Ranjar Sargos shook his head in frustration, as the gaily-decorated war-wagon jerked its way up the hillside. The brightly painted warwagon was a flatbed wagon pulled by four sacred white horses; there was a mast with a crossbeam from which hung a white banner with a black raven-the Raven Tribe's banner. A number of his Tribesmen, led by Warchief Vanar Halgoth, had formed a Raven Cult to worship the Raven Hag of War. At the top of the mast was a jawless cow skull, with both horns sheathed in hammered gold. At both sides of the front of the wagon were red poles, topped with impaled human skulls, the domes festooned with red, blue and yellow colored streamers.
How could Sargos mount an attack with more than a quarter of his force two to four days away, foraging for food for this marching belly of an army? An army, which, when it wasn't bickering among itself, was belching in hunger. His advance scouts had just reported that Kalvan's Army was less than a day's ride away! Already, entire tribes were breaking off so that they could have the 'honor' of being first in battle. Next it would be clans leaving, if he did not call the War Council soon.
Sargos turned to his second-in-command, Warchief Ulldar Zodan. "How do we proceed against the dirtmen?"
Ulldar's beaked-nose face was covered with war paint in runic designs. Upon his head sat a horned helmet, his long gray hair hanging behind in a braided queue. "The Easterners will try to pick the battleground. It is their way. They wish to concentrate their firepower, since they are outnumbered. The Daemon Kalvan, unlike most of the Eastern Lords, has horses to drag his large guns with him-they are the most dangerous, as they are packed with chains and metal scrap. One shot can empty two-score of saddles."
"Then we must bring Kalvan to us, not go to him."
"Warlord, that is easier to say than to do. While our army is great in number, they are poor in what the Easterner's call 'discipline.'"
Sargos nodded. "There is much truth in your words, Warchief Ulldar. Maybe we can use our hotheads to cover our movements. Allow those without patience to blunt Kalvan's swords."
"There is much wisdom in this path." Warchief Ulldar, grabbed hold of the side of the wagon for support, as it traversed an especially bumpy stretch of terrain. "The Daemon Kalvan is a master of the arts of war. It will be most difficult to draw him into an ambush. Instead, let us pick a spot where our superior numbers will take the day. Men die just as easily from arrows and darts as they do from 'bullets.' Kalvan may have the gods' favor, but his soldiers are men like any other."
"Kalvan is not the only one who is touched by the gods," Sargos cried, thumping his chest.
Once again, the war wagon lurched from side to side and Sargos held tightly to keep his balance.
"We all pray, Warlord, that your medicine is stronger than the Daemon Kalvan's." Like many chiefs, Ulldar was also a wizard and healer.
"You speak the truth. But, unlike Kalvan, we do not have the gift of time. Our warriors grow more unruly every day, and entire clans threaten to desert us. But many remain who are willing to sacrifice their lives in their lust for glory and loot. It is up to us to spend them wisely."
Warchief Ulldar made a barking laugh. "Spend them we will. And when they have bloodied the Daemon's army we shall set loose our wolves of war."