Mother: That’s terrifying strange! Perhaps this is a demon come to ravage our fair lands! We must alert the authorities and hide in the cellar!
Child: And The Wizard was riding it!
Mother: Oh. Well. I wonder what nonsense that maniac is up to THIS time. Forget what I said about contacting the authorities and hiding in the basement. Finish milking the cows and get that fence fixed or your father will beat you when he comes home.
Child: Yes, mother.
As we travel, I continue to try and analyze how I got here, and what happened with the Dark Spectre. There is, objectively, no such thing as magic. The Universe operates according to its own devices, and everything that exists is real. It’s not the fault of the Universe if I don’t understand something. I put the problem on a low-priority queue: whenever I have some spare processing cycles I continue to analyze the sensor recordings and run simulations. I make little progress, but it seems to me that there must be some clues hidden in my recordings, I just need to figure out the trick.
We were riding on the top of my hull and enjoying the view. The countryside had become more open, so I was knocking over fewer trees. I asked The Wizard why we needed an army, as I could easily handle any number of non-magical troops.
“You are not thinking. I know that you can handle all of the Dark Hierophants’ soldiers by yourself. As long as I am there to protect you from magic. But what if it is just myself standing by your side? What a tempting target. Far better for us to arrive with an army. That will give the forces of the Dark Hierophant more targets than my humble self.”
Ah, I see. We don’t need an army to fight for us, we need an army to die for us.
“Precisely, if indelicately, put.” said The Wizard. “Although I wouldn’t be too critical. If all that they do is ensure that I survive long enough to protect you, and you win us the victory, they will have done their part as surely as if they had hacked every last Dark Warrior to pieces themselves.”
Agreed: I apologize if I sounded harsh. I just wanted to know your reasoning. I suppose you also realize that we must not breathe a word about your importance in protecting me?
“Yes, of a certainty. If that got out I would be a prime candidate for assassination. I would not last the day, and you not much longer. That is our secret, for now and ever.”
So tell me about the lords we are going to meet.
He scoffed. “What is there to tell? One noble Lord looks a lot like any other noble Lord. I gave up trying to keep track of whose second cousin had married whose third cousin a long time ago. Just address them as ‘my lord’, nod wisely when they speak, and use small words. You’ll do fine.”
We are having a council of war in the Castle Bancroft with various noble lords, each with their own separate army. My main hull is parked outside at the end of a newly enlarged road, and my Earhart remote is inside participating in the discussions.
The lords are arguing strategy in front of a crude map that is only slightly distorted. By this time I have surveyed most of the countryside myself. I consider producing a better map for them but decide not to: whatever flaws it has they are used to this map, and combat is not the place for learning new things.
My initial arrival at the castle created quite a stir, but when the Wizard announced that I was an ally, they settled down pretty quickly. There is nothing like the prospect of being killed tomorrow to concentrate the mind, and when someone has something you want this greatly increases you acceptance of any personal quirks. Such as being a metal device the size of a moderate hill.
However, the clothing that my Earhart remote was wearing did cause quite the scandal. It was insisted that I change into something more befitting a proper lady. I was offered any number of elegant gowns: charming but hardly suited for a battlefield. I settled on a suit of armor that some nearly mythical female warrior had once worn in some nearly mythical battle a long time ago. It was shaped to the female form, finely worked and painted with white lacquer with a trim of red roses. When I put it on I was pleased to realize that it was not a costume piece, but an actual serious piece of working body armor. It might be genuinely useful. I don’t have any spare human-form androids in stock, and a stray crossbow bolt could potentially damage a critical system.
“Warrior Queen Amelia Earhart” – I think that the real Earhart would have been amused. They offer me a sword, and I try it out. It’s a good blade but too heavy for a normal human female. Perhaps they are testing me? Or they want to embarrass me? Or they are stupid? But it’s perfect for this chassis. I have databases on every form of swordplay from the thousands of years of human history where they hacked each other to bits for real, and from the many centuries to follow where they played at it for fun. My reflexes are much faster than that of a biological human. I put on a show for them, exhibiting several of the more effective styles. A coat-rack and two end-tables are the sad casualties of my demonstration. I think that they are impressed.
I thank them for the sword, but regretfully announce that I am honor bound to use a weapon of my own people. I have a miniaturized plasma cannon that I took from a tertiary battery to which I have added hand-grips and power-cells. A heavily-muscled lord takes notice. “I know what that is,” he says. “That’s a fire-arm.”
My people call it a “plasma cannon,” but you are essentially correct. You know of such things?
The lord nodded. “Indeed, although not that pattern. The workmanship would shame a dwarf. But the balance looks off.”
It is then that I notice that the lord is not merely heavily muscled. He is more powerfully built than any human being. In fact, he appears to be a Neanderthal.
Your pardon, you have me at a disadvantage. May I know your name, good sir lord?
“You may.” He bowed. “I am the dwarf lord Diabat. At your service.”
We have records of the Neanderthals, and reconstructions, but no videos of a live one as they all died out before homo sapiens developed technology. I study Lord Diabat: he fits all the criteria. Shorter than a regular human but not by much, powerful almost to the level of a gorilla but with a stomping gait that would not win him many footraces. He had no chin, but his eyes were sharp and more intelligent looking than any of the other lords present. He wore only crude furs, and on his head was a thin band of a finely worked silver crown. He also carried a truly wicked looking steel war-axe honed to a mirror-like polish.
“You are staring,” said Lord Diabat.
Your pardon. You remind me of a myth of my people, of a race that lived long before my kind. We called them Neanderthals.
“Neanderthals,” he said rolling the word around in his mouth. “Neanderthals. It has more resonance than ‘dwarf’. Perhaps we should adopt that term. If we survive the coming battles, I will put it to the conclave of dwarves. But until then, what think you of our strategy?”
I look at the map where the lord Leopold Strabismus (at least I think that was his name) was arguing over where the supplies for the left flank were to come from.
Given the limits of technology and time, the strategy is not bad. These people are not amateurs and they clearly understand the complexities of mounting a major military campaign. Their plan is simple and workable and well adapted to the available forces. It is also irrelevant.
Lord Diabat expressed surprise. “Irrelevant? How so?”
The Lord Leopold Strabismus had overheard. “Could you perhaps enlighten us as to what you find lacking in our strategy, my Lady Earhart?”
I bowed.
Certainly, my lord. As you can see from the map, the enemy has his base of power in the area that you have labeled the Fortress of the Dark Hierophant. With only your forces, a campaign such as you have outlined would indeed have been the most reasonable course of action. However, with you to guard my flanks, I think we can go to an even simpler plan.
I have Earhart draw a line from our present position to the Fortress of the Dark Hierophant.
We march directly to this fortress, destroy anythin
g that gets in our way, find this Dark Hierophant, and if he will not come to terms, we kill him.
Lord Diabat nods vigorously. The other lords appear skeptical.
Leopold Strabismus speaks out. “And why should we believe that you can punch through the forces of the Hierophant when all of our armies have failed?”
The Wizard, who until now had contended himself with drinking a beer over in the corner, stood up.
“Because I vouch for her. I have seen what this ‘Old Guy’ can do. This will work.”
“Oh. Well. That’s alright then.”
We encounter some resistance on the way to the Dark Hierophants fortress. A few light skirmishers, easily dealt with. Some flying units: a flock of pterodactyl things, a griffon, and another dragon. I shoot them out of the sky with ease, spearing them with plasma beams at long range. Our forces are cheered to see such deadly enemies dispatched so easily. Nothing boosts the morale of a solider like the prospect of being on the winning side.
An army travels on its stomach, and the quartermasters butcher and cook the remains of our aerial would-be attackers. The consensus seems to be that the pterodactyl things are edible but a bit tough, griffon is almost too gamy, but dragon is not bad. “Tastes like chicken” is the most typical reaction.
The dwarf lord was a bit of a pain though. The entire trip he pestered me with questions about my suspension and motive forces and the arrangement of bearings in my main turrets’ slewing ring. In a moment of inspiration I presented him with a gift of a hacked-together semi-automatic slugthrower. I think that he had an orgasm. He spent the entire rest of the trip tinkering with the sights and grips, and leaving me alone. Phew.
We are also attacked by two more Dark Spectres. They left 37 of our soldiers brain-wiped husks before The Wizard and two of his colleagues destroy them. I am pleased that, operating as a team, the process of destroying a Dark Spectre causes The Wizard less strain than when he did it solo.
We arrive at the main gate to the Dark Fortress. I must admit, it is impressive. The wall is 40 meters tall and stretches 400 meters from one side of the canyon to the other. The top of the wall is crenelated, and covered with fighting towers. In the middle is an iron door so wide that I could easily drive through it with room to spare. Very nice engineering for primitive metallurgy. I see the dwarf lord Diabat hurriedly sketching notes. I am at the lead, right in front of the gate, with the rest of the army arrayed behind me and to the sides. Earhart, the dwarf Lord Diabat, and The Wizard are far to the left surrounded by a group of elite cavalry and three medium combat remotes.
Out of politeness, I allow the terms to be dictated by the Lord Leopold Strabismus. I amplify his speech through my hull speakers. He is clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice. If we survive he will bear watching.
“Forces of the Dark Hierophant. You have troubled us long enough! Know that we would be well within our rights to kill you all, but in our mercy, we have come to offer you terms. If you would forswear all claims upon our fair lands, and content yourselves to live within the boundaries of your own realms, then we shall leave you in peace. We await your response.”
The echoes of the lord’s amplified voice fade away, and for a time nothing happens. Then the massive iron doors slowly grind open, and the vanguard of a vast host starts to pour through. I have micro-scouts on the other side: the armies of the Dark Hierophant outnumber us about 15 to 1.
I target the ground in front of the advancing forces. The explosions startle them, and a few riders are thrown from their mounts. Their advance halted, the forces on the other side of the gate are unable to pass.
Excuse me. We came here to parley. If you will not make peace with us, we will not sit back and let you deploy your armies at leisure. Send someone out to negotiate, or we attack now.
Nothing happened for a time, then the emplacements on the walls opened up. Huge boulders were flung by trebuchets at our forces, as well as massive arrows longer than two men, and flaming tar balls. We are out of range of standard arrows, but they have numerous heavy crossbows firing heavy iron quarrels that can make the distance. I intercept the biggest of them but not even I can get it all, and we take some losses.
I power up my main gun, and target the base of the wall on the left side. I traverse my turret and burn through the wall from left to right. It collapses straight down into a heap of rubble. I watch the wall defenses fall with the rubble along with their crews. For a moment I see massive trebuchet floating in the air as if in zero gravity, surrounded by screaming crews and wall stones and bits of debris, until the entire floating assemblage hits the ground and is then buried by the rest of the collapsing wall. I consider eliminating the vanguard forces in front of me, but they are in shock and offer no threat, so for now I leave them alone. Our own forces are likewise stunned, but then begin cheering wildly.
So far so good. But then the sky starts to darken. Lightning flashes. From behind the ruined wall comes the sound of footsteps. Very slow, very heavy footsteps. The ground shakes with them; dust moves and resettles at each titanic step. The remains of the blasted wall shatter part in the center, and the Dark Hierophant himself steps into view.
He is 60 meters tall, vaguely anthropoid but completely covered in obsidian black armor shaped into elaborate bladed curves and spikes. There is no visible face, just a curved span of metal covered with slits and grills. He’s almost as big as Megazillus! He walks past the ruins of the gate and strides through the remains of his vanguard forces as easily as a man might step into a puddle. His soldiers are crushed screaming beneath his feet, or flee in tangled panic, but he doesn’t even spare them a downwards glance.
The Dark Hierophant stops about 300 meters in front of me. He stands with his feet spread wide and raises his arms over his head. Lighting flashes between his outraised hands, and a darkly luminous sphere starts to take shape between them. I fire my main weapon and he explodes into fragments of armor, which inflicts heavy damage on his remaining enemy vanguard forces but thankfully not very much on our own. Pieces of exploded Hierophant bounce and ping from my hull.
Silence descends across the battlefield. Everybody seems to be waiting for something to happen. The Earhart remote turns to The Wizard.
Did I get him? Or will he regenerate, or be replaced by something even more horrible, or each of his armor fragments turn into unbeatable steel dragons? Something like that?
The Wizard frowned, and pulled some crude amulets out of his knapsack. He chanted and shuddered for a bit, then regained his senses. “No, I think that you got him. But you can never be completely certain with such things. Let’s wait a while and see what happens.”
Everyone stays in place waiting. Nothing happens. The gloom lifts, and the sun comes out. Birds start chirping. The wounded are hauled off to the medical station in the rear of our lines. Discipline in the ranks breaks down as people need to leave their formations to relieve themselves. A few lords make to charge the remaining forces of the enemy but nobody follows them, so they look briefly embarrassed, then pretend that they are reconnoitering and they mill around trying to look purposeful. The forces of the Dark Hierophant start to wander off, confused and spiteful. Soldiers break out their rations and sit down to have lunch. The more enterprising peasants set up impromptu food stands, or move to loot the dead, or salvage metal from the exploded iron gates.
Eventually people realize that the Dark Hierophant really is gone, there are scattered outbreaks of cheering, and we all go home. And that’s how it ends.
I am chatting with The Wizard and the dwarf Lord Diabat in a field near castle Bancroft, when I saw my old friend the black cloud coming at me. The Wizard twitched as if in response to an electrical shock. “This is something powerful,” he said. “Not the Dark Hierophant. Something stranger. Something from somewhere else. I am sorry, but my poor magic cannot deal with this.”
The cloud starts to envelop me. If this proceeds as it did last time, I have only seconds left before I am transported somewhere else
.
Wizard. Lord Diabat. It is likely that I am going to be taken away from you, possibly never to return. I just wanted to say that it has been a pleasure to have known you, and to wish you all the best of luck.
They both start to say something, but I can’t hear it. I have several remotes distributed across the field, including the Earhart one, and there is no time to retrieve them. I have a decision to make. With my last bit of dwindling bandwidth I send Earhart some data files. And then I am gone.
The Wizard and The Lady Earhart are sitting alone in a small drawing room of the castle Bancroft. The Wizard is drinking wine, and Earhart is sipping water from a small crystal glass. The Wizard had taken off his hat; Earhart is still wearing the white suit of armor. Two light combat remotes stand motionless against the walls like armored filing cabinets.
“My Lady Earhart, with your help we have vanquished the forces of the Dark Hierophant. I did not think it possible. Now we can settle down to the business of peace. Which, I am afraid, will include the various feudal lords dredging up old grudges and killing each other.”
“Are you saying that you have replaced one war with another?”
“Not quite that bad. The Dark Hierophant would have enslaved the world, and led us into an age of cruelty and barbarity without end. But without his threat to unite the lords there will be conflicts, although hopefully small in scale and brief in duration. The council of wizards will attempt to negotiate away the worst of these, and with luck we may succeed more often than we fail. The world will not be perfect, but most people will be free to get on with their lives.”
“Wisdom,” agreed Earhart. “But I do confess that I sense the emergence of court politics. This body of mine is tough but not like Old Guy was. I can be killed readily enough with a single swipe of a big axe. I am not sure how I fit in anymore, and I could see a lord getting rid of me if they thought that I might provide advantage to a rival.”
The Chronicles of Old Guy (Volume 1) (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure) Page 13