Everyone was talking about the power and efficacy of the Haste spell, having never experienced anything like it. Briggs’ Oratory and Endure’s drumbeat hammering could convey Heartsong effects, although Kris was notably better at it with Quaver singing along… and a Rantha singing the Trembling Song was like totally natural.
Being able to return from death, even if the losses had been light, had totally revised anyone’s opinion of us, however. That was the magic most-looked for, and the Life Mages Briggs had working for him couldn’t do the trick, Cure Deadly Wounds wasn’t in their arsenal yet, and I hadn’t rewritten it as an Isparian spell, simply because of the core Divine element to it. Simply put, I wasn’t good enough at Isparian magic to write out the Divine component without some potentially nasty exposures to other things, so there was work to do on it.
As the only one with Valence V’s in Dereth, that made me something of an important person. I was also the only one who could Raise the Dead, a quiet fact known to the elites, but the limit of one day per Caster Level was still in effect, and the need for some pricey diamonds to fuel the spell.
Regardless, the independent Stoneholders now had a really good reason to get on and stay on better terms with us. The reticent nature of them against the ‘inept monarchists of the south’ thawed appreciably, especially when they saw how well the Scouts worked together to mow down undead.
None of them were going to dare to disrespect me in the slightest, of course. Watching me absolutely butcher an army of undead like that was enough to drive any thoughts that I wasn’t a paramount and therefore not worthy of much respect as a mage far from anyone’s thoughts, because no damn paramount could do anything like what I had, and they all knew it.
Which was good, getting everyone back to decent relations without lording it over one another was a big reason for our trip here.
The celebration, and Kris and Briggs ducking out quite early from it, all things considered, was the other.
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“Magos,” Elder Oswald greeted me as he joined me at my table. I was basically off by myself, nobody who didn’t know me dared to bug me, and those who did know me were on assignment kibutzing and making friends.
The paramount spellcasters who’d survived were all eager to talk to me, but instead found themselves gathering around the Mick, who knew of most of them in passing as old acquaintances, and soon had all the senior Casters reminiscing with him.
“Elder,” I greeted him neutrally. “We missed you at the fight. I presume you were out scouting?”
“There was some movement of reinforcements for the undead blockading the passes south of the Espers, seeking to catch any of us who chose to flee the coming attack. It seems they were anticipating us being overwhelmed and choosing to escape, rather than fight and slaughtering them all,” the man who was older than he looked replied, taking a poised and careful seat. I noted a half-dozen people, two of whom had been with the Stonehold forces, keeping a wary eye on us. “Your words were proven true, in the very best way, Magos. My respects for your achievement. My students are rather overly impressed by what you did.”
I waved it off with my fingers. “I count it as less valuable than the marvelous hanging gardens you designed for the people here, helping keep them fed and protected. Well done, Elder Oswald.”
He looked at me oddly, as if looking for the mockery in the words, and just shook his head when he could not find any. “That is not something I am often complimented on, Magos,” he admitted with wry care.
“Warriors like to compliment one another on their abilities to kill. It is natural and gives them the reassurance that their skills are valued and necessary, and the courage to throw themselves into the dance with death again.
“Skills that unwind themselves slowly, that benefit over the longer term, yet save as many lives or more, are harder to see the value of, and given the shorter planning times of people living in violent times, are often missed entirely.
“I’m guessing you and your students are the ones that make sure none of the tuskers come by and disturb the small vegetable and herb gardens I saw scattered about the area? I’ve been told they love to root up such things when they come across them, and can easily clear out acres at a time, as destructive as any herd of pigs back home.”
He blinked in continued surprise at my observation. “Aye, we did have to keep a strict control of our territories from the wandering younger tuskers, who kept testing them, looking for food… including wandering humans,” he related, green eyes flickering in a certain direction. “It became much easier when Briggs proved capable of talking with even the stupidest of them, and throwing them around like tenpins instead of just having to kill them off. The survivors told others, and he’d occasionally pop up to chat with squads of them and beat them silly, spreading the legends. Once he proved capable of beating down even the great white tuskers of the Frozen Valley, they stopped coming into our territory entirely.”
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“I saw a couple of the markers he set up on the way out to the battlesite.” Tuskers on one side, a familiar hammer on the other. Easy enough to understand, even for the dense ape-like creatures. “Does he trade with them at all?”
It was the elder’s turn to grin ruefully. “Well, sometimes I come back with an extra load of nanners, and the tuskers will fall over themselves trading for them with herbs or flowers or hides of certain things.”
“Like intact olthoi carapaces.”
He inclined his head slightly. “We’ve not enough metal to issue armor willy-nilly, but we don’t seem to run out of olthoi chitin,” he agreed. “The tuskers don’t mind killing the bugs, and are very effective against them, all things considered, although also quite vulnerable to their stabbing attacks.” He shook his head slightly. “Briggs even showed some of the older and wiser tuskers how to slap on some olthoi armor and protect themselves. If there was a way to make them palatable, the tuskers would probably eat the olthoi right off of Dereth!”
I held up a finger. “Olthoi eggs are a proven delicacy, even to humans. Are the larvae still consumable, or do they already have the acidic blood?” The head-sized things could only be found in lairs with active queens, but given the production capacity of them, there had been quite a few in the older days, and they were lauded for their alchemical properties in cooking.
The Green Hunter seemed surprised at the tack the conversation was blowing in, but went along easily enough. “It is much weaker, but already developing, yes. The flesh of the grubs is more bulbous and weaker, so rupturing their blood tends to destroy it just as quickly as the more muscled and vigorous older bugs…” he trailed off thoughtfully, considering the point. “If there was something that could neutralize the blood of the grubs, I assume the tuskers would glut themselves on the things if they could.” He sat back and pondered the problem. “Are there herbs that could neutralize the acid in the flesh? Especially if they were drained first…”
“Baking soda is the alchemist go-to, and a cooking ingredient. Something natural… I’d have to go with honey or bananas first. Lots of potassium in bananas, and honey alkalizes with most acids easily.”
He gave me an odd look. “So, not only would they be edible, they’d be like sweetmeats?” he asked me archly.
“Well, there would have to be some testing done. And they would have to be taught how to prep the grubs. Crush the head, chop them off before the ruptured vessels contaminate all the meat, probably hang them so they can drain. Then have vivus on hand to remove the alien magic in the blood and ichor before it contaminates the ground, helping fertilize instead of altering the ecology.”
His green eyes opened marginally. “The white flame acts against the mushrooms and spores from the olthoi?” he asked specifically.
I nodded. “It does. The olthoi come from a world where the rules of magic and mana are slightly different. Vivus defaults to the rules of the mortal plane it is on, and will consume the altered magic and return it to the default, destroying the imports from the other reality as it does so. It will even burn on them slowly, like fire does wood, withering them up and killing them over a period of time.”
“The olthoi will sense this, and regard it as an immediate threat,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “Since the Fall, the changes in the manafield have stifled their growth, which seem to have taken many generations to adapt to our world, by the changes I’ve seen and the tales I heard from some of the Empyreans and the undead. They are, however, adapting, if slowly, and have never stopped attempting to expand, claiming mana-rich areas if they can, and always looking for more.”
“Well, that makes looking for their tunnels somewhat easier,” I mused. “I presume that Master Oswald has done scouting in the Olthoi North. What was their situation with the Fall?”
He steepled his fingers in front of him, considering his reply for a long minute. “There are two main areas the olthoi inhabited. One of them in the Olthoi North, famous as it is, and the other upon Marae Lassel, where the tumeroks held them back and contained them with their shamanistic magic.”
I nodded along with him. “Lord Mick indicated there were powerful queens in both locations.”
“The strongest queen, however, currently resides in a small island chain south and east of the Vissidals, just off the coast of the Olthoi North.”
I flicked up a Holo of the island. The island he spoke of was not on the map.
He just smiled thinly at the reproduction, leaning forward to point at an area east of the infamous Black Death Catacombs, one of the great olthoi hives, out in the waters. “There. It was never visited by humans before I went there, and I had to flee immediately the first time I did, as I didn’t have the resources to disguise my scent on me at the time, once I realized what was living there.”
I speckled the area with stars. “I will be taking a high-altitude look at the island on an appropriate day, and getting a more current and accurate map of the place,” I told him, earning another look from him.
“How high an altitude?” he asked curiously.
“A thousand miles or so?” I replied calmly.
He just stared at me in great interest. “A look down upon the island from that great a height…” he murmured. “Is it not too cold up there? Is the air even breathable?”
“Correct on both counts,” I confirmed for him. “At such a height, the curve of the world is clearly visible, and one would circle the entire planet in something like four hours.”