Mother of Demons by Eric Flint

“How many warriors?”

“Approximately eighty-eighty triple-eight eighty. The number varies, from one ogghoxt to another, but not by much. The Utuku are highly organized, for barbarians.”

Indira translated the numbers in her mind. The gukuy numerical system was based on the number eight, rather than ten. The term “eighty” meant the same thing as the human “hundred”—base multiplied by itself. Sixty-four. “Eighty-eighty” meant that multiplied again. Sixty-four times sixty-four. Plus “triple-eight eighty:” three times eight times sixty-four.

Five and half thousand warriors, she thought with a sinking feeling. How can we possibly face so many? Even behind the protection of Adrian’s Wall? And the fortifications are not finished in the other canyons, in any event. The Utuku would have only to choose a different route.

Joseph spoke then, with not a trace of despair in his voice.

“And the other army?”

Rottu made the gesture of ironic surprise.

“Now that is what is interesting.” She looked at Jauna. “You are certain that they are north of the river?”

Jauna nodded vigorously.

Rottu stroked her arms together in that gesture which was the equivalent of a human scratching her chin. Her next question was addressed at Joseph.

“Do you maintain scouts on the western side of the Chiton?”

“Yes.”

“And they saw nothing?”

“No.”

“Thus this other army appeared out of nowhere. Already across the river. It can only have come from here.”

She pointed to the pile of moss on the map which Julius had used to indicate the huge jungle that stretched southwest of the Chiton.

“From the Lolopopo Swamp.”

Anna Cheng gasped. “But—the swamp’s impenetrable!”

Rottu again made the gesture of ironic surprise.

“So it is always said. But I know that there have been some gukuy who have lived in the swamp. Escaped helots from the south. They must have provided guides for this other army to cross the swamp. After they were defeated by the Utuku many eightweeks ago.”

She made the gesture of profound respect.

“It must have been a heroic trek.”

Realization came simultaneously to everyone in the hut. Joseph vocalized it:

“The Kiktu.”

“Yes. There is no other possibility. Logic tells us so—and then, there is your scout’s description of the one who marches at the front of the army. That can only be a battlemother.”

Joseph’s face was impassive. “All accounts I have heard say the Kiktu were destroyed in the battle. Those few who survived were scattered refugees. Yet this is not a horde of refugees. It is a well-organized army, and big.”

He looked at the scout. “How many again, Jauna?”

“More than two thousand. Probably three.”

Joseph began to translate for Rottu, but the gukuy made the gesture of understanding.

“More than four eight-eighty,” mused Rottu, “Probably six. Incredible.”

She made the gesture of profound respect.

“I would not have thought it possible. Even for Kopporu.”

“Explain,” commanded Joseph.

“It is true that most of the refugees from the battle say the Kiktu were utterly destroyed. But I have heard a different rumor, from a few. They say that after the battle was lost, the leader of the right flank led a retreat of the entire flank into the swamp. An organized retreat, not a panicky rout. The leader’s name was Kopporu, and she was reputed to be the greatest battle leader of the Kiktu.”

Rottu’s armstrokes were now rapid and vigorous.

“I discounted the rumor, at first. But recently I have spoken to a new refugee, who hid in a fuyu grove after the battle. By luck, she was not discovered, even when the Beak of the Utuku established her command yurt nearby. The refugee remained hidden in that grove for three days. And watched, while the Beak of the Utuku ordered the execution of more than double-eight of her battle leaders.”

Rottu whistled with humor. “The death of Utuku battle leaders is naturally a blessing. But why? And why so many? True, the Beak is perhaps the cruelest ruler on the Meat of the Clam. Even so, her army had just won a great victory for her. One would have expected rewards, not executions.”

Rottu stared at the map. “There must have been a great disaster in the middle of that battle. I wonder. Kopporu was, among other things, famous for her mastery of the art of ambush.”

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