“Archers! Ready!”

There were no reactions to Nyt’s orders. Had the sound-dampening spell affected us as well? What was the source? What kind of magic could do this? Elemental? Perhaps, but the flow of mana feels...off, and the air feels almost recycled as if we were in a room with very limited ventilation. Was that it? Was it a wind spell? Perhaps that’s what also kept the steam and mist from leaving the area and flowing into the lake. If that were true, there would have to be a center to the spell somewhere...

It moved with the army, as even now spells were coming in from the direction of the apostle; deepening the steam and mist in the air as the Ir counters each one and the fact that he had used earth mana to interrupt me, one must assume...

“I’ll be back,” I call to Nyt.

“Hold o—”

I’ll also hold them back as long as I could. I hop off the earthen spike, and move carefully over the spell morphed battlefield; scorch marks mar the gray dust and the remains of the earthen spikes I had set out to intercept other spells. Still, Nyt’s counters to the apostle’s spells boomed overhead, sending shockwaves down to the ground.

A pair of looming shadows rumble through the earth as they approach. No sound, however, came forth from the two construct movements. Behind them, I could see the distant silhouettes of the approaching army. Five minutes, maximum, until they would be at the walls. Two minutes for the giant deer made of braided root and stone, at the minimum.

When the first of these constructs come into view through the veil of dust and mist, I pour mana into the ground, and moments later a giant spike — about the size of a medium pine erupts from the ground and skewers it through its middle. Green roots tear and rip at the force, but instead of keeling over like most things would, the roots squirmed and writhed like giant serpents, around the earthen spike, and reformed mostly unharmed on the other side. The shattered and snapped roots and vines creak and reform, not before one of them shoots out from its massive body and slams into me, sending me flying backward into one of the earthen spikes that I had erected. I push myself off the ground, pick up the wand I had dropped, and point it forward; speaking through shattered ribs as I utter an incantation as I grasp my sides. I have to stop them from charging.

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“From thou children of earth and flame, that dwell within the cavernous underneath, I call upon thy to lend your blood.”

Lava oozes from the orb as I send it into the leg of the nearest one. The orb of molten stone hisses as it travels through the warm mist and collides against the lower leg of the nearest one. I don’t know if the thing could feel pain, or if it was the water within those writing green roots evaporating at the invasive heat, but a loud wailing scream broke from the creature as the orb eats a path up through the ankle of its right foreleg. The lava turns to black obsidian once a trail of smoldering ash had been cut through its calf and the leg was severed.

The wooden deer crashes onto the ground, and slides to a stop in the dust. It tires to stand, and tries to reform its leg as it did with the snapped, and shattered roots from the spike, but the heat of the flames still trailing up the remains of the leg stops that.

Why doesn’t it just form a leg elsewhere? As the vining roots lash out at me as I approach with my wand drawn, that question inexorably bothers me. It was a mass of stone and roots, right? Why would it need to maintain the shape of an elk? As I back up after being tossed away by another heavy blow I point my wand toward it.

“I allow the breath of the salamanders to flow through me.”

A root breaks off from the deer and lashes out toward me as I finish the incantation and the rune. An earthen spike shoots up and impales the root, just as I release the spell. More roots shoot out from the construct, but I make sure that none could bat aside the flame, blocking or impaling them with quick casts of Earthen Spike as they come along. The blaring, yellow missile collides with the roots of its face and burns a trail through the braided roots. I fire off three more fire bolts across the body of the massive creature. As the flames eat away at the mass of writhing roots, and thin their numbers, I see something in the middle, where the chest would be on an actual deer. It glows a bright red, like a ruby caught in the sun. The tips of the roots are attached to it as if they flowed from it.

What do I do? Detach the roots? It thumped and beat...a heart? Yes. A large, red heart. I draw my sword and stab it forward. The blade sank in, and the writhing, thrashing root slowed until what had been the form of a deer collapsed into a pile of ash and fire. I pull out the sword. Black, oily blood flows down the blade. It smells foul like rotting meat.

Did the other share the same weakness? I run forward, to try to catch up to it.

“An awl, O’ thou servants of Gob the Highest, to strike my enemies.”

Using the incantation should boost the power of the spell. A large spike stabs through the middle of the creature in the center of its chest with such force that it lifts the deer construct off its front legs, onto its back. Moments later, black liquid trickles down the edge of the spike, and the creature turns into a writhing mess of rotting roots.

Now to find that mage.