A feast it was, and a macabre one at that. Even Taipan's euphoria from the vanquishing of a super predator on even ground could not withstand the sight that now lay before them.
A hundred men and not a few women lay down there in the bowl-shaped depression where they'd made camp in the lands surrounding Kistalfer, on their way to do evil to a bunch of innocents. Most were contorted in agony, blood running from various orifices. All of them had experienced terrible cramping and voiding of the bowels before the end. The clutching hands of many at their chests told the story of the [Striped Bark Snake] venom having destroyed their hearts, freezing the blood within them. The cocktail of other toxins was what caused the seizures and mass internal hemorrhage.
Taipan hadn't held back on choosing her ingredients for this particular mix. Aerosolizing it would have definitely classified it as a war crime back in the Before. On Varda there were no tribunals of international decorum for war, just knowledge that what you tried to do to the enemy, they might return to do to you. For those who had unleashed the Bane, this was the least that the Elves would do to be certain they would not do so again.
Looking down at the forms from that slight rise where he had cast the [Skyshield] which trapped the poison vapors, concentrating the toxins to overcome even the hardy constitutions of soldiers, Ulric had no small part to play in this scene. They had it coming. Soldiers choosing war had to accept that they would die in its execution. That didn't make their dying any easier, nor could Ulric truly find any satisfaction in this. Killing the Captain's subordinates on the field, they doing all in their power to end him and he doing more in his to end them first? That was glory, in an old school sort of way. There was an honesty to it.
Nothing honest about the dying those poor assholes in that depression did. It was sad, was what it was. They should have fucking stayed home.
The robed figures scattered here and there, probably the Sano mages that the Captain had mentioned, giving all of themselves to try to save their comrades, that was stark reminder, if he ever needed it, that there was no justice in war. Those healers had not deserved this. Nobody really deserved it. These had been people, with families, dreams, feelings, and thoughts. Aspirations for a future they would not get to experience. They should have stayed home.
"I don't like it, Taipan. Not at all." Ulric told his partner, who had come to stand beside him as they viewed the results of their choices.
She took his hand, squeezing it gently.
"It is good that you do not, Ulric. And, should you ever come to, know that your soul has died. We did not do this thing because we enjoyed it, we did it because our enemies marched in force, instead of tending their families and fields." She spoke softly, but firmly.
Even the hard-ass Iriel'en did not love conflict, for all that they first amongst the Orlethrem prepared themselves for it, immersed themselves in the arts of war that the rest of their cousins would be spared the majority of it.
Ulric squeezed the hand with his other, before striding down the small rise to finish his banner. He collected the helmets of the dead, tying them to the living greenwood staff. One hundred seventeen helmets and seven robed hoods, to tell his enemies the extent of his resolve.
What would his department manager have thought, watching the guy she loaded her problems onto tying the helmets of a small army he'd helped murder to a flag pole? She'd probably have soiled herself. There was a small part of him that now wished he could put her on his standard and he wasn't all that thrilled about that fact, but there it was.
Gods what he really he wished for was that he could be back in the glade about now. This first. That later. Some loony toon immortal or something had started all of this and Ulric Einar was going to live long enough to make them regret it.
A good hard tug finished the last tie-off to secure the last of the headgear to his totem of pain. The Captain, from her perch at the end, was slightly horrified at being used as a living heraldry, with her men's trophies below her. He wondered if it ever occurred to her to be as horrified for what she'd done to her own countrymen.
Probably not.
There was a surprising amount of literature that indicated that war criminals never understood that they'd actually done anything wrong. The Captain struck him as one of those holier than thou righteous cause types, the ones that never stopped to question because they were so certain they have heaven's blessing. A fanatic.
Well, there was a lesson about that somewhere in all of this, if you looked hard enough. Or, so people liked to say.
"Ready!" Ulric called, raising the standard.
In her braided half coat, like a midriff jacket with a single cutoff sleeve, short, midnight hair, so dark it nearly held a blue shimmer, bow slung over her shoulder and knife belted, Taipan was every inch of her like an Amazon goddess from a fairy tale.
"Our enemies will know now the folly of their ways, Glade Chief. If they should choose you as enemy, they cannot claim ignorance about what ruins comes to their door." Taipan judged.
She was being serious, so he didn't laugh, even though the statement sounded like something of a joke. Ridiculous. And, yet, it was true. He could pulverize Kistalfer, if he wanted to. Crazy. Magic was cheating.
"Let us hope then, that they decide they love their people, more than they hate her enemies." Ulric commented wryly.
He sighed a little, deflating further at the scene before them.
"I didn't know how much killing I was going to be doing when I left Irielhos this Winter, but damned if I'm not getting tired of it. I want this over with." He told her, gazing distantly toward the Kistalfer that sat some twenty kilometers distant, abutting the coast with her walls and towers.
A great port city was Kistalfer. Probably hundreds of ships. There had to be at least a few that were captained and crewed by Valin or Beastkin who did not drink the cool aid.
Time to go find out.
They marched at a rather sedate pace. Without a pack full of survival gear and rations, Ulric found this little trip to be about as easy going as any he'd experienced on Varda. Level, easy walking on sandy grass, a beaten "road" kept clear of tall weeds, likely by the action of grazing beasts that used the path as a big game trail when freight wagons or trade caravans weren't occupying it. To his left, the Twins had begun their fall towards the growing village. Kistalfer grew steadily closer.
Ulric noted no traffic into or out of the port. No ships ferrying goods. No galleys with soldiers. Not even a small schooner carrying missives. Nothing. Kistalfer was locked down. As they came closer, Ulric observed a red flag flying, the pennant atop the tallest of the towers being visible from a damned long way out. He was willing to bet that flag meant the port was closed and that ships were to remain at distance.
"Kistalfer is, as we had suspected, closed to travel, her gates and her docks both." Taipan spoke suddenly, her thoughts mirroring his own.
"They're worried then. It is peak trade season, the merchants within that city will be crying tears of blood at the coin they're losing from traffic being refused. Wonder how many of them have interest payments and debts that depend upon those ships coming in? Wonder how many of them would be willing to part with a few vessels to stay solvent on the sly and decry the 'theft' due to Elven brigands." Ulric thought aloud.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Taipan patted his shoulder lightly, squeezing it briefly before praising, "That Ulric, that is the deep thinking I am glad to see you adopting. Find the gaps in their strength to push advantage, the pivots to maximize your leverage, then show no mercy."
He reached over and rubbed the small of her back gently, before dipping slightly lower.
"Be careful, Ulric, I may begin again the 'shake, rattle, and rolling' that disturbs your peace. It would be a shame if you should be distracted while you start negotiating with Kistalfer's leadership."
Raising the hand quickly back to safe territory, they continued a chaste stroll.
"So, you're certain you shouldn't take the lead here? You know way more about dealing with leaders of peoples than I do." Ulric double checked.
A gesture from her hand toward the banner he carried and her own skin preceded her answer.
"I am Iriel'en. They will see only a 'Brownie', a 'Knife ears', or, if they recognize me, they will see the Blood Thorn that has emptied their veins for longer than many of them have been alive. My testimony should be minimal or risk inciting them to unreason." Taipan reminded.
Then she reached over and mussed his lengthening hair playfully.
"Besides!" Her lilting voice rang out over the gently sloped coastal plain leading to Kistalfer, "This is your war, not mine own nor my parents, nor even the Orlethrem, though we are allies. It is proper that you take charge in giving your foes terms before you destroy them."
He snorted at her proclamation.
"You are [Lord of the Ancient Glade], Ulric. If they choose aggression, then we are merely making room for less foolish peoples to populate this lush land and this lovely site for a trading port."
Taipans gonna Taipan, he told himself, chortling.
Aloud, Ulric said "You have the least chill of any woman I have ever met. How exactly did your folks raise you to get like this?"
The tall woman grinned proudly, "They raised me as Iriel'en." was her profound reply.
Touché.
"How did your own parents raise you to be a mad sorcerer with the [Forest Lord's] need to destroy its rivals?" Challenged the Elf maid in return.
"They saw I had a classical education. Then I put myself through graduate school and completed my scholarship with honors." He answered honestly.
Books on advanced sciences were freely available. Slots to sit with the best minds in their fields and learn directly from them were contested fiercely. In a way, it was the intellectual equivalent to how Royal Guards in Iriel were chosen: direct competition and only the ones who rose to the top were fit to hold the post. Ulric had fought long and hard in his studies to be worthy of attending professional school with a Master Materials Engineer helming his program. Those who couldn't hang with the impatient, remorseless sonofabitch did not get to advance through course work to Field Projects for graduation to Masters of their field. Resources were limited, those that did not have the drive or the ability did not waste the time and materials of society to humor their egos.
He noticed Taipan's green-eyed stare.
"What? We were coming off nuclear winter and the near death of our species, times were hard."
Pityingly she told him again, "It is probably for the best that you died young."
He had been not quite middle-aged damn it! Damn Elves and living for a friggin thousand years.
"I'll have you know that I was considered a distinguished gentleman of middle years." He rebutted.
Blank stare, bronze flecks shimmering in the daylight, met his assertion.
"Then you have always been like this? A single minded, surly, iceberg of a man?" She asked, tongue in cheek.
She knew very well that he had, thanks very much.
"Har, Har, Taipan. Very droll. I'd better be careful taking you to fights, folks your age have to start taking care of themselves. They get a little slow." He teased.
Her fingers twitched over her knife hilt. Hah! Score!
"Slow, am I? Would you enjoy seeing how fast that I might be?" She offered innocently.
"If I were certain that the movement of your legs would be inversely proportional to the movement of your tongue, I might take you up on that." He riposted, side stepping her invitation to a bit of sparring fisticuffs.
"You have never complained about the movement of my tongue before, Ulric. Why begin now?" She rallied, attacking from the flank.
"Mostly because you're using it to abuse that lovely voice with salacious commentary, Taipan. A pity, after you made such wonderful music with those pipes just a few nights ago." Ulric countered.
Ears twitched. Full lips struggled to restrain the smug grin that accompanied those memories.
"The instrument cannot help but sound the notes under a skilled player's touch. Perhaps my ill tune comes from the need to be played more frequently. Or for longer at a time." His Shadow-Wife went for the jugular.
Ulric was not a man with performance anxiety, nor did he have any doubts that his lovers enjoyed their time with him. As his lovely Iriel'en lass knew well. But if she was going to go there…
"Poor, neglected, Taipan," Ulric faked pity, raising his eyes to the sky, as if searching for aid, "Perhaps she would not go untended if only she did not succumb to her own pleasure and slumber, leaving her partner unfulfilled." Ulric struck back, loosing a weapon held in reserve for dark times.
Almond shaped eyes, so striking, widened before refusing to meet his, and she looked away, blushing. It was a pyrrhic victory, but he held the field. Sometimes that was all the mattered.
"That was one time! I was exhausted from mine injuries and leading the caravan!" Taipan cried, embarrassed at having gone to sleep "prematurely" one evening.
"Why would you even mention such a thing?!" She demanded.
"Don't dig too greedily, nor too deep, or the Balrog may come to the surface." Ulric chided.
One good turn deserves another, if they were going muckraking through their, by most definitions, healthy sex life.
Realizing that she had gone fishing in the wrong pond to win their little spar she signed, "Apologies."
Ulric accepted with a smile to tell her no hard feelings and a quick ruffling of her hair.
"We are within sight of the wall, Ulric." She reminded him.
And they were, he realized. At some point in their bullshitting they'd come to the seaside city of Kistalfer.
"Damn." He remarked.
Fun time was over. Time to get serious.
The city was, as all the deep harbored City-States dotting the Vatyn were, massive. Walls dwarfing anything found in Orlethrem, of stone, raised from Varda's very bones, surrounded the entire ten kilometer circumference, reaching out half a kilometer into the sea. No natural bay was this, the port had been fully dredged to create more than adequate draft for even the biggest trireme's, galley's, or dreadnought's to easily find berthing. The lock down of the port had resulted in a rarity: Kistalfer port was completely full.
Ships counting on the trade port for replenishing stocks and water, as a necessary part of their trade routes, or to repair from storm damage, had ended up stranded. No traffic was being allowed from the City-State and all incoming ships were searched, its peoples verified before being permitted to come ashore. They weren't taking chances.
Ulric was a bit surprised. This precaution was sign that the former Prosper Battle Mage Brodin had spoken true regarding the leadership of Kistalfer: Baron Kistalfer was a warlord, not a merchant. The security of the city was given priority over coin and, as a result, Ulric, upon looking at the secured city, the patrols of guards, and sharp looking soldiery on display, discarded contingencies for getting into Kistalfer. Way too dangerous, way too likely for something to tip off one of the garrison troops and get him or Taipan, or both up to their necks in hot water.
Good to know.
"No shot we're going to pull a Trachn'ir in that place, lass." Ulric informed his Shadow, his fingers rapping on the helm hanging from his belt, bone making a hollow drumming sound as he did.
"Not unless I become a Valin and you a bearded Svartalfin." Taipan confirmed.
Together, they stood a quarter kilometer away from those hundred meter tall walls, battlements at intervals that would allow hundreds of soldiers to be shooting directly downwards onto an approaching enemy on that great flat plain. The small rise the city sat upon, artificial and magicked up from the earth to create a stone foundation, gave it a commanding advantage. It'd take an army a million strong to siege this damned place, Ulric mused. And they'd have to completely blockade it to boot.
No wonder Prosper worked so hard to chain these City-States to its will, they were unassailable strongpoints that granted control of the seas and launching points for land armies, all in one. Strategically, Prespang was entirely dominated by whoever held control of these City-States. It was a raw deal for anyone who tried to buck the system too. They'd be surrounded, isolated, and crushed by superior forces in short order. Only those sheer cliffs and fjords in the Highlands were inaccessible by sea, and that was probably why there were no settlements, other than Port Edunshire and the other Bane town, Horrorville, there in the mire.
"I dunno, Wife, seems like a tough sell if you ask me." Ulric voiced his doubts again.
If he were sitting behind those walls, he'd feel pretty solid telling some vagabond with a superiority complex to go bugger themselves.
"Their walls will not save them from Skylances. Are you sure that you cannot bring one from the clouds directly?" Taipan inquired, going over ground trodden already.
"Told you," He answered resisting the urge to shiver with the memory, "Spooky Prime elemental up there, and my core drew its attention once already. I almost got carried away with it. If I reach up with my core to interact with it, I'm not certain that I won't be offering it an invitation to come take a look again. Maybe that's paranoia, but Ceraun's not something to play with."
Normally, Taipan took his odd viewpoints with a grain of salt, as they came from a perspective that was so wildly different to hers as to be distinctly alien. On this matter, she had no disagreement. Ulric was under standing orders from Archmage Gother Cenur'it to never speak of making contact with the elemental called Ceraun, or be subject to some kind of cult inquisition or some such.
Gods on Varda weren't hypothetical, they were masses of mana, immortal will, and drives that had no human parallels to completely understand them. The Prime Lightning elemental was a thing of electromagnetic force, a boundless, eternal entity that craved the connection denied it by its very nature, always halved into positive and negative. Ulric wasn't sure what any of the other primal elementals were like, but he damned sure planned on never finding out.
"I could do it, Taipan, not a problem. I proved that my range of control can reach the lower atmosphere, even if it takes time to work the mana and shape my will so far away. Like doing surgery by remote control. I just don't think I'm ready yet." Ulric concluded, knowing that reaching beyond one's limits was invitation for disaster by recent experience.
She accepted his argument and put it behind, focusing ahead on the walls and her enemies behind them.
"Then how will we compel them to parley if they are not suitably impressed by this symbolic offering of their dead and their defeated war leader returned to them?" She asked, to the point, as usual.
"Well, I guess I could probably just walk up to the walls and rip apart whatever wardloops they've got woven to keep the walls free from being manipulated by Terra and then pull it down a few slices at a time." He suggested.
An eyebrow raised, interested at that idea.
"Really now? You believe you are able to counterspell an established warding construct?" The Amazon pressed.
"Gother taught me the theory to spell breaking. It's got parallels to writing cracking software and my Elementalist class lets me fine the weaves to wrap threads of my mana around their construct. I'm pretty sure I could find the soft spots in it and sever the critical nodes holding the spellform together or just pump them with a DDoS of rapid aether surges to overwhelm them." He spit balled.
"Ulric, you are speaking witchcraft again." Taipan said warningly.
Sometimes he really wished Shor were around to talk to. She generally picked up on his programming and math theory concepts and knew how to translate it to the common vernacular.
"I can read their ward and subvert it with my core, let us leave it at that." He said, lamely.
The way he'd said it before was cooler! And more technically true, which is what made it cooler!
"That I will accept," His Sylvan Wife allowed, "And no more of this Dee-Doss nonsense out of you. I don't know what it is, but it sounds malicious and unseemly."
It was both, but he didn't know how she'd picked up on that. She didn't even know what server load was. A conversation for calmer times.