Chapter 69: The Sea of Glass
November 18, 2542, South of Myrgard
I am sorry Agata.
When we set out we had such high hopes. Such grand delusions!
We were the King's Army, sent forth to protect the Kingdom, and commanded by his eldest son!
We were the best the Kingdom had to offer, brave dwarves all.
Reinhard spoke of victory and we believed him.
Idiots, all of us.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
Arkell polishes his shield, he scoffs at my writing, Agata.
He says either we will triumph and my writing will be pointless, or we will fall and there will be no one to deliver these musings to you.
I will let you guess which outcome is more likely, my sweet child.
We are pinned now, trapped north of Stoneheim by a rebel force, dwarves and monsters both. Seinsheim has abandoned us, driven off by ghôlish raiders if fat, old Otho's scout are to be believed.
It won't matter anyway, there will be no relief for us, no respite. Every hour, without fail, the monsters come for us, they burrow through the sands, hiding from our weapons, you can hear them sometimes, if you really listen, the low, chattering whispers of them.
They council suicide, they warn us that death will be the greatest kindness we can expect.
I won't lie, I have considered it.
All that holds me back is our ancestors, watching my actions, judging my worthiness.
And so I will fight, until one of those things claws its way over the wall and buries its maw in my stomach.
They are howling now, the quiet whispers building to a frenzied pace, a cacophony of hungry cries.
They will come again soon, already the Captain gives the order, back to the walls and the battle.
I must go though I am not fool enough to hope for victory.
I love you, Agata, and I am sorry.
She closes her journal, looping the leather strap that binds it together around twice before she tucks it into her pack.
The Captain calls again and she answers with the precision expected of her. No sense drawing this out, she must retake her position on the walls. She checks her hammer, secures her cap, rises to her feet and with fatal resolve marches toward the disturbing cries of the monsters.
All she prays for is to survive until morning, to see the sun one final time.
Mounting the palisade she takes her place on the line, working her enchantments to hold the beasts at bay. Before her and below her the sands churn and the hissing hordes are born into the night.
A twisted amalgam of dwarf and spider claws its way up the wooden stakes. Its lean, powerful arms encased in thick black chitin, bury deep into the wood, tearing out chunks for its fellows that follow. Its bulbous eye, fractured into countless little, glimmering shards, fixes on her, a gem of hatred, glowing in the night. With a famished screech it races toward her as she readies her hammer, she will only have time for a single, desperate swing.
Best to make it count.
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Two minds bent to the same task, working in perfect harmony. There are just some things that are easier as a result, for example, forming a plan.
The archmage Mazzarin leaves Finn's tent, his apprentice close behind. He falls to quite conversation with the King, no doubt saying his goodbyes. The boy's nose is buried in yet another book, gilded pages flip through his fingers. That youth exhibits a degree of concentration and dedication in his actions that would put a great many of his elders to shame.
Considering the trio, already the first seeds of your plan begin to sprout, “We should-” you need not say 'talk to Mazzarin' or 'convince him to help us', Thaïs already understands your meaning.
“Yes,” she answers, “We need to-” 'prey on his pride, his station, his self respect', but she no more needs to say that than you would, the meaning is clear for both of you.
As a team you will manipulate the archmage, you will bend his vices and virtues toward your ends and in doing so you will greatly increase your odds of success in the south. The Great Mage can save a host of lives if he would only make the 'right' choice, you just need to help him see that. To do this you will require subtly and skill but you are both buoyed by a sense of supreme confidence. Together, you can do this.
One final thought occurs to you, the slightest shadow of a smile gracing your face. You turn to your better half and your expression is mirrored on her face.
Mazzarin's apprentice, Emrys, the boy is sincere and seems to hold a degree of favour with the mage that you may be able to use. In lock step you spin and call, “Girls!”
First one, and then the other appear from behind a wagon.
You wave them over, ready to explain your plan and ensure your success in the south.
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“No! Damn it, what part of 'no' do you two fail to grasp?” the archmage spits his reply, laced with a suitable amount of venom.
He marches away from Finn's tent, his apprentice in tow.
“We just want to talk, please,” you hurry behind him as he stalks away into the desert.
“We have nothing to talk about!” he answers, quickening his pace.
“We have a great deal to talk about!” you respond, reaching out and grabbing his robes from behind. As soon as you do you regret it, but no time to worry about that now.
“Unhand me, child!” he shouts as he spins round on you.
“Unhand me, child?” you smirk, unable to completely suppress a slight titter, “Really?”
“Derryth, let go of my robes,” he repeats his injunction, slightly calmer than before, but all the more menacing for it.
Thaïs tugs on the cuff of his sleeve, drawing his attention, “Please, we need your help.”
He glowers, “You have done just fine so far on your own, I am sure you will manage.”
An archmage, the greatest of archmages, Mazzarin is no doubt a little offended that you have not been more reliant on his wisdom and instruction. Your plan should work as a result, play to his pride, his position, his self appointed space in the world and perhaps you will get what you want. You just need him to listen long enough for your combined words to take hold.
You sigh and drop your head, “Not this time.”
“Hmmm?” he mutters, motioning for you to continue.
You do your best to feign a hopelessness that you do not truly feel, you think you do well enough, “We are currently marching to the aid of the Royal Army, they are outnumbered and outclassed by ancient horrors and vile necromancers. We are-” you look up at him, a few, fake tears in your eyes, “We are at a loss. Without your help, we are lost. Please.”
Your better half shoots you an approving look, it has taken months but you are getting better at convincing people.
He holds your gaze, his features softening, “You desperately require my aid, children?”
“Yes,” you answer, Thaïs with you.
He smiles innocently, almost fatherly, “Well, good thing you still have that last favour to ask of me,” he gestures dramatically, rolling his hand, as he cocks his head back “You need only put it in words and I will solve all of your problems.”
Wyrd damn it! You guess you have not quite improved enough, the Great Mage is playing you.
That smug old bastard, you have no intention of wasting your last favour on something like this. You do your best to suppress your annoyance but from the way his smile grows into a fiendish grin you have no doubt that he is well aware of how you feel.
Thankfully, Thaïs intervenes, with a tone that speaks of reverence, artfully masking her own annoyance, she begins, “We would not dream of insulting you in such a way.”
The archmage favours her with a suspicious glance, “Elaborate.”
She takes a half step back, as if to take in the entirety of the archmage, carefully she lays out the foundations of her arguement, “You are the Great Mage Mazzarin, you are the Champion of the Light and we would not dream to insinuate-”
He snorts, “I seem to remember you insinuating a great many things when we last met.”
Can't say you regret it either.
She pushes on, ignoring his interruption, “In such an important matter we would not dare to so much as suggest that you would seek personal gain when thousands of innocent lives hang in the balance.”
He raises an eyebrow, “Continue,” he orders.
“Well,” she spares you a single glance, you nod, almost imperceptibly, giving her your support to try her best, “We know, for a fact, that you will do all in your power to protect loyal servants of the Light. We know you would not endanger the Royal Army, no, the whole Dwarven Kingdom simply in order to collect a single favour from a pair of-”
“Amateurs?” Mazzarin suggests with relish before moving on to other suggestions, “Infants? Incompet-”
“Exactly,” you answer with a forced grin.
He turns his back on you and begins walking again, shaking the pair of your loose, “Normally you would be right but I do not have the time. The Watcher must be destroyed and the Faceless Man must be located, I can do neither from this desert,” he directs his next comment to his apprentice, “Boy, we will be returning to the Palace, I need you to pay a visit to an acquaintance and-” it is only now that Mazzarin realizes Emrys is not with him.
“Where did he get off to now?” the archmage mutters.
You're impressed, you did not notice him wander off either. You do have an advantage over the archmage though as you have an idea as to where Emrys went. The girls are probably talking to him, trying to get to know him as per your own instructions. Hopefully they can win him over, you could use another angle to try and manipulate Mazzarin from, and in truth the girls could do with making a few friends their own age.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the roars of the archmage, his concern is actually a little touching, “Worried about him?” you can't help but enquire.
He gives you an annoyed glance, then scoffs, “Hardly, this happens every time we go somewhere. He spots a book, or is kidnapped by some sort of demon...” he trails off, shaking his head, “Naturally I am then forced to rescue him,” he cups his hands over his mouth, “Boy! You have three minutes to show yourself or you will be walking back to Muirthemne!”
Three minutes, best get to work then.
“You are based out of Muirthemne now?” you attempt to rekindle the conversation.
“Ah, yes,” Mazzarin answers, half turning as he scans first the desert and then you camp, “It was necessary as King-” he snorts, “'Emperor' Alric has made me Governor of the East.”
Well that is interesting...
Your better half sallies forth yet again, buoyed by this new piece of information, “Then as Govenor you must realize the effect that the fall of Stoneheim would have on the territory you administer.”
It takes you a split second to realize exactly where your partner is going with this but when you do you only barely manage to suppress your smile. If you can not play to the man's virtues then you shall just have to play to his vices.
So you ask yourself, 'why does the most powerful mage in the world require an apprentice?'
The answer comes quickly enough, the same reason all mages require an apprentice, because he is lazy...
“The Kingdom does not fall under my mandate,” he waves her off, “Boy! If I find you collecting insects you will regret it for all your days!”
You do your best to make the archmage see, “Yes, that is true but if Stoneheim falls it will throw the Kingdom into a panic, dwarven refugees will pour across the Empire's southern border. Refugees
you will be responsible for-”
Without so much as a single second between you, Thaïs strikes again, “And all of the caravans, all of the trade that exists between the Empire and the Kingdom will also grind to a halt. That
will also fall to you to fix.”
He groans and you know you have him.
As one the two of you speak, “Refugees, merchants, soldiers, emissaries, bureaucrats, and
all of them looking to you for guidance.”
The face Mazzarin makes, you could not have hurt more, “That, that is a lot of bother...”
“Yes,” you answer consolingly, “But it is within your power to prevent such a future.”
For the first time tonight you get the impression he might just agree, he grunts, “By helping you save the dwarven army, correct?”
You flash him a pair of predatory grins, “Exactly.”
Silence settles over the three of you then.
You wait together, straining to make out the slightest change in the Great Mage's features.
Will he agree?
Will he go, running screaming into the night?
These are the questions that command your thoughts.
“Fine,” he shrugs, exhaling sharply.
Then he draws himself up to his full height, chin raised, chest once more puffed out, “But I do not intend to stay for more than a week. I, Mazzarin, shall rescue the dwarven army, I will save Stoneheim, and I will fix the mess you children have created!”
Children, again? You have made your fair share of mistakes but he could stand to be just a little less condescending. Still, he is over a thousand years old, from his perspective you probably are children.
“Thank you,” your better half answers, beaming. She leans in and plants a single kiss upon his right cheek, “Thank you for your kindness.”
“I- ah, um-” the archmage sputters.
You can't resist.
You decide to take advantage, push him just a little further, and you follow suit. If he is going to insist that you are children then it only stands to reason...
You grin, a nasty little idea taking hold.
You lean in on his left, mirroring your better half and plant a kiss on his other cheek, “Yeah, thanks,
dad.”
He stares at the pair of you, rendered entirely mute by the double shock you have foisted upon him.
It lasts only a moment.
“Get off me!” he shouts as he stumbles backward, “I, I am not doing this for either of you and I care not for your gratitude!”
He spins on his heels and with a burst of preternatural speed wings his way back to camp, hollering for Emrys the entire way.
“Well, we've got him,” you note with an approving nod.
“Now we simply have to manage him,” Thaïs answers with a little less enthusiasm.
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November 19, 2542, South of Myrgard
Child, they have not torn my life from my body yet.
While this is a poor way to start a letter it is an honest one. I had hoped that I could write to you of victory but survival seems to be all that I can hope for now.
Every hour they charge the walls, bursting out of the slick sands, churning up the oozing morass. Three times last night they scaled the walls, twice they broke into the camp proper. They are faster than our fastest, stronger than our strongest and some of them, well, they are not fit to commit to memory.
Whatever the rebels have been dealing in it is dark and I fear we are overmatched.
If not for Reinhard we would already be lost. In the darkness just before the coming dawn they breached the east wall, collapsing it inward. Our soldier scattered as the bodies of their friends and comrades tumbled into the sand. I can not say I blame them, these things instill a primal fear in even the best of us, or perhaps I should say in all but the best of us.
The Prince saved us then, saved the whole army, he raced toward the breach with his honour guard close behind. I saw him step into the gap swinging a great maul over his head. As it whistled through the air and struck home against the first of the enemy we all recognized its nature.
Reinhard wields the Maul of Kings, and before him the beasts fell by the dozen.
He drove back the attack, bought us time to plug the gap and the men cheered his heroism.
Arkell told me after that he believes we will win.
I am not so certain. Reinhard is only a single dwarf and though the creatures now fear him and the Maul he wields he can not be everywhere.
Should they undermine the wall at multiple places how will we respond? How will we survive?
The rising sun raised our spirits, a childish fancy I suppose. Somehow, I thought, no, we thought, that the morning would dispel these horrors but they remain, buried below the sands, waiting for a chance to strike.
I wish I had Arkell's confidence, his faith, but I do not and I can not see a way that this will end well for us.
If I live to tomorrow I will write to you again, if only to help calm my nerves.
If not, well, it is not like you will ever see this anyway.
A deep rumbling stirs her from her task. It suggests size, power, and her own death even muffled as it is by distance and the simple barriers erected by her people.
She closes her journal, rises to her feet and peaks out of her tent.
Dwarves race back and forth as beyond the palisade something terrible rises and a pair of massive, black arms grab hold of the wall.
Ropes tear, wood splinters and a chorus of bestial screams herald what can only be her death.
She stuffs her journal into her pack, grabs her hammer and sprints out into afternoon light.
------------------------------------------
“Well, I will grant Seinsheim this,” Hámundr snaps his spyglass closed, “The old bastard knows how to fight an infantry battle.”
Berty mutters his assent, “That he does,” your tactician tosses Finn's spyglass back to the King, “He could do a better job coordinating his movements with his chariots but other than that he is doing fairly well. Looks like he will have the ghôlish line ready for a rear charge within the next half hour.”
Your entire command staff is gathered on a large dune overlooking the battle between Seinsheim's people and the ghôlish raiders. You and Thaïs stand at the center with Berty and Finn to your left and Hámundr, the Old Man and the head handler of the Hounds on your right. Lyssa and the girls act as guards, slightly behind you, negotiating with your newly acquired hounds.
Mazzarin, and by extension Emrys, is no where to be found.
They are off 'saving' the Royal Army from the cultist forces. Mazzarin insisted that as the 'ranking mage' and 'Champion of the Light' he should get the first pick of opponents. In fact the only thing he seemed concerned about was which enemy force was bigger and more dangerous. When your scouts unanimously answered the cultists he was off without even so much as a goodbye.
You hope that the archmage will remember to protect the dwarves and not just kill everyone on the battlefield.
Mazzarin's departure left the task of dealing with the raiders to you, given the assets in your possession you think you can manage it, provided you can keep everyone working together.
Your working plan at the moment is to pin the raiders between your line and Seinsheim's, once trapped, you will pummel them with mortar fire, spells and cocktails. To that end you have been communicating with the dwarf lord through Lyssa's eagles and so far everything is going according to plan. Should it come to close combat you will utilize the Hound's elephants, protected by the Warrior's Mask but that will hopefully not be necessary.
It is a good plan, you think, and Berty, Finn and Hámundr are all for it.
The Hounds, the Old Man and your Coin-Sìth are going to take a bit more convincing.
The head handler clears his throat, “These spells you are going to cast on us, they are safe?”
You try to reassure him, “They are and we will be casting them on the elephants, not directly on you.”
“So you want us to ride into the middle of an enemy host without infantry support or any sort of protective magic?” the Handler asks, shaking his head, “That does not sound like a good idea to me, what if I lose men?”
“Then the world will be better for it,” Lyssa mutters from behind you.
“Something you want to say girl!” the Hound handler shoots back.
“Plenty-” your witch begins.
You cough, “Lyssa, how are negotiations coming with the Coin-Sìth.”
“Negotiations,” the Handler scoffs, “They are animals, whip'em till they do what you want.”
“We won't do that-” you begin.
“Of course not!” the Old Man interjects, “They are dogs, you only use force on men!”
“Not this again,” you mutter. You have been trying to convince the Old Man that you are not his enemy.
Naturally he demanded proof, he asked for the control gem.
A request you refused.
He has said maybe five words to you since then and none of them have been polite.
You ignore his outburst, he will do as you say, not like he has a choice in the matter.
Both of your mercenary captains know their roles, you remind them that you expect each of them to conduct themselves with professionalism. They are all under contract, they all have a job to do and if they do not do it they will have to answer directly to the King.
You dismiss them before they can answer, let them think about their positions for a while.
This leaves you with only your own personnel and Finn.
“King Finnbheara,” your better half begins, “Would you mind keeping an eye on the Seekers.”
Not a bad idea all things considered. The small team of Hounds does not particularly worry you but if the battlemages decide to revolt a few extra safeguards may be in order.
“Certainly,” the King responds with a bow, “Is there anything else you require from me, dear ladies.”
“Nothing at the moment,” you respond with a smile, “Though I could use a few of your riders mixed in with our advanced guard, a few well placed illusions could save may lives.”
He bows once more and withdraws to meet with his men. They would be far more useful at night but you do not have the time to waste, you need to attack soon.
“Lyssa,” Thaïs begins, moving to the next issue you must address, “How are negotiations going with the Coin-Sìth?”
“Ah,” she shrugs, “They are shrewd negotiators.”
You could swear the hounds smirk at that.
You remember Finn's advice, 'be polite but do not be servile or they will never respect you'.
You address their leader and he struts forward. This will be your first proper conversation with the hound as he has spent most of last night and this morning saying his goodbyes and organizing his, rather large, pack.
He holds himself with ancient dignity, a coat of read hair trimmed with white around the muzzle that streaks down his throat to his stomach. His head raised, he sniffs the air, adjusting his angle to face you as he walks, and it is then that you realize he is blind. His dead eyes fixed on you he sits three metres away and waits for you to speak.
Lyssa conducts the introductions, “Derryth, Thaïs, may I introduce to you the greatest of King Finnbheara's hounds, Enrico, great of purpose, keen of mind, of ancient and noble lineage.”
Enrico? Odd name for a dog.
Your look suggests as much and Lyssa leans in to explain, “A few decades ago he suffered a slight blow to the head while hunting. His birth name is Eocho but he no longer answers to it.”
Her explanation does little to relieve your concern, for a moment you wonder if Finn has taken advantage of you, gifting you a defective hound.
Caoilainn laughs in your mind, “
Yes, this was a much better choice than magical power! You could have chosen something that would give you power of life and death, something that maybe, possibly, could have been used to give me a new body but dogs! No, dogs were clearly the right choice!”
Well that is a bit harsh, you stand by your decision, there are a great many things that fast and tireless scouts can achieve for you and in fact you can already think of one use for them.
“Lyssa,” you begin, “Tell, Eoch- Ah, Enrico, that it is a pleasure to meet him and that we are looking forward to pursuing a profitable and harmonious relationship with him and his people. Inform him that we will need them to track any ghôls that flee the battlefield. In particular, we will need them to follow any leaders, representatives or even members of a particular group known as the Tusks.”
Lyssa translates your kind words and your instructions into the tongue of wolves and dogs.
Enrico ignore her words and instead begins licking himself.
Caoilainn roars with laugher.
Lyssa shrugs and tries again.
Enrico once more ignores the instruction.
Lyssa shakes her head and attempts to translate your words into the tongue of the fairies, it comes out broken and garbled, that much you are certain of.
Enrico snorts, shaking his head, he turns around and walks away.
“Sorry,” Lyssa mutters, “I suppose that did not go well, I-”
She stops when Enrico returns with a younger hound in tow.
The ancient Cú Sídh mutters a few words to his younger companion and the two fall to heated discussion. The older hound repeats the same words over and over again. The younger hound protests but all you can understand is a single word, Raniero, repeated time and again.
Is it a place? An action? An item? You have no idea, so you wait patiently, a slight, polite smile on your lips.
The younger hound eventually relents and turns to Lyssa, he begins to bark, and murmur much like a regular dog and Lyssa smiles, nodding her head repeatedly.
She turns to you, “This is Raegen-”
Enrico shakes his head, and repeats the same word he spoke earlier, “Raniero!”
Lyssa stares at the older hound, then the younger, the younger hound growls, clearly frustrated, and nods. Lyssa begins again, “This is, ah, Raniero,” oh, so 'Raniero' is a name, you nod as Lyssa continues, “He is Enrico's son and will speak the, um, 'base' tongue of beasts for his father.”
Raegen, or Raniero as the case may be, nods slowly, clearly unhappy with the proposition.
You beam, “Good, we are making progress.”
You instruct Lyssa to repeat your greeting and your instruction. She falls to conversation with the younger hound and he in turn relays the information to his father. As this whole production plays out before you, you can not help but suspect that the ancient hound perfectly understands both Lyssa's speech and your own. Though you are not sure what he would stand to gain from his act.
Eventually the two hounds finish speaking and Raegen gives Lyssa Enrico's answer.
She turns back to you, disappointment clearly written across her countenance, “Raniero says his father will perform this task for us but only if we agree to pay the associated costs.”
“Which are?” you and your better half ask as one, both dreading the answer.
“Four dishes of pistachio gelato each,” Lyssa begins, “And they want you to hire a team of fifteen servants to scratch them behind the ears for at least an hour a day.”
The laughter that echos through your mind from your disembodied officer completes your own sense of dismay, “That is unacceptable,” you answer together. Clearly this fairy intends to rob you completely if you let him.
You stare into those lifeless eyes and wonder just what you have gotten yourself into.
“Lyssa,” your better half responds, “Inform our esteemed colleague that we will have to negotiate his price.”
Lyssa relays your message to Raniero, Raniero passes it on to Enrico and then the entire chain reverses, Enrico to Raniero, Raniero to Lyssa and Lyssa to you, she says, “He is open to negotiation but insists that the task is both dangerous and troublesome, his people will need sufficient motivation to dutifully carry out the task you would assign them.”
Caoilainn cackles incessantly,
“I wonder what the real mages are doing right now? You know, the ones that are pursuing arcane mastery and not negotiating with animals!”
“Caoilainn,” you speak as one.
“
Yes,” she answers, gasping for breath.
“Shut up,” you mutter in unison.
She laughs.
You could swear Enrico winks and somewhere in the distance, faint horns sound.
---------------------------------------------------
He is the conqueror of worlds, avatar of his Mistress, his Goddess, upon this plane, born of blood and darkness, deep below the earth.
It took him too long to burrow his way up to the camp, to the tasty little dwarves inside but now that he is here he will reap the lot of them and fill his hungry stomachs with fresh, dwarf flesh.
He tore down their palisade, crushed it under his weight and allowed his young brothers and sisters to pour through. The dwarves scream as they die, dragged down into the seething sands. Pinned below thick carapaces, fangs the size of spearheads tear deep into them. They gurgle as his kin scream victory to the skies.
A little premature perhaps, many of his siblings have only fought in skirmishes in the eternal dark of their mother's realm. They have never fought mortals, and they have never fought an army. They have never witnessed the fury that they little beings can unleash when they are cornered, trapped, struggling for every last second of their meaningless existence.
Sure enough, the enemy are regrouping, dozens have fallen, maybe hundreds, he can not be sure, but so long as their leaders live they will fight on. From his vantage point he scans the enemy lines, if he can take from them their heroes, their commanders, he can break their spirits and a despairing soul is so much more appetizing than one infected with hope or defiance.
Ah, there he is his, the enemy commander, his banner waving in the sun, surrounded by a rather impressive honour guard, a maul carving great arcs through the demons that seek to devour him.
That- Prince is it? He will be a worthy meal for the Goddess' champion.
On heavy legs, each bigger than a tree trunk the monster crashes toward his prey. The long, rumbling howl that he unleashes is enough to scatter many of the dwarves before he even hits their line.
He laughs, he can not blame them, he is so much more then they are, more than they will ever be.
He crashes into the Prince's honour guard, throws them back with his great, armoured legs, he raises a single mailed fist, intending to swat the Prince, crushing him dead.
He howls his victory, the low tone of his voice provoking wails of joy from his family.
At least until it is cut short.
Light.
Horns, shrill and triumphant.
An 'M', it burns itself into his mind.
It is so much more than he is, more than he will ever be, and he knows now the form his death will take.
---------------------------------------------
She does not know where the human came from, but she is grateful that he arrived when he did.
That thing, that monstrosity that tore down the walls had weathered their best attacks. It had shattered resistance wherever it struck and until a moment ago she was certain that it was going to kill Reinhard.
Then the human appeared. A giant bronze 'M' glowing in the sky, horns screaming his arrival, and with a single flick of his wrist he turned that monstrosity inside out.
He cracked open its plates, peeled back its hide, sucked it inside out and sprayed its shrieking, still living, remains back upon its followers.
Screams of joy, howls of victory, quickly gave way to panic amongst the enemy.
They are fleeing now, scattering to the winds.
Her comrades cheer, she cheers, but the look on this man's face, it is as if he has only just begun.
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“Boy,” the Great Mage calls, “Have you finished that text on Sloan's victory against the bandits of Amon's Grove that I gave you last week?”
“Yes, Master,” Emrys answers, uncertain of what that has to do with the battle raging around them.
“Good,” the mage answers rolling up his sleeves, “And how many spells did it take the archmage to break the brigades with?”
“Ah,” Emrys scours his memory for the answer, “Eight, Master.”
Mazzarin laughs, “Yes, that is right. Sloan did enjoy playing with his targets a little too much.”
The Great Mage shakes his head, “Boy, mark my words well. I shall destroy this host with three spells and to make this interesting we shall use this battle as test of your knowledge. You are to give me the names and the creators of each spell I cast, do this and I shall reward you. Fail me and I shall give you to that pair of incompetents to do with as they see fit for one whole week.”
“Ah, yes, Master,” Emrys tucks his tome away and pulls out a sleeve of paper, he will no doubt need to make notes.
“Ready?” the archmage inquires as he marches after the fleeing enemies. He pays no heed to the the dwarves that stand puzzled as he pushes past.
Emrys nods, following in his wake.
“Good, now the first step toward destroying an army is to drive them together,” Mazzarin begins as he draws in enough power to momentarily blind his apprentice.
Emrys blinks and focuses on the archmage's movements attempting to puzzle out the first of Mazzarin's spells.
Hmmm, this is definitely a mental attack, something that requires Mazzarin to calm the mind, but the theory behind it is strange, related to Vailintín's theory of sympathetic resonance perhaps?
Emrys swings his pack around and begins to search for the book.
“No cheating,” Mazzarin commands him without turning, “This is not an open book test.”
Emrys redoubles his efforts, scanning his scant knowledge of mental magic as he watches his master's movements. When the truth dawns on the youth he exhales sharply and does his best to tap into Mazzarin's spell, it is a hybrid construct, combining elements of opposing mental and physical schools into a single magnificent creation.
Mazzarin is weaving a spell through the demons' own blood, tapping into the vital spirits that bind them together and mark their loyalty to the Goddess. By following his Master's spell outward Emrys can see them all, three hundred and seventy two of them though only half of that number is racing about on the surface.
The Great Mage is just about ready, “Well, Boy! Do you know this spell!”
Emrys drops his gaze, wracking his mind, until at last he stumbles upon it. Side-stepping a demon's corpse, he smiles triumphantly as he races after his master, “Yes! March 14, 546, the archmage Padraig defended the walled town of Bremon from the bre'Unor clan of the warlord Jat-Vir. Padraig was heavily outnumbered and losing but worked a spell that drew together all of his enemies and allowed him to snuff them out with a single casting of the Dispersal Dream, it was called the Piper's Call.”
“Very good, Boy! Do you remember anything else about it?” the mage asks as he unleashes the spell.
“It, ah, hmmm,” the Boy thinks, “It requires a direct blood connection between all those it is cast upon, if they are not related then it will not work!”
Mazzarin nods, “Exactly, it was quite fortuitous for Padraig that bre'Unor are notoriously inbred as are these Spider demons if I recall correctly.”
Emrys does his best to follow his master's movements but tracking the full four hundred demons at once for any sustained length of time is well beyond his ability. All he can determine with any sort of certainty is that they are out there and they are all moving in the same direction, to the south.
Mazzarin passes through the ruins of the palisade, brushing off the attempts of the soldiers to stop him.
“It is dangerous out there!” they shout.
“Not for me!” he bellows in response.
The two humans clear the camp, and come to a halt twenty metres from the writhing horde of monstrosities.
Emrys can feel them churning the sands below his feet, he can see them reforming into ranks, slowly spreading out to encircle him and his master.
The Boy looks to his Master, inching closer to the Great Mage.
Mazzarin seems unconcerned.
One of the abominations steps forward and howls at the archmage. It races toward him but already the Great Mage has begun his second spell.
He draws a single, short line in the sand with his staff.
A wall of sand rises between the mage and the host.
It slams into the charging monstrosity and hurls it backward. Hurling it into the ground and snapping its legs.
The sand shifts under Emrys' feet, drawn away into the wall Mazzarin is casting ever higher into the air. The apprentice steadies himself with his hunting spear as the sands continue to extend before him, great bloody hands reaching up to the sun.
The creatures howl, trapped behind the wall and Emrys is certain the ones below them are digging their way up. Attempting to escape the spell that greedily sucks them inward toward their comrades.
A hand bursts out of the ground and grabs Emrys' boot, attempting to drag him into the swirling maelstorm before them.
He digs in, fighting it,“Master!” he shouts.
The archmage sighs, “You are not an infant, Boy, you can deal with a single demon.”
Emrys swings his spear around and drives it into the creature's hand, it readily releases his foot, as it is pulled along the surface and up into the wall of swirling sand.
“Not what I had in mind, Boy,” his Master chides him, “Any thug can wield a weapon, magic is a nobler tool, observe.”
Mazzarin's staff darts out, extending the line before him and the sands follow his commands exactly. The wall spreads, rising to east and west, curving slightly as it goes.
The Great Mage charts a lazy circle in the ground and Emrys does not doubt for a second that far in the distance this impenetrable wall of sucking sand has closed in on itself.
Hmmm, a circle of sand?
Emrys is not certain he has heard of this one.
Maybe it is a modification of another spell, the Searing Circle? The Ring of Frost?
No, those are both smaller and- And flatter!
This is not a circle but a bowl, a great bowl of churning sand, of churning earth, oh! The boy smiles, “Master! I know this one as well!”
Mazzarin shouts over the raging storm, “Well, do not keep me in suspense!”
Right, the Boy nods, “You modified Merril's Wrath of the Sea, the spell he used to sink the pirate armada that threatened Covenant in the spring of 765. Instead of raising the waves you raised the sands, drawing the entire enemy host into a single swirling vortex!”
“Two for two, Boy!” the archmage allows himself the smallest of grins, “Now watch this.”
Mazzarin mutters something, some sort of chant in a language that Emrys has never heard before. Quietly at first but rising with each repetition, an old language, long forgotten by the world but remembered by this man.
The boy exhales, is it getting warmer?
“A fire spell, Master?” Emrys hazards.
“No,” the Great Mage answers without turning his head, “Do not guess, you must know.”
No, that is right, this is not elemental, Mazzarin is not channeling the element of rage and anger.
“You had best figure it out soon Boy,” the archmage warns him, “I will give you to the count of three.”
There is a- A purity to his movement. A simplicity in the words spoken, the arcs he carves through the air.
The Great Mage stops chanting, “One!”
The power within the mage builds, the heat above them intensifies.
A strange sense of peace pervades the scene even as a demon comes whipping around, it fanged maw open and howling as it races across the surface of the maelstrom. Here a leg twitches, there an arm bursts forth only to be consumed once more, the hunger of the desert obliterating, dwarfing, the similar yearning in the heart of each of the beasts.
Emrys frantically searches for a clue, some light to lead him to the answer.
“Two!” his Master shouts.
The sound of the storm and of the army trapped in it should be deafening but here, next to the Great Mage all is silent, unchanging, fixed in place by the withering stare of the sun.
The sun... A light to guide him... A light...
Mazzarin opens his mouth and in that second Emrys shouts, “Light!”
The mage half turns without breaking his focus, “Good, Boy. Now elaborate.”
Emrys spits out the words as fast as he can form them, “You- You, are going to use the Light, ah, light magic I mean. You are going to- Going to cook them!”
Mazzarin nods, “That is correct. Do you know what the spell is called?”
Emrys' expression of triumph becomes one of deepest despair, “No, Master. I don't not know what is called, I have failed.”
He lets the sheet of paper tumble to the ground.
Mazzarin laughs, “No you haven't, it does not have a name but I think I shall call it Kharybdis, so great is its thirst, and this, the first place it was used will forever be known as the Sea of Glass. Mark that in your book, Boy, you are witnessing history.”
The spell breaks loose, Emrys closes his eyes, the sound comes crashing back, sizzling, wailing, howling in his ears, as an army is extinguished.
-----------------------------------------------
A well laid plan, competently executed.
You did not even have to risk your own people to accomplish it. Seinsheim's army managed to turn the raiders, exposing their rear at which point your forces advanced into range and shattered the enemy with a single devastating blow.
You could say a great deal against the professionalism and loyalty of the Seekers but you can not complain about their knowledge of magic. They sculpted the dunes with expert precision, wind, sand and rock tearing your foe's lines to pieces. Your mortars targeted any enemy formations that survived your magic and your grenadiers picked off most of the rest.
If there is anything you are disappointed about it is the lack of enemy survivors. You had hoped to take at least a few alive but the lethality of your advance ensured that none that approached you survived.
At least you won't have to pay Enrico and his pack for a service they can not perform. The Coin-Sìth lounge about in the sun, they smile at you as you walk by. You shake your head but smile back, 'always be polite' the words echo in your mind.
You are on your way to meet Seinsheim and formally introduce yourselves when you are met by two pieces of distressing information.
Lyssa wanders up to the pair of you, a worried expression on her face, “Derryth, Thaïs, we need to talk.”
“Sure,” you answer, “What about?”
“The elephants,” she replies, “The Hounds want to transfer to Seinsheim's command and he has agreed to their request. Their logic is that Seinsheim serves the King and so they would not be violating their contracts by joining up with him.”
Brilliant, you could use those elephants and would hate to lose them but you doubt that you have any legal grounds to retain them under. The Hounds work for Albrecht, not you, and if they wish to join Seinsheim you would need to examine their contract to stop them, a contract that is currently several days travel to the north.
But Lyssa does not stop there, “Also, the Seekers are already meeting with Seinsheim. The Old Man requested an audience as soon as the battle ended.”
You can only guess what he plans to do, though you believe it is likely that he too wishes to join Seinsheim. With the control gem you could force him to stay but you are not sure how wise that would be.
As you close in on Seinsheim's teal and gold tent you thank Lyssa for the information, you can always take it up with Seinsheim directly though from what you understand he is not exactly a 'people person'.
---------------------------------------------------
“Ladies Thaïs and Derryth,” the guard shouts into the tent, “Seek audience with Lord Seinsheim!”
“Enter!” a low, rough voice answers.
You lower your heads, ducking into the dark tent.
It is almost empty, six figures, five standing, crowd round the center of the pavilion, easily built to hold twenty or thirty.
The first figure to draw your eye is an old dwarf, prone and clad in dented plate above the waist. This is undoubtedly Seinsheim and he is wounded. He is stripped naked below the waist, a deep wound cuts down his left thigh from hip to knee, his physician works feverishly to treat and close the wound.
Seinsheim, for his part, completely ignores both wound and physician. He curses under his breath as he runs through the latest reports brought to him by his captains.
He waves two of the figures surrounding him away, they bow once and make for the back of the tent as you enter through the front. One of them you recognize as a Seeker and the other you think is one of the Hounds' men.
The final two figures are both women, humans, and if you had to guess they are Seinsheim's champions, Galena and Treva. They stare at you with a confidence laced with curiosity, as befits mages encountering colleagues that may yet be allies or enemies.
Seinsheim looks up from his reports, he pauses for a moment, shakes his head, “Bad fucking omens.”
“Don't expect me to thank you for doing your jobs,” he spits into the dirt, “I am sure Albrecht is paying you mercenaries plenty to fight for the Kingdom. So long as you do a good job, we,” he gestures at you with his thumb and then back to himself, “We won't have any problems. Fuck up, like all the other idiots in this damn country, and I will bury you, understand?”
“Wait, excuse us but-” your better half begins.
He snorts, winces slightly as his surgeon pushes the needle though his thigh, “Wasn't asking for your permission, wasn't asking for your opinions, and if I ever do want to know what you think, you won't be in any doubt about it. Strictly speaking the only thing I need you to do is shut up and follow my orders. Now that understood?”
It may be wiser to agree, and if you do you may be able to retain control over the Seekers or the Hounds, provided you still want them. Of course you would have to swallow your pride to do it and you have a feeling that how you react right now will set the tone for your entire relationship with Seinsheim.
He is waiting for a response, well, in truth he is waiting for your agreement, but whether you wish to disappoint him or not you need to answer now.
--------------------------------------------------------
A chorus of impressed and intimidated gasps rises from your column as you near the Royal Army's camp.
Your scouts spoke of a forest of silver glass, marbled red and black, straddling the road south of the oasis. You did not really doubt them but despite that you are struck dumb by its terrifying majesty. It must stretch for kilometres in either direction and you can think of only one cause for its sudden appearance.
Mazzarin.
You and your command staff break off from the main column, swinging south to get a better look.
If you had to guess, that maze of tinted glass is all that remains of the cultist army. Arms, legs, torsos of flesh and chitin dot the otherwise smooth and flat glass walls. As you approach, you spot the face of a dwarf, his neck and brow wrapped in the black cloth of the Spider Cult. The horror in his eyes bears mute testament to the magic unleashed here mere hours ago.
You suppress a shiver that dances at the end of your spine and order your chariot back to the main column.
As you approach the damaged camp, passing through a hole guarded by a team of grenadiers you have your suspicions finally confirmed.
His name is on every tongue, songs and tales of his exploits, some real, most imagined, are told around every cooking fire.
The minds, hearts, eyes of the entire army are focused on one man, the Great Mage, Mazzarin.
Lyssa sighs, “He is going to steal all the credit for this, isn't he?”
You and Thaïs answer together, the answer so obvious that even Berty and Finn join in, “Yes.”
----------------------------------------------------
When you reach the center of camp it is Emrys that greets you, “Mistress Derryth, Mistress Thaïs, Mistress Lyssa,” he bows to each of you in turn.
Biliku and Uttu wave at him, he waves back and smiles politely before instantly turning his attention back to you, “My Master, and Prince Reinhard, wish to see you in the command tent.”
“Me as well, no doubt!” Seinsheim butts in as his grand chariot comes to a halt next to your own.
Emrys shrugs, “I don't know who you are Sir.”
The dwarf lord glares at the boy, “Lord Seinsheim, and you should be glad I am in a good mood or I would have you whipped!”
Emrys shrugs, “No you wouldn't.”
He turns away from the apoplectic lord and disappears into the command tent.
The three of you, along with the girls, Berty and Finn enter the tent after Emrys.
Seinsheim and his champions, not to be left out, crowd in behind.
“Reinhard! Berg! You cowards!” Seinsheim bellows as he enters, “I'm alive, no thanks to you or your people!”
“Oh,” the Prince replies, suitably disappointed.
Berg bows low and continues in the empty tone of a dwarf that has had the exact same conversation every day of his life, “It is good to see you well, Lord Seinsheim.”
“I'm sure you're thrilled, you disappointment of a dwarf!” Seinsheim seems like he could go on in this way for some time.
Mazzarin puts an end to it, “Who is this?” he asks the Prince.
“I am Lord Seinsheim!” the outraged Lord answers before his Prince can speak, “Of the Great House Seinsheim! Who are you?”
“Mazzarin,” the Great Mage answers, bored, “Now shut up.”
“Shut up?” the dwarf lord bristles, “Go fuck yourself you pompous, self-important-”
Instinctively you, and everyone else in the room, take three quick steps away from the dwarf. Even Treva and Galena, without a word, follow your lead.
Your actions make Seinsheim hesitate, not that it matters.
Mazzarin releases the smallest portion of his power and punts Seinsheim through the side of the tent. He lands in the oasis and damn near drowns before three of his guards can fish him out.
Mazzarin yawns, “I wish to rest,” he turns to the Prince, “You will provide me with your largest tent and finest bed.”
Reinhard grins, his expression speaks of unparalleled contentment, “The largest tent and the finest bed in this entire expedition both belong to the esteemed Lord Seinsheim.”
Mazzarin grins as well, every part the wolf as he does so, “Then I will take those. Do not bother me until we are ready to leave.”
“Shouldn't we take part in the planning, Master,” Emrys chimes in.
“Unnecessary,” the Great Mage answers, he gestures to you and Thaïs, “These are my agents, my-” he laughs, “My daughters, in all things treat them as you would my person. If you have any problems short of an army, any issues, any concerns, any tasks that require time, effort, and intuition, you can trust it all safely to them. I sent them to you in your hour of greatest need, all they have done is at my bidding and they will serve you faithfully so long as I wish it.”
He smiles warmly at the two of you, “Now be good girls while I take a nap, I will have new orders for you when I awake, no doubt.”
He struts past you, in every way a peacock, and out into the afternoon sun. You can hear him shouting at Seinsheim's people, ordering them to set up his new tent.
You are not sure, but you think that lazy old bastard just stole credit for everything you have done over the last three months, everything you will do in the future, and managed to saddle you with all of his work short of fighting archmages.
You should be angry but you just feel numb.
Reinhard considers your group, but it is Berg that speaks, “It is a pleasure to meet the 'Heroes of the Kingdom'- Or rather, the 'Daughters of Mazzarin', I have heard a great deal about you already and it is a comfort to know that the Great Mage's hand has been behind all your actions. Now, if you would like we can begin to discuss my plans to lift the siege of Stoneheim, unless you are tired from your travels that is, in which case we can wait for your Lord to awake.”
There is something about Berg that does not sit well with you, it may be best to feign exhaustion and retire for the evening, use the time to investigate the camp, or you might wish to attend this meeting and assert your position, whatever that is now.
Berg grins at you, Reinhard carefully studies you, and you step forward to give your answer.
1. The Hounds and their elephants: They wish to transfer over to Seinsheim's command, they are likely a little worried about the murderous looks Lyssa gives them and the elephants have been getting a little short tempered the more they are around her. How do you wish to respond?
A) You let them go. If they are serving under Seinsheim they are no longer your problem.
B) You talk to Seinsheim about it. You will try to convince him to refuse their service so that they have to stay with you. It might work or it might just antagonize both Seinsheim and the Hounds further.
C) You kill the handlers and take direct control over the elephants. You will have to do it discretely but Lyssa might have a few ideas.
D) You convince Reinhard to take control of them instead of giving them to Seinsheim.
E) You convince Reinhard to formally take control of them instead of giving them to Seinsheim. Then, after transfer is complete, ask the Prince to assign them back to our taskforce.
F) freeform
2. The Seekers: The Seekers have had more than enough of your leadership and it seems they wish to transfer to Seinsheim's service. How do you wish to handle the situation.
A) You let them go. If they are serving under Seinsheim they are no longer your problem.
B) You talk to Seinsheim about it. You will try to convince him to refuse their service so that they have to stay with you. It might work or it might just antagonize both Seinsheim and the Seekers further.
C) You challenge the Old Man for leadership:
i. You will fight him in a one-on-one duel.
ii. You will fight him and a second of his choice in a two-on-two duel.
iii. You will challenge him to a duel and then active his collar, separating his head from his shoulders. It would technically count as a win though it would go against the spirit of such a duel.
D) You use the command gem to force the Seekers to remain with you.
E) You convince Reinhard to take control of them instead of giving them to Seinsheim.
F) freeform
3. Seinsheim: Setting the tone. You meeting with Seinsheim in his tent set the tone for your working relationship with him. How did you approach it?
A) You took a diplomatic approach and agreed to follow his orders in the hopes of winning over the stubborn dwarf lord.
B) You stood up for yourself and your asserted your autonomy. You serve the King, not Seinsheim and you told him as much, working from the idea that he would respect strength.
C) Heal his wound with one of the rings. Then tell him that you are a servant no one, not even the King. Everything you do, you do because you want to do it, not because you follow someone's orders.
D) freeform
4. Your choice: How do you wish to answer Berg's question?
A) You choose to excuse yourself from the meeting.
i. You go to sleep. You could use a several hours of uninterrupted sleep and what are the odds you would miss something important anyway?
ii. You wish to explore the camp and meet with the other leaders of the relief army. See where they stand and if they can be trusted.
iii. You go to sleep with the intention of entering the Dreaming. Morpheus has been waiting patiently for your first meeting and you owe him stories. You would also like to take the chance to confer with him, his wife and his contacts.
iv. You will excuse yourself from the meeting and will try to work with Reinhard instead on screening the dwarven army from cultist infiltrators with the help of Coin-Sith. You will try to gather as much information as you can before the meeting commences.
v. You will excuse yourself and pursue
Karwelas' plan
vi. freeform
B) You choose to take part in the meeting and help frame the strategy going forward. Reinhard and Berg are the most important commanders in camp with the exception of Seinsheim, the more time you spend with them the better.
C) freeform
5. The dogs are trying to entertain themselves at your expense. Are you going to do anything about it?
A. Yes. Commence operation
'Trick or Treat'.
B. No, you will just stand there and take it.
C. freeform
6. Now that you have destroyed a large gholish force and Mazzarin have joined forces with the dwarven army, the ghols don't stand much of a chance in the conflict. You could contact Nanshe next time you are due to the musical training and convince her to try and subjugate the now weakened clans, recalling their forces from the south - if there are any left.
A - Yes, you will speak to her about it. She gets to expand her Empire at their expense, and we won't have to hunt their remnants across the Kingdom.
B - No, you will not involve yourself in this.
7. You have not moved too far from Myrgard yet. Do you want to send a report to Albrecht and your team about the situation in the South and maybe get a report back?
A - Yes. Choose which topics you want to get the report on or what orders you want to convey to your forces.
i) You request the update on the situation in Myrgard (the cult, Thyra, Rand, the not-Rand autopsy results, your various forces and their progress with the assigned tasks, maybe even the Weazels or other personnel).
ii) You request the update on the situation in Blackrock (the Boys, Hesse, Welf and their champions).
iii) You instruct Mayer to keep an eye on people who turned to our 'Fata Morgana' firm to place an order for a large quantity of Energon Cubes. (Those are used in the cloning rituals. Perhaps it might lead us to the cloning facilities or the cultist HQ.)
iv) You instruct your Blackrock mice to spy on Hesse, Welf and their forces in the fort. They should report to Myora. You will attach one of the items Lyssa made to converse with the rodents to the letter. (We are certain there are enemy agents among them, and the fort is riddled with mice, so it is a natural course of action. Should have thought of that one earlier, but oh well.)
v) You request a copy of the contract with the Hounds. (No, I don't need it, but this whole "you can't see a contract so you can't argue back" does not sit well with me)
vi)
freeform
B - No, there is not much to report yet and you have no orders to give.
8. Do you want to make the following adjustments to the character's sheet?
A. Yes, you make changes (select as many as you want):
i. - arm your third spell ring with Heal instead of Greater Energy Bolt and loan it to Lyssa (so that each of you had means of quick healing)
ii. - arm your mice squad with sharp and pointy weapon and enchant them with Poison Oath to make them capable of taking down a person.
iii.
freeform
B - No, no adjustments are necessary.
