Teleporting from a Valence V had a range of ten miles per Caster Level, twenty if you were moving along a Lived-Line. It was blocked by any expanse of water wider than a stream… unless you forded the river, of course, keeping your Lived-Line going via a bridge or walking across the bottom of the place, or even across the top of the waves. That was enough to go from the north of Dereth to the middle of it, as the island was about two hundred miles in a rough square in size.
A Teleport Foci, charged up, at the sender end, could double that distance. Another Foci at the other end, charged up, could double it again, and would also remove any errors in shifting the distance to it.
Learning Reach Spell and being able to overcharge the spell a Valence would also double the range again, so total possible range ended up being 160 miles per Caster Level if using a Reach Teleport between charged Foci and along a Lived-Line, with pinpoint, no-fail accuracy. That was enough range to span most of a continent if you had a decent Caster Level.
Charging and dropping a Foci was fairly easy. If my Lived-Line extended to enough places, I could conceivably travel all over this island almost instantly, with little more work than that. Others might have to jump through some more hoops, but the whole island was easily within the range of anyone who just bothered to traipse over it a bit and make it to all the points involved there.
Our expansions through the Linvak range and the Tou-Tou Peninsula meant I could travel to within a mile of basically any location required there, which meant a minute or less from any point of conflict, if needed. The Scouts all knew the Gridmap locations where everyone made sure to travel, meaning we all shared common points we could reach once they gained the ability to Teleport.
There was no way we’d waste the opportunity to expand a line of the Gridmap along that same kind of path, and move between at the very least the abandoned Gharu’n towns as we did so. Dropping isolated Foci along the way would be ideal, too.
It was something we would do eventually. It was more about how impatient Kris was to see her Briggs.
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The next day...
Fwoom!
A clap of thunder heralded our arrival as we Rode the Lightning out past the horizon. Getting the right compass point wasn’t hard, and if we arrived a few thousand feet overhead of our target, well, that was by design, right?
Everyone had linked hands, and nobody was in danger as we began to fall. There was only a little cloud cover below us, and the Mick pointed as the cold air whipped past us.
Aye, that was definitely a plateau, encircled by walls, especially the one valley off to the side leading down. Anything trying another way up was going to get to the top and find the smooth walls there denying them further access, and I could also see the Wardfield up around the place, doubtless chiseled with painstaking care into those very walls, keeping out scrying, things which couldn’t actually fly, and any kind of dimensional movement.
The only way in was up that valley, now heavily fortified, by climbing, or by digging.
We were about two miles off target, not bad with not knowing the exact location, and gliding down sideways would cut our walking distance. Someone with really sharp eyes might see us falling, but it wasn’t too likely, as a human is pretty small at that distance.
The rest of the Fellowship team was clearly excited. Doing an airdrop was always fun, but this was the first time we’d done such a thing blind, and into potentially hostile territory. There could very well be some excitement in store below, and they’d heard tell about many of the dangerous creatures in the north for some time.
They were eager to test their strength against them, and blindly faithful that Lord Mick could handle pretty much anything out there, let alone with Warlord Kris and me along on top of things.
Since that was mostly true, there was no reason to dissuade them. The five humans and a lugian kept the circle tight as the Mick, Kris, and I pushed us sideways, closer to the Stonehold plateau, while we fell, saving us some walking.
I naturally had Detects up, looking for signs of anything hostile, and was pleasantly surprised to sense not a single damn Summons point anywhere within my range below.
“No Summons,” I /informed everyone, everyone Marked and the words carrying despite the wind whipping past us.
“Either Briggs was told what we were doing and replicated it, or he worked it out himself,” Kris /nodded as the trees rose up to meet us. A minor clearing was our target, just avoiding the branches of a towering pine as we fell in.
Ten feet off the ground, the Featherweight kicked in.
The Scouts couldn’t help hooting at the thrill of the fall and imminent collision with the ground coming up short, releasing and pushing off one another as an abject plummet became a one foot per second drifting down. They were looking in all directions during these few seconds of vulnerability, ready for any attackers who might recover from our sudden appearance in time to actually launch something at us.
I had scanned nothing close by, so I wasn’t worried about that, but it was good discipline to do every single time we airdropped, as the tactic was not used for casual enjoyment.
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We settled down to a forest floor of moss, grass, and layers of needles, looking around carefully.
“Most of the ground clutter has been cleared off. Firewood gathering, I imagine?” Kris noticed quickly.
“Reduces fire hazards, too,” I agreed. “That looked like a logging line around the base of the plateau, I think.”
“Aye, pushing it back so anyone below can be sniped if they are foolish enough to assault the base. Given how fast the green grows, they can re-log the same areas fairly steadily if they just replant,” Selena piped up, pointing in the direction of the main gates. “I assume we’re making a formal approach to the main climb?”
“Aye, let’s see how they react to actually being visited by humans, instead of told about us in passing by Oswald,” Lord Mick nodded. “Wilderness pattern, unfamiliar territory. Let’s go!”
Nobody argued as we all settled into the proper formation, with Kris’ superior senses leading the way well ahead as the trailblazer, the Mick on point for the main group, Kopf and his big Shield warding everyone else. Rogar was in front of me with his Glaive ready to back up Kopf or protect me, the archers and crossbowmen behind me, all of them able to drop their missile Weapons and pick up melee Weapons if ambushed.
There were some pretty dangerous creatures up here, and although we weren’t afraid of anything, caution was indeed warranted.
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The whistle was in the Markspace, otherwise silent as Kris’ hand also shot up, immediately chopped off to the right, then slowly waved us in with fingers wide, signaling quiet. Even Kopf had learned to spread out his great weight, and no branches cracked underfoot as we all came stepping up quietly, basically waiting there as whatever was coming moved through the trees in shadows of movement suddenly strode arrogantly into the clear.
The five creatures would have resembled satyrs, save for being far more muscular and with pronounced tusks and horns. They were clutching heavy Weapons worthy of a lugian, giving a clear indication of their brute power, and I could see the edge of Cold magic on two of the Axes they used.
That wasn’t a surprise, as the Mick had given us an in-depth session on as many details of the Gurogs as he could remember, which, given how many he’d fought in the Frozen Valley, was pretty extensive.
What was a surprise was that two of the Weapons were burning with Firephasing instead, and that great flanged Polemace was exactly what it looked like.
A Gurog Captain, two Warriors, two Minions. The younger and smaller Minions had the palest coats, almost a light tan, with the Warriors being brown and the Captain a darker gray. They all had curling horns very reminiscent of the mattekars I’d seen and met, with clear similarities in the shape of their skulls and faces, and the addition of large and powerful fists instead of hooves, although they did indeed have broad and stable hooves with digitigrade legs instead of feet.
They all came to a halt when they saw us, nostrils flaring in surprise. I noticed their eyes went instantly to Kopf, yellow orbs narrowing in instinctive hostility.
Ding! Ting!
The two notes rang out, and the gurogs all took a step back instinctively, narrowed eyes going wide as Quaver came out, burning and trailing Lost Light and Fire.
Ho, they knew how the Trembling Song began...
Whiskers of the Wild painted themselves across Princess Kristie’s face. “Do we fight, or do we speak?” she asked them plainly.
Huh. They were all carrying heavy sacks.
The Captain seemed to gather his resolve and stepped forward. Like mattekars, he had an omnivore’s teeth, with pronounced tusks. “We came to trade with the people of Stonehold, not to make war,” he growled in passable Isparian. “You… are not of the Hold of Stone?” he noticed shrewdly.
It was the Mick’s turn to step forwards, grinning confidently as he did so. “Aye, we’re from the south, just like back then. Ye look familiar to me eyes. I think I may have notched yer horn for ye back then.”
The gurog’s yellow eyes narrowed again in recognition. “You! One of the fire-wielding Isparians we fought so much back then!” he growled, an odd note of recognition, pride, willingness to do battle… and a curious lack of hostility in his words.
“Aye, though me Sword has changed. If ye come t’ trade words, ye come t’ trade names.” He offered a formal salute to the gurogs. “I be the Mick, Lord Mick if ye’re been persnickety. This lass is Her Imperial Highness Kristie Rantha, who be one of the deadliest females of any species ye care to look upon, and a general and Warlord of the Isparians of the south.”
The gurogs all looked a little startled at the politeness, and then, to our own surprise, grudgingly offered their own Weapons in a return salute. “I am Notchhorn, Isparian Mick,” he stated proudly, and the Mick grinned even more widely.
“I gave ye yer name? Ha ha, well met, Captain Notchhorn!” he called back easily. “We go to Stonehold as well. Ye kin walk ahead of us or behind, as ye wish, an’ there’ll be no threat nor attack from us either way.”
“You agree to this by the Code of Briggs?” the gurog instantly responded, and all eyes immediately turned to Kris.
Her answering grin was absolutely ferocious. “Oh, of course we do!” She released Quaver to hang in the air, shocking the gurogs, and smacked her fist into her palm.
It cracked like rocks were breaking. I could see the gurogs wince ever-so-slightly at the sound. Like beings who knew what ki-enhanced blows felt like.
“If you have some problems that need to be worked out, come all together or one by one, and we’ll get them settled proper-like,” she informed them grandly, and I watched all their tufted ears fall at her very explicit meaning and the confidence she radiated.
“Trade, not trouble!” grunted the Captain carefully, watching her sharply. He shook the bag over his shoulder. “Ore, from mines!”
“Your business is your own,” the Mick said loftily, sweeping Bunita out in the direction of the main gates. “After you, Captain Notchhorn.”
The gurog grunted to his lighter-furred companions, and they immediately resumed a strong pace clockwise around the side of Stonehold, heading for the way up with tireless energy.
“Three, four hundred pounds of stone in those sacks,” Kopf grunted in a low voice, watching them leave. When they reached fifty yards ahead, Kris waved us all after them.
“Yeah, they’re strong as heck, that’s for certain,” the Mick said easily. “Bred that way by the Dericost undead, usin’ the same magic as what made the Moarsmen an’ the Sclavi, only these came from warping an’ endowing the native mattekars.”