Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 04_ Backlash - Aaron Allston [101]
“Rancors.” Tasander nearly spat out the word. “Of course they would choose an attack that would all but ignore our defensive advantage. Stupid of me to overlook rancors.”
Kaminne shook her head. “We are vulnerable to them, yes, but not as much as if we were in a flatland camp. This was still the right choice.”
Ben gestured to catch Firen’s eye. “You’re the trainer of rancors for the Raining Leaves, right?”
She nodded.
“Can we do anything to interrupt the way the Nightsisters are controlling them?”
“I think not. The Nightsisters have chosen their tactic well.”
“Did you look over our situation before night fell?”
She nodded.
“So we know they can climb at points on the southwest, east, and northwest. Anywhere else?”
“Everywhere, really, but it will only be a fast climb for them there, and at one approach on the northeast.” She thought about it. “The north they might not be able to climb at all. It is steepest, and we have been using that cliff as our latrine. Even rancors may be reluctant to brave it.”
There were snickers from various chiefs and subchiefs.
Kaminne glanced over the edge. There was no longer any laughter from the forest verge, but there was no question that their enemies were still there. “I wish we knew how many rancors they have. Just the five?”
“At least twenty. Maybe thirty.” Firen sounded unhappy, but she also sounded sure.
Tasander gave her a curious look. “How do you know?”
“Their growls as they approached. Rancors do not speak, but they have a complex set of sounds, many of which I know. The growls they offered meant ‘Watch me fight,’ and it was the tone used to command the attention of the pack. Not a single mate, not littermates, not a hunting party … an entire pack.”
Ben did some quick mental calculations. He estimated that there were perhaps two hundred able-bodied combatants on the hilltop; perhaps another fifty too feeble, injured, or young to offer much strength. Against thirty rancors, even with Witches, those were bad odds. Witches usually took more time than Jedi or Sith to bring Force powers to bear.
But clan members and Jedi weren’t their only resources. “I’ll get in touch with Yliri by comlink. Hire her to bring out the Jade Shadow or Mom’s starfighter. We can give the surrounding forest a soaking the Nightsisters will never—” He caught sight of Dyon, who was shaking his head. “No?”
Dyon looked sour, even in the moonlight. “The Dathomiri are learning more and more from other worlds. I tried to upload my latest update a few minutes ago. It was a failure; comm transmissions are being jammed. Probably they brought some more sophisticated comm equipment with the speeder bikes, maybe an offworld comm expert as well.”
“Doubtless a woman.” Drola sounded surly.
Tasander glared at him. “One more word that increases dissent in our ranks, Drola, and you get to go out and do some night scouting. Straight down a rancor’s gullet.”
Drola fell silent.
Tasander bent over and, with a rock, scratched a circle into the flat stone at his feet. He divided it into halves, then divided one half into three pieces. It was a crude pie chart. “We leave half our strength at this slope, since multiple rancors can come at us here simultaneously. Then one-sixth each set up at the other three approaches. Subchiefs, I want equal division of strength among the three smaller formations. Let’s go.”
The men stood. The women of the Raining Leaves did not; they looked at Kaminne.
She looked between them, surprised, and then her expression turned dark. “Until we say otherwise, Tasander speaks for me and I speak for Tasander. Anyone who doubts me, anyone who questions that, anyone who hesitates to see what the other leader says, gets to set up a forward perimeter. Forward of Luke Skywalker.”
The women rose in a hurry to join the men.
Ben caught her eye. “Don’t feel bad. Civilized politics are even worse.”
“How so?