Chapter 80. Push Back

Chapter 80. Push Back AnnouncementWelcome back to the original program! I did caught up somewhat, but nowhere far enough as I've planned (specifically this chapter took me a couple of rewrites to be even remotely satisfied about) So I will be changing the schedule slightly after this release. From now on chapters will be posted on 10th, 20th, and 30th(or 28th) of the month both to maintain some sort of schedule for you to depend upon but also to give me a few extra days per release to keep catching up on my obligations without constantly taking multiple week breaks.

Aikerim Kiymetl Adal

“Come on in and lie down with us,” Aikerim nodded to the last two arrivals. “We have much to discuss. Sulla.”

As Yeva and Wrena Khayrat moved to their couches beside Aikerim’s immediate family, her assistant brought in the large standing map of Emanai for all of them to see.

“I hope that there were no incidents concerning the new arrivals?”

Yeva shook her head. “Nothing so far, but it is still too early to tell. With Shahin’s advice, I chose to frame this venture as a school of new rhetoric rather than an apprenticeship.”

Amalric shifted in his couch when he heard that name but stayed silent under Aikerim’s look. She brought him here to learn, not to make a fool of himself.

“Considering that I will be teaching them ideas and concepts and not how to hold a chisel or strike with a hammer, such a style of teaching seems to be the most fitting. But this is not what they expected when they came here. It will take some time for them to regain their footing.”

“You expect the artisans, hand-picked by Matriarchs, to cause trouble for my mother?” Her oldest son, Aidar, leaned in. “Are you concerned that the knowledge you will share with them might earn disapproval from Nanaya Ayda or Zamindar Azrin?”

Aikerim looked at him as well, but he simply shrugged. “I am not accusing her of anything untoward. But even statues of gold cast shadows behind them. Parusatis Aminah might not appreciate our new automations, for example. For you, mother, they are useful machines, capable of doing the work of a hundred slaves and expanding the power of your Manor accordingly. For the Kishava Matriarch — they are a hundred slaves left unsold.”

“I expect the wermage artisans to treat me like a murk. I expect them to test the boundaries, and I also expect that some of them might be... too curious if they think that no one is looking.”

Tarhunna tilted his head. “But you will be looking.”

“The estate is my responsibility. If something happens within it — I will know.”

“Be careful with your watchers,” Aikerim cautioned, nodding at the map. “Things are happening rather quickly outside of our two Houses, and I would not have my friends and allies aggravated for no good reason. Or worse — lose trustworthy artisans from excessive spying.”

“Rest assured, my Domina, I will be more than discreet. The one and only time any of them will learn of me knowing is when I am forced to confront them about their actions.” Her head tilted at a nearby window. “In order to spot something, one needs to know what they are looking for in the first place.”

Aikerim glanced at the window. She didn’t see Erf’s flying messenger thing outside but she knew enough about its capabilities to understand the implication. “What about the rest of my Manor?”

“If that is your request, then I will be forced to disappoint you.” Yeva either missed the implication or chose to ignore it. “The limited size of the estate is already at the edge of my abilities. The estate being my responsibility is the one and only reason why I am even willing to go this far.”

Domina unravelled the spell she kept hidden inside her palm and tapped her chin in contemplation. Now that she knew Yeva was telling the truth, the revelation turned from being satisfactory to slightly disappointing. There were a few places in Samat that Aikerim wouldn’t mind knowing a little bit more about but, as was often the case with everything Erf-related, this revelation had little in terms of offence and everything for defence. She would need to ask him about it once he came back.

“If you do catch someone, inform me first.”

Yeva paused for a moment and then nodded. “Of course. I will be the strict teacher while you — the generous Domina.”

Aikerim felt her eyebrows rise but her smile quickly followed right after. “Indeed. I see we understand each other quite well in this manner.”

She turned her head to the other female in the room. “Wrena Khayrat?”

Wrena bowed her ears forward. “I would prefer to keep working with servant apprentices if you permit me. Most of my time is spent on building textile machines and those remain the Manor’s Secret.”

“I am of the same mind as well.” Domina nodded. “I can’t neglect the growth of my Manor just to teach our guests, someone needs to train my people as well. And that someone is no one else but you right now. Tell me of your progress. I hear that things are moving quite smoothly?”

“Indeed, my Domina. With Isra’s new metal stamper, making new machines is almost a child’s work. I have a dedicated group of workers for the looms and they can barely keep up with making new frames for all the metal pieces it spits out! They would be behind if we didn’t have so many nails available to us. We should have an entire workhouse filled with two hundred steam-powered looms by the time the sun turns back toward the summer. And once we make the carded looms-”

Aikerim shifted on her couch impatiently. “What about the thread machine?”

While looms were important, she’d gotten used to them already. Aikerim was certain that she would be pleased with the loom that could weave intricate patterns all by itself, but she also knew that such pleasure would be limited if the machine remained motionless due to the lack of readily available thread.Diiscover new stories at novelhall.com

“Ah, yes,” Wrena rummaged through her sash and pulled out a small spindle, “the machine still needs adjustments so I didn’t want to mention it too early, but we are quite close to completion.”

Aikerim hummed and lifted the spindle across the table into her arms, quickly unravelling a few elbows of thread to inspect it directly. “Consistent, strong... It is a good thread. But it is too coarse. Something like this could work for dressing Emanai soldiers and my workers, but most wermages would scoff at such quality.”

“That is exactly what we are trying to improve. Parts of the machine are moving at different speeds and that difference dictates how much the roving is stretched before it is twisted into thread and spun on a spindle,” Yeva added. “There is also a question of how thick we need to make the roving itself so that the process remains smooth and without frequent breaks.”

“How long would it take for you to teach the machine? I remember Erf saying that machines need to be taught once, but a good spinner needs years of practice before they can make a very fine thread.”

“Days, my Domina. While I can’t guarantee that the resultant thread would reach the maximum achievable quality of a master spinner yet, it would more than match it in consistency. Not to the level of fine silk but it will be a fine wool thread nevertheless. With the addition of our new dyes, they would be desired by the most noble of wermages. Then, once the final main type of machinery is created, we can start improving the entire process from the start once again.”

Aikerim felt her tail twitch. “The final type?”

“The sewing itself.”

“You wish for my Manor to enter the trade of tailors? Sewing is a craft of skill, not quantity, and many Manors have personal tailors while others can order khalats and kaftans from the free artisans within the city.” Aikerim shook her head. “I do not wish to control everything related to textiles, Yeva, just the most profitable parts. Moreover, machine creations are plentiful but they are often bland and without character. They need a touch of an artisan to give them soul. It matters little if there is no soul inside a nail or a bolt of fabric, but kaftans are another matter.”

“Think of it as a different approach to the craft. Let us consider Isra Haleh for example. Now that steel is cheap for her to make, she can afford to ‘waste’ it in the further pursuit of her craft. Rather than carefully hammering a piece of metal into its final shape, conscious not to lose too much material in the process, she is doing what many smiths would consider unthinkable. Ripping away ‘precious’ steel as if it was a piece of cheap rock. Sewing can be done in a similar manner. Now that your new machines will make the fabric almost as cheap as the raw wool itself, you can afford to ‘waste’ it. You can instruct your tailors to design complex dresses that need to be sown from many separate pieces rather than a single rectangle as is the case with khalats, kaftans, and sashes. And then — your workers can cut ten, twenty, or even a hundred of each piece from your unending bolts of cloth and have just as many dresses made in turn, with machines that could link them together in a blink of an eye.”

“Please do tell me,” with a smile on her face, Aikerim lifted up a cup of wine. She chose not to drink it, however — doing so when Erf or Yeva were speaking was quite dangerous. “Why would I need a hundred identical dresses to wear?”

“You probably don’t. But what about your guards?”

“What about them?”

“Two words — guard uniform. I know that they are similarly dressed already, but similar is not identical. Imagine each one of them having a distinct ‘uniform’ that would immediately separate them from the crowd, especially when there are two or more of them together. Not only would they show off your impressive textiles to every gaze they would undoubtedly attract onto themselves, but they would be a walking reminder of you and your power to the rest of Samat. To the rest of Emanai. A mark of distinction that most Manors will find quite hard to afford. Because you can rely on finer textiles and vivid colours while they would need to wait for a season or more just so their tailors could catch up to your new standards. While your tailors, free from the burden of casual stitching, can spend their time on embroidery or other highly skilled parts of the craft.”

Yeva threw a grape in her mouth and leaned back on her couch. “You know that the other Pillars will have to keep up with you. They can’t afford to have their guards look like an uncouth rabble of mercenaries in comparison to yours. They will seek uniforms for themselves, either to match yours or to outshine them. The question is — will they come to you for your textiles or will they come to you for Isra’s new types of armour?”

Aikerim turned her head around. “Ramad?”

Her husband waved his tail in contemplation. “We should make the armour part more noticeable too. The brigandine is one tough shell — even for wermages — as plates move around rather than bend from strikes, but it hides the precious steel under the cloth. Anyone can nail a handful of studs on a gambeson to fake the look.”

“A cuirass, then?” Yeva offered. “Just like a bronze one but made out of steel? It won’t be uniform if you engrave them individually but the shape would be identical. I can also create special caustic baths to make it shine in any colour that you choose. It would showcase the steelwork and leave plenty of space for fabric as well.”

“An identical shape you say?” Ramad leaned in with a gleam in his eye, his palms hefting the heavy but imaginary breasts on his chest. “How much of a shape can you make?”

“Tarhunna, speak to Zamindar Azrin about possible wood shipments and roadwork in the north,” she pointed at the stain with her tail. “I am not sure if that will be necessary but to be Domina is to be prudent.”

Hearing no rebuttals to her plans, Aikerim allowed herself to grin. “Sulla, send a missive to Roshanak Gulnaz and tell her that I wish to meet.”

Her grin turned vicious. “I am certain that she is either at the head of this... ‘incident’ or knows who is. I am confident that this is not some harebrained plot to ‘starve’ me and they are trying to do the work for me and claim a share of my profits in turn. In this case, I will welcome the matriarch into our craft as a generous partner. If it is — well, something tells me we won’t need to purchase mines at all. For I will get them at no cost if I ‘insist’.”

XXX

At dawn and under the booming thrum of drums, eight soldiers stepped out of the Forest. Their spears high, their shields ready. As the line moved forward, eight spears were followed by sixteen and bolstered by thirty bows and oars. Three fingers and a palm. The thumb stepped into the centre with the palm and the last finger closed the square from the rear. A hand clenched into a fist.

The drums of war thundered their ancient chant, summoning more and more fists from the Forest. Each one independent, yet paired with another. The left and the right of a single maniple. I shivered as I felt the earth tremble under my feet. By the time half of Kiannika was out on the plain, the sound of our steps, synchronised by the cadence of the drums, started to overwhelm the drums themselves. By the time the squares of Ulastai swelled our ranks, there was only one drum left with thousands of feet striking it at the same time.

Emanai had its own way of bolstering morale. With my helmet on and my visor down, I had a rather severe case of tunnel vision. I could keep myself in position based on what I saw in front of me and I knew where our ‘forward’ was by our banner. While I could extend my range with Chirp, this was the limit of visual perception for everyone else on the ground. But all of us could feel the tremor and, with it, knew that the might of Emanai was all around us.

Grins appeared and eyes shone with vigour. Chants of ‘Emanai Victorious!’ merged with the thunder of our steps and bolstered with ululation as soldiers riled themselves up for future confrontations.

But banners beckoned us forward and we kept our battle march. From Chirps’s-eye view, I could see the secondary structure emerging across the arms — similarly to how spear-and-shield fingers surrounded bows and oars, multiple maniples covered our emerging supply and engineering train into a protective shell. Our servants, mules, and camping gear were there as well. Once the shell was sealed shut, arusak-at stepped into the field, flanked by chariot detachments. The balloon soared above the central arusak with a giant symbol of Kiannika in Enoch colours painted on it. The eyes of the Celestial Cow glared at the enemy on the horizon and her thunder horns promised no mercy.

The Hecatoncheir of Emanai had stepped into the ring. Set on its path to assist Bayan Gol just as Briareus once aided Zeus.

The nomadic response was surprisingly muted. At least to my eye — I expected them to lunge at us like a wave or at least try to. Especially since we were committed and boldly marching to our destination. Instead, apart from sending another messenger back to their main army, they got on their horses and waited for us to approach. At the same time, our forces weren’t charging at full sprint either. We had our armour on and weapons drawn and ready, but we were still essentially walking in formation and nothing more.

While I knew that their way of waging war was vastly different to anything I was familiar with, it still struck me as rather slow and methodical. Granted, when one had thousands of troops and only horns and drums as a means of communication, chaos was the worst enemy. Regardless of whether one had ‘barbarian’ horse archers or ‘civilised’ magical tercios.

As such, we marched as we were drilled to, while ‘the horde’ likely waited for a time and place when they could execute one of their practised manoeuvres. Or they were simply conserving their strength. Wer and wermages were strong but they didn’t have unlimited stamina and the day was still ahead of us. Horses weren’t magical either. Theirs and ours, which was why our chariot detachments weren’t riding circles around us but trotted nearby, matching our speed and the speed of the mules and carts in the centre.

For someone like me, with an almost ingrained idea of supplementing or outright replacing stamina with expendable energy sources like various types of fuel and batteries, all of this felt... unorthodox to put it mildly. But this was the way of this land and I had to learn it as well. A single steam engine at Aikerim’s manor was an unbelievable step forward, but it was just the first step among many many more. Emanai would need tens if not hundreds of thousands of steam engines just to get the ball rolling. Just to push the invention from a profitable novelty of a single Domina to the society-altering invention that it was. It would take years and so would other inventions of a similar import.

“Is your head in the clouds?” the First Spear growled nearby. “You look like you are marching to a nearby market.”

“Of course, just as my eyes are,” I replied. “The enemy isn’t moving.”

She scoffed. “They are waiting for us to get further away from the Forest. Planning to circle us around, no doubt.”

I considered our pace and direction. We weren’t marching straight away from the Forest but our path slowly separated us from the tree line. “Is that what we intend for them to do?”

“Do I look like a General to you? We intend to kick their asses until they run back to their plains with tails between their legs.” The First Spear harrumphed and gave me another glance. “Do you remember your new duties?”

I patted the lashes on my sash. “Catch the strays and keep everyone inside. You have my word that none of your men will get plundered.”

Hajar looked me up and down then nodded. “Don’t forget what lurks in the Forest. Goddess knows how many got attracted by that rabble on the horizon. The Forest isn’t safe. Not for them and definitely not for us.”

“I see.” I glanced at Chirp swooping high in the air. “They are moving.”

Hajar looked at me but didn’t say anything and kept marching. A horn rang out from the balloon and, a minute or two later, another set of horns replied from the ground.

“Chariots,” the First Spear uttered a quick translation and I nodded in silent thanks despite Chirp already witnessing the rallying of our cavalry in response to the message.

And what an interesting cavalry that was. Apart from a wer charioteer, each chariot had two war mages riding along in a high-walled body. At least one of them was a Kosenya due to the immense amount of runes on the horses’ armour and the chariot itself. With the second war mage capable of slinging fireballs as they saw fit, it was more of a tank than chariots of the classical era ever were. And a neon-glowing tank at that.

But, in step with their way of waging battles, there were no reckless charges from either side. Looking from above, it felt almost like a complex dance of swaying flags and raised dust. Our chariots, while appearing quite formidable, were comparatively low in number and didn’t appear eager to strike deep into the enemy. At the same time, the horse archers — or their horses at the very least — weren’t interested in throwing themselves on our spears either or tasting the sting of our arrows. Instead, the nomads were actively seeking for a weak spot, a gap in our defences that they could exploit with a devastating effect.

This was not the first time Emanai arms clashed with nomadic forces so their attempts had been futile so far. They would ride in close enough, shoot a volley of arrows, and quickly disperse before our spells, arrows, or chariots could catch up. Not all attempts were completely bloodless, however; not every approach could get out of our return fire fast enough and steppe horses, despite their short and stocky builds, were often the first to fall. That didn’t slow the archers themselves as the ones who were demounted would simply grab onto the stirrups of their closest ally and run away as swiftly as the horse could ride.

There were human losses too. Some caught a fireball in their face while a couple of reckless riders even got close enough to get swiped at by one of Emanai spears, caught the crossguard with their rib cages and dragged off their horses into the ground. Those were quickly stabbed to death or simply trampled under the marching arm. Despite the dance of cavalry around us and the necessary pauses that bows and oars took to shoot at the approaching enemy, the units of Kiannika and Ulastai kept marching as they were.

Our armour, discipline, and ability to match their ranged attacks had kept our casualties to a minimum, but the Sheydayan had already started taking a toll on our troops. Their magical nature negated their most glaring weaknesses and enhanced their strengths above a normal wermage. Each Sheyda had the strength and speed of a wermage big cat, allowing them to run faster than a galloping horse, turn on a dime without gouging the earth, and deftly jump over any rugged terrain that our earth mages were leaving as our ‘wake’ to disrupt mounted attacks from the rear. They also had the intelligence of a human, allowing them to think past the ‘fire — bad’ and ride where no war horse would ever dare to go.

I couldn’t tell who was more dangerous one-on-one — a less manoeuvrable chariot with two spellcasters or a single Sheyda, but they were quick and tough enough to get quite close to our fists and ride away unscathed. Close enough that they didn’t need to rely on ballistic spells and magically created projectiles and could affect their targets directly. Specifically — the spears from the outer fingers.

They didn’t even bother to create a fancy spell for that, no hands rising from the ground and crushing a hapless soldier nor arrows of water that would turn into enraged snakes after piercing the enemy. They simply grabbed the closest soldier and threw them away from our units and straight under the hooves of their cavalry, weakening our defence and morale.

“There is one heading our way,” I leaned in and whispered into Hajar’s ear, “covered in horse hides and surrounded by other riders.”

The First Spear scowled at my news and yanked my spear from my hand. Like an experienced acrobat, she stabbed it into the earth and hopped on the crossguard to have a better view herself. Landing just as swiftly, she pulled a red scarf and waved it at our Manipular nearby. “Remember what I told you, Erf.”

I nodded, uncoiling my lash from the belt as the Manipular barked orders over our heads. One of my new tasks to my fist was to catch the suddenly airborne murks on our perimeter and pull them back. By doing so, the First Spear hoped that I would jerk and tumble the cocky Sheyda just as I smashed Lita’af into the wall during our fight. Sheydayan were notorious but not plentiful, a gruesome tumble or even the death of one might have a significant effect on everyone involved.

I wasn’t the only one with this task. Every wermage in the fist was expected to interdict the abductions if they were able. But wermages were the teeth of our units and kept themselves busy cycling the runes on their werbows or spitting rocks and fire through their oars. While Sheyda had dozens of targets to pick from, they had to keep the runes on our shields lit up, take care of his entourage of archers and mages, and keep an eye on floaters.

“Spears!” Hajar boomed. “Second and third fingers — charge for horse! Shields up!”

The hum of approaching riders was starting to get noticeable even through the loud thrum of our steps and chants. Shields clanked together to ward off any splash spells and spears pivoted toward the approaching unit. I could pick up the murmurs of our oars as they recited prayers and mnemonics to aid in their spellcasting.

“Bows!” “Oars!” barked the First Bow and First Oar in unison, and loud twangs joined the cacophony of sounds followed by the sharp whistle of arrows and the sibilant whooshes of flames. Ground crackled nearby, indicating yet another active earth mage, either erecting defences or pulling boulders from the soil and biomat.

I clenched my lash as I peered through the narrow gap in my helmet, pushing most of the sounds away from my consciousness. I dismissed the sound of my heart beating in my chest and the hooves of the hundred horses now charging straight at us as I kept tabs on the near-imperceptible whisper of soft paws on the ground, the slight ripping sound of alien biomat getting shredded by sharp claws of a charging lion... And the whisper of Anaise, asking Irje to lift her higher so that she could see above the heads of our spears.

I sharply turned my head around, quickly finding the familiar red-haired wermage now standing on the shoulder of my cougar with a wineskin of distilled water in her hand. Her custom oar alight with power. “Fifth from the tip! Dead centre!”

“Erf!” Hajar yanked me back. “Eyes to the front! If yo-”

A loud boom and the resulting shockwave rocked our fist sideways. Screams of pain and whinnies of scared horses followed right after as the charging strike found themselves thrown in all directions by the detonation spell of Anaise Kiymetl Hilal.

The First Spear grimaced in pain and rubbed her ears. “What was that!?”

“Keep Flow moving!” The First Oar roared like a madwoman. “Pin the stragglers! Keep your oars bright or you will be digging outhouses with them until spring!”

I patted my commander. “My wife.”