Eric Flint - Mother of Demons

The color is never seen in pure form on a battlefield. Pure black is the color of executioners, not warriors amidst the clash of arms. But it is not uncommonly seen in combination with blue. Never red, or ochre, or even pink. Such warriors are feared, for they have cast aside all fear and caution. They may not be skilled in battle, but they will sell their lives dearly.

And there is another color which is seen on a battlefield, on only the rarest occasion. It is the most feared of all colors.

Green. Color of love, and tranquillity.

It is never seen alone, nor as the predominant color; but rather as a gleam beneath the black and blue of implacable fury. The three colors combine into a hue which has no name in any human language. "Dark cobalt green" is the closest approximation in English.

It is the color of those rarest of all warriors, whom the Utuku call ghaxtak and the Kiktu kuopto. Centuries earlier, on Earth, a culture had flourished briefly which had a name which was strikingly similar. The victims of that culture had gathered in places of worship, crying out: "From the fury of the Norseman, dear God deliver us!"

They were called berserks, and they were the most famed and feared Vikings of all.

Since the first moments of the battle, that color, which the Kiktu called kuoptu, had suffused Guo's mantle. It had never wavered since. Even now, as she rested and waited for the signal to begin the retreat, the color on Guo's mantle did not even fade slightly.

To an opponent, kuoptu was a frightening enough color to see on the mantle of an enemy warrior. The sight of the enormous mantle of a battlemother suffused by the color was utterly terrifying.

Hours after the battle had begun, the Utuku were indeed terrified of her; and their terror was by no means unreasoning. They had seen countless warriors smashed into so much jelly beneath the blows of Guo's mace. The beautiful bronze blades of her mace were now dented and dulled, but it hardly mattered. The titanic strength of the young battlemother was such that she could have been using her palps alone-and had, on several occasions, with much the same effect as a human smashing a mouse.

Guo's flankers, and all the Kiktu warriors within sight, were in awe of her. Never, in the history of the tribe, was there a record of a kuopto battlemother. Mothers were, by their nature, not well suited to battle. Only infanta-young, still infertile mothers-could be trained as battlemothers; and few enough of those. And the training was so arduous and difficult, so opposed to the nature of mothers, that, among the western tribes, only the Kiktu used battlemothers as a regular practice. The custom was not the least of the reasons they were derided as uncouth barbarians by the civilized realms to the south. And hated by the Utuku, to whose culture of total female supremacy the very concept of battlemothers was a despised abomination.

It was still an abomination, in the eyes of the Utuku warriors. But it was no longer despised.

The legend of Guo had begun.

The signal came, in the form of sudden hoots. (The Kiktu, like most of the tribes, utilized a battle language; unlike the Utuku, who gave their signals through drums.) Guo and her flankers were the first to move to the rear, while the other warriors maintained a screen. It would take the slow battlemother longer to reach her position.

Following the scruffy-looking swamp dweller who had appeared as her guide, Guo entered the swamp. With disgust, for the swamp was a dank and noisome place. But she made no complaint. She did not understand the reason for the order, but she had complete confidence in Kopporu. Whatever the reason, she was sure it was a good one.

Within meters (a term which Guo, of course, did not use herself-she thought of it as several goa, a rather loose measure based on the length of a gukuy tentacle), Guo found that she had completely lost sight of the battlefield. The plains were behind her. All around, on every side except the pathway ahead, loomed the tall cycads.

Guo felt uncomfortable within the cycads. In part, that was repugnance at the strange growths which seemed to drip from every branch-not to mention the ubiquitous slugs and snails. But, for the most part, it was claustrophobia. She was accustomed to the open stretches of the plain, where the tallest plants (the relatively uncommon fuyu groves) were barely taller than a gukuy female-and much shorter than she.

Soon, to her relief, she entered a large clearing. The ground here seemed firmer than the soggy path she had just traversed. The clearing was roughly circular, approximately eighty goa in diameter. Her guide led her across the clearing and into the thick growth beyond.

"You are to wait here," commanded the guide, "with your flankers. Stay behind this screen of cycads, hidden from the clearing, until the signal is sounded."

Guo felt a slight resentment at taking orders from a clanless one, but she forebore comment. The orders, she knew, must have come down from Gortoku-perhaps even Kopporu. And, as she took the opportunity to examine the surroundings, she realized that Kopporu was laying another clever ambush.

The Utuku will think we are completely routed; stricken with terror. Why else would we flee into the swamp? They will follow us, into this horrid place-where their close ranks and armor will drag them down. By the time they reach this clearing, they will be confused and disoriented.

She watched as warriors continued to file into the clearing and were guided to take their places, hidden in the cycads beyond. Suddenly, the loud noises coming from somewhere behind her, further into the swamp, registered on her consciousness.

Gana! Kopporu has driven the tribe's gana into the swamp!

Guo was amazed-and awed-by the ruthlessness of her battle leader's actions. Very few of the stupid and ungainly gana would survive long in the swamp-especially since the warriors would be too preoccupied to guard over them. The young herders would not, without assistance, be able to prevent the terrified beasts from scattering in fatal confusion.

Guo knew, then, how desperate Kopporu must have been. The gana were the tribe's most precious possession-except the tribe itself. The battle leader had decided to sacrifice them, in the hopes of drawing the Utuku into a catastrophic trap. By driving the gana into the swamp, Kopporu had ensured that the Utuku would follow. Guo herself, on the front lines, had not seen the gana being driven away. But the Utuku scouts would not have missed it. The Beak of the Utuku would arrive at no other conclusion than that the right flank of the Kiktu-which had inflicted more casualties and humiliation upon her army than the rest of the Kiktu and their allies combined-had finally broken. Routed completely. The Beak would command a major and massive pursuit. She would want to slake her legendary vengefulness; and, besides, she would want the gana herself. And the meat of the Kiktu warriors.

A great wave of sadness threatened, momentarily, to wash over Guo. But she thrust it aside.

Kopporu's stratagem would not, she knew, win the battle. Even as inexperienced as she was, Guo had seen enough of the disaster on the Kiktu left and center to know that the tribe was doomed. The most that would be accomplished would be a complete mangling of the Utuku left, followed by a last futile charge out of the swamp in the attempt to rescue the center. Kopporu and her warriors would die in that charge, Guo knew.

But we will cost them very, very, very dearly. The Utuku will never forget the terrible Kopporu. And her warriors. And her battlemothers.

The utter ferocity which filled Guo in that moment caused her mantle to positively glow. For just a second, the green undercolor almost dominated. Her flankers saw, and were astonished; and made their own silent grim vows.