On the fourth day of the new phase, Khao’khen sent the entire Horde forward.
Not to attack. To sing.
Eight thousand warriors advanced from Millbridge in full formation at dawn, the column moving north on the valley road at the standard march pace, shields positioned, weapons secured, the Snarling Wolf at the column’s head. They advanced to the three-mile mark, the position where the combined force’s forward pickets could observe them clearly and where the combined force’s main body, encamped at the valley’s northern approach, could hear them.
And then the column stopped, and the column sang.
The song was the Horde’s marching chant, the deep rhythmic cadence that the Ironmaw tradition provided, adapted by warriors who had been fighting together for three months into sothing that was both military and personal, the sound of an army that knew its own voice and used it.
"Zug zug mag! Zug zug mag!" The rhythm beat against the valley walls like a drum. Eight thousand voices producing a sound that was not a war cry but sothing more unsettling: the sound of an army that was not attacking and was not retreating and was standing in the open three miles from a force three tis its size and was singing at it.
"Vor’kash drak! Lok’nar grombash!" We fight as one, we die as legends. The words carried across the valley in the morning air with the clarity that the valley’s acoustics provided, the sa acoustics that had carried the singing shield wall’s song during the night engagent.
The 4th Warband’s section of the line had added their own verses, composed during the maintenance period by warriors whose creative investnt in the campaign’s psychological dinsion had been developing since the restraint was lifted. Krak’thul led the improvised sections with the specific enthusiasm of a warrior who had discovered that his voice was a weapon that required no ammunition and suffered no supply constraints.
"KRAGH! VRAAK!" The single-word cries punctuated the chant at intervals that the Ironmaw drumbeat tradition specified, the explosive syllables cracking through the sustained rhythm like stones thrown into a still pond, each one producing a ripple of disruption that the chant’s steady cadence then absorbed and carried forward.
The combined force’s response was the response of twenty-five thousand professional soldiers observing eight thousand orcish warriors singing at them from three miles away. The advance guard deployed. The cavalry moved to screening positions. The infantry ford defensive arrangents. The entire combined force, which had been preparing for the day’s operational schedule, pivoted to address the Horde’s advance and then discovered that the advance had stopped and the singing had not.
The singing continued for six hours.
Aldrath did not attack. A commander who sent his force forward against an army in full defensive formation that was inviting the attack was a commander who was fighting on the enemy’s terms, and Aldrath had learned, through three months of campaign education, that fighting the Yohan First Horde on its terms was the specific thing that produced the results that his dispatches to the council had been docunting.
But the six hours that the combined force spent in defensive deploynt were six hours that the combined force did not spend on the operational activities that the day’s schedule had planned. Supply convoys delayed. Patrol rotations disrupted. Engineer work on the road repairs suspended. The daily rhythm of an army’s functioning interrupted by the requirent to stand ready for an attack that never ca.
At the sixth hour, the Horde turned and marched back to Millbridge. The singing continued during the withdrawal, the sound diminishing with distance but not with conviction, the voices carrying the marching chant back down the valley road with the energy of warriors who had spent six hours doing exactly what they wanted to do and who were returning to their camp refreshed rather than exhausted.
* * * * *
"He is using his warriors as a weapon of disruption," Snowe said, at Aldrath’s evening council. The old general’s assessnt was delivered with the flat precision that professional respect required. "He advances without attacking and withdraws without retreating. Each advance costs him nothing and costs us the day’s operational capacity. He can do this every day for six weeks. We cannot afford to ignore it, and we cannot afford to respond to it."
"We attack," Aldrath said. "Tomorrow. If he advances again, we et the advance with the cavalry and force the engagent that his withdrawal is designed to avoid."
"He wants us to attack," Snowe said. "Every engagent of this campaign has been fought on ground he chose, at a ti he chose, in conditions he prepared. An advance designed to provoke a response is an advance designed to produce the engagent on his terms. The ground between the three-mile mark and Millbridge is ground he has been preparing for weeks."
Aldrath absorbed the assessnt. The Lord-Commander’s adaptation speed, the quality that had surprised even Sakh’arran, was the quality of a commander who processed uncomfortable information quickly and adjusted rather than denying.
"Then we let him sing," Aldrath said.
"We let him sing. And we accept that the singing costs us, and we absorb the cost, and we wait for the Second Reserve Corps to change the arithtic."
"Six weeks."
"Five weeks and three days."
The old general looked at the map with the specific expression of a commander who had been fighting the sa enemy for three months and who had developed, despite himself, a professional respect for the enemy’s commander that was indistinguishable from the respect one craftsman held for another. The singing advance was not a tactic that any Threian military academy taught. It was not a tactic that any military history Snowe had studied contained. It was the product of a mind that understood war as a system of pressures rather than a sequence of engagents, a mind that recognized that an army that spent its day preparing for a battle that never ca was an army that had already lost the battle it was preparing for.
"He is teaching us sothing," Snowe said, quietly enough that only Aldrath heard. "I am not certain we are learning it fast enough."
At Millbridge, Khao’khen received Sakh’arran’s assessnt of the singing advance’s effects and nodded once.
"Tomorrow we sing again," he said. "Different song. The warriors of the 4th Warband have been composing sothing specific about Aldrath’s camp hygiene. Krak’thul assures the lyrics are operationally accurate."
"Krak’thul’s assessnt of what constitutes operationally accurate may differ from the conventional definition."
"Krak’thul’s assessnt of everything differs from the conventional definition. That is why Krak’thul is effective."
The wolf waited above the market hall. The campaign’s new phase was four days old and the combined force had lost its mage replacent equipnt and two days of operational capacity without a single engagent. The wolf’s patience was the patience of a predator that understood the relationship between ti and pressure, the understanding that six weeks was not a countdown to the enemy’s reinforcent but a window for the Horde to make the reinforcent arrive too late to matter.
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