Chapter 11 – Reconnaissance
Bala collapsed on the ground on top of the ridge, and tried to get his hyperventilating under control. Flashes of light sparkled on the periphery of his vision, threatening to spiral inwards and remove consciousness from him. He struggled and heaved, drawing a deep breath, and then another. His hand was in pain and he had enough presence of mind now to look at it in confusion. There were the remains of the short range teleport spell crystal he had crushed to escape. His grip had ground them into his hand.
He rolled over onto his belly and shook the remains from his hand. His body was shaking and he still felt very jittery, but his training was coming back. Closing his eyes helped his concentration. He put a few brief words together. The location, the encounter, and that Mercedi was down. Magic was summoned up from within him, and he spoke the words to a minor elemental, and sent it back towards the 32nd army's camp.
That done he sighed, and sagged. His hand went to the sword at his side and he summoned enough energy to verify that Mercedi's soul was safely stored in the arcane jar that was part of his standard issue sword. With effort, he could divert the energy of his internal reservoir into the sword and reconstitute her body. It was made for that. But he was not cleared for access to the strategic mana reserve and it would take all of his power. He felt so out of his depth, though, that the idea was comforting.
Instead, he just summoned a little bit and made contact with Mercedi's soul. “Are you OK?” he asked, feeling foolish.
“Other than being dead, yes”, he felt Mercedi reply in his mind. “Didn't see that coming. Did you get away?”
“I'm away, but not by far. I've reported in, but I'm not sure I have the skills to get away”, Bala said. “I might just have enough power to resurrect you. You're much better at this than me.”
“It's harder for two people to sneak than for one”, said Mercedi. “How many are there.”
“I saw about twenty on the scan”, said Bala, hope draining from his thoughts.
“Your scan will help you evade”, said Mercedi calmly. “That's a better use of your energy than bringing me back.”
“The horses are gone”, cried Bala. “I don't know this land. There is no hope to get away!”
“No”, said Mercedi, “there probably isn't. But it doesn't matter.” She paused while Bala's confused thoughts raged. “You've reported in. They know, and they will come. Romitu accepts no casualties. Worst case, you end up in here with me until they haul us out.”
“Oh”, said Bala, not much calmer. “Great.”
“Baladakhr”, said Mercedi. “This is no longer about survival, it is about surveillance.” He took another deep breath. “We need to find out what we can, and we need to be ready to report it back.”
Bala lifted his head. “Fine. You are right.” He worked a little more magic. “I've slaved my senses to yours. You'll see everything I do now. Just in case... something happens to stop me reporting.” He dropped the link to Mercedi's soul.
With grim determination he crawled forward to the edge of the ridge.
Below he could see where their camp had been. The creatures had eviscerated the horses and Mercedi's remains. One or two had run off and some others were fighting over what he assumed were choice pieces. The big one he had evaded earlier returned, and started knocking them into order.
Bala called up a simple pattern and enhanced his sight. The world rushed past him as his perception focused on the group. Their leader was large, but not inhumanly so. It was just their poise and bearing that seemed so alien. Their skin was dirty and grey, for the most part, and they looked emaciated. Several had open wounds that didn't bleed or seem to impair them.
Their equipment was unlike anything Bala had seen before. They wore crude armor made of leather and bone. Their weapons as well, seemed to be of either bone or stone. A few crude daggers, but mostly short spears. Many had cupped sticks, made of skulls and femurs, which they appeared to use to throw the spears.
After a short argument, a few more were sent scurrying away with some of the remains. The rest, about twelve, stood still for a while, and then looked straight at Bala. The big one smiled broadly and pointed his spear at him.
“Oh, boy”, sad Bala, skittering back over the edge. “I don't know how they are doing it, but it looks like they can scan too!”
Bala ran up the slope. Once past the top, he jumped up and began to pelt down the side of the ridge. The ravine was steep, but he threw all caution to the wind and just ran headlong down as fast as he could.
When the fall inevitably came, he was ready for it. A resilient magical shield surrounded him and he bounced the last few drops to the bottom. It dissipated and he crawled into the shadow of a cleft. He wheezed until he caught his breath and then did another scanning spell.
There were fewer motes in his hand this time. He watched as they surmounted the ridge and then paused again. Almost immediately they set out again, towards his new location. Albeit, at less of a reckless pace. “Definitely scanning”, he muttered.
He pulled himself up to his feet, and then set off downslope at a trot. He wished for his canteen, abandoned at the camp, as the sun angled down into the valley. He could summon water, but he didn't judge his need to be enough right now. A better use for the magic was to add a few patterns to his scanning spell. It would be a lucky thing if there just happened to be an abandoned lead mine around here. That might spoil their scanning, if it was magic based at all. Unfortunately, nothing like that turned up, so he just went for speed.
As the terrain levelled out, his rush slowed. The ground was better so he didn't have to shield against catastrophic falls. And it took too much energy to just deal with uneven ground. He was also getting tired.
From the occasional scan, he could see his pursuit was speeding up. They were faster on this ground, and they didn't seem to tire. If nothing changed, they would catch up with him easily enough. If that was inevitable, it was time to start testing their limits.
He picked a point where the ravine bent slightly and a rock fall gave him immediate cover. He made a quick visual simulacrum of himself, prone on the ground. And then a trigger spell tied to a directed elemental summoning. Finally, he crushed his last short range teleport crystal and transported to a vantage point ahead.
Once the disorientation passed, he shrunk back into a cleft on the edge. He was tapping into his personal reserve a lot, but Mercedi's words rang in his ears. This was about finding out information. He enhanced his sight again, as well as his hearing.
His pursuers raced around the rock fall and spun to a stop when they saw the body. “Hwy sy hit?” asked the closest.
The leader looked at the body. “Ic nyss ne connan.” His gazed moved up the ravine to exactly where Bala was hiding. “Hit sy ne hine.”
Bala swallowed heavily. He knew it was not possible to feel his gaze, but he felt completely exposed, despite his shadow and distance. Their language was unrecognizable to him. And, yet, it wasn't as completely different as those from the Underground. He sighed, a pulled up more mana. New students used translation spells at the Academy. He had when he started. They were pretty simple, but the results could vary. They did not translate the words spoken, per se. Instead it was a simple reading of the target's Will, that was then transposed onto the listener's Will. So in a way you symbiotically felt what the other person meant, no matter what the words. Such transparent honesty caused no end of embarrassment in school.
He loosed the spell and felt a forceful connection with the Will of these people. It was much stronger than that of a normal person. Bala figured that if you could survive for millennia as one of the Forsaken, then it stood to reason.
“Do we ignore it?” asked the one who had been first around the bend.
“No”, said their leader. “We do not pursue for sport, or for bone and sinew. We pursue for knowledge.” Bala considered the irony that they, too, were using this as reconnaissance. “Touch it. Discover what manner of creature
it is.”
The first hissed. The others fanned out warily. “Why me? Why should I?”
“Because I, Arnhvatr, command it”, said the leader. “And I grant to you the full corpse, should that be its nature.”
He didn't seem too happy about that, but moved forward reluctantly anyway. He gave a slight kick to the body.
The visual simulacrum vanished the moment it was touched. The trigger spell went off, and with a bright flare, a small portal was opened to the realm of elemental fire. Residual directors guided the eruption into a focused path, which caught him in the left shoulder as he twisted away. Flame leaped over that side of his body and face and he howled, spinning and dropping to the ground.
The others gave way and shrank behind nearby rocks. The leader looked up to Bala's position, and then back at the man.
The elemental fire, unnatural to this plane, faded quickly. But not before burning away the upper quarter of the man's body. To Bala's amazement, it didn't stop him. His cussing and swearing, projected by his Will, continued through his mangled head. Bala almost retched as he saw a ghostly arm and shoulder emerge from where the body had been carbonized.
“Curse you”, swore the victim. “Is this your promised bounty?” He picked up dirt with his ghostly arm and threw it at Arnhvatr. Bala swallowed heavily. An arm substantial enough to throw dirt could hold a weapon.
“I am sorry for your bad luck”, said Arnhvatr. “The new moon is not far off. You do not have to bear it for too long. Let us be about the hunt again. That's one less trick we'll fall for.”
Still grumbling and complaining, the maimed one got up. They all set off at a brisk pace down the ravine.
Bala jumped from his position and tried to keep his lead. But he knew at this point that he would not get away. All he could do is slow things down. And learn.
So he spent a bit of power here, putting another visual feint over a crevasse. And some more, causing some rocks to explode. He left a noose of animated vegetation. And charmed a viper into having a very foul temper.
Some they fell for, some they didn't. But nothing stopped them gaining upon him. Bowing to the inevitable, he began to select a place for a last stand. There was a box canyon he thought he could bring down the walls of. There was a cave where they could only come at him one at a time. But he passed these and just slowly dropped his pace, preparing one last spell.
They caught up to him warily. First they paced him for a while, watching what he did, and testing his limits. Then they moved out to either side. That, too, they maintained for a while. Then, with a signal from the leader the two flankers raced ahead, and the rest closed in. They surrounded him with spears and he came to a halt loosely holding his sword.
“He does not seem much of a warrior”, said one, looking at him skeptically.
“And, yet, he has kept us running most of the day and inflicted no small damage”, said Arnhvatr. “I salute you, unknown warrior. You have brought sweat to my brow that has been long absent.”
“I Baladahkr Vicusable, Corporal in the magical division of the 32nd army of Romitu, salute you as well, Chief Arnhvatr”, Bala replied, and was rewarded to see the whole group do a double take.
A smile spread across Arnhvatr's face. “It pleases me that you are not, yet, out of surprises. Very good for a mere Khoporal of an army.” Bala made a formal bow. “I have fought more people then you have ever met. Yet you present a mystery to me.”
“How so?” asked Bala.
“I am a judge of warriors. And I judge you no warrior”, said Arnhvatr. Bala's look darkened but the leader held up his hand. “I do not say you have not caused us more difficulty than I would have imagined. But you do not have the soul of a fighter.” Arnhvatr drew his eyebrows together. “The heart that beats within you is too craven to match this bold last gesture of defiance. You are the type to fear death greatly, and though it lies before you now, you do not have that fear. I would worry of some last hell fire you have bent to unleash upon us, but I don't sense that is the case.”
“It is simple”, said Bala. “I fight with the strength of Romitu. We have been to hell and back. Even the gods fall before us.”
“That would explain a lot”, said Arnhvatr. “I hope you left some.”
“None of consequence”, said Bala.
Arnhvatr's face darkened. “That would be unfortunate. Their blood price is ours, not yours. If you have taken that from us, then we must take it from you.”
The sword shifted in Bala's hand. He gripped it tighter. “If you treasure your existence, you will return to where you came from. We will not tolerate your threats.”
Arnhvatr threw his head back and laughed. “And what would you do? Kill us?” He paced around Bala. “We are The Forsaken. We cannot die. That would sully the gods blessed grounds. We cannot live. That would be too much of an embarrassment them. We exist. There is nothing you can do to threaten our existence.”
But his sneer turned to a smile as he came fully around him. “But we are no longer bound! The powers that held us in place have vanished. The hounds are off the leash. I am just one of the four powers, and my clan alone is enough for twenty two of your armies. Whatever gods you killed may yet have the last laugh.”
Arnhvatr raised his spear. “We have learned enough. Seems a good fight awaits us. That is all I need to know.” He bowed perfunctorily. “In honor of a well-run chase, I offer you the honor of fighting me personally.”
Bala shook his head. “I, as you said, am no warrior. That is no more an honorable offer than a gambler's loaded dice.”
“Suit yourself”, said Arnhvatr. He gestured to one of his troops. A spear was cast with super human force and it smashed through Bala's breastbone. He collapsed to the ground, the sword clattering on the rocks.
Arnhvatr snorted. “No final gesture?” He bent forward and picked up the sword. “It's been a long time since I handled fine steel.” Then he cried out as the sword began to glow brightly. Bala's last spell had charged the sword with the last ergs of his internal reservoir. A simple location spell was targeted on the standard of the 32nd army, and the remaining mana translated into an impetus on its motion. The sword shot into the air and up over the horizon before the faces of the startled warriors.
ARC 2
Black Warrior Page 11