Eight Era, cycle 1721 – cycle of the squatting dog, season of Unkh, day 308
Leemore was a gaunt figure; all his squad were bordering on emaciated after months stationed at the front with too few supplies and too much stress. Standing in a shaded square, Leemore held one arm up as he surveyed his surroundings through a spyglass. His other arm had a deep cut along the bicep, which a healer was closing with a needle and thread; presumably, the healer was running low on mana.
‘It was so much easier before their corpse masters got involved; we always knew to expect the attacks from the east,’ Leemore muttered. ‘Now they can get their puppets to appear from anywhere. We’re not equipped for this, Oatis.’
‘You’ll see us through, Sarge,’ Oatis replied, cutting the thread and examining his stitch work.
‘Remind me – how many did we lose in the last skirmish, Oatis?’
‘Well, Sarge, Sanchez was the only casualty, but Nnadi, Yousef, Blackeye and Hemin can’t take their rotation tonight.’
Leemore collapsed his spyglass on his thigh and tucked it away. ‘It really is a battle of attrition.’
Oatis leaned in to Leemore conspiratorially. ‘The lieutenant is getting itchy feet, Sarge. Some of the lads… well, they’ve been talking, and they ain’t happy, Sarge. It ain’t right; we’re getting killed out here!’
‘It’s his job to have itchy feet, Oatis; lieutenants have been placed on the Sphere to climb the ladder, and you don’t make a name for yourself if you spend time with your hands in your pockets. Don’t worry; he’ll lose that desire to be at the front when he’s spent a few nights without sleep.’
‘I hope you’re right, Sarge; we don’t need him to get the idea of another charge into his head.’
‘A glorious defeat is better than a stagnant victory to those who have been commissioned,’ Kaysar interjected before saluting.
Leemore looked Kaysar up and down before he asked, ‘And you are? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.’
‘That’s Kaysar, Sarge. You know, Kaysar of the Moon Blade?’ Oatis hissed.
‘My oath, the Kaysar. This is the last place I ever expected to see you. Come to check out the sheen on our lapels?’ Leemore mocked.
‘We three were sent as reinforcements, and were told to report directly to you,’ Kaysar replied without taking offence.
‘Wow, three entire reinforcements – we’ve been blessed.’ Leemore’s eyes flicked over Amaka and Syeda, and then he laughed. ‘Mind you, if your reputation is anything to go by – and if they’re on a similar level – well, this might be winnable after all.’
‘What are we dealing with here, Sergeant?’ Kaysar checked.
Leemore pulled his jacket back on after Oatis finished his administrations. ‘We’ve been sustaining frequent attacks; we’re the main front against the fist of the Sultan’s force. He’s got endless supplies of cheap men that he discharges against us. Honestly, I don’t think he ever truly wishes to attack, but to instead just keep us bloody enough to not strike our own blow. The problem we face is that we’re sort of at the base of a funnel. Outposts Eight and Ten are north and south of us, but there are cliff faces between us and each of them. The Sultan tried sending his people up ladders to surprise each of those outposts, but Ten is on top of a hill and can see for miles, and Eight is on uneven ground, which meant the bowmen of Eight racked up massive kills. So, the Sultan has stopped trying to take either of those outposts and now focuses on us. We cleared away the olive and argan trees to give us a better view. The only saving grace is that the attacks aren’t coordinated – they come in groups, but they’re mindless beasts allowing us to cut them down, and our only real struggle is against fatigue.’
Amaka rolled her eyes at what she assumed was masculine bravado. ‘I’m surprised the Sultan can afford to lose so many if your boasts aren’t totally misleading.’
‘I doubt he sees it as a loss; the graves are filled with corpses, and gods know how many zombies he can afford to throw at us.’
‘Zombies!’ Amaka squeaked.
‘You’ve not heard?’ Leemore hesitated before going on: ‘Well… I wouldn’t countenance talk about it if I hadn’t had seen it myself. We’d been hearing rumours about terrifying creatures for months, but as I say, I’d banned talk of them. Morale is a tricky thing for soldiers; superstition and tall tales spread like wildfire. Break a man’s spirit and his will follows; talk about his friends being dragged back from beyond just to be forced to fight their best mates could cause a rout before a blade is ever drawn. Morale is a finicky thing when you’re stationed on the front.’
‘Are they really your men brought back to life?’ Syeda gasped.
‘Thankfully, we’ve been spared that horror,’ Leemore confirmed, shuddering at the thought of it.
‘Where are they coming from? Can we cut off the supply?’ Amaka felt slightly hysterical over the idea of zombies.
Leemore spat, ‘And do what? Burn all the graveyards?’
‘I went on a quest for the Prophet that took me into the Sultan’s lands to find the truth behind the stories of the undead. Nasredin, Joha, Tariq, Mireille, Moojan and I were all over there looking into the stories and rumours persisting about the existence of strange creatures that the Sultan intended to use against us. Unfortunately, we were able to confirm the existence of such creatures – these very creatures you face now, I suspect. However, we were able to ascertain that the creatures were being summoned by a necromancer, whom we were then able to stop. Nevertheless, it cost the life of everyone in the party except me.’ Kaysar could have been commenting on the weather for all the emotion in his voice.
‘At least that means there’s an end to them,’ Leemore replied bluntly, having lost too many of his own people to worry about the loss of five more.
‘Assuming he was the only one; I must admit that the way the local guide spoke about them made me think there was someone else creating them as well,’ added Kaysar.
‘So, just for the record, we’re actually talking about zombies?’ Amaka stated slowly.
‘If you wish to call them that. There are so many variations in the nomenclature about such creatures,’ Leemore explained with a shrug. ‘It’s all needlessly complicated.’
‘Not at all; it means you know if you need iron to cancel the magicka that animates them, or if you smoosh the brains or use salt – their different names give you a great deal of information,’ Syeda countered.
Leemore shrugged again. ‘I’ve yet to find anything that can survive decapitation.’
‘Elves can, and hydra, werewolves… umm…’ Syeda began.
‘There’s nothing like that around here; we’ve got sand,’ Leemore stated, dismissing her suggestion.
‘And an imbedded army,’ Amaka muttered.
Kaysar shook his head. ‘They’re not imbedded.’
Amaka frowned, uncomfortable to be so outside of her forte.
Leemore noticed this, and he took the time to explain the situation. His genuine concern for his troops was noticed by them, making him well liked amongst his charges. However, his disinclination to follow orders to the nth degree also made those higher than him think him lacking in moral fortitude. That was why, despite Leemore’s considerable talent, he’d been sent Outpost Nine, which was colloquially referred to as the “kill zone”; as in, if you get stationed there, then you’re going to get killed. He clarified, ‘Our two countries have never been what you might call “amicable neighbours”. Yet tensions heightened when Kadambas put in a claim to Guhllied, which meant some of us had to become entrenched here in the kill zone until someone comes up with a bright idea about how to end this.’
‘What if nobody comes up with a battle plan?’ Syeda queried.
‘Good question,’ Amaka concurred, nodding.
Leemore laughed. ‘Them? We’re just objects to them – to be used and sold as they see fit. If we get overrun, they’ll be frustrated by the inroads the enemy has made, but they won’t bat an eyelid at the cost of life.’
‘Have you considered sending a small squad? Sometimes, a few people can get into what an army can’t. I could lead a foray,’ Amaka offered.
Leemore dismissed the suggestion. ‘I’ve no lack of brave men – what I lack are decent orders.’
‘Would you want to attack?’ Kaysar asked.
Leemore nodded, frustrated. ‘I’d like to know what exactly the Prophet is hoping to achieve. The Sultan has no end of corpses to throw at us, and there’s some several hundred miles of desert between us and him.’ He gestured vaguely. ‘It’s a desert out there, which means that if we strike their water caches, then there’ll be no bases from which to launch any attacks at us, but we’ll still be no closer to victory. The best we can hope for is to take Guhllied, but if the Sultan really wants it, we can’t hold it.’
He flicked through a selection of maps held in a wooden barrel before settling on one, extracting it and spreading it out. He picked up a candle, poured hot wax over a stamp and hammered it down over a mountain range. ‘Guhllied – or the city of Moloch, as my men have started to call it. The city that kicked off all this bloodshed. The city is currently in the hands of the Kadambas, and good old Lieutenant Roe wants to retake it. It’s a death sentence, but all he sees is the glory of leading his men in a patriotic charge.’
‘How have you manged to delay him?’ Kaysar asked.
Leemore shook his head. ‘Not me; he came down with a bad case of food poisoning. Between me and you, the chef has been sneaking concentrated senna and essence of prunes into his meals. The lads have been eating from the same pot to allay suspicion, but incontinence and constipation have been the bane of armies since the dawn of time, and the men have methods for protecting against it.’
‘There’s only so long a man can shit himself before there’s nothing left in his body,’ Amaka said as Syeda giggled.
‘He’s been back on his feet for the first part of this morning, and he’s already informed me that he wishes to meet later to discuss our “advance”. I’m not sure our reki can take another mass healing,’ Leemore signed defeated.
‘I don’t mean to sound churlish, but surely a sergeant knows how to deal with a recalcitrant lieutenant?’ Kaysar pushed.
‘Even the so-called SWT of Kadambas would struggle to reinterpret this lieutenant’s orders into something useful,’ Leemore disagreed.
‘What’s an SWT?’ Syeda asked.
‘It’s another term for their Sultan, the Subhanahu wa Ta’ala or SWT. The cognitive dissonance required to listen to this lieutenant talk and come out with competent orders is beyond me. If we’re being generous, we might call him eager.’
‘That’s damning him with faint praise,’ Amaka scoffed.
‘Being eager is the last thing you want in a commander,’ Kaysar sympathised.
*
Later that day, Leemore entered the command tent for a briefing with the lieutenant. The lieutenant had seemingly recovered and was now eager to make a name for himself on the battlefield.
‘I’ve received some troubling intel,’ the lieutenant was saying. ‘Reports have come to me that the Third have gained ground on the enemy. Do you know how much ground this squad has gained in the last year?’
‘Sir?’ Leemore said, not trusting himself to say more.
‘Nothing, Sergeant; what do you have to say about that?’
‘Well, sir, they never built the outpost on wheels, sir.’
‘The Twelfth have seized an ell-wand off a fakir, Sergeant.’
‘I heard, sir.’
‘Doesn’t that dent your pride?’ the lieutenant pressed.
‘I see it as a win for us all, sir,’ Leemore declared; he knew how many men had died during that confrontation and didn’t see it as a source for jealousy.
‘Make the men aware that we will retake the village tomorrow.’
‘Do you think that’s wise, sir?’ It took all of Leemore’s strength not to say, ‘You don’t think that’s wise, do you?’ The impertinence of which he knew the lieutenant would take affront to.
‘Of course, Sergeant; that’s why I said it. I’m sure the men will be as excited as I am to give the bastards a black eye.’
‘Assuredly, sir.’
*
A man named Marc was standing watch; well, “man” was a bit of a stretch – he wasn’t much more than a boy at twenty-one years of age. He’d lied about his age when he signed up; sixteen was the official minimum age. Now, he was consequently one of the more experienced amongst the fold, so when he woke Leemore to report a sense of disquiet, Leemore was instantly on the alert.
‘Wake the others, and make sure the newcomers are at the front. Let’s see what they’re made of,’ Leemore instructed, and then took over the vigil.
A short while later, he was joined by Syeda, Amaka and Kaysar, who’d been roused first, as instructed.
‘What have we got?’ Kaysar was the first to ask.
‘Disturbances,’ Leemore replied simply.
‘Is that it?’ Amaka asked irritably.
‘Your sweet sleep is the last thing I’m concerned with,’ Leemore mocked. ‘If one of my guys tells me he heard something, I trust him.’
‘At least the cold air is bracing.’ Amaka yawned and stamped her feet, trying to wake up quickly.
‘Where are we looking?’ Syeda queried, squinting into the night.
‘That’s what we’re trying to ascertain,’ Leemore answered peevishly.
‘Over there,’ Amaka stated lazily, and then pointed in the appropriate direction.
‘What?’ Leemore replied.
‘I have a low-quality ability to see in the night, but it’s enough to see those things,’ Amaka clarified, nodding.
Party leader has activated a party ability: ability share
Ability selected: all-seeing eye
‘I was hoping for something more, but this’ll help,’ Leemore said, studying the night.
‘You can use my moves?’ Amaka accused, feeling violated.
‘Only moves that are currently in use,’ Leemore explained, distracted.
‘What do you make of them, Sergeant?’ Kaysar asked.
‘They move without real intent, more in a general direction. There’s no organisation and no structure of leadership, from what I can detect. We suspected this all along, but until now, we’ve lacked the night vision to confirm our suspicions. Their numbers make me uneasy, but this ability is the biggest advantage we’ve ever had against them. Their numbers are meaningless now as we can use their disorganisation against them.’
‘Perhaps a pre-emptive strike, Sergeant?’ Kaysar encouraged.
‘Indeed, or we could organise our defence and let them charge us in dribs and drabs.’ Leemore was cautious about risking more of his men.
‘“Fortune favours the bold”,’ Amaka quoted.
‘True, as does the ground, Sergeant,’ suggested Kaysar.
‘You think it favours us, Kaysar?’ Leemore asked.
‘The ground is uneven, almost churned. The creatures move with awkward, jerky movements, whereas we’re quick and agile; we can use the ground to our advantage. They’ll move slowly over it, whilst we can freely jump and climb around to strike from a height or use a mound of dirt as a barrier,’ Kaysar advised eagerly.
‘A classic Kaysar tactic: fight in the night and use the environment, hey?’ Leemore grinned. ‘That’s good to see; I was worried about why you might’ve been sent here.’
‘This is true. It’s how I made my name,’ Kaysar agreed, nodding. ‘I always favoured speed and stamina over strength in my squads.’
‘And it takes the fight away from my injured men – I like it, Kaysar.’ Leemore slapped Kaysar on the back enthusiastically. ‘It’s a chance; it’s a damn chance.’
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
*
‘Look, men, this isn’t the time to lose our nerve. We’ve got the advantage tonight! We can see them, and we can use the terrain; this is the most fortuitous moment we could have hoped for! I’m offering a quarter of salt per kill!’ Leemore declared, inspiring his squad, and they cheered at his last comment. ‘So, tonight we fight for our friends, the fallen and injured, and we fight to give the enemy a bloody nose, which has long been in the making!’
There were rousing cheers of agreement; the squad sensed blood (metaphorically speaking, as the dead couldn’t bleed), and they swept out in anticipation of brushing aside the zombies for once.
The mass of rotting undead were in varying states of decay, their muscles atrophied and their flesh oozing viscous fluids. Many had large patches of flesh missing or had bones jutting out through their skin. Lots wore ragged clothing, but some were naked, with sagging breasts and withered genitals. The dead didn’t march two by two; instead, they jerked around in irregular patterns. The movements were all slow and restricted, as some absent puppeteer was orchestrating their bodies, which their souls had long since vacated. The dead walked in silence; just the sound of their footfalls reached out into the world and tainted it.
As Syeda watched them approach, she tried to scream, but her body wouldn’t respond. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She wanted to shut her eyes, but her eyes remained locked on the broken, pale bodies.
‘I… I can see through t-that man’s chest. He’s got… got half his stomach missing,’ Syeda whispered ‘Th-that one’s got half his face torn off; I can see his jaw bones and everything.’
‘Arawn is awaking and bringing his thrall to test the bravery of the surface world!’ cried one of the soldiers to Syeda’s left.
‘This is a sign from the goddess Hel. She’s giving these poor fools a chance to die in glory!’ someone roared in defiance. ‘And we shall grant them this!’
Many of the reanimated mass turned towards the squad and gave cries that were little more than the expulsion of stale air, and in many cases, bits of dried blood and maggots. Their rotting forms were not suited to movement, and from this, many of the squad drew a glimmer of hope for the fight ahead. Leemore stepped in front of them; he was holding a heavy-looking two-handed sword with an unnecessarily flamboyantly designed edge. He held it to his left and then brought it round in an arc, so it was at his right-hand side; he looked like an anime antagonist.
‘We need to keep moving. Their movements are awkward, so we can beat them with agility! But if we stand in one place, their numbers won’t allow us to take advantage.’ Leemore’s voice was level; he’d met death frequently in his lifetime and quite expected to spend eternity in hell.
Syeda started dancing in a small circle in anticipation of being assailed. She could see the intestines of the man before her; his navel had been torn out and something had chewed on the yellow fat revealed beneath his flesh. She looked her enemy in the eye. It was pale and sallow, like his skin; its pupil was faded. His eyes rolled listlessly in their sockets. His naked form showed patches where insects had incubated and subsequently burst through his skin, leaving deep pockmarks. Another corpse had what must have been its lung protruding from a rent in its flesh, the dark sack feebly inflating and deflating as he tried to speak. Syeda clutched a spear in her clammy hands; with a quick scream, she thrust the spear forwards and somehow struck its heart. With a yell of triumph, she pulled back, and the spear caught on something. The sudden resistance made her stumble forwards into the range of the man, who moved clumsily and struck her in the face with his fist.
Battle log:
Strike reanimated corpse for 54 piercing-damage points
Total life points unknown
Hit by reanimated corpse, 64 blunt-damage points
Syeda fumbled with her spear, hurriedly trying to withdraw it; she twisted and shook it, anxious to dislodge it. With a strange sound, it pulled free, and something was pulled with it, speared through by the head of the weapon. It was small, around the size of a man’s fist, and it beat each time the creature moved. Some sort of glyph had been cast on it, which pulsed in tune with the beating. Syeda had a horrible sudden revelation that it was the thing’s heart; she’d pulled it through the rotten chest and it dangled by the arterial vessels. The zombie swept its blade in a downward strike at Syeda; it was an obvious move and she had time to knock it away with her spear shaft. What the man lacked in technique he made up for in strength, and the impact was so great that it drove her to one knee. She was unable to regain her footing before it attacked again, and this time, she was unable to deflect the hit; the impact made her arms jerk back.
Battle log:
Attempted block of reanimated corpse successful
Agility check failed, −1 life point, you’ve been made to stagger
The man now pressed his advantage, and struck down again and again, chipping off Syeda’s health one point at a time; with each blow, Syeda found it harder and harder to keep hold of her spear.
Battle log:
Attempted block of reanimated corpse successful
Agility check failed, −1 life point, you stagger
Attempted block of reanimated corpse successful
Agility check failed, −1 life point, you stagger
Attempted block of reanimated corpse successful
Agility check failed, −1 life point, you stagger
Agility check failed, −1 life point, you’ve been disarmed
Syeda’s spear shot out of her hands, and the man seemed to smile cruelly at her before bringing his sword down, intent on severing her neck. Suddenly, a second person appeared and performed what Amaka knew as a “fallaway moonsault slam”; Syeda’s attacker was lifted bodily off the floor and slammed onto his back via a somersault.
Syeda’s hero, a man she recognised as Amadium, then threw a small hammer at another half-rotten man. As the man staggered, Amadium then completed a reverse hurricanrana, jumping onto the shoulders of the man he’d hit, and he used his thighs to throw the man through yet another somersault. Amadium then worked in tandem with Syeda, who used her spear to block and then set up Amadium for a savate kick. He twisted from a side-on position so that his hindmost leg struck the zombie’s chin, and with a sickening crack, the man’s chin bone ripped through his flesh and took the tongue with it. Syeda parried another thrust aimed at her head, and Amadium finished off the move with a snapmare, in which he pulled the man’s head over his shoulder; tossed him to the ground, back first; and stamped on his head.
A sword came towards Syeda’s chest, and she parried it easily before punching the offender. It was a mistake, and she felt like she had broken her fist.
Battle log:
Attempted block of reanimated corpse successful
Agility check passed
Strike reanimated corpse for impact damage
Strength test failed, 30 blunt-damage points
Amadium then executed a shin breaker on the staggering man, tucking his head under the man’s armpit, lifting him by the leg and slamming him down onto Amadium’s knees. Unfortunately, the man had a boil, which burst from the impact, spraying foul-smelling liquid over Amadium.
A berserker warrior by the name of Intissar brought her five-bladed poleaxe around in a sweeping downward motion. One of its eight-inch blades dug into the shoulder of a bloated corpse and caught. Intissar tried to remove it, but it had wedged itself in the collar bone and wouldn’t come free. She twisted so she had her back to her victim, and with a roar of berserker strength and the muscles on her arms standing out, the skewered woman was lifted off the floor. The zombie tried to free itself, but the sausage-like fingers, swollen from being submerged in water (she’d probably drowned), were too clumsy to respond properly. In one fluid motion, Intissar brought the woman up and down, hitting the ground with a sickening sound of bone, flesh and muscle snapping.
‘I could use some help here!’ a voice shouted; it was a young private by the name of Goodwill, who was being swarmed.
He was using a weapon similar to a rapier, and his quick cut-and-slash motions – which were designed to draw blood and wound his opponent – were having no effect on the zombies, as they neither bled nor felt pain. The only thing saving him was the fact that the zombies’ motions were like those of a cumbersome clockwork device, leaving them open for simple blocks and reprisal attacks. The dead faces were a ghastly frieze; one zombie found a way through Goodwill’s defence and opened his arm from shoulder to elbow with a rusty cutlass. Something heavy was brought down on the zombie’s head; its skull cracked, and brain fluid oozed out. For a second time, it became a lifeless shell, dropping heavily to the blood-sodden floor.
Three creatures attacked Goodwill at once; he caught one blade going for his throat with a wrist brace; he ricocheted a second with his hilt, but it still split the side of his chest; and he stirred helplessly as the third launched a furious blow for his head.
Leemore was a mess. His clothes were torn, and he had bits of innards, scalp and hair on his boots and blade. His body started to exude a blue aura as he activated an ability; his next few sword swipes created a shockwave that cut people open five yards away from his blade swung. As the half-rotten head of a zombie appeared and bit down on Leemore’s arm, he used the last of his ability to grab it by the neck and toss it away – leaving a few teeth imbedded in his forearm.
‘Is that it? The last of the anatta?’ Marc shouted into the night.
‘Yes, they’re no match for the atman, hey, Sergeant?’ Kaysar declared.
‘Of course, our Brahman is strong,’ Leemore shouted to cheers.
‘What are they talking about?’ Amaka whispered to Kaysar.
‘“Anatta” means soulless, whereas “atman” is our soul, and the “Brahman” is truth or the greater force that controls all things yet does not control anything at all. It’s a dichotomy or juxtaposition, but that makes it true. I think perhaps you in the north refer to it as “anima mundi”?’ Kaysar tried to explain.
‘I think my dad just called it “The Great Spirit”,’ Amaka replied offhanded.
‘Okay, men, get some rest. We march at dawn,’ Leemore called out, and then stomped back to his tent.
*
Dawn was cold, windy and accompanied by a thick mist that clung to the ground and hid the stains of the fight from the night before. They had marched all morning, with a few of the more tired soldiers tripping over the uneven ground. Yet they pushed on, and as the fog was burned away by the blistering intensity of the mid-morning sun, they reached the steep steps of the path to Guhllied; the route had been carved out of the cliff by acolytes of the Prophet.
‘Look at this, men; this is the power of faith!’ Roe shouted, expecting a chorus of cheers; he was greeted with some bemused looks, but mostly with the squad cursing to each other about the aches in their feet or the rubbing from their equipment.
‘If your boots are hard, then piss on them and not with your mouths, you sorry lot!’ Leemore shouted.
The squad, suitably abashed, shuffled back into formation.
‘After all this is over, Sergeant, remind me to have words about this squad’s lack of veneration,’ Roe demanded.
‘Sir,’ Leemore replied.
‘I never hear them in night worship, Sergeant.’
‘Sir.’
‘I’ve let it pass thus far, as one must make allowances for men in service; however, I can only allow my patience to go so far. Our faith gives us our edge in battle after all.’
Leemore privately thought that the Sultan’s unorthodox position gave them their advantage. The original Kadambas people came from far away, but were chased out of their homeland by wars. Because of this, they held on to their culture fiercely, meaning that the Sultan’s position as head would never be challenged, nor would that of his descendants. Yet he had little real control over any of his vassals, who vied for the real power via cloak-and-dagger escapades. Because of this, when one vassal came under attack by another or an outside party, such as the Trist people, the other vassals wouldn’t help. If they had grouped together, even just two vassals, then this fight would have already been over.
The climb up to Guhllied was steep, but the squad managed it without becoming too spread out.
The little village of Guhllied – despite its bleak moniker of Moloch, a fabled evil city that participated in child sacrifice amongst other things – was actually a pleasant little place with flowers growing on top of walls and many hanging baskets. The squad crept around, on the lookout for enemy scouts, but the place seemed deserted.
‘No one around, sir,’ Leemore confirmed, and then saluted.
‘Strange. This is the entire point of the war,’ Roe seethed, desperate for his moment of glory.
‘From what little I understand, you’re the only ones who want this place, not the Kadambas. So, if it were me, I’d rig a trap here for any of the Trist who try to take it back,’ Amaka suggested.
‘Why would you destroy a symbol of your victory over your enemy?’ Roe scoffed.
Amaka shrugged. ‘Because it’s war. I don’t care about trinkets; I care about blood,’ she replied.
‘To be fair, they wouldn’t need to destroy the place, just us,’ Leemore agreed.
‘Yet the fact remains that here we are, and there’s no trap. How do you explain that?’ Roe countered.
‘Well, perhaps it’s set to trigger when we leave? After all, we were anticipating a fight, so we were prepared; we’d be much less prepared when we leave,’ Amaka guessed.
‘True. Very well, tell the men to anticipate a trap. No harm in being prepared,’ Roe concluded with a nod.
So, when they marched out into the square and bright glyphs sprung up around them, it was met without any cry of surprise but with a silent nod from each person and a tightening of fists on weapons. The glyphs lit up the outskirts of a vast area; the light also bloomed upwards into the sky.
‘Anyone know what this is?’ Leemore called out.
A woman named Vallen raised her hand. ‘It’s a confinement spell called “Ortie’s brilliant palisade”. It creates a sixteen-foot wall, and the strength of the barrier depends on how much magic it’s fed with,’ she explained.
‘So they plan to starve us out?’ Syeda mused aloud.
‘Movement!’ Marc shouted as ephemeral writing appeared on the ground and spread out like an intricate spider web.
‘Incoming summoning!’ Vallen bellowed.
The squad instantly fell into a defensive formation.
The shockwave from a small explosion buffeted the squad; a massive creature appeared before them, which was a cross between a boar and a porcupine. It had the tusks and build of a boar, but instead of thick skin, it had intertwining quills, effectively giving it armour. It was also colossal, about the size of a minibus or small truck.
Race: porpentine
Now extinct, this creature is short-tempered and highly aggressive; it often fights beasts of a higher level if it feels its territory has been invaded. Because of this, the creature was brought to extinction through territorial battles and not through hunting.
Genus: Summoned
It’s a summoned creature, not a real beast.
Class: B
Affiliation: summoned creature
Harvestable items: none (summoned creatures disappear upon death)
State: n/a
Level: unknown
Health unknown, stamina unknown, magicka unknown
Boon: unknown
Curses: unknown
Bestiary increased
‘It’s a porpentine, lads; it’s going to be a long fight!’ Leemore shouted.
The porpentine let out a grunt that made the ground shake, and then it snorted, producing a cloud of steam from its nostrils. It pawed the ground and its red pupils contracted before it charged; its feet sent out mini shockwaves as it pounded the earth. As it reached the closest of the squad, it tossed its head, employed its powerful neck muscles and – using its tusks as weapons – tore the ground open, eviscerating the poor soul who tried to block its attack. The squad rained down damage on the porpentine, which resisted large amounts of damage, thanks to its quill armour and thick hide. In return, it dealt massive blows with each kick of its cloven feet and toss of its head, bringing its sinister horns to the fore. The ground was quickly becoming a wasteland, as the porpentine’s legs kicked up large clumps of dirt and ripped fissures into the ground, whilst blood from the beast and the humans turned the rest of the ground into clinging mud.
But the squad were well drilled; every squad of the Prophet was carefully assembled to offer the best balance of skills, and soon the porpentine was being led a merry dance from each side of the battleground. The porpentine was built for power, not stamina, so it was soon grunting hard and sweating heavily. What little skin wasn’t covered by quill armour was coated in hot and sticky blood; most of the blood was its own.
‘That’s it, men; wear it down – you’ve got this,’ Leemore encouraged.
As though it understood, the porpentine’s evil little eyes flared, and it slid to a stop, side-on to the majority of the squad. It let out a piercing cry, and suddenly, the air was thick with flying quills; this was soon followed by the air being full of screams of pain as its thumb-thick, barbed quills tore into flesh and broke bone. Five people fell to the floor dead after the first salvo.
‘Where are my shieldmen?’ Leemore roared, grabbing someone and throwing them to the front of his squad.
The porpentine turned and fired a second volley of quills; this time, there were fewer cries of pain as the shields took the impact.
‘Stay true, men!’ Roe demanded over the choked-out painful sobs and the sounds of crying at the sight of so much gore.
‘Sword and shield, sword and shield – remember the basics!’ Leemore instructed as he swung his massive sword at the porpentine before diving behind a shield for protection.
The porpentine tried to stamp on Leemore and Mahsuda, who was protecting Leemore.
Mahsuda’s tower shield sang with each blow from the porpentine as it kicked or struck the shield with its tusks. Then the porpentine changed tack; instead of trying to break the shield, it tried to toss it. Mahsuda struggled to stand still as it attempted to leaver the shield away with a tusk. After using its quills as projectiles, its hide was now exposed. Yet its hide under the quills was as tough as any boar’s, meaning that over 35% of the squad’s strikes were negated, and the porpentine’s colossal health was only dropping slowly, even as fresh quills grew. It was due to what was called the ability “cool-down”, which is the time it took before the frenzy ability could be used again. The frenzy ability being how the porpentine had fired its quills.
‘It’s ready to fire!’ Roe warned, and a moment later the air was full of deadly quills.
‘Roll call!’ Leemore ordered, bracing himself against a rock and pulling a quill from his calf. The barbs ripped his muscle and flesh, so he had to bite down on the hilt of his sword to stop himself from screaming at the intense pain.
Names were called out in response, and Leemore cursed as more than half his squad failed to reply; most of those whose voices were silent were probably dead.
‘We’re low on health potions,’ said Raffi, the squad’s medic.
Leemore cursed as he wiped the sweat from his brow and struggled to come up with any plan that would see them survive; eventually, he gave the order no sergeant envied: ‘Ready your widow’s tax, men!’
The “widow’s tax” was a nickname given to a potion that would temporarily increase one’s level, but the cost of which was usually death. Leemore didn’t agree that it was a soldier’s duty to die for their country, but since his men were going to die anyway, he felt it was his duty to at least save the lieutenant.
As he swallowed and prepared his soul to give the order to damn his squad, a figure launched itself at the porpentine. The figure was reptilian and fought with tooth and claw.
‘Hold back!’ Leemore bellowed; this new monster was holding the porpentine’s attention, and he planned on letting the two kill each other – with any luck. He never for a moment allowed himself to believe that this new figure would be an ally; the world just didn’t hand out favours like that.
‘Spears ready!’ Roe said as the two monsters – one gigantic and the other human sized – tore lumps out of each other. ‘Whichever lives will get a hide full of iron!’
The new creature’s claws must have been razor sharp, as they easily cut deep farrows into the skin of the porpentine; however, the claws weren’t particularly long, so only rarely did it manage to draw blood with its swipes. Yet it had a good stamina level and never stopped moving; it was almost dancing around the porpentine, which it slashed at relentlessly. But the porpentine wouldn’t be quelled, and it kicked and tossed its head with undiminishing strength. This meant that the new creature had to stay ahead of the porpentine’s attacks to survive, but the porpentine could continue to take the hits, knowing that there was a chance it would be able to hit the other creature with one of its powerful blows. Even so, the porpentine started to flag; the rivers of blood flowing from its countless wounds were finally starting to slow it. The reptilian figure was now sensing victory and becoming bolder, staying in melee range longer and going for the porpentine’s legs to cripple it.
‘It’s winning!’ someone declared, and then cheered.
‘Is that good? We’ll have to fight it next,’ Marc replied.
‘Good point, that man,’ Roe agreed, and then pulled out a spear. He judged his timing carefully and threw the spear with unerring aim at the creature’s back.
Something spooked the creature and it half turned, spotting the spear and spinning with remarkable dexterity to arch its body in a way that would dodge the spear, but its moment’s inattention proved costly, as the porpentine caught it with a kick that carried with it so much force that the reptilian figure bounced as it hit the ground, shattering at least one of its bones with a crack akin to a gun shot. As it rebounded, the porpentine caught it in the air with a tusk and threw it some twenty feet into the air and over the edge of the hill.
The porpentine staggered, fatigue winning out at last, and the squad descended on it. Their overconfidence was soon shattered as the porpentine fought on for some time longer. And down below, broken on the rocks of the hillside, sprawled the reptilian figure. Only Syeda knew it was Amaka, but with Syeda still under the spell of the Prophet, she ignored the figure of her dying friend.