Chapter 79. Spinning Webs

Chapter 79. Spinning Webs AnnouncementI will postpone the chapters for a week or two again. Few weeks ago, my cat had to go to surgery and I burned through my free, and not so free, time to deal with those issues and the resultant aftercare. And got quite behind on my ahead chapters. I was trying to catch up by writing faster but most chapters still take me a week or so to write as such it was getting unfair to my supporters. And likely costing me in quality of writing. In the meantime, I will be posting a few pictures and update the glossary to fill the time.

In comparison with the Forest, the Lawn looked almost natural. The red grass didn’t look terrestrial by any means, but a mere difference in pigmentation wasn’t that outlandish from my point of view. It was common for the Collective to engineer plants for the most efficient utilisation of available light. Some were adapted to the spectrum of the nearby stars for general convenience while others were crafted with maximum yield in mind and had to be grown under ideal lighting and atmosphere. And then there were always decorative versions. Deep greens, blues, and even full blacks were contrasted with vibrant colours and chromatic shines. There was always someone who absolutely needed a field of shining gold or a lawn that would change its colour based on ambient temperature or the direction of wind.

From what Chirp could observe from its hidden observation post on top of the balloon, the growth was similar if not identical to the red biomat I saw near the Emanai border. It also had a surprisingly sharp transition from one to another. Something that I’d initially chalked to human intervention was apparently a natural process. There was just a lot more of it. Beyond the horizon, more. It wasn’t all alien red, however. A few kilometres away from the edge of the Forest, there were streaks of horse brown and human motley. The barbarians were here. And they were waiting for us.

While my attention was far away, my fingers kept strumming the guitar, playing a simple melody both for myself and for the others gathered near the cooking fire. It helped me to pace my thoughts just as it stopped others from distracting me with idle conversations. The few eager passers-by were quickly shushed down so as not to distract the ‘kitharist’.

They could either listen or keep moving. And I could concentrate on war planning. The wonders of alien life had been here for thousands of years, they could wait for another.

The balloon extended the horizon and the observation suite of Chirp’s eye pairs trumped the looking glasses, but the enemy wasn’t particularly hiding either. There were just too many people and animals in the area and too few obstacles to hide behind or under. Just as it was the case with our arms to an extent — while we had the Forest for cover, our marching was just too loud and lifted up a decent amount of dust on a dry day. Instead, the ‘barbarians’ leaned on a different tactic. Intimidation by presence.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Sophia’s estimate of twenty-five thousand barbarians was right on the money, but it looked like there were just that many near the Forest edge alone. If one were to look from afar, that is. When Chirp did it, it saw that there were up to three horses for every human. Many of those horses were strapped with banners and upright spears to make them look like they were carrying a warrior each, while others were dressed in manes and furs as if they were the sheydayan. The feline centaurs were also present, but not in the ‘smash through our flanks and wipe out an entire maniple in one fell swoop’ numbers and more so in the ‘bark commands at the rest of the forces and boost morale by being present’.

Yet another oddity that I had to postpone for another day. I would need to inquire from Sophia if I could get my hands on one of their corpses if the opportunity presented itself. Not just to learn how their internal organs worked as they had two separate torsos that did not look empty by any means, but to delve into the possible mysteries of the wermage ‘Spark’. I wished I could inspect our dead, but wer and wermages of Emanai were quite strict on burning their dead as soon as possible to avoid ‘foul airs’ and to maintain the purity of the soul.

There was a rumour among those who knew me as a daimon — apparently, I was once a wermage warrior that ended up rotting away for any number of reasons. The strength of my soul made me into a daimon but the taint on my Spark crippled my reincarnation.

Needless to say, I was devastated at that news. Considering that Navigators simply biomassed their previous corpses if there was some organic matter left to be used, my soul was absolutely caked in grime. I would need to purify myself in my sauna not once but probably twice when I returned.

But that, too, was for another day.

When it came to additional knowledge about our enemy that I couldn’t easily observe from afar, Hajar was now required to attend the meetings in the command chicken hut and I was often there by her side. I stood in silence behind her and listened as the General discussed with her Manipulars the possible strategies for upcoming battles. Discussions mostly happened among the Manipulars, however; when Sophia spoke she tended to state direct yet general orders rather than bring up topics for a discussion. To be fair, I could listen in even if I wasn’t allowed inside but this allowed me to have a convenient excuse to why I knew as much as I actually did.

I could even drop some real-time knowledge to Hajar now and frame it as something I’d managed to hear from another commander. Just to avoid wasting time on unnecessary questioning when seconds mattered. The last thing I wanted to see was my maniple getting massacred just because a handful of lucky raiders showed up where no one expected them to.

The last meeting confirmed my earlier assumptions — the force in front of the Forest was just a scouting wing of the entire ‘barbarian horde’ with the main body likely to be closer to Bayan Gol. While real numbers were still in our favour and we were likely to win any pitched battles, they were fully ‘mounted’ and we were mostly on foot. As such, they would dictate when and where engagements were going to happen. They didn’t come here to fruitlessly smash into our walls. They were here to slow us down where the terrain was more favourable to them and to keep harassing us as we pushed further.

There wouldn’t be any pitched battles. Not yet.

Not until we reached Bayan Gol, tired and thinned, and faced the actual ‘horde’, rested and numerous. I idly wondered if the size of the scouting detachment was deviously intentional. A ruse that would give a spark of hope to many spears of our arm as they see the so-called ‘immeasurable forces of evil’ barely comparing to the sheer might of Emanai. It would make them eager to act and willing to exhaust themselves as the enemy would falter and flee from skirmish to skirmish. It would make them ignore the tiny cracks forming within the arms. And then, it would sap the fumes of our morale once the real horde emerged, just when it would be needed the most.

Or maybe that was Albin talking in my head. For a generally relaxed person, he was quite on edge when he stressed me to remain cautious and discrete. The last time I saw him this serious was when I had been contemplating ‘solving’ the issue of Sophia in a permanent fashion.

And yet, Manipulars continued to call them uncivilised and barbaric. Apparently, the desire and ability to build large cities or willingness to organise the population into proper Manors was the only metric that mattered. They did recognise the power and intelligence of their opponents, but it was seen as something obtained despite their ‘unfortunate’ origin and likely through dishonourable means. For there was no way that a backward and savage swarm of nomadic tribes could somehow bring forth more wer and wermages than our nation of divine stability and peace.

Peace, my ass. Emanai simply had excursions through the Forest once or twice a year. To pick flowers and study local wildlife. Then there were cruises across the South Sea so that Emanai tourists could visit other people and engage in profitable barter. I heard that this ‘violence’ commodity was all the rage nowadays and many were just dying to get it.

The same could be said about the general ‘cowardice’ of our enemies. We had spears and shields to stop horse charges and spell volleys, while most of their lower ranks had nothing more than a gambeson for protection. At the same time, some of their wermages eschewed armour entirely, especially the sheydayan. It mattered little whether they consciously kept themselves light and mobile or this was caused by the general lack of available metal — they had found what was working for them and they simply used it. Expecting them to fight like the ‘honourable women’ of Emanai was akin to asking a fish to fly like a ‘respectable bird’.

It was truly an act of divine mercy that Albin and especially Sophia were cautious about the upcoming conflict. Even if they only voiced that caution in private. The bravado of Manipulars might be well-earned and Emanai was the local hegemon for a reason, but a piece of me remained uneasy. Emanai did not win all their fights — just lost significantly less.

Taqi, one of our finger’s servants, brought two jars of water but idled for a moment, fretfully casting glances my way.

Without saying a word or stopping my music, I met his gaze, gave a slight nod of approval, and gestured with my chin to my bag.

While the rest of the finger was mostly ambivalent to my trinkets, either seeing them as luxuries of the south or dangerously malevolent contraptions like my camping stove, the portable flour mill was well received by the servants as they were the ones who were milling our daily wheat. If only my assurances about fire containment and lectures about draft could have the same effect because using hot stones to keep our tent warm at night was rather silly. Alas, not everything was going according to my hopes.

Speaking of perfectly executed plans, the search for the poisoner was still ongoing. While I’d managed to filter out quite a few suspects already for their lack of involvement, there was a surprising amount of ‘interested’ individuals all around me and my sadaq. Some were quite professional about it and mostly wrote reports to their respective Dominas and Matriarchs. One of them worked for two Matriarchs at once, while another reported to Nanaya Kiymetl Ayda herself of all people. Others were somewhat more amateurish. Like that Denag wermage, whose arm I broke for trying to fondle me, or Irje’s commander who was angry at my cougar for some unknown reason. Whatever it was — she wasn’t telling a soul, even when she was less than fully sober and in the company of friends. Her usual tirades to her fellow commanders were more a product of emotion, rather than sound logic.

Irje being a barbarian spy? That rumour was even more ridiculous than me being part Creature. Yes, Barsashahr was the ‘homeland’ of various feline wer and wermages, but it was also the biggest source of slaves in Emanai due to the proximity of the two nations. If one were to pay attention, the streets of Samat were teeming with cat ears.

Surprisingly enough, the main reason why I still had so many suspects running around was no one other but Lita’af Hikmat herself. As I was collecting my data, she kept herself busy by aggressively suppressing most of the activity from her Manor that was related to me and mine. Especially now, when we were so close to Bayan Gol with battles looming ahead. Suffice to say, all my Kamshad suspects were kept busy sharpening their kattars and inspecting their oars. Some remained, like that Denag girl, but they were nothing more than sets of eyes and, therefore, could be easily subverted.

No matter how hard they looked, all they could see was a bored-looking murk that was playing songs for his finger. With two ‘artefacts’ on my hip.

Suffice to say, I had a good hunch as to why Lita’af was moving so aggressively behind the scenes. By the words of the Censor herself, even the fart buttons I was planning to shape into a piano were seen as small tokens of divine favour. The lashes looked a lot more imposing and a lot more mysterious than the ‘memory of a sound’. They lacked runes, basic ones and artefact-permanent, but — if one were to squint their eyes and look away while I adjusted the colour scheme — they could be seen as chopped-off tentacles of a Creature. Therefore — magical. I considered adding runes or making the lashes bioluminescent, but that was a bit too overt for my liking.

It was unwise for me to openly claim them as Divine Gifts for the exact same reason why those Gifts were valuable beyond their intrinsic value. They were a form of divine fiat currency and I had no particular interest in finding out what the Divine Heurisk shining-eyes-through-the-veil goddess-lady would think about my counterfeiting ass.

I let the melody approach the final movement. Tomorrow, we would cross the edge of the Forest and head toward the city. There was no point in me planning out the exact details of our campaign, for I knew little about classical warfare and, even if I did know something worth speculating about, it would all be moot anyway once we clashed with the enemy. Sophia was adamant about our first major objective — reach the river near the city and establish a fortified position that could be easily supplied by the ships from the mainland. A sound strategy from my point of view — rather than chasing a highly mobile army, we had a distinct and, most importantly, achievable goal that solely depended on us utilising our known strengths and not on our enemy making mistakes. It also nullified their speed at the operational level and above. Just as our arm moved with the slowest speed of a footed soldier despite having chariots and striding arusak-at, our objective moved at the speed of a river’s shoreline. Try as they might to move around — all they would do is leave our actual target undefended and easier to claim.

And, once we’d another fort right on the doorstep of their siege, they would be stuck between a rock and a hard place — unable to assault the city walls without us swinging by their rear for a friendly hello and unable to outlast us in the long term. For an army of twenty-five thousand warriors, and seventy-five thousand horses if the ratios were similar for the main body, that was standing on a not just inedible but outright poisonous to terrestrial life biomat, the well-supplied and entrenched arms of Emanai were nothing but a ticking death clock.

It was refreshing to see someone like Sophia taking a very calm and methodical approach to warfare. This was Sophia, the chess master, rather than Sophia, the overbearing Censor. There was a certain Albin-like certainty in her moves when she was dealing with others. Chasya-like, perhaps.

I could feel Irfan, the head of our finger, approaching as I idly wondered if their ‘wind magic’ had similar effects to that of an oneilled Navigator. I was never the one to take root in one place so I lacked the appropriate experience, but I could see the similarities between them getting magically aware of things happening around them and me collecting information through the use of drones.

Just as I could see others whispering behind my back and planning their next moves, they could command the wind and send the words directly into their ears. Or even stop time and shuffle through documents with no one being the wiser. Or ponder about some topics at their pace.

“Erf,” Irfan grimaced as my fingers stopped the melody but continued to speak, “the ointment that you used to close wounds — do you have plenty of it left?”

“You speak the truth.” Huare hummed. “Lita’af Hikmat would have been a much better concubine.”

Irje burst out laughing. “She would kill you if she heard you speak! Just to save you from the wrath of her mother.”

“That is why I am not telling her.” Huare plopped on a nearby bed and looked at the tent ceiling. “I find it enjoyable to ponder about curious and outrageous things once in a while. Do you?”

“Even if I do, I don’t just say them for others to hear.”

“You sound like my sister. Do you know what I say to her in response?”

“Something outrageous?”

The antlers swayed “I say nothing! I simply point at the balloon. For if I stayed silent then and there, we would still be here on the ground. Wondering what we were doing in the first place.”

Irje felt herself smile. “You are talking to the first wife of a daimon. Do you think I got to where I currently am by doing nothing at all?”

Huare chuckled. “Then you know me.”

Irje glanced at the entrance to their tent. “What is it like?”

“What is?”

She shrugged. “The war. How does it feel to be in battle?”

The Enoch wermage scratched her head. “Fucking awful if you are losing, that’s for sure. There is little I could say to you, or anyone else for that matter. War is different for everyone. No matter what others try to tell you, they would speak about their war, not yours. It is like having your first time with a man. You won’t know what it is truly like until you experience it yourself.”

“Well, Erf certainly doesn’t like them.”

Huare paused for a moment. “Many are quite content with what they have and your husband does not seem to be that hungry for status and power. Or he would have jumped at the opportunity to take Muramat and name him as his second husband. It would have taken Erf some time to subdue the spirit of a Matriarch’s son, but it could be done. If what I say is true, he sees most campaigns as senseless for they bring him nothing of value. And it is wise to abhor the senseless slaughter. But some wars have to be fought no matter what. Because for every wise person there are ten fools. When wise men lay down their swords, fools win.”

“Do you like them?”

Huare looked at her. “I did not come here looking for a fight.”

“Ah...”

“Do you wish to touch?”

Irje blinked. “What?”

Huare tucked the loose lock of her hair. “My antlers. You have been looking at them from time to time. Do you wish to touch them?”

“I heard that it is a private matter among the Enoch, is it not?”

“As long as one gets permission first.” She looked around the tent. “And we are in private.”

“I have a husband and two wives.”

“You can’t get pregnant by touching other girls’ antlers, Irje. And your husband did touch them already. Without any permission, mind you. But I recognised the curiosity in his eyes, not desire, so I didn’t get offended at his actions.” Huare thought for a moment. “Unless you are asking if all three of you can touch them at the same time. Then the answer would be a ‘no’.”

Irje sputtered. “T-three of us!?”

“They are not horns, Irje. Alive. And sensitive. It is one thing to satisfy one’s curiosity and another — to let others hold them as they see fit.”

“Anaise would be scandalised.”

“Irje, Anaise has an Enoch father. She touched plenty of horns and antlers when she was a babe.”

“Huare Kausar!” Anaise threw the door curtain aside and stormed in. “Don’t you dare to share any tales about my childhood!”

Huare nodded in greeting. “Anaise. You are early.”

“Girls,” Irje got up and summoned a wineskin. “Let’s not waste our time on pointless squabbles. Not tonight.”

Anaise glanced at Irje and then turned back to Huare. “What did you see?”

“Six thousand or so. The rest are elsewhere.”

She grimaced and took the wineskin. “Fine... might as well get some rest while we can. But no stories of my past, you hear me!? I still remember who tattled on me that one time.”

Huare shrugged. “Your mother asked what you were doing, so I told her.”