Briggs strode through the lines of Summons with perfect confidence and fearlessness, flanked by the score or so of lugians in the elite infantry squad.
There was no attempt made to forestall them, if only because they were moving so fast while obviously just walking, and the Silver sparks made the lugians living and Summoned wince in anticipation and give way.
Warlord Kodaetus flinched to see them coming, but did not run away, controlling his breathing with an effort, and fighting down his fear.
That hadn’t been a fight. That had been a massacre.
The Isparians had been moving too fast, too viciously, as if pushed along by the lightning itself. The experienced Warlord had never seen magic like that, the speed and fury with which the combatants had engaged and cut his Gotrok allies and underlings down simply impossible to equal or understand.
Only a handful of the enemy had even been injured at all, mostly by lucky wild blows or errant swings, and such were being seen to right now.
He’d seen Commander Vulgaed smashed twenty feet into the air and backwards from the thunderous impact of the Hammer in the hands of this brutally hairy Isparian, who somehow managed to overshadow every lugian about him, despite being a foot shorter.
Perhaps it was the masterful Armor the befurred Isparian was wearing, wrought of blue-black metal that somehow conveyed having endured countless fights, and still reeked of quality and craftsmanship that the lugian could not help but admire and desire for his own. It had taken a chorozite morningstar to the chestplate and if he had not seen wrong, two of the spikes on Vulgaed’s Hollow weapon had broken right off on impact.
They were moving too fast, a discreet withdrawal was simply not possible. No, out-and-out fleeing for his life was not possible. The Isparians had moved with impossible agility and speed, as if their armor was nothing, and even with longer lugian paces, there would be no outrunning them at all.
He half-raised his fist, gathering his will to bring the Summoned in and surround these warriors who dared to advance right into his lines…
And then he saw the eyes of the younger Gotrok fixed on him, watching, waiting for him to prove the words of these weak-willed royalists true, in ALL the ways.
He lowered his fist with a quiet sigh. When he died, the Summons would lose the order anyway, and without immediate commands, the call to their spawn points would be overwhelming. They would immediately turn and head for the places they had been brought into the world, and if they could not reach it because of obstructions in their simple-minded return paths, that very Summoning magic would reach out and drag them back.
He couldn’t command the army. The youngest Gotrok didn’t have the skill to manage more than one or two Summons, and even he couldn’t exert influence over all of them. Indeed, the great mass of the Summons were only breaths away from turning and heading home as their controllers lay Burning with misting white flames on the field.
Burning and, he was sure, they would not be there to greet him from the Stone Circles of Rebirth back in Linvak Tukal when he returned.
He made a gesture, severing all control and commands of the Summons, and the impetus to remain.
There was a swirl of release, of Summoning power gathering at the concentration of remaining warrior spirits here. The gathered army only grunted a bit as the magic descended upon them, and they didn’t even have to turn and begin their return before the Summoning power that brought them into the world came down and swept them back to where they belonged.
Technically, the Gotrok who remained still outnumbered the defenders on the field, although not those also on the walls. But Kodaetus knew that the younger Gotrok had already suffered enormously with the failure of the siege ladders, and if they fought now, they would simply be slaughtered.
If the Tukora were swept aside like they had been, the mightiest warriors of the clans, what would be the fate of their juniors in the face of such strength?
He looked at the Burning corpses again, and knew that, despite his willingness to fight and die, he’d made the right decision. His comrades in arms would not be there to greet their return from this disastrous fight… and he could not let the young warriors suffer that fate for no reason.
The young were all tense and gripping their Hollow weapons, ready to fight if he so ordered, even after he’d sent away the Summons meant to wear down their attackers and so save them such casualties.
They were also trembling with fear as they looked on foes powered by the Silver lightning, and the constant peals of the Thunder from up there that was beating on all his insecurities and raising horribly cutting doubts in his path and his actions.
The overly-tall Isparian in his incredible armor stopped before him, flanked by the also fully-armored lugians around him, although their armor seemed to be of merely fine steel, instead of the incredible alloy the warrior's was made of.
Despite the height difference, the presence of the enemy warlord loomed over all of them!
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“I am Commander Briggs.” The words hammered into Kodaetus’ mind, the oddly pale green eyes seemed to glitter with inner fire, spitting the taller lugian warlord in place. “Go. Take your children and go home. Unlike the Tukora, we won’t make war on women or children, and that’s all you have left to you here.
“Tell Muldaveus we are coming. Tell your fellow false Tukora… we are coming.
“The walls and halls of Linvak Tukal aren’t going to keep us out. Your enslaved Summons aren’t going to forestall us. The Hea aren’t going to be enough to aid you.” Their red-skinned allies had discreetly withdrawn after healing as many living Gotrok as they could, reading the unfolding battle and realizing disaster was striking. They were already long gone, having an excellent idea of what was going to happen to them if they remained.
The warlord took a step forward, and Kodaetus took a step back before he could catch himself. He hated the show of weakness, but all his instincts were saying that if he held his ground, he was dead.
“I can see the deaths of women and children and the elderly upon your hands.” The deep voice was very soft, which only made Kodaetus’ gut flip and churn harder as memories of old deeds, old atrocities, rose up in him. “The next time I see you, Heaven will be with me, and you are going to pay for your words and your deeds, Ulugus Koedaetus, Butcher of Innocents. I will return to you all the honor you showed our people back then.
“Now take yourself and your children out of my sight.”
Koldaetus didn’t bow, didn’t respond, didn’t make a noise or gesture. He was aware that his life hung by a razor’s edge, and only the true rules of a challenge of champions was keeping him alive.
Rules he had been prepared to waive aside and commence another slaughter on these non-lugians, while the same non-lugians were actually following the codes of the challenge...
The loser had to quit the field. That was a given, with all his officers Burning away over there, but sending the Summons away had likely saved him from a personal duel with one or all of the royalist lugians accompanying this Isparian warlord.
He turned and silently pointed his axe. Silver light gleamed harshly off the edges of the chorozite as the watching young Gotrok swallowed, turned, and began to march away, also saying nothing.
----
“How many innocents on his hands, Commander?” Kopf ground out, the entire party watching unblinkingly as the surviving Gotrok fell naturally into lines as they marched urgently away from Mayoi.
“Dozens on his hands. Hundreds he is ultimately responsible for, although the true responsibility rests on the one above him. Likely an order such as ‘They are only vermin, not lugians, and so unworthy of honor. Treat them like such.’”
The lugians around them rumbled deep in their chests. Their armor was scuffed and battered in places, nothing a few Artificer Infusions couldn’t mend readily, a clear contrast to the almost untouched smoothness of Briggs’ adamantine plate. Still, the style on some of them was unmistakable, lugians who’d been isolated up at Stonehold, contributed to its defense, and had armor made by him in new and wonderful patterns they’d never seen before.
Those from the south had similar but not identical suits, forged by the skill of Princess Kristie Rantha, instead.
“I request the honor of crushing his skull, when it is time,” Kopf ground out, his Hammer raising slightly and sparking emphatically.
“If it comes to a duel, granted,” Briggs replied with equal cool, the lugian Royal Guard the most senior in status of all the lugians there, despite taking a battlename while serving outside his King’s command. “Is your king prepared to come down and take the head of Muldaveus when it is time, or is he leaving that honor to his sworn axes?”
“He will come!” Kopf stated simply, the other lugians grunting to show that such was the proper way, and Briggs just nodded.
“They will not have this number of Summons if and when it is time to retake the city. Already they’ve lost another fifty spawn points, and the number increases by the minute,” Briggs informed the lugians grimly. “The Royal Scouts and their teams are doing good, solid work, clearing out the area. Without a whole lot of help, the Gotrok are not going to be long for power in this place.”
Rumblings echoed all around him. “We should be about helping them, and freeing our ancestors from their slavery!” Kopf declared, raising his Hammer up and not even glancing around. The other lugians bellowed deeply in eager support of that idea.
“A fine and noble idea, but it will take you days to get into position,” a soft voice overrode all of their bellows. The lugians all fell silent as words which seemed to echo the power of the Thunder overhead cut through their cries as the Lady Magos glided up next to them.
A flick of her fingers brought up a Holo map of the Linvaks, from one end to another, and the lugians craned over to examine it eagerly.
There were white and red spots scattered the length and breadth of the mountains. Even as they watched, more red spots blinked over to white, while other red spots popped up on the rendition of The Map of Markspace.
“There are still thousands of spawn points in those hills, but as you can see, the vast majority the scouts haven’t gotten to are spread across the western mounts and valleys. That is a lot of traveling to get there, and it is closer to the true strength of the Gotrok forces, particularly those ensconced in the mines of the area.
“Most of you are simply not rated for stealth operations at that scale. Just dispersing his gathered army here, and losing so many in combat, revealed over a thousand Summons points that we weren’t aware of to those observing the lands for respawns.” A whole lot of red points in the eastern and central areas winked on for attention, and the lugians grumbled to see them appear. “Yes, that means they took those Summons away so long ago that our Scouts have literally never seen anything spawn at those locations. It is entirely possible that there are many, many more such Summons waiting patiently in mines, out of sight and mind, all ready to rush out and fall upon any sizable force moving through those areas.”
“We don’t have stealth penetration into many of the mines held by the clans who support the Gotrok,” Briggs noted, eyeing the map with irritation. Yellow lights popped up in over a score of scattered locations in response to his words. “From all we can ascertain, the invading force here was taken from surface Spawns that doubled as sentries and dissuasion. Two-thirds of them were barely of quality that could be considered initiates to the Gotrok philosophy, but that is not what the Spawn points are known to generate. Correct, Lady Magos?”