82 Iboria

Plodding along on the fourth day of the overland march, Destrar Broeck surveyed the vast unbroken steppes that were still dotted with patches of snow even in high summer. Even after many days of travel, they could barely see the gray outline of mountains on the horizon. His boots were sodden and his feet were cold as he splashed through muck and bogs, but the large force of soldiers and shaggy beasts still had a long way to go.

“I didn't realize that mammoths had such an… odor about them,” said Iaros, wrinkling his nose above his drooping mustaches. Around them, the restless herd thundered along toward the foothills. “I've never seen so many mammoths together in one place.”

Broeck drew a deep breath, not minding the musky smell of the beasts. “Never in history has there been such a herd. No, not a herd—an army.”

In searching the steppes, he and his nephew had succeeded beyond their wildest expectations. More than a hundred of the enormous creatures lumbered along, churning the ground, stripping the landscape of anything edible. A few nomadic herders had come on the trek to tend the beasts, but most of the work was done by Tierran soldier-trainees who had been assigned to Iboria Reach. This long march was not part of their traditional training, but Broeck's task was to prepare young soldier-recruits for war in whatever form it might take.

The mammoths moved at an unhurried pace, pausing to munch tall grasses or drink from scummy ponds. Some beasts slurped the thick green algae as if it were a delicacy. A dozen of the bull mammoths were already partially domesticated, and Broeck set the herders and his young soldiers to work taming the rest. Like any army, brute strength was not enough; they would need discipline to crush the enemy.

Trotting along beside the mammoths, four young soldiers grabbed the russet-colored hair and hauled themselves up onto the beasts' backs, encouraged by the nomadic herders. Two of the big creatures shied at the disturbance, shuffling from side to side, but the soldiers held on, whistling and yelling to each other. Some mammoths didn't mind being ridden and kept walking amiably at a steady mile-eating pace. Even so, Broeck had no idea how well the beasts would tolerate the heavy armor that Destrar Siescu was even now fashioning….

Up ahead, the lead cow mammoth lifted her large head and unleashed an earsplitting bellow, which was echoed by two more mammoths, then all of them. Their trumpeting thunder rolled across the steppes.

Iaros trudged along on the ground, working to keep up with his uncle and the mammoths. It was midafternoon, but the temperature had already begun to drop. He wiped sweat from his brow. “We've made such good progress in the past few days, maybe we should stop early tonight, Uncle. All of us could use a rest, even the mammoths.”

“Look around you, Iaros. With a herd this large, how much food do they leave behind? They're stripping the ground bare as they move along. If we stop for too long, the beasts will get hungry and restless. Do you want to try and control a restless herd?”

Iaros looked at the trampled ground, the stubble and gnawed roots that remained after the herd had passed. He swallowed. “Yes, we'd better keep moving.”

Broeck pointed toward the distant mountains. “We have many leagues to go before we stop for the day. Many leagues.” He knew that once they reached the mountains, the temperatures would get colder, and there would be less food for them to eat.

By the time they reached the Gremurr mines, the hundred mammoths would be hungry and ornery—and very dangerous.