Skyclad (Fate's Anvil Book 1)

by Scott Browder

  More adventurers were joining the line now, and a pair of feline beastkin scouts came darting out of the trees a hundred paces to the right of the crater. Terisa wasn’t sure what tribe they were from, not that it mattered to her, but some tribes didn’t get along at all. They crossed the meadow with bestial swiftness, stopping near Foz to salute the larger man. “We diverted two of the stonebears, but there’s at least another two hundred rockmaw coming up the valley,” one said while the other recovered from the sprint. At least these two don’t dislike the Ursara, she thought to herself.

  “Where’s Dana?” shouted Kojeg as the cannon roared again. “The lass built summat be perfect for a situation like this.”

  “What could she build that can turn a stampede?” retorted the Huntress as she raised her bow, sending several arrows into another small pack of rockmaw that stumbled through the trees. Each arrow struck a monster in the head as if a giant hammer had crushed their skulls, dropping a half a dozen beasts in a heartbeat. “Once they knock enough of those trees down to get a good run, they’ll all be coming this way!”

  “She don’t think like we do!” responded the dwarf. “That woman has the most terrifying mind I’ve ever witnessed! If you ever saw her workshop—”

  Terisa didn’t have time to respond before a new, completely foreign sound swelled into being, swallowing the rumbling of the oncoming horde. It was a long, mournful wail, a howling siren that grew to such a peak that Terisa had to clap her hands to her ears. She might have screamed; she couldn’t hear herself. It seemed to come from the direction of the rest of the camp, but it was so unimaginably loud that it was hard to tell. It died away, but as Terisa cautiously lowered her hands, it rose once again. Once more it fell and rose, only to finally die away into silence. Stunned, Terisa gawked at Kojeg.

  “That be her,” said Kojeg flatly, twisting his fingers in his ears. “I suggest everyone without the urge to be turned ta’ paste just step back a wee bit.”

  New earthshaking rumbles joined what she could feel from the approaching horde of monsters. The impact of metal on metal reverberated throughout the camp, drowning out the monsters’ cries. The sound began to remind her of Gnomish metalwork, but writ several times louder.

  “The way she builds golems! She doesn’t see ‘em as separate things! Modular, she calls it,” yelled the dwarf over the noise as he led her and Foz back from the line of cannon that faced the forest’s edge. “Never seen the like,” he continued as they ran. His explanation was cut short as the ground heaved from a massive impact, nearly throwing Terisa to the ground. Then another. And another.

  Six jointed insectoid legs bore Dana’s workshop, or what used to be her workshop, into the clearing. Each impact shook the ground as though a giant were treading the earth. Terisa could recognize parts of the rear sections of the workshop in the legs, as well as the bristling weaponry of foreign design that studded the foremost section.

  Plates shifted and gears turned with an almost organic smoothness. A leg tore itself free from the ground, earth falling away as it rose, then slammed down again. On the front of the machine two plates slid aside, making room for twin cylinders to protrude. It reminded Terisa somewhat of a spider’s jaw. That is, until they began to spin—slowly at first, growing faster and faster until they were screaming.

  The first of the main herd of rockmaws broke through the tree line on the opposite end of the meadow.

  And then the Worldwalker’s creation spat death and devastation at a rate that boggled the mind. Her class skills and enhancements allowed her to see that the cylinders—which were themselves made of smaller cylinders—were spewing bits of metal so fast she could barely distinguish one from the next. Pieces of what she was sure was brass rained down in a continuous stream from somewhere on the machine’s belly, pattering off the rock and earth. One bounced over to her, and she reached down to examine it. At its base, it was nearly as thick as her wrist, but tapered to a smaller opening at the far end.

  The cannons and their effluence cut down trees, rockmaws, and stonebears alike with an ease that seemed almost casual. Though no single strike would have felled one of the monsters—in fact, most of the Expedition could have survived a few hits unless they were well-placed—the strikes didn’t come singly, but in a continuous hailstorm, littering the ground with blood, flesh, and corpses, chewed to pieces as the awesome machine swept its beam of death from one side of the killing field to the other.

  But still the Worldwalker wasn’t done. For nearly sixty seconds her machine spat its death across the field, and only then did it slow, the red-hot barrels steaming as the rain of brass came to an end.

  The field lay barren, and far quieter than it had been mere minutes before. But then the trees exploded, giving birth to a pair of Gamgarra, the elder wyverns. They’d been at the rear of the stampede, and now their path was laid clear.

  Terisa raised her bow, Mana swirling along her arms as she prepared another [Celestial Shot], another heavensplitter—but Dana was quicker on the draw. Two of the machine’s great legs split apart, panels opening to reveal pulsating mana crystals, already beginning to pull Mana from the air around them in a current Terisa could easily feel.

  Another cylinder thrust forward from the innards of the machine between the still-cooling cannons. This cylinder was a single piece and covered in concentric circles of runes. These began to contra-rotate, faster and faster, until they blurred into solid bands.

  Then, a hum that was so loud it couldn’t be called a hum, a crack of thunder, and a solid beam of cerulean light leapt from the barrel to the lead wyvern—and emerged from the other side of its head. It flashed again, and its mate fell as well.

  The field went silent as the grave. Nobody spoke; nobody could speak. Everyone stood slack jawed, struck dumb by the devastation a single woman had wrought.

  Over a hundred monsters, in moments! the Huntress thought. And no common monsters, either, these are all— Horror overtook her, and she turned, but too late.

  The massive walker lurched to the side as a flash of golden light shone forth from inside; Dana had gained a level. More flashes signaled more levels, and the walker staggered as if under some unimaginable onslaught before pitching to the ground, its legs collapsing as golden flashes continued to rise.

  “Kojeg!” Terisa shouted as she bounded toward the machine. “What’re her autos?”

  “Dunno!” the dwarf shouted back. “Never asked, but she gets stronger every time, so at least one to strength!”

  “Dammit,” she cursed, leaping onto the machine’s head. “She’s hyper-leveling! We have to get her out, or she’ll starve to death before waking up!”

  She tugged, then heaved at the armor, to no avail. The Worldwalker had clearly built her machine to be a tank, but it would also become her grave if Terisa couldn’t get it open. Kojeg swung his hammer with a mighty shout, trying to open a hole, but it was Foz who ultimately brought the solution.

  Or, rather, was the solution. The excitement and the sight of blood had given him the opportunity to finally tap into his berserker’s rage, and he exercised it against the side of the machine, his great axes shearing away at its structure with each strike. It wasn’t long before he’d opened a big enough path for Terisa to reach the fallen engineer.

  “Food, Foz! Go get more, meat and drink!” Before her eyes she could see Dana’s body wasting away, growing more gaunt as she expended caloric reserves she didn’t have. Terisa didn’t understand the mechanisms holding Dana into her seat, but she didn’t need to understand in order to destroy . She tore cables, bent back metal braces, and ripped away woven straps in order to pull the unconscious Worldwalker out of the cupped seat from which she’d controlled the machine.

  The woman’s spinal graft had released the linking tendrils when she fell unconscious, and she knew she’d owe Dana an apology after cutting free the plumbing connectors the woman had so shyly explained after their first meeting’s awkward questions. She didn’t know how many times t
he girl had just levelled, but as she watched, the girl’s skin pulled tight against her bones. Gently pulling her from the seat once all the various connectors and strange metal workings were out of the way, she wrapped the girl in her cloak and gingerly carried her back out of the machine to set her on the ground. She’s light , Terisa thought worriedly, far too light.

  “Here’s some Stamina potions,” offered Nessara as she approached with the other mages. “That’ll stave off the worst of it. She has to have gained at least a dozen levels, probably more.”

  Kojeg and Foz were already returning, the dwarf with a small cask on one shoulder, and her husband with an armload of still-bloody steaks. Terisa managed to get one of the Stamina potions down Dana’s throat, but the Worldwalker wasn’t out of danger, by any measure. The woman sputtered, waking up to clutch at the bottle and drain the rest of the potion. Terisa handed her another as Nessara used Fire magic to sear small, bite-sized chunks of meat before handing them to the girl. Quality was less of a concern than getting it cooked enough the woman wouldn’t throw it back up.

  After finally recovering enough strength to feed herself, Dana broke down in tears, curling up in Terisa’s robe. “I had no idea,” she groaned. “Levelling never hurt before!”

  “Too much of anything hurts, lass,” Kojeg replied softly.

  After wolfing down several more fist-sized chunks of meat, she managed to ask, “Did I stop the stampede?”

  “Aye, ye did that and more,” replied the dwarf.

  “I broke it,” growled Foz, pointing at the mobile walker with one axe. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” replied the Worldwalker. Her expression went from pained to sudden mirth. “Is he always like that?” she asked Terisa, unable to stop herself from laughing. The Huntress, relieved that she didn’t have a dead Worldwalker on her hands, joined in her laughter. Soon everyone present was stifling chuckles, except for Foz. He simply grunted and ate another piece of meat.

  They sat around her, watchful of the Wildlands, and she continued to eat and recover. Their revelry was interrupted once more, however, by the mage Nessara crying out, clutching her head, and falling to her knees.

  The other mages still standing by the ritual circle had likewise collapsed, and Terisa stared in utter confusion.

  “Nothing in the Wildlands can do this!” one moaned.

  “It’s not the Wildlands,” Nessara groaned through clenched teeth. “Someone is working a ritual, or a Greater Spellworking.”

  Terisa felt it then as well, a low pulsing in the earth beneath them. Nessara and the other mages were beginning to recover, but still seemed on the verge of collapse at any moment. “What is it? I can sense Earth magic…”

  “Yes, it’s Earth, alright,” Nessara responded shakily. “And some Fire, and Lightning too. Every mage in the Expedition felt that, and I bet the shamans at Thun’Kadrass are shitting gold bricks right now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Terisa said, shaking her head.

  “I’ve visited the Great Forge myself, you know, over ten years ago. Whoever’s doing whatever they’re doing is channeling more Earth Mana than the Great Forge. It’s quite literally enough to move a mountain.”

  They stood, and Dana sat, looking out to the east, wondering who could manage such a feat in a place where there were supposedly no people at all.

  And the magic kept pulsing until long after nightfall.

  Chapter 27: Shattered Fates

  When Rella awoke, she was surrounded by darkness, and she was floating. More importantly, she was well and truly alone. For the first time since accepting the Mantle, she didn’t have a constant flood of visions gnawing at the back of her mind. For the first time, she didn’t have the constant sensation of presence, of past [Oracles] riding along with her.

  For a long time she basked in the emptiness, luxuriating in the silence.

  Suddenly something reached out of the blackness, seizing her hair, as icy fingers wrapped around her neck. She was abruptly made aware of the fact that she wasn’t floating, but falling—seconds before breaking through a barrier of cold, white light.

  She felt wet stone beneath her hands and cried out as her head was yanked back, a spray of chilled water following her.

  “Long has it been since one came this far down,” said a cool voice, tinged with curiosity.

  The speaker still had a grip on Rella’s hair, taut against her scalp. She sputtered, water freezing on her face as she tried to break free. Her efforts proved futile, the hand lifting up and up until Rella was forced to stand on tiptoe. The stone fountain she’d been so rudely dunked in was already beginning to frost back over, and the cold night sky held thousands of brilliant stars, illuminating an ancient and timeworn courtyard. To her left stood a woman in a plain homespun dress, golden curls framing a rounded and motherly face with sharp blue eyes. She blinked, and the dress was suddenly a fine silken ensemble with plaited ruffles down the sides and white velvet gloves. Another blink, and it was a translucent blue scarf, so thin that it hid nothing at all as it wrapped around the woman’s chest and thighs. It kept shifting every time Rella glanced away even for the briefest of moments, and so distracted was she by the sight, she almost didn’t notice the other figure standing to her right.

  A winged helm covered the new woman’s hair, and a scuffed steel chestplate hid her figure. The armor was built for function over form; had she worn her hair short and concealed her face, Rella would have been hard-pressed to call her a woman. The hilt of the sword at her side gleamed with the polish of a lifetime of use, and a faded [Oracle]’s eye sat on the worn pommel. The armored figure watched for several moments while Rella scratched and clawed at the immovable hand and arm holding her suspended by the hair. She felt as if her neck would break, or the hair pull away from her head, and then the woman on the right spoke, in clipped, businesslike tones.

  “Let her go, Ruga; I think you have her attention.”

  The hand lowered, the soles of Rella’s feet finally touching the ground. It didn’t let go immediately, and the woman on the left shifted through a dozen more iterations of attire before the one called Ruga finally relented with a resigned sigh.

  “It wasn’t as entertaining as I thought it would be, waking her up in the fountain,” said the one to her left, the dress shifting to impossibly tight leathers sewn all in one piece, her voice warm and soothing. “Should have let Koma kick her a few times.”

  “I’ll kick her and you if we don’t hurry this up, Ingra,” the armored woman replied. “If she’s here too long, Mother will wake.”

  Koma turned away from the fountain, cold starlight casting defined shadows behind her as she walked through an arched doorway into what looked like a temple. The biting cold finally brought Rella to the realization that she was naked, and she shivered while trying to cover herself.

  “Where—what—?” she stammered, glancing from one woman to the other.

  “Calm down, girl,” said Ruga from behind her. “For clothes, all you have to do is think it, as Ingra does. The cold is the same way; stop thinking about it, and it won’t bother you. This place has its own rules.”

  Bringing her thoughts in order, Rella suddenly found herself wearing her old tunic and breeches, the outfit she’d grown accustomed to during her time serving as the attendant to the previous [Oracle]. The woman behind her, Ruga, snorted derisively.

  “Still haven’t grown to fill the shoes you stepped into, have you?”

  “I-I’m—” Rella stuttered. “I’m still new at this! Where am I, anyway? This isn’t like the mindscape with the others…”

  “It’s exactly the same,” Ruga countered, “except your sisters never learned how to navigate well enough to come this far. We had to pull you down.” She turned, following the other two women through the arch and out of sight. Rella remained where she was, awestruck and taking in the courtyard. Suddenly Ruga was behind her again, once more seizing her hair. She marched Rella forward, through the archway, to where the women w
aited.

  “No time to dawdle, girl. If Mother wakes up, it’s all for naught.”

  “After we went through all that effort to bring you here, too,” said Ingra, dress shifting through several more changes, each seeming determined to beat the last in levels of indecency.

  Ruga pressed Rella onward, following the two women out to a wide plain, where a worn stone path cut through thick grasses which stood taller than the young girl’s waist, eerily still in the calm air. A hundred paces distant, the path ended at a huge stone building, its roof braced by fluted Doric columns the height of ten men. It was toward this building the group led Rella, stopping at its entrance.

  “Welcome to the Halls of Remembrance,” said Koma, pushing the door open and leading the way inside.

  When Rella caught sight of the interior, she stopped again, breath snatched out of her lungs by what she saw. Ruga simply lifted her back onto her toes, dragging her along.

  The interior of the building held the sky full of stars she’d seen while outside, only now they were striding through the middle of the floating lights. The paved stone floor was featureless, but suspended above it was an ocean of glimmering cerulean and aquamarine, the orbs lazily describing individual pathways down the hall’s length. Other women walked the star-lined hall, reaching out from time to time to nudge the orbs back into position. The edges of the paved path gave way to an infinite blackness below, and Rella couldn’t see what supported the structure at all.

  Ruga gave her no time to take in the rest of the temple, quickly marching her to the far end of the hall where the path widened into a broad, circular platform. The path also split here, spidering above and below, to different levels of the structure. A golden ring was inscribed in the grey stone, and the three women bracketed Rella in the center as the section of floor within the ring began to drop.