Mother of Demons by Eric Flint

She had described Subedei’s Mongols. Lightly armored; extremely fast; extremely disciplined; shrewd and cunning; well coordinated in battle.

Then she described the battle itself. And told them how the Mongols had cut to pieces the flower of chivalry.

Joseph and his lieutenants had taken over from there. The new tactics which they had been developing recently, with Nukurren’s advice, fit perfectly into the plan which they developed for the coming battle. The plan which they were now implementing on the plain below—with, it was obvious to Indira as she watched, the same result that had ensued centuries before, on a planet light years away.

After another minute, Indira looked away. Even from the distance, it was impossible not to hear the hoots and whistles of the Utuku being butchered.

Not a trace of what she was feeling showed on her face.

And what am I feeling, anyway? Joseph and his lieutenants would have arrived at the same plan on their own. With Nukurren’s help, they were already almost there. My lecture on Mongol cavalry tactics only added some polish.

No, that’s a lie. Don’t hide from it, woman. They’re not superhuman. Only the Mother of Demons could have given them the confidence they needed, in their first real battle.

She took a deep breath.

So be it. There will also be hospitals. And medical academies. And trade. And religious toleration, enforced by the demons. All that the Mongols gave—and more. We are not, after all, Neolithic barbarians. Whose cruelty derived, in part, from their naive understanding of the world.

When she now spoke her voice, for the first time that day, had a trace of its usual softness.

“Julius—make a note. We must found a university. At once—regardless of other things.”

He smiled. “Yes, Indira. Does that mean I get to go back to research?”

Indira looked at him; and reached out and stroked his cheek. But she did not smile in return.

“Yes, love. But the first thing you must study is the problem of making puke jerky.”

She looked away. “And the problem of poison darts. Abomination or not, they will be used soon enough. We must try to find an antidote, if possible. If not—”

Her voice was like iron.

“—we will develop our own poisons. Remember the gukuy who killed Adams—and then died herself? As you said at the time: it cuts both ways, asshole.”

She heard Julius sigh, and mutter something. She was not sure, but she thought she heard the words correctly. She suppressed a laugh.

“Like Damascus steel,” he had mumbled. “No, worse—like a damned blade of Toledo.”

Indira turned her eyes to the west. That part of the battle which the humans were waging was progressing well. She now had time to study the methods of their new—allies? She was not sure of their status, for there had been no opportunity to establish communication with the Kiktu. By the time the human platoons had reached the plain, the battle had already started.

Crude and primitive, was her first thought. The battle on the Utuku left seemed nothing but a swirl of confusion, so unlike the precision she had watched on the human side.

Her eyes were almost immediately drawn to the huge figure at the center of the Kiktu lines.

“Ghodha—a question.” Indira pointed. “Is that a battlemother?”

“Yes, Inudira. There is another, as well. Further along the Utuku lines.”

Indira followed Ghodha’s gesture.

“Yes, I see her now.” A moment later: “But—she seems different from the other one. The one in the center.”

Ghodha’s whistle combined, somehow, humor and awe.

“All battlemothers in the world are different from the one in the center, Inudira. The one in the center is a—what is the word, Rottu? The one the Kiktu use?”

“Kuoptu.”

Indira was not familiar with the term. Rottu explained.

She looked back. And felt a certain awe herself. She had seen gukuy mothers before. There were several of them among the Pilgrims. Huge beings, as big as elephants. Immensely strong, she imagined. But extremely slow-moving and awkward.

The battlemother on the plain below bore a certain generic resemblance. Huge—bigger than any gukuy mother Indira had yet seen. Almost as big as an owoc mother. And, compared to the warriors around her, slow and awkward.