caused small stones to jump and rattle.
“This is the reason the [Shamans] were such an integral part of the Coalition of the Tribes,” Captain Conrad whispered, answering our unspoken question. “They are able to meld the Spirits of their allies. Each [Shaman] melds the warriors of their tribe, and then they meld to each other. This lets them move their contingents across the battlefield without the need for communication, and to fight as though they all have one set of senses.”
“They’re movin’ like a machine,” Flowerpott murmured.
“Gods, why doesn’t everyone do that?” I asked, fascinated. There was a small boulder in the way of the main column, and the formation swept around it like water in a creek. It was eerie.
“It requires absolute trust in the person doing the melding,” Conrad shrugged. “Much as elves are willing to throw their lives away like so many leaves, and dwarves will fight with an unmatched rage, ouhr ability to trust runs deep. It is why the Kingdoms moved against thee [Shamans] first.”
So… herd instinct? I didn't say. But I did point out a few other races I could spot amongst the sea of beastfolk; there was a smattering of humans and a few green elves. “What about them?”
Conrad shrugged. “Our nomadic lifestyle is not very popular amongst the other races, but those that take to it are as much a part of our society as any. Just as some few can take to the underground world of the dwarves, or live amongst the trees of the elves. They may or may not be able to enter the meld depending on their personality. If not, they’ll be placed in their own company with a melded captain to organize them.”
“I need to sketch this and capture it in glass!” Flowerpott muttered, grabbing a sketchbook and piece of charcoal out of his bag. His white moustache bristled with excitement.
Conrad turned away from us and called for attention from the squadron. “After the army moves out, the outlying tribes will begin moving their non-combatants in. We’ll be standing in between them and the main battlefield. We don’t think there will be any stray magic or projectiles that will make it this far, but it’s our job to make sure. And to push back any incursions that the Humans may send our way. We may not receive any glory today, but we are the last line of defense.”
“What if the army falls?” One beastess put up her hand, then dropped it again when a dozen angry glares went her way.
“Then we surrender. And those that wish to escape with Lord Roughtuff do so. Ouhr job is to survive. The Tribes are expendable, but ouhr people are not.”
The mages all cheered, though it was scattered and quickly died down. Most looked sick to their stomachs.
So did I. Beside me, Balin practically looked green.
I looked in the direction of where the warriors were headed. Marco stood at the fore, in the same lockstep as every other beastfolk. Somewhere in that mess were Alba, Isen, Failith, and many other beastfolk I’d come to know and like over the past couple months.
And all I could do right now was hope that I'd given them the edge they needed to win.
