by Demi Harper
“Of course,” I said, though this seemed a little strange to me. Why would my overseers defer to my high cleric? I realized there was a lot I still didn’t know about gnomish hierarchies. But there’d be time to figure it out later.
“Once everyone was settled, as you know, Coll and I left. But,” Ket continued quickly, not wanting to re-stoke my disapproval, “when we came back, Gneil was arguing with Hammer. Hoppit got involved. She stuck up for Gneil—of course—and after a bit more back and forth they all started issuing orders.”
“For the camp to be assembled like this? But why?”
Her wings fluttered as she shrugged.
Huh. When I tried to communicate to Ket that hostiles were on the way… is it possible that Gneil picked up the warning instead? And prepared for attack from either ground or sky?
That was interesting. But Bekkit’s voice prevented from pursuing that line of thought.
“If I may make a suggestion…”
I sighed. “You can always make suggestions.” Whether I’ll act on them is another thing altogether.
“Your armed contingent has just two officers. Both are drill sergeants. Correct?”
“Right. Hammer and Graywall.”
“I’m not sure how familiar you are with military hierarchy and roles…” On the contrary, his tone suggested he was fully aware I knew absolutely nothing about that stuff.
“Spit it out. What am I doing wrong and how do I fix it?”
The sprite seemed surprised. “Well, it’s just that drill sergeants are typically used only to train new warriors, not direct them in battle. They may act as regular sergeants when an army is large enough to be broken down into smaller squads, but generally warriors are led by commanding officers like captains and lieutenants.”
“Huh. So you’re saying it’s time for some reshuffling?”
“That would be prudent.”
The warriors were already split between groups for the duration of the exodus. I didn’t want to confuse things too much by assigning them into different fighting squads as well. Besides, to do so didn’t make sense with our army as small as it was right now. I said as much to Bekkit.
“Reasonable,” he agreed. “However, the presence of commanding officers provides bonuses to your warriors while in combat, much like a high cleric motivates acolytes. It may be worth promoting a couple of your best fighters to sergeant even if you do not intend to form squads. And an army should have a single general regardless of its size.”
Bored of his explanation, Ket had already flitted away to check in on Ris’kin. Benin was equally uninterested in military-themed discussion, and sloped off to disassemble his and Coll’s tent. The emberfox skulked several paces behind him as usual.
Coll stayed behind, chatting affectionately to his new dire badger friends while keeping one ear on our conversation. The gnomes continued to pack up camp around us while we perused my options.
Back when I’d promoted Hammer and Graywall, ‘drill sergeant’ had been the only officer vocation available given our then-rookie warriors’ lack of skills. Now, though, my army’s combined skill levels in melee and ranged combat fulfilled the prerequisites for assigning a general, as well as a maximum of two regular sergeants.
But who to promote?
Hammer and Graywall were my most experienced warriors. Furthermore, both had experience in directing units in battle. Drill sergeants were only needed for training new troops, which we wouldn’t have for a while. It made sense for me to make them regular sergeants, at least.
But something held me back. When I expressed my uncertainty, Coll surprisingly agreed.
“Just because they’re good drill sergeants don’t mean they’d make good commanding officers,” he pointed out. “Different set of skills, you know? If they’re good at what they do—which is training other fighters—then why not let ‘em keep doing it? Promote others who’ve shown strong leadership instead.”
After a brief discussion, the three of us unanimously agreed that Serene and Magnus should be granted the captain vocation. Both were well-respected among their peers, both were excellent—albeit very different—fighters, and according to Coll both had acquitted themselves well when responding to Gneil’s warning and Hoppit’s orders.
It seemed the latter had been instrumental in making sure the tribe was as prepared for the latest attack as possible. If she hadn’t been there to listen to Gneil…
I pushed away the guilty feeling that I was rewarding her for her relationship with my high cleric. Nepotism much? But it wasn’t as though that were the only basis on which I was promoting her. The savvy slinger had proved her worth on many occasions, and was more than suited for the role of our small army’s general.
“We’re almost ready to go,” said Ket. “How are you doing?”
Her tone was bright, but I also sensed wariness. She was worried I was still angry at her. I was, kind of, but we had much bigger things to think about right now.
We’d been led by the nose. Something had intended for us to follow those badger tracks; to get us far enough away from the convoy for the others to attack it without Ris’kin being there to help. Something wanted to hurt us; there was a greater intelligence behind this, and I seriously doubted it was the tormented badger queen we’d killed.
“I’m worried,” I admitted to Ket. Then I raised my voice so Bekkit and the humans would hear.
“Something strange is afoot. We have to be extra careful from now on.”
It felt odd saying such things in the daylight. It was barely mid-morning; above the branches, the sky was pale blue and clear, the autumn sun clean and bright (though not bright enough to make me flinch any more).
I added one last warning. “No more unauthorized trips away from the tribe, okay?”
Benin immediately began to protest.
“I’m not saying you can’t ever leave,” I clarified. “You don’t need to ask permission to empty your bladder or anything. Just make sure you let me know before you whisk either of my sprites away on a romantic jaunt through the forest. Agreed?”
The two humans assented with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
“Then let’s be off. We still have a long way to go,” I said. “And be careful. We’ve already lost a scout. I won’t lose anyone else.”
I really hope that’s a promise I can keep.
Forty
Finger Flingers
Corey
The scout’s death—the first casualty of the exodus—felt significant beyond the simple fact; an ominous turning point. Though Bekkit pointed out we’d been lucky thus far, and that statistically one denizen out of a hundred and one was a more than acceptable margin, it didn’t feel that way.
“They’re gnomes, not numbers,” I snarled at him the third time he tried to console me with facts. “The only ‘acceptable’ casualty margin is zero.”
I’d had serious concerns about our newly acquired quartet of dire badgers, but now that their queen was dead there was nothing ‘dire’ about them. Of course we already knew they were fierce fighters, but otherwise they were as docile as dormice. Following the lead of Bruce and the others, they soon grew accustomed to yokes and harnesses—not to mention extra food and behind-the-ear scritches—and soon enough it was like they’d been part of the tribe all along.
On another positive note, days of experimenting had finally allowed the carpenters to unlock upgrades for the wagons, on which I immediately instructed them to begin work. Ket grew very excited, and gushed about absorption and energy and interfaces and other things that made my attention drift away completely.
Is this how she feels when I go on about how neat ghoul’s beard and other plants are?
I tuned out most of Ket’s explanations, but as far as I could tell, the latest upgrade mostly involved a process called sapping, so named for its use of a rubbery material made from dried sap. When applied to the parts connecting the wagon’s bed to its wheels, the sap provided a sort of insulation, absorbing muc
h of the vibration caused by the uneven terrain. The carpenters also carved carefully-angled grooves into the wheels’ outer surface to give them improved traction. These new improvements allowed my denizens to travel much more quickly over rough surfaces without risking the snapping of important components. It also made for a smoother ride for those on board; my warriors and scouts were able to rest more thoroughly and for longer, regenerating more stamina and improving morale.
The time we saved—now that we were no longer having to stop for repairs every hour—meant we were making better progress than ever before. Coll estimated we were managing to cover around twelve miles every day. Initially I was underwhelmed by this number, but when I factored in how short the gnomes’ legs were it was actually quite an impressive distance.
The more ground we covered, the more new resources the tribe gained. As I’d hoped, Swift and Cheer’s Scavenge ability compensated somewhat for the loss of our scout. In particular, the pair had an uncanny knack for finding new mushroom species, many of which promised to be very useful at some point in the future.
Blunderball
Fungi
The blunderball expels compressed air when exposed to excessive noise or force. The concussive blast produced has earned it the nickname “pistol shroom.”
I didn’t know what a pistol was, but it sounded fun. However, my excitement at the idea of exploding fungi quickly faded after the first demonstration. The “concussive blast” mentioned in the Augmentary’s description was more of a limp-sounding fwip, barely any different than the sound made by a puffball mushroom, and without the bonus of expelling choking spores.
However, when my farmers used Assess on the new specimen, I received a pleasant surprise.
Advanced vocation unlocked: Botanist (fungi)
The pre-requisite for the vocation was for an individual to have gained the blueprints for fifteen different species of fungi, which both of my farmers apparently just had.
According to its description, a botanist was much more skilled at harvesting spores and useful materials from existing specimens. Furthermore, they were able to combine existing fungi into new hybrid species—something the farmers had thus far struggled to accomplish. Not from lack of trying; each of the farmers’ handcarts was filled with soil and was home to a variety of specimens that had been hastily transplanted from the Grotto’s shroomeries before our departure. Throughout the journey they’d been gathering samples of soil and leaf mulch from each new area and gradually introducing them to the mobile shroomeries. I’d even seen them doing this with animal droppings, presumably—hopefully—for use as fertilizer.
As soon as I assigned them the ‘botanist’ vocation, a wealth of new Augmentary options became available to me with the addition of a ‘botany’ tab. It seemed that similarly to my Creation ability, which allowed me to combine the blueprints of existing creatures into a hybrid at the cost of varied mana and Creation slots, the botanists now had access to similar information that granted them knowledge of how to breed different species of fungi to create new ones. I could either leave them to their own devices, or direct their efforts myself.
Naturally, I chose to meddle. My cackling while I scanned through blueprints for the most fun options drew several curious glances from human and sprite alike, but for now I kept my ideas to myself.
Several days later I received a ding from the Augmentary, alerting me that the botanists’ labor had borne fruit. Dangerous fruit—err, fungus.
Finger Flinger
Hybrid fungi
First bred by gnomish botanists in the wilds of Sethanan Forest, finger flingers expel compressed air when exposed to excessive force. Whilst growing, the fungus takes in dust and grit from its surroundings and coats them in mucus that hardens into a stone-like consistency. Their expulsion upon detonation makes the finger flingers particularly deadly when used as projectile weapons.
Yes!
It was exactly what I’d hoped for. The new and improved blunderball-puffball hybrids would react to force but not noise, meaning they would only explode upon impact—perfect for throwing, or perhaps even slinging. Even better, they’d now shoot out shrapnel, damaging enemies as well as just stunning them. The description made them sound like miniature bullets. Dangerous projectiles—if you were fifteen inches tall.
“This is so neat!”
“Please stop saying that,” groaned Ket, flitting over to see what had me so excited. She rolled her eyes when she read the description of the new mushrooms. “You couldn’t have focused on something more useful?”
“Finger flingers are useful!” I protested.
The sprite wanted me to have the botanists focus on adapting the broilcups instead. The large bowl-like mushrooms were pretty unwieldy, and Ket had suggested we create much smaller versions that could be dropped inside a cooking pot and then fished out afterward. It made sense, and I definitely would have them work on that at some point.
For now, though, there were just so many more interesting options, especially with Swift and Cheer bringing back new and increasingly exotic samples the further into the forest we traveled.
The pair had shown an affinity with fungi since their earliest scouting expeditions. Ket suggested it was because the scavengers had the social skills of a toadstool and recognized the mushrooms as kindred spirits. I countered by asking if she was saying Swift and Cheer were ‘fun guys’. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.
Recalling an old incident with a puffball mushroom, I elected to set a guard on the botanists’ carts at all times. One thing we definitely didn’t need was the children getting their hands on our explosive new toys.
Something had been bothering me about the children, beside the usual fact of them being loud and annoying. I eventually realized it was that they were still just that: children. We’d been traveling for almost three weeks; that was usually more than enough time for a gnome to have grown to maturity, especially those who’d started the journey as older children. But they’d barely grown at all.
“Of course they haven’t,” said Ket when I raised the issue with her. “The only reason they grew up so fast before was the creche.”
Of course. It was obvious now she’d pointed it out. The creche had accelerated my denizens’ maturation so that they’d reached adulthood in just a handful of days. Without it, they were growing at their natural rate—still much faster than larger species, but much, much slower than I’d become accustomed to.
The circular structure had also accelerated the gestation period for pregnant gnomes. Those currently with child were stuck that way for a much longer period than they would have been with the creche nearby. They seemed not to mind so much, thankfully; the big-bellied female gnomes went about their tasks as usual, only occasionally taking turns to rest on the wagons despite the addition of more draft animals providing more opportunities for them to do so.
The children’s immaturity was clearly starting to wear on the rest of my denizens; with the exception of Pan, who always seemed perfectly content doing her own thing, they required constant management. When they weren’t getting underfoot or begging for treats or attempting to climb the warriors so they could ride on their shoulders, the children were generally being a pain in everyone’s backside—especially those whose bedrolls they laced with brambles.
Coll pointed out that part of the reason for this was that the children spent the day’s march riding on the wagons. This had been to keep them safe, to stop them getting left behind, but it was definitely contributing to them ending the day with pent-up energy and boredom—the worst possible combination for a child without the outlet of entertainment and a safe area in which to run around and play freely. They’d had toys and games to keep them busy during the ride, of course, but the novelty had understandably worn off by now.
Since my avatar was the only one who could truly keep them in line—except Nails and Emrys, who were both occupied with their role as group leader—I set Ris’kin the task of solving thi
s particular problem. Instead of pranks and arguments and fitful napping, my avatar filled their days with activities. These mainly seemed to involve bringing her pointless items like sticks and rocks, then going off to put them back, though she also held running races alongside the convoy. Instead of whining and arguing at the nurses’ tired reprimands, each day’s march was now accompanied by competitive shouts and hysterical giggles, as well as outraged wails when my avatar almost-but-not-quite let them win.
When we made camp in the evenings, rather than getting underfoot, the children were practically asleep on their feet—though they perked up whenever Sir Fura the squirrel tossed kernels from his nut stash at the emberfox, making popcorn which the badgers barged in and promptly snaffled.
The dire badgers’ injuries were healing nicely, though they’d bear the scars forever.The sight of their pinkish acid-burns gave me another idea. I switched to the Augmentary’s armory tab and quickly found what I was looking for: mount armor. However, the option to select it was grayed out. I’d expected it; the Augmentary had foiled my plans on many occasions with its arbitrary requirements, but it was still annoying.
“Why do we need stables to be able to craft armor?” I’d complained to myself. “Surely just having the animals is enough!”
Apparently unfamiliar with the concept of rhetorical questions, Bekkit had replied, “The Augmentary does not ‘register’ an animal as a mount unless it has officially been assigned to a building of the ‘stable’ class. The universe—”
“Works in mysterious ways, yeah.”
Still, it was nothing a bit of Divine Inspiration couldn’t fix. We subsequently spent a rather enjoyable evening watching Gneil and the acolytes attempt to demonstrate the concept of badger armor. The extremely patient Helga stood placidly while the gnomes alternately wrapped her in various materials and balanced things on her head and back. After a while I suspected the armorers were deliberately playing dumb so as to extend the charade. They’d drawn quite a crowd, and morale seemed high, so I was happy to oblige.