Asheron's Fall: The Power of Ten, Book Six

The Vesayan Islands were as old as the main island of Dereth, and like it, had a lot of geography crammed into a small space. Unsurprisingly, that geography had a lot of history behind it.

We could have gone traipsing across the unwarded waters between the islands, but the Mick advised us to just take the tour and understand where we were going, while he related the history of the place in terms both entertaining and grim.

Princess Kristie had no problems with agreeing to that, merely asking once if it would change his own plans, and was told it would not.

MacNaill’s Freehold, the town his uncle had founded, had been the initial target of the evacuation Portal during the Fall, for the dual purpose of it being well-situated at the center of all the islands, and it was also down near the waters and could support the fishermen who were going to be vital for keeping everyone fed during the early days.

What surviving human warriors remained had fanned out across the islands with nothing but extermination in mind, followed behind by the scholars marking the locations of each and every Summons point, even as the refugees were dispersed with equal speed and haste along the many shores and to some of the few human communities here.

The only other settled races here were the mosswarts and the moarsmen, both of them tending to be based around dungeons or temple complexes which had also been forced back into reality and were openly exposed to the elements now, with the mosswarts having one major town at what was now Fort Mouth on Fishtail Island.

They were all slaughtered without exception, spawning pools purged and sanitized, and the areas around them cleared repeatedly until they were known cold, precautions could be taken, and the people were settled in.

Their method for dealing with the random landscape spawn points was novel and pragmatic. They ‘caged’ them.

The Mick pointed out to us some of the older style ‘cages, basically a teepee of sorts made of cloth, or a net interwoven with vines and other plants. The whole idea was to isolate the spawns so they couldn’t see any intruders to charge and harass them. Putting them inside barriers cut off their lines of sight and hearing, meaning they were less likely to react to intruders. The things had to be fairly high to cut off the Summoned Wasps and Wisps who frequently popped in as replacement creatures, but otherwise they didn’t have to be that sturdy.

Each such Summons site also had half a dozen brightly painted blue markers around them. Most were wooden, but as we came across wooden gates and even stone enclosures closer to the small villages, the markers were also made of more permanent stone or actual carved poles.

The markers indicated the ranges at which points the things inside the cages would react to intruders and might come bursting out of their confines, climb the walls, or otherwise seek to make it to an attacker. Every man, woman, and child was drilled on what those creatures were, what they would do EVERY SINGLE TIME if they were bothered, and not to bother them unless you meant to test yourself against them and kill them, because they were mercilessly going to try to kill you, every single time!

The village we’d arrived nearby was called Mayoi Point, one of several dozen on the five-mile island that hadn’t been there before the Fall. They were the closest village to the mainland, and sometimes signal fires or reflectors would be used to communicate with the garrison just north of the village from on the shore. Runners would then carry messages along the long, circuitous route to Freehold, the central island where the administration of the human realm was run from, or carry the signals to other light towers to relay on.

It was something that both delighted his uncle and caused the dead man a lot of chagrin, the Mick informed us grandly. His bandit uncle’s little settlement to larceny and laziness, taken over by an Aluvian King and now the new Isparian capital, of all things!

We skirted Mosswart Harbor, a shallow inlet near the town of Kryst, now one of the three major settlements in these islands, with an actual population of a thousand. Given that the entire refugee population had once numbered less than the population around the former capital of Cragstone, it was a significant center of trade here, with several schools for general education and the trades, and it had gained considerably in size over time. The Mick headed out into the jungle as we neared the town, coming back shortly with a backpack weighted down with certain things he hadn’t had when leaving.

There was a bit of a delay as the Scouts headed into the simple town, most of the buildings done in the Sho style with bamboo foundations and wood accents that worked best in the jungle air and resources that were available. The Scouts all separated to get some buying done, while the Mick went to visit a particular baker’s shop.

Kris and I stayed outside the town and down the dirt path to the south, and they were all done within an hour. I noted the Mick had disposed of the fresh meat when he returned, the backpack was no longer with him, and he had several loaves of bread he broke up and shared with everyone.

It was indeed good bread.

We headed down the island, noting the Spawns. Most actual living predators and threats had been exterminated with prejudice, so only the Summons were important now. Island Armoredillos, some large and vicious reedshark variants, zefirs, and tough, strong mosswarts dominated the Spawns, particularly on the large, open area that had been cleared out to connect to Wasp Island to the south, with mud and water Golums of enhanced size along the beaches.

Karma being what it was, most of those spawn points were cleared in passing for exercise, a standard training tactic for the military patrols and cadets. It was easy to tell if they’d been cleared recently, because if they hadn’t, the first respawn only took a couple minutes or less to manifest another set of foes. Longer respawns stretched all the way up to ten or fifteen minutes, I’d noticed, wondering if it was the ley line connection, the power of the points, or the power of the creatures that affected anything.

Kris and I noted the bridge needed a lot of work, and the Mick agreed. It was running on a ley line which had helped stave off some environmental damage, but the amount of traffic hadn’t driven any demand to get it fixed up properly, yet.

Wasp Island (formerly Laesvos Island) had a surfeit of phyntos wasps of the Jungle and Mire variants, although thankfully mostly as Summons and not living things. Phyntos Wasps were totally capable of attacking and killing humans, and so hunting down each and every nest of the things was a duty whenever one flying free was spotted. The main problem is that new ones were always coming in from Freebooter Island to the north over the waves (the ones not sniped and munched down by remorans, that is), and so they were never rid of the pests. Archers got in a lot of practice hunting them down.

The main other spawn was a lot of mosswarts. The Vesayans used to be one of the race’s main holdings, until it became the refugee center for all of humanity and they were basically exterminated.

Wasp Island had a smaller island to the west of it, called Hive Island, whose rocky center seemed to attract new phyntos looking to nest regularly, just like its neighbor. It was pointed out to us as we were crossing the shallow waters between Kryst Island and Wasp Island, and we headed out along the northeastern shore towards the next island, Fishtail Island.

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“Lord Mick, question?” Selena asked from where she and the other scouts were trotting along after the tireless Black Aluvian and Imperial princess. As the tenderfoot mage, I was riding alongside on a Disk, and if I turned eyes, well, I was obviously a spellcaster, and obviously spellcasters were weird. A bunch of Royal Scouts running along the shores were obviously us out for a long morning hike and conditioning, and there were plenty of calls from the fisherfolk and villagers we passed by to good-naturedly pick up the pace.

“Aye, me Roach Queen?” he called back to her idly.

“Shouldn’t we be turning off the spawn points with the, uh, vivic fire, so people don’t have to worry about them?”

“Och, me little roach is feeling so responsible, she is!” he called back. “Lass, explain to me scrabbling students why we dinnae wanna do that quite yet,” he challenged me, being as I was the one sitting down and all.

I was massaging my feet ruefully. Tenderfoot, indeed!

“First of all, I’m assuming that Spawn Points are still used as training tools for the people of the island on both a regular and irregular basis. That makes them valuable. If we suddenly start shutting them all off, then whoever has control of the remaining Summons points suddenly has the means to make their own people Level up faster than anyone else.

“Your Lord is a bit of an independent sort and doesn’t want to willy-nilly start that process.”

“Oh.” She got it quickly. “That’s right. I was trading spears with the mosswart spawns outside my village before I was ten!”

“Second, if suddenly those spawns didn’t have monsters in them, imagine the panic that might happen if people suddenly thought ALL magic might be going away.” Her blue eyes widened in alarm. “Yes, that’s just about right. The Shorewards going down would be next, would they not?”

All the heads turned to look out over the mild sea to the north of us. There was little wave action, broken up by the islands here as it was, but even glittering under the morning sun, it did not look peaceful.

Not after last night. We knew what was under there. With no Shorewards, those things could all come up here…

Panic would be putting it mildly!

“Third, they need to verify they have the means to open said spots back up in the future, and what other factors might re-open them if they are closed. We don’t want to ignore the possibility of another huge mana surge like the Fall suddenly forcing them all open, and woe to someone who decided to build a house next to one because a Summons marker got moved for whatever reason, or a farmer working a field suddenly has a moarsman pop up next to him.”

“Understood!” she said firmly, taking the lesson in stride.

“Which dinnae mean we can’t empty a few more in passing for our Naming Karma fer the day, lads an' lasses,” the Mick proclaimed, pointing ahead to a stacked clay brick enclosure on the beach ahead, posts driven in around the thing and painted bright blue. “It did reset at the dawn, so let’s add a touch o’ excitement here. Ye all took Archer Levels before. Today, ye take a Melee Level. Pull out yer melee weapon an' prepare to feed it, Hundig!”

The dark Gharu’n scout unlimbered his Saber and picked up speed, racing ahead of us to attack whatever was inside the enclosure, likely a moarsman or mosswart, possibly a nefane.

Most such things would pop in, gradually starve to death or die of exposure or thirst or something, fall, discorporate, and something new would trigger in. No attempt had been made to align the Summons with, say, humans here, as the very idea of enslaving human souls to the spawn points would likely get those who tried to do so ganked with all speed.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t places that had human Summons in the past. The Mick had related a few of them, and made the observation that it seemed to be a fate that awaited prominent bandits, brigands, thieves, and murderers, fated to become spots of practice on the way to greatness for others.

There was a shriek of challenge, and then the square-jawed Hundig was backing out of the enclosure, parrying the clawing swipes of a mossy green-scaled, pale-bellied mosswart, thrusting when he had openings, confident and sure in his movements and motions.

We all stopped to watch him fight, Hundig dancing with assurance through the duel as his cuts on its limbs bled freely, slowed it down, and the much-too-tough mosswart was finally spit through the throat and dropped, giving Hundig only a couple of swipes on his chest and arm to remember it by.

“Speed, but not power. Definitely a preferred Archer,” I remarked, lifting an eyebrow, and the tall, rangy young man flushed at the observation.

“This is true,” he agreed with my assessment. “Lord Mick’s skill with a blade is actually very strange among the Scouts, Miss Ryin. Most of us prefer the bow, and only the fact we see combat too often with monstrous things means we do not rely on the knife more.” He saluted the Mick once, who just nodded as the moarsman fell apart into ectoplasm, and with it the blood and gore on the Scout’s Blade.

“And why is that?” the Mick asked rhetorically.

“Because you’re a stubborn old man!” his students promptly sang out in unison behind him. He nodded in aloof approval.

“An’ dinnae ye forget it!” He pointed down the beach, where another enclosure was visible. “Charge!” he shouted, and whooping wildly, all the Scouts followed him on a race down the shoreline.

“That’s actually going to attract less attention than just running around. Surely he can’t be planning anything nefarious while acting so openly!” Princess Kristie said, starting after him with the unseen Wagon trailing her, and my Disk gliding along next to her.

“They also use low-strength Bows,” she mentioned to me as she trotted after them.

I blinked. “What?”

“It’s part of the Isparian system, right? There’s actual magic involved in archery. You can see it best with how fast a crossbow can be hauled back, without use of tools or anything. There’s no real need to build in a huge draw strength when magic is doing most of the work, and your damage comes from hitting a target more precisely and maintaining a proper pose for the shot, not actual draw strength. They all use the same classic Archer Stance, the one that the more sublime your Stance, the more damage you do with an arrow!”

I thought that over. “If you can Level, however, the Isparian system allows for monstrously fast Stat raises. Is that a problem?”