A dozen Mark III Golems raised their hoes and plunged them into the ground. They moved with precision and focus — tirelessly repeating the movement while moving across the field.
Jeremy stared at the modified skeletons. They were the pinnacle of unskilled labor — never tiring, never complaining, and never needing food, lodging, and wages. He would make them, set them to a task, and forget about them.
Another two of the new golems were in the mines, along with their two older counterparts. A dozen villagers were there with them — which made the operation a bit more complicated. Lights had to be brought in and safety measures became more rigorous.
The four mining golems were an experiment on how well they would be accepted by ordinary people. He granted one of the older miners command over the four and discussed how they could be used. There were seals on the golem’s bodies that would alert him if they were being tampered with. He assumed the villagers would not be too receptive of having skeletons in their midst — and one curious folk could reveal his golems’ secret.
“They seem to be working well,” Warden observed. “Even Staffany’s doing his bit.”
Jeremy turned to the single red golem on the field and scratched his head. It was certainly different. Instead of working tirelessly, it got distracted by the littlest things. He could understand the reason — Shelby was controlling it, making it act like one of the golems.
“Staffany, come here,” he motioned to Shelby’s little toy. “You don’t have to work with the other golems if you don’t want to. You’re free to do other things you like.”
Shelby was probably bored playing worker — and he didn’t want her to use Staffany in as menial a task as plowing the fields.
The golem stopped in front of him. It looked confused, turning its head side to side as if looking for things to do.
“Go play with Warden and his friends,” Jeremy suggested. “You like playing their game don’t you?”
Staffany nodded eagerly.
“There you go,” he turned to Warden and smiled. “Go play your kicking game and let Staffany join.”
He watched the pair leave for the fields. He wondered how Shelby was controlling Staffany. It seemed like a novel way of using golems — it might even be fun. It was like having a cheap simulacrum — the golem could do all kinds of things without putting its controller in jeopardy.
Too bad its movements were limited by its skeletal base. He needed to research how to make faster and nimbler undead if he wanted to provide a more realistic and enjoyable experience — and he also had to figure out how Shelby managed to control her golem.
It wasn’t a form of possession. Shelby could still move around while playing with Staffanny — except when the golem was playing with the farmhands. She would sit on the field motionless, probably focusing on controlling her golem’s actions.
So simple actions were easy — but complex movements and quick reactions required the focus of its user.
Jeremy smiled. He imagined teams of golems controlled by nobles clashing in battle — or perhaps one of the games Sebas often describes. There would be no threat of injury, and the only edge a golem can have was the focus and control of the noble using it.
Surely, there was a market for that. Nobles were strange in their appetites. His Lifesaver’s were a testament to that. He still couldn’t believe some of them risked beheading themselves for the trill of it or to impress their guests!
He waited for the golems to finish their work on the fields — satisfied with their work. He called for them, watching them line up neatly as they were taught.
Bringing all of them into the village would probably cause a stir. After their ordeal, his new villagers were looking for normalcy. There was a lot of screaming and hiding when he tried to introduce Shelby — but the smaller snails had better reception.
It seemed size played a role in their feelings of danger — numbers probably would too.
He opted to bring just two of the golems, letting the others tend to the next field with their hoes.
It had been a week since the villager’s rescue and eventual settlement in his domain. Five houses had been built since then, and ownership of each house was chosen by lottery.
“Our village is once again graced by your presence, Lord Jeremy,” a voice greeted him from afar.
“Horst,” he acknowledged him. Horst was one of the more outspoken villagers — and their provisional leader. “I came bringing golems to help the villagers.”
“Golems?” the villager walked closer to the golems, circling them in curiosity. “They certainly don’t look like the golems I’ve heard of and read about.”
“Their worker golems,” Jeremy explained. “Quite useless in combat — but quite helpful for menial work.”
He could see hesitation and doubt in the villager’s face. As their lord, he could have just commanded him to use the golems — but he wanted him to do so willingly.
“Perhaps a demonstration?”
“If you will, milord,” Horst agreed.
“Is the village lacking in workers,” he asked. “Perhaps in building the houses?
“There is a lack of wood coming in — especially after some of the laborers opted to work at the mines.”
Jeremy shook his head. He didn’t realize his offer would cause delays in construction. Miners got paid 50 silvers more than ordinary laborers — and a dozen villagers promptly signed-up to work.
“There, milord,” Horst pointed to a small patch of woodland. “So far, we still have enough wood to meet the demands of the builders, but work will begin to slow down after three or four days.”
Jeremy nodded understanding the problem. The use of the forge to cut wood into planks proved quite effective. At its finest setting, his hellfire-powered forge could limit itself to a line of fire a foot in length. He had to add a few wards to ensure that the fire didn’t spread to the rest of the wood — or the people holding them — but the concept was quite innovative.
He noted a rack of unused axes as they neared the woods. The two golems promptly picked up an ax each on his command and waited for further instructions.
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After Horst called for a woodsman to show how trees were felled, Jeremy instructed the golems to imitate the motions as best they could while maintaining their footing. His golems were a bit lighter than the average folk, giving them a lot less leverage than their human counterparts. He should probably experiment on weighted boots to give them more stability.
The golems started chopping. They were weaker and slower than the human woodsman — but their strikes were as accurate, or even more so. It would take a woodsman hours to fell a tree with the girth of a man. His golems would take twice the time — but they could work without stopping.
A few woodsmen gathered around the golems — drawn by Jeremy’s presence. He asked them to observe and give him pointers on how to improve the golems’ performance.
Once they got used to the golems, he excused himself to bring the others. Each woodsman got a golem or two to instruct. He reminded them to take care of the golems and make sure they didn’t get crushed by falling logs.
Jeremy said his farewells, saying he would check on the golems the following day. He was taught that maintaining a semblance of normalcy and meeting with his people was important.
Now he was off to meet the Duke.
***
It was past midday when the Scourge arrived at his estate. Cedric thought he would appear in one of Sebas’ portals — instead, the wizard opted to walk the streets. He got word of him once the massive snail was spotted by the guards at the gates.
“Wizard Jeremy is here,” a servant bowed after opening the door to lead his guest inside.
The wizard approached, quickly noting the presence of his other guest.
“Deckard? You were working for the duke all this time?” he asked. “No wonder you were selling my products to nobles.”
“He wasn’t working for me,” Cedric countered before the merchant could speak. “He’s living in my estate for the time being — having tangled himself in affairs beyond his status.”
Jeremy nodded. “Did your summons have anything to do with Deckard? You do know you can buy his Longswords™ from me — all he does is put them in fancy packaging.”
“That’s not true!” the merchant protested. “Aside from procuring the goods from a shady source,” he glared at the Scourge, “I also maintain a network of contacts and do marketing work.”
“The naked race at the capital,” the wizard looked thoughtful. “I heard about that. Great idea, by the way.”
“Enough,” Cedric raised his voice. “Deckard, why don’t you grab something to eat while I talk with Jeremy.”
“But we just—“
“Go, Deckard!”
“Yes, Duke. Pardons, my duke.”
Cedric stared at Deckard as he made his way to the door. He did not want to be forceful — but there were secrets that the Scourge was not meant to know. He didn’t want to risk a riot at the capital just because of a slip of the merchant’s tongue.
“Nice fellow that Deckard,” Jeremy pointed.
“He is,” Cedric agreed. “But his problems aren’t yours to fix.”
The wizard nodded and smiled, accepting his words.
“So what’s the problem? I assume you didn’t summon me to ask for a cake. You could though — I can have Sebas make you one for a small fee.”
“Really? Your butler’s cakes are quite delectable.”
Cedric paused. He remembered something about the cakes shortening their diner’s life or at least making them fat. His hands strayed towards his belly. He gained an inch of fat since he moved to bountiful. Perhaps he should ride his horses more often or train with the troops as he used to.
He shook his head — the wizard’s words had a tendency to derail conversations.
“There is a small village to the north,” he started. “I received a missive asking for help, saying the village was cursed.”
“Cursed? Really?” Jeremy couldn’t contain his enthusiasm.
“Your father mentioned you studied curses for a time,” Cedric smiled, reeling the wizard in. “Shallowpoint should give you a chance to observe how curses spread and how to root out their cause.”
“That’s certainly interesting.”
“And… there are ghosts involved,” Cedric added, making the prospect more intriguing.
“Ghosts? That’s necromancy,” Jeremy looked a bit downcast. “I don’t really have much of an interest in that subject.”
“But your aura, and your whole look — you even have a skull mask!”
Jeremy shrugged. “Necromancy isn’t my thing — but I would go for the curse.”
Cedric did all he could to stop himself from scratching his head — or tearing his hair off. Jeremy screamed necromancer — even his moniker, the Scourge, fit the role!
“You’ll see to the village then?”
“Of course,” the wizard answered. “There is the matter of the fee.”
“200 gold plus expenses,” he stopped the wizard with a glare when he tried to talk. “Reasonable expenses. I don’t want to hear how you used thousands of gold worth of gems or whatever — just normal expenses for two or three people.”
“No Shelby?”
“You can bring your snail,” he sighed in exasperation knowing the creature was the only mount Jeremy could ride. “The village is plagued by a curse, a snail shouldn’t bother them.”
He took a sheet of paper — an official one — and wrote a writ that declared the snail was harmless unless threatened and that it was under his care.
He gave the paper to Jeremy, who raised an eyebrow after he finished reading it.
“This doesn’t make her yours, you know?”
“No it doesn't,” he reassured him. “It’s only something to give to guards and avoid confrontation.”
Jeremy nodded, rolling and pocketing the writ.
“When do you plan on leaving?” Cedric asked, “And do you need anything for your shop while you’re away?”
“In a day or two. After I deal with a few loose ends.”
He nodded. The village had time. He thought it would take Jeremy a fortnight to ready himself for the trip — forgetting he was the Blackstaff’s son. Protecting the innocent had always been a creed of the Elswind house.
The wizard turned to leave. “My duke,” he bowed before heading to the door.
“W-wait!” Cedric stammered. “About the cake — I’m taking you up on your offer. Can you send one tomorrow?”
“As you will, my duke,” Jeremy bowed.
***
The Earth reached out to the stone turtle. It was kindred — a forgotten god of a distant land. An old land — one that gods didn’t create.
It couldn’t fathom how a world could exist for millions of years — much less billions. The world he knew existed for less than ten thousand years — borne from the breath and will of the creators that made it.
It searched the turtle god’s memories — finding pathways to power alien to itself. It watched how the strange planet was formed from the cosmos and how life blossomed from the sea. The planet had little magic — but that was a miracle in itself.
The entity dived deep, deeper than it ever did. There was fire in the earth — and it could find it if it went deeper. It was a consciousness that blanketed the continent. Now, it pulled itself into a concentrated mass to travel freely.
It took five turnings of the sun for it to reach its destination — a swirling mass of molten iron, an elemental force the likes none have seen. It heard the entity’s plea — offering a portion of its power in aid against the invading enemy.
Molten metal filled filled the entity — not fire, but heat and other strange forces that it could not name. It was power — but was it enough to triumph over the mana that filled the land?
The earth spirit spent another five turnings returning to its followers and the stone turtle. It was a creature of the surface — nourishing living things and maintaining the cycle of life and death. The lifeless depths was not to its liking.
Its presence lingered on the stone turtle. It would have never thought about searching the depths of the world for an ally if not for the turtle’s knowledge of the swirling iron. It hesitated before sending a spark of iron into the statue. The turtle god wasn’t dead — only sleeping. For a moment it stirred. Sadly, it could not be goaded into fighting — quite content in its sleep.
The earth spirit delved deeper once more, allowing its consciousness to touch the ever-moving iron. The distance was too great, but the iron entity’s influence spread like roots towards the surface. It tapped into one of these branches of fire — opening channels that diverted it from the sea and led it unto land.