Archeologist Warlord: Book 3

by E. M. Hardy

  He still had the luxury of using laser crystals, after all.

  Martin took advantage of the living force of the thousands of troops loitering around the area, drawing upon their ambient chi and pouring it into the mandala patterns carved onto the obelisk. The scarabs helped as well, harvesting chi and transferring it into the obelisk to help power up the giant crystal atop its tip. All that concentrated power crept upwards, toward the massive crystal nestled on top of the obelisk.

  Martin aimed the stored energies at the nearest sphinx, angling the chi and unleashing it all in one gigantic blast of energy. He felt a slight tug on his consciousness, signaling the immense draw on his available energies. The only reason he didn’t lose control was that the crystal drew most of its energy from the stored chi within the mandala patterns on both the obelisk and the scarabs. He didn’t want to imagine what firing that supersized crystal would do to his consciousness if he tapped it directly to his limited array of generators.

  At least the focused blast was hot enough to slag through the thick outer shell of an androsphinx, lancing deep enough to hit the sensitive components that animated the sphinx. It collapsed bonelessly after the attack, falling heavily upon the hieracosphinxes massed around it. Another sphinx took its place, of course, but at least the supersized crystal was able to down a sphinx in a single shot. Good to know.

  Martin hummed to himself, satisfied with the performance of the large obelisk crystal. He planned to continue bombarding andros and then dismantle the obelisk before the rogues finished building their nearest pyramid.

  He only wished he had more pnevmatic generators on hand so he could keep blasting away with abandon. Maybe then he could afford to blast down the pyramids, slag through their thick walls and prevent the rogues from finishing them in the first place.

  “They behave horrendously stupidly,” remarked Venkati. Ishida, Qiu Ja, Isin, and pretty much every other commander present voiced the same sentiment to their respective walker escorts.

  “Indeed,” Martin said through his multitude of escort walkers. “As I said before in my reports, these rogues are purely reactive weapons. See how they’re not even trying to lure my walkers into a trap? Or bothering to adapt their attack patterns to protect their vulnerable abdomens?

  “This because of their limited programming, uh, commands left behind by the Builders. Their instructions were not very sophisticated, which basically boiled down to lashing out at whatever target they were instructed to destroy.

  “What they lack in brains, however, they make up for in numbers. Those pyramids you see out in the distance make more of them. I’m guessing there are a hell of a lot more pyramids beyond the horizon—enough to sustain their numbers despite my constructs bashing them all day, all night.”

  “And you have already destroyed how many of these things?” quipped Emir Haafil, the rough man stroking his chin as he asked the question.

  “By my estimates, I’ve already destroyed around ten and a half million of those things over the course of six months.”

  Martin gave enough time for the various leaders to go through their outbursts of emotions, which ranged from consternation and surprise to disgust and outrage.

  “Sounds a lot, I’m sure, but I’m simply not killing these constructs fast enough. They just keep churning out more each day. It takes the rogues three months to build a new pyramid from scratch, and I estimate it’ll take them another two and a half years before they reach Ma’an—the first major emirate in their way.

  “A year later, and they’ll start covering most of the Bashri Basin. A decade or two after that and they’ll be able to advance far enough north to start threatening the Empire. And on and on they’ll go until they cover this continent with pyramids… wiping out everything and everyone in their way.”

  His sobering prediction quieted the assembled leaders down, who turned to watch Martin’s walkers continue demolishing hieracos from behind the safety of the control zone.

  “It is important that we stop their advance as soon as possible, though. Each new pyramid they build means another new facility that lets them build more rogues. If we let them build enough pyramids, then we might not be able to stop their relentless advance no matter how stupidly suicidal they are right now.

  “With the aid of your troops, however, it is my hope that we can deal enough damage to start pushing them back instead of giving ground all the time. All we need is to break down enough of them to reach out and start hitting those pyramids. Once we start taking down pyramids, they won’t be able to keep their numbers high enough to overwhelm our combined forces.”

  “No sane person will just sit there and take such mind-boggling casualties,” rebuked Prince Mufeed. The crown prince of the Emirate of Ma’an crossed his arms and shook his head as he continued. “You are also assuming that these so-called rogues of yours will not one day break free from the invisible leash tying them to their pyramids.”

  “Then my walkers will screen for your people while you retreat, form a more organized defense while we see what we can do next,” shot Martin back more testily than he wanted. He didn’t appreciate Mufeed’s implications that the rogues were ‘his’ to control, though he didn’t voice such an accusation out loud.

  “But we’ll deal with that problem when we get to it. Right now, I highly recommend that we spread out all across the lines, wear down the rogues from their borders of control to deal as much damage as we can before they are able to extend their range further once again.”

  “And is this a command from the god of the clay men?”

  As one, every single walker in the conference area focused their attention upon Prince Mufeed. Their faces may have been painted with eyes and mouths to give them a semblance of humanity, make them easier to talk with, but Martin didn’t really care to reassure Mufeed at the moment.

  “This ‘god’ of the clay men is not giving orders to his subordinates,” Martin spat out, no longer attempting to hide his disdain. He needed these people focusing on the enemy in front of them, not pointlessly nursing grudges for no reason other than simple ego. “You are completely responsible for commanding your troops, ordering them to do whatever you think is appropriate. I am, however, sharing tactical advice that I have found to be effective when dealing with these rogues. You can order your men to rush headlong to certain death, but I would much rather that you spend the blood and energy of your men in a way that will hurt these rogue constructs the most.”

  The prince froze a grin on his face in an attempt to appear dismissive of Martin’s displeasure. The only problem was the quivering cheek and bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck revealing his true state of mind. Martin ignored all that, bringing the discussion back to the rogues instead.

  “Now… are there any other questions or concerns?”

  ***

  Martin used his network of eyeballs to monitor the progress of the allies as they began working on the rogues, each individual army meeting the task with varying degrees of success.

  First off were the Imperial troops. Five thousand in all, led by the General of the Vermillion Bird Qiu Ja. These were the troops under her command when she was captured by Maharaja Venkati and his ghurkas. They all shared in the stigma of being held captive, of being accused of cowardice, and were no doubt fully motivated to prove their worth to the Empire and to their Empress.

  She and her soldiers fought with blood-bound weapons—spears and swords that tore through the ceramic hide of the hieracos like paper. The martial artists, however, attacked with a greater variety of weapons and abilities. Spears, swords, mauls, warhammers, flails, sickles, a few thread-and-cloth users—everyone fought with their own distinct styles of attack.

  Martin even saw one of them crushing rogues with an oversized feather. A feather! Martin would definitely need to interrogate that scrawny-looking artist when it was time to grab some chow.

  This style of mixed weaponry didn’t really work well with
in massed formations, but it was exceptionally effective when the artists fought in clusters of four or five. Their exotic weapons and fighting styles complemented one another, covered weaknesses and built on strengths.

  Then there were the martial artists who specialized in the direct application of chi, hanging back and unleashing waves of force to damage and disorient the endless wave of constructs straining at the border. Other artists also healed the over-eager soldiers who pushed a little too close to the flailing claws and talons of the hieracos. These dedicated healers spread themselves out among the various other armies, providing their healing talents as needed.

  The sahir corps, however, was especially effective at dealing with the hieracos. These soldiers not only summoned jinn that fought beside them, but some of them bonded with jinn that channeled abilities to control light and earth. Gifted sahiri lifted large chunks of rock from the ground beneath them, hurling them at the massed hieracos straining at the line.

  The hurled rocks crushed the hieracos under their weight, downing dozens at a time with a single spell. They were quickly proving their worth to the Imperial army, so it was no surprise that the various generals of the Empire started mixing sahir units within the armies of the Empire.

  And there were the troops from the Taiyo Sovereignty, led by Shogun-Elect Ishida Nagatoshi. His light foot soldiers, the ashiguru, used their blood-bound spears with brutal efficiency. There was a time when blood-binding was so rare that only the samurai were granted the right to use the exceptionally powerful weapons. Sacrificing entire towns was the only time they could mass-produce them, but there was no need for such brutality any longer.

  Martin’s obelisks and the pnevmatic signals they transmitted made it a lot easier for the humans of this world to unlock new talents and abilities. This meant that the secret of blood-binding was no longer limited to a select number of people, allowing virtually anyone with even the slightest hint of capability to unlock their full potential.

  The samurai, of course, were not to be outdone. The old masters of blood-binding had discovered a new way of empowering their weapons using the mandala patterns. Their new and improved blood-blades further enhanced their deadly prowess, making them move even faster on the battlefield.

  The original blood weapons could cut through the ceramic skin of the rogues easily enough, but these new blades swept through them like a stick through fog. And the best part is that the patterns allowed them to project their force a short distance away.

  The elite soldiers of the sovereignty felled three, even four hieracos with each slash and thrust of their deadly blades. If only the technique could be used repeatedly without taxing both blade and the bearer at the same time…

  Maharaja Venkati and his troops from the Sahaasi Dominion may not have the fancy chi of the Imperial troops or the impressive coordination of the Sovereignty formations, but their raw grit and tenacity in battle more than made up for any apparent differences.

  They too adopted blood weapons, using their deadly capabilities to full effect, but it was their mastery of prana through mandala patterns that gave them unbelievable stamina in the heat of battle. They tireless fought on with as much savagery as the hieracos, the same divisions battling on even when the other armies started rotating their frontline troops for fresh reserves.

  Only the ghurkas didn’t seem pleased with their conservative positions poking at the hieracos from the line with spears and shields.

  Their battle doctrine was to bolster their strength, stamina, and fortitude with prana as they ripped into their enemies with deadly khukuri knives. He could just imagine their frustration at being instructed to hold a line instead of diving in as they normally would.

  Martin couldn’t blame them since he knew for himself how valuable this aggression was at wrecking enemy morale. He once copied their fighting style by merging the close-in fighting of the ghurkas with the relentless aggression of the hieracos, creating a new line of shock troopers in the process.

  His khukuri-wielding walkers absolutely demolished the hordes in the Grass Seas, tearing apart the mobile horse riders and punishing them each time they attempted to close in. It was perfect for his walkers… if only they weren’t going up against rogue constructs that were even more aggressive in combat than his walkers were.

  The three armies from the Green Lands as Isin called them were performing well in their first day of combat. They listened to his advice, gradually dismantling the rogues as they fully exploited their limited range and faulty programming.

  Martin then turned his gaze toward the rest of the allied army, first focusing on the forces of Ma’an under the control of Prince Mufeed.

  The soldiers from Ma’an performed relatively well in this encounter. Each and every soldier of Ma’an was a sahir in their own right, summoning jinn that either fought alongside them or hurled rocks from the back lines.

  They didn’t quite possess as many blood-bound weapons as they wanted, a fact made evident by the way many bladed weapons slid off the tough hides of the hieracos. They did, however, bring plenty of heavy halberds. The long shafts of the polearms kept their users safe from harm while the heavy bladed heads imparted enough force to cause serious damage with each swing and thrust.

  They didn’t kill rogues as fast as blood-bound weapons, but they still got the job done far faster than regular swords and spears.

  Interestingly enough, however, was the fact that many of the troops of Ma’an mixed chi into their bodies—strengthening them and giving them added stamina on the battlefield.

  The people of Ma’an were the first to encounter the Empire, and the two nations quickly bonded while trading culture and techniques. The soldiers of Ma’an drew in the ambient chi from their colleagues massed around them, breathing in the vital energies they expelled as they lived and breathed.

  They then focused these energies back into their bodies, empowering each strike while bolstering their strength in the process. It wasn’t as effective as the prana cycling techniques used by the Dominion troops, sure, but they fought with far more vigor and stamina than regular troops.

  And then there were the armies from the League and the neutral emirates.

  Only the armies from the League—De’em, Sulba, Ramal, and Far’eh—bothered to swap out their plain spears and swords for halberds. Most of the armies sent by the neutral emirates brought whatever weapons they were most used to. Their blades, spears, and arrowheads all slid across the body of the hieracosphinxes, doing little to no damage. There were far too many plain spears, swords, and arrows simply sliding across the ceramic hides.

  Not only that, but anyone using mauls or swords closed in far too deeply into the line of hieracosphinxes. Martin groaned as he witnessed the first human casualties of this war with the rogues.

  Martin did have plenty of dolls available on hand, though.

  The little tykes were already busy churning out ceramic halberds for the emirate armies to use. They were a bit heavier and bulkier than similar weapons made from steel and wood, but they would at least be more effective than what they had on hand at the moment.

  Martin felt bad thinking that the emirate soldiers simply weren’t as good as the others around them. No, that was a bit unfair. These people simply didn’t have the same exposure to other techniques as those from the other nations, only using what they knew.

  That would change soon, however.

  The soldiers of the various emirates glanced hungrily at their chi and prana-empowered counterparts, envy burning hot in their eyes. Martin strongly hinted that he could help train their troops under the shadow of his obelisks. By the end of the first day of fighting, it was clear to Martin that their commanders would start asking around if it was possible to claim similar powers for themselves.

  They knew they were weak when compared to the other armies. They knew they absorbed far more losses than their other counterparts. They knew what they had been wanting as they came face-to-face with an
enemy that would have easily ripped through their forces if they weren’t leashed by faulty programming.

  This failure was not something they would accept lying down.

  Martin smiled to himself as he started briefing the various commanders, explaining what they and their soldiers needed to do to obtain similar powers. He expected his obelisks would soon become crowded with souls eager to find out what kind of affinities they could unlock while meditating under the shadow of an obelisk.

  This was good.

  Martin wanted these people to strengthen themselves, accumulate as much power as they could if they were to fight back against the invaders. The andros and hieracos were mere toys when compared to what the invaders could bring to bear. What use were numbers when your enemy could sweep your swarms off the board with a few spells, or possessed armor that would shrug off your strongest blows like they were nothing but mosquito bites?

  The Builders only managed to kill one invader, burying him under the weight of millions of constructs. And even then that tactic only worked because the brash young knight charged in alone, overconfident in his abilities, reckless in his desire to obtain glory.

  That idiot knight was the reason that Martin inhabited his current form right now—a formless core of pnevmatic energy contained within the confines of a crystalline vessel deep within the Qleb Sierra. As such, he needed to make sure that the people of this land not only beat back the current threat menacing their existence but also prepared for the greater threat that could strike with little to no warning.

  Chapter 07

  Time wound down to a near-stop for Hobogetur.

  One branch of fate showed an arrow slicing through his neck, cutting open an artery and leaving him to bleed out on the grasses in a matter of minutes.

  Another branch showed him twisting one way and then losing his balance. It showed him falling off his mount, avoiding the arrow aimed at his neck but hitting his head on a rock—killing him instantly.