The notification of her vision-enhancing rune gaining a level went almost unnoticed before this new information. It made sense to her; after all, she’d been relying on it constantly since her Class Selection and acquiring the first [Living Rune], so it was bound to level up sooner or later.
What was revealed to her enhanced senses now came in much finer detail. She could pick out the various things that actually made up the stone. Parts she was almost certain were clay were interspersed with what tasted to her senses like the scent of rust. I’m pretty sure that’s iron oxide in the strata, she thought, with no small amount of wonder.
Other things ran through the stone as well. Grains of metals had varying flavors, ranging from dull to a fizzy, buzzing taste like licking a nine-volt battery. The sharp tang of different crystalline structures stood out in some parts of the stone as well. And with her newly acquired [Terrakinesis], all these things could be moved.
“I see now why I couldn’t make the stone any stronger! It’s all smushed together, with no underlying crystalline structure!”
The drain on her Mana for manipulating a given amount of earth and stone felt noticeably lighter. Pushing her magic outward into the stone wasn’t quite as easy as breathing, but it came fairly close to it. Another firm shove with her willpower and roughly a fifth of her Mana later, the stone walls, roof, and floor were just about as packed with magic as she figured she could get them, far more than she’d ever been able to before.
With that much of her Mana flowing through it, the stone flowed as well. Like a warm syrup, the various underlying structures within the mass began to rearrange. Morgan didn’t try to think of every single cubic millimeter of the substance, she merely let it flow into as strong an interlocking pattern as she could get by feel. Clay and silicates shifted around iron and other hair-thin traces of metals and collapsed in around the quartzy, buzzing crystal structures.
The almost-liquid stone also flowed around another contaminant that had earlier helped prevent her from condensing the material. Tiny air pockets smaller than pinheads drifted to the surface of the stone, and she could feel it becoming denser and stronger as the gaps she’d never realized existed were now filled in on an astonishingly tiny scale.
So entranced was Morgan by this new expanded ability that she almost didn’t react in time to the tingling sensation on the back of her neck, but [Primal Instinct] had leveled as well in the days since leaving Moghren’s home. Lulu’s senses also proved to be just as effective as her own, and the scrubby gave its signature wurbling war cry as the [Skyclad Sorceress] dove sideways out of the doorway into a tucked roll.
As she rolled back onto her side facing the doorway, she let loose a short burst of [Lightning Bolt] combined with [Spell Channeling] for a crackling stream of pellet-sized destruction. The brilliant incandescence exploded against something that rippled in the rain and had far too many legs for Morgan’s comfort. The tiny bolts of lightning, normally able to drill straight through the enormous trees of the forest with far less Mana than she was using, skipped off some manner of shield.
She had to use [Acceleration] in order to dodge her own spell fragments as some of them bounced straight back at her. As the thing , whatever it was, barreled through the open doorway, an enraged loofah came zooming out of the stone hut in full-blown exfoliate attack mode. Rainwater and silty mud were sent flying in a miniature bow wave as the spinning ball of lethal lace raced immediately to Morgan’s side to take up a guard position.
Turning back to face into the building, she finally saw her assailant. Now occupying Morgan’s former temporary home was a hard-shelled creature over ten feet long, with hundreds of legs and vicious mandibles at the end that held the glittering eyes.
As if that wasn’t enough by itself, its armored segments of shell seemed to have ridges of crystal along the edges where they overlapped. These ridges, the tips of all of its legs, and especially the mandibles, were lit up like the Vegas strip to her [Mana Sight]; angry colors that clearly indicated its immense threat.
“Holy shit, that’s a lotta nope!” she exclaimed.
Direct spell attacks having proven ineffective once, she was in no hurry to try blasting it with something more powerful and risking the blowback from its shield. It seemed more intent on claiming the dry space as territory, rather than coming back out into the rain, so Morgan simply reached out with her new skill and quickly jerked the door section back into place, sealing it with a burst of magic.
“Well, shit,” she said after her heartbeat slowed slightly and she finally caught her breath. Almost as an afterthought, she ripped up a basketball-sized chunk of dirt and squeezed it down into a broad, flattened dome, which she levitated above herself and the still-trilling loofah.
“Eagles, wolves, lynxes, tyrannorabbits, murdersquirrels, even my own ancestor wants to eat me in this screwed up world!” she shouted in frustration. “And now some goddamn doom-noodle wants to run me out of my own house ?” The loofah wurbled angrily in agreement. Although its understanding of her actual words was up for debate, its loyalty was most certainly not.
Fed up, angry, and unwilling to slog however many miles it took through the rain to find another good spot to camp, Morgan decided enough was simply enough.
With a bit more force than she’d intended, she pushed the domed roof of the hut downward and flattened it out. The whooshing of air out of the chimney-vent and the small windows was immediately followed by a flurry of angry hissing and scuttling noises. Mandible tips periodically poked out of the hand-sized openings, but the creature was simply too large to get out that way; the reinforced stone was now too strong for it to break, even with those frightening, vice-like jaws.
The hissing was followed by thumps and thuds as it charged wall after wall, but Morgan’s construction held true. After flattening the roof, she opened up even more tiny vents, strengthening the remaining stone as she squeezed it into a rough form resembling a net. No space wider than her hand, and no span of stone smaller than that, either. Another wave of Mana and a little more effort smoothed out the windows to seal the walls, leaving only the openings in the now-flattened top of the structure.
Steam from the coals of her once-campfire trickled up for a moment or two before the rains quenched the last of the smoldering fire pit. Coldly, methodically, Morgan pulled water up from around her and lobbed it into the hut-turned-pool. The rains were heavy, providing plenty of water for her to work with. Within minutes, the hut was overflowing.
The creature thrashed at the top of the makeshift cage, its reflective magical shield unable to affect the mundane water it found itself trapped in. Morgan simply waited for her Mana to recover while considering how to best bring about a swift end to the creature. She was also quite aware of how tasty [Primal Instinct] was telling her this new invader happened to be.
With that in mind, and very much uninterested in eating another murdersquirrel, Morgan reached through the stone with her Mana to feel the even dozen [Candleflame Rune] enchantments inscribed around the inside of the stone hut.
At first, the runes seemed to have no effect. The water simply had too much mass to heat up, at least not quickly. The draw on her Mana was still fairly light with such simple runes, so Morgan paced around the structure, placing more runes every couple of steps. These she inscribed down lower, and with more sources of heat pushing energy into the water, the effect finally became noticeable.
The stone was warmer to the touch already, low mist beginning to steam where the rains dripped down the outsides of the hut. The creature thrashed harder, actually managing to cause the walls to shiver, and kicked a spray of droplets away from the sides of the building.
Morgan pushed even more of her magic into the [Candleflame Runes], prompting another bout of frantic attacks against the walls and top of the hut.
And then she activated [Spell Surge] and shoved so much Mana through the runes that the stone began to glow.
The creature screamed in pain and agony as it beg
an to boil alive.
Interlude: The General
Jacob Ward sat his horse with greater ease than he would have ever thought possible in his previous life. [Horsemanship] was one of his passive skills, and allowed him much increased ability to understand his mount. He now handled the creature with smooth assurance.
One of the local youths who’d not yet unlocked a class came riding toward Jacob’s position. The boy had already had some basic riding skills, and had volunteered to ride with the scouts patrolling ahead of the wagon train.
“Report, boy. Are the farms in the next valley going to evacuate?”
The younger man turned his horse to fall in next to Jacob with a deft gesture of the reins. “Yes sir, or at least most of them. A few holdouts ran us off, but they were all white-haired ancient classers.”
“Why’s that so important?”
The youth gave him a strange look before clearing his throat and continuing, “I forget Worldwalkers don’t know everything, sir. For classers that old, they may not have the endurance or regen of the rest of us, but the raw power never goes away.” He grinned savagely. “They may only be able to do it once or twice before the effort kills them, but they can still crack the earth or break the sky.”
“So the Deskren will have a sorry time of it to try to rout them…”
“They’ll fight like cornered badgers,” the youth agreed, “and if they take enough out at once to gain a level, they could hold this valley for days.”
“Good,” Jacob said, noting with a smile the slight confusion on the lad’s face. “I can’t put off Class Selection much longer, and the caravan can’t afford to have me down for two or three days to get over it.”
“So the rumors are true, sir?” His face shone with a new eagerness. “We can hold for a few days; the training has already let most of us learn new combat skills, even some of the older classers. Or you could lay in one of the wagons for Selection, and we can just avoid stopping at all…”
“That’s an option I’ll talk over with Erin and the others. Now, you go see my wife for some food and then get rested for your next patrol. Mishel’s husband Parnus slaughtered one of the hogs this morning, so there’s bacon.”
The youth gave an earnest, if imperfect, salute and turned his horse to head back toward the rear of the caravan, where Jacob’s wife rode with the family who’d first taken them in when they arrived on Anfealt. A [Farmer] and a [Midwife], who’d graciously allowed the newlywed pair of Worldwalkers to stay in their barn in exchange for help with the fields. It hadn’t lasted, however, as the Deskren incursions began less than a month after the Purple Night.
The city of South Hollows had fallen, and it hadn’t gone gentle into that good night. Knowing the alternative was slavery, the entire city had taken up arms to clear a path for the young and those unable to fight. Those unable or unwilling to flee had made suicidal last stands, street by street, to buy time. The evacuees had scattered into the surrounding hills, and different groups banded together for protection from banditry, and from the slaver teams who filtered into the wilderness, picking off stragglers.
A few haggard groups passing through the farmstead prompted the farmer and his family to evacuate as well, smoke from the neighboring lands a grim notice of the consequences of staying alone. One family and a pair of Worldwalkers on the road became two families, then three, then five as more joined them. Jacob’s background in military command lent itself almost immediately to Skills regarding organization and the logistics of managing a caravan on the march. Most of the common citizenry of Anfealt stood in awe of Worldwalkers, and that gave an even sharper edge to his natural abilities to command.
He wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but he’d become the unofficial leader of an entire column of refugees. He did, however, know why: his natural aptitude for any number of survival-oriented tasks—organizing wagon trains, managing the flow of bodies without any getting in another’s way, and maintaining effective patrol coverage, to name but three—led the refugees to defer to him almost without conscious thought.
When the first bandit raid came in the middle of the night, they lost three wagons and the lives of a dozen refugees. The caravan’s food stores had been raided, and several women had also been dragged off into the night. Though he’d assumed everything would fall apart after that, the thirty riders he led out to rescue the women hadn’t turned against him.
Indeed, while his wife helped heal the traumatized girls with her own class skills, those who’d been in the rescue party had dispersed among the wagons, spreading tales of his passive command skill, [Momentum]. Any mounted unit he led travelled with greater…inertia, was the only way he could describe it, even to himself.
When they’d charged into the ragtag camp of bandits, their horses’ hooves struck the ground with thunderous impact, and they hit the brigands with such force that the enemy had been nearly obliterated. Bodies, tents, armor, even the other group’s own mounts had been sent flying as if struck by a plow, not mere horseflesh. Those not sent flying were trampled and broken without mercy, and the sight of the battered women next to their wagon rid them of any notion of taking prisoners. Jacob had put the surviving bandits to the sword personally, while his makeshift militia watched with flat eyes.
There had been no more losses to banditry since that night. Jacob had drafted the best riders from among the refugees and organized training schedules for scouting and formation drills. Everyone with fighting experience had been drawn up to practice in groups for at least two hours every evening, when the caravan halted for the night. The wagons were now circled together whenever they made camp. Anyone who could swing a pick or shovel quickly learned how to dig shallow trenches for defense, and everyone with archery skills kept eyes on the surrounding hills and forest glades at all times. People with woodcraft, hunting skills, or classes were recruited to stealthily keep watch on the surrounding area, ready to sound a signal with flashy spells or by simply blowing horns if they lacked magic.
What Jacob had was an army assembling itself as it went, protecting the children and livestock in the middle of a barricade of healthy, strong bodies. Several bandit groups since the first had mistaken the caravan for easy pickings, and had paid the price for their hubris. He’d gained the title [The Implacable] when he’d executed the rapists in that first battle, providing a significant boost to his already-formidable abilities. His original thirty riders were quickly growing into a solid cavalry unit under his lead, his Skills allowing for rapid maneuvers and almost instinctive unit awareness. Thanks to watchful scouts, several groups of unsuspecting brigands had met their end facing a heavy charge. What amounted to a proto-hivemind among the riders under his command permitted a remarkable fluidity, the men able to be everywhere among the wagons until they all needed to be some where to repel a threat.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he sat upright in the saddle and watched the refugee train pass by into the clearing, where initial fortifications for camp were already being dug that could be added to later. Trenches were being carved out, and berms of dirt piled up to give archers cover, to break up enemy charges, and to protect against magical attacks. The few people they’d picked up with magical classes moved in a group, laying out protective wards and linking them in a circle around the grounds. They had no offensive caster classes so far, but several classless teens showed minor talent with basic attack spells, and seemed eager to train toward combat-related magecraft. Jacob looked over the forming camp and was once again struck by the sense of a military compound, at once filled with both pride at the ability of those under him, and remorse at its necessity.
As the main body of the column moved into the fortified area, Jacob saw his wife, Erin, climb down from one of the two large Conestoga wagons that had been converted into mobile field hospitals. Her med school training on Earth had led to her gaining skills in diagnosis, healing magics, and surgery on a level the people they’d met so far had found miraculous. Though they’d successfull
y fought off every raid from both regular bandits and Deskren slavers, they still ended up with wounded to care for. She’d gained a class within the first week of the march from such extensive use of her abilities, and the [Hand of Solace] had organized every warm body with any healing talent at all into the kind of trauma response unit that would make any metropolitan hospital jealous.
He spurred his horse to an easy trot and made his way down into the camp. His wife, having just finished dumping out a basin of bloody water into one of the latrines, approached him. “Everyone made it today, Jake,” she called as he dismounted and handed the reins to one of the tenders that helped manage the caravan’s mounts and livestock. “I couldn’t save Millie’s arm— the arrow was poisoned—but at least now she won’t have to worry about infection. The rest will be up and walking in a day or two at the most.”
He didn’t respond, simply walking up and lifting her off her feet in a hug that highlighted the difference in their respective heights, her shoes nearly a foot off the ground.
“You have to choose, don’t you?” she said after silently enjoying the attention for several moments.
“I can’t put it off any longer. But I hate leaving you helpless while I’m under.”
She straightened her blouse and apron as he set her back on her feet, shooing away his concerns with a wave of her hand. “It’ll only be two days, three at the most. We can hold off the raiders should they come. You’ve trained your men well; trust in them. I’m more worried about what class you plan to choose.”
Skyclad (Fate's Anvil Book 1) Page 28