076 – Breaking

***

“Oh. It’s a little plain, don’t you think?” Zvidsi asked.

“It looks like the original.” I held up the two swords side by side. Mine was slightly larger than the model.

“Yes, but Dame Malisent uses plain swords because she breaks so many. You should put more care into yours. It should make a statement. Express your personality.” She waved a knitting needle in the air.

“It’s a tool for killing people, not a fashion accessory.”

“Oh, Master Strythe. A sword is a badge of rank. A symbol. The lesser nobility rarely draw their blades in conflict, so for them a sword’s true aim is to glorify its owner. It needs more flash than slash. More strut than cut. More fascination than… um….”

“Decapitation?”

“There you go! You’ve got the hang of it.”

“Hmm. I might add some runestones to the hilt later. I suppose they would be less conspicuous if I bespangled the whole thing. My skills as an artist are deficient. I might need your advice, Zvidsi.”

“Glad to help.”

I examined my new creation. The sword was plain, completely average. It looked no different than the practice blades used by the sparks. I preferred it that way.

Affixing tassels, studding with jewels, etching with patterns, and adding other decorations did not appeal to me as a technician. They obscured the sword’s practical design. In any art where function and aesthetics intersected, such as architecture, my tastes gravitated toward minimalism. I wanted everything stripped down to the gears and wires.

A weapon meant to take human lives should have repulsed me, and it did on an abstract level, but every well made machine had an appeal analogous to beauty. A sword or crossbow or catapult could be admirable in its design if not its purpose. Any tool that did its job was a good one.

This sword looked unexceptional to the eye, but it was composed of rare materials. Its spiritual steel drew out my fire with almost no effort on my part. The tendril of soul fire gave a precise feel for position and movement, almost as if nerves ran along the length of the blade.

I gripped it in two hands and brought the sword down in heavy slash on an anvil. The tip of the anvil’s horn flew off, leaving behind a smooth facet of metal.

“Oh! Well don. Bravo.” Zvidsi gave a little golf clap.

“It cuts at least.”

I placed the sword in a plain, black sheath and tied it to my waist.

***

Our campaign against the rebel disciples had some effect. In what might have been a sign of their faltering resistance, they followed our demand to clean up the Hall of Discipline. More accurately, they had the Ugloids clean it up. The three young noblemen would not disgrace themselves with physical labor, so they paid a crew of the disfigured workers to come haul out the trash and mop the floors. Maybe they believed that by complying with our order we would relent with the daily attacks. But it’s just as likely they couldn’t tolerate the disgusting mess any longer.

“Time for today’s lesson, juniors!” Hwilla shouted.

We came in from the balcony, because Lump and Chunk had barricaded the front door. These two were alone and vulnerable while Skip trained with his great-grandfather.

They whipped out their swords in an instant. I crossed blades with Lump.

“Aren’t you two idiots tired of being abused yet? It would be much better for all of us if you submitted to normal training. Less painful for you, and far less annoying for me.”

“We don’t need help from a town fool. We’re studying under the Reaver. He’s a legend.” He slashed wildly at me with his saber.

“Skippy can make that claim; he’s apprenticed to his great-grandfather. But the two of you receive second-hand lessons. The old man’s wisdom is watered down by the time you get a taste.” I went on the defensive and allowed Lump to push me back. Due to my Quick Thinking technique, his attacks were slow and obvious.

“Just you wait. Soon we’ll crush you bastards.”

“Is that why you follow after Skip? You’re trying to get your hands on the Reaver’s secret techniques?” My new sword scratched his blade and bit into its edge.

“No. We’re loyal. Groskip sponsored us at the academy. He was our patron as sparks. We aren’t so low as to accept a man’s generosity and then turn on our backs on him when he needs us.”

I knocked over one of the practice dummies and then kicked it under Lump’s feet. He maneuvered around it without tripping. His school had taught him footwork and stable stances. He wasn’t easy to knock over.

“Huh. I won’t pretend to understand the intricacies of noble privileges and obligations. Honor is an enigma to me. But your loyalty to a lord can’t totally eclipse your own interests. Forgoing proper training will leave you weak and helpless. You won’t survive.” I flicked the tip of my blade across his sternum. “These impromptu lessons are starting to have an ill effect on your swordsmanship. My gentleness is teaching you bad habits. You’re not guarding yourselves properly.”

Lump lunged at me. The constant defeats had so frustrated the disciples that they gave up on fighting well. They had no hope for victory. So instead, they aimed to inflict a single hit. They wanted a token of success, a drop of blood. I sidestepped his clumsy attack.

“Befuddling Fist!”

Lump collapsed to the ground. I watched impatiently as Hwilla dueled Chunk.

Our series of beatings had failed to crush the wills of the rebels. Their pride was stronger than common sense and their sense of self preservation. Modern people held cowardice to be the worst human sin and a brave death to be a glorious achievement. This strange attitude made it especially difficult to intimidate people through violence alone.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

We needed some other way to overcome these obnoxious disciples.

***

The highland trolls we captured suffered the same treatment as their cousins from the valley. The Goadsmen jailed them, starved them, beat them, and then fed them from a repulsive menu. The trolls ate sticky moss, floating swamp tubers, and pond scum. For meat, they ate toads and insects. The awful diet had a profound affect on them, both mentally and physiologically. They became listless and weak. The Goadsmen conditioned them to loyalty in this state. Afterwards, blood and monster flesh could revive their primordial instincts.

Famigrist had depopulated the valley and surrounding regions of trolls. There were none left to enslave. That meant the citadel would need to send raiding parties further and further out or else include other types of monsters for the army.

I walked through the pits on level negative two. The stench was almost unbearable. Rows of jail cells contained hundreds of monsters. Some cowered in the corners from the piercing light of my lumestone. Others gnawed on their cages or swiped their claws through the gaps between iron bars.

“Trolls are straightforward to train,” Korkso explained “but these others need more attention. We gotta whip ‘em into shape.”

“They’ll be War Creeps too?”

“That depends on how many we get. One or two ain’t no good. We need numbers to fill out a whole unit.”

“Can’t you mix them together?”

“Hardly ever. Big ogres can lead a group, and some beasts can serve as mounts or trackers. But most types won’t cooperate in a unit. We have to keep them separate on the march and spaced out on a battlefield.”

I had only seen trolls and goblins before, but the raiders had enslaved a variety of humanoid monsters: hobguls, boggmen, grindylows, mogrunts, and more. These were the distant descendants of humans possessed by daemonic possession. Some, perhaps, might have been animals twisted by into a shape more like our own. The hobguls were fat and hairless things, dripping with slime that protected them from biting insects. They dwelt mainly in sweltering marshes. Mogrunts had small eyes to navigate their caves and underground burrows. The grindylows combined features of fishes and reptiles: dark scales, external gills, and webbed fingers. These monsters reached up from the bottom of ponds with long arms to grab their unsuspecting prey and pull them into the water.

“Adult grindylows ain’t any good. Only the young can be trained. So these ones here will be breeders for laying eggs.” Korkso pointed to the miserable creatures crouching in their cells. They watched us walk past with their huge black eyes.

“Is it worth bothering with all these weird creatures when we already have so many trolls?”

“Different types have their uses. Grindylows can swim and see in the dark. But they won’t stick in a formation or use weapons. Hobguls are strong soldiers, but they’re none too smart. They can’t follow complex orders without a human overseer to do their thinking for them. So, depending on the battleground, we send out some monsters or hold the rest in reserves.”

“The right tool for the job.”

“Yes. Trolls are the army’s all purpose tool. Their main strength is they’re easy to feed. They can eat crops, or corpses, or tree bark if they have to.”

Korkso lead me past the cell block for the humanoid monsters to where the larger beasts were caged. He banged his wooden goad against a cell door.

“This ugly bastard is the problem. He’s a dangerous and willful beast.”

A massive wolf monster glowered between the iron bars. It pulled against a long chain stapled to the wall. The black furred monster had the head and body of a wolf, the feet of a hawk, and the tail of a snake. Like many monsters, it was a hodge podge of animal parts.

“A daemonic creature,” I said. I could feel its powerful fire.

“Unlike most possessed monsters, an amorak can be trained. It takes a lot of time and forceful persuasion. Usually, it also takes five or six trainers getting mauled to death. I’d like to avoid losing half my crew to this ugly devil.”

“And so you want a stronger restraining collar to tame its fire.”

“Nothing that would cause permanent harm. Just something to make him easier to handle. We need to calm him down a bit. Make him pliable.”

Korkso showed me the style of metal collar they used on the amorak. It was a hefty chunk of iron. I made some quick measurements and recorded them in my notebook. Korkso further explained to me his methods for taming the dangerous beasts in the pits.

Down in level negative two, the War Creeps returned to the barracks from their daily marching drills in the valley. They filed through the narrow corridors, scraping the sharp heads their polearms against the ceiling and walls.

On my way out of this stinking prison, I passed by the general of the monster army, Grotrok the Reaver. He looked almost as monstrous as the soldiers he commanded. A suit of black armor hid his massive body, but he removed his helmet. The man’s face was twisted and strange. Wrinkled, pallid skin sagged like a loose bag of flesh draped over his skull. His sunken eyes were pure black. All of his hair had fallen out, including his facial hair and eyebrows. One of his ears had shriveled away, the other was studded with multiple earrings.

Grotrok had mutated himself using augmentation techniques. That magic caused obvious physical stigmas. But he could blame much of his appearance on extreme old age. He had gone far beyond a normal person’s allotted time and reached the very limits of a mage’s extended lifespan. The powers augmenting his body fought a losing battle against biological decay, with weird results.

The Reaver barked commands at the War Creeps. His voice was ragged from too much shouting. He coughed violently from the foul air in level negative two and wiped bloody spittle from his chin.

Nothing good could come from interacting with this officer of the Void Cult. If he knew of my existence at all, it would be from his great-grandson’s complaints. So I slipped down a side passage and then departed the lower levels of the citadel.

***

Too many things distracted me from my research. Teachers and students. Missions and requests. The Phantoms almost seemed to conspire to keep me from the important work of aetherics. But with my recent additions to the workshop, along with acquisitions of important resources, progress was being made. Bit by bit I advanced toward a better state of technology. I could suffer through any inconvenience to revive the forgotten science of the Ancients. Although I fell in with an evil cult of psychopaths, the eventual improvements to medicine, science, technology, industry, and the quality of life of millions of people might counter balance some of my misdeeds.

I strolled up the ramps and stairways toward home, keeping an eye out for danger. We were at war with the rebel disciples. They might attack, should they catch me alone and off guard. So I avoided dark corners and other places they might be lying in wait.

Higher up the citadel, I came to the familiar sub-building that housed my workshop. None of the lanterns glowed within. A toppled plant and mass of dirt spilled down the front steps. I had hidden an alarm runestone in the flower pot to warn me when people approached the workshop door, but it was now missing. The door hung ajar. The lock had been smashed apart and the door practically ripped from the frame.

I drew my sword and entered.

My Quick Thinking technique allowed be to survey the interior in an instant. No one was present. The workshop was dark and empty. The only inhabitant was a jeweled beetle who, freed from its bottle, floated above the scene of chaos and flashed with red light.

The intruders had wrecked the workshop. It was clearly a crime of vandalism, not one of theft, because they hadn’t taken anything. The collapsed shelves disgorged their contents onto the floor. My small library of books soaked in a puddle of ink and liquid reagents. A number of wooden tools burned within the furnaces while the rest lay scattered everywhere. Nimblesto’s training chests were splintered apart. Those boxes had nothing inside, but their real value had been the complex mechanical locks, now useless and broken. Zvidsi’s workstation for sewing and jewelry lay tipped on its side. The criminals had not distinguished her things from mine. Beads and spools of thread rolled across the tiled floor.

The devastation was near total. I lost my new gem growing pods and power tools. Many important runestones were cracked or shattered. The cowardly attack on my property set back all my projects and ruined several ongoing experiments.

This act of vandalism greatly escalated our conflict. It was a declaration of total war… and it would not go unanswered.