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

The trip was entertaining, in more ways than one.

Disks satisfied the requirement for a sufficiently magical or living conveyance to leave a Lived-Line, so our trip was not going to be wasted in that regard. Since it was not, all I had to do was sit there and watch over everyone, while Kris and Briggs kibitzed in the middle of the formation, chunks of Diamond Golum Hearts falling under soulfire claws inside Vajras as they worked on getting us a Raise Dead material component reserve.

I was quite painfully aware that reserve could never be too big. Losing a lot of people in combat was normal, and dying repeatedly was de riguer for any long-term combatant in a magical world. Everyone wanted their loved ones to come back, too, meaning Diamond Golums were soon going to be the #1 kill target of just about everyone out there, if only to gain a Heart and then a Life Scarab to pay for your own return to life.

It was a good thing Cure Deadly Wounds could remove the need for it if applied soon enough after death, but the window was pretty tight… and it was a V Valence, too, so limited in number and expensive in mana at the present.

The Mick was singing some outrageous drinking songs, especially some that had become popular in the last fifteen years. They were set to old and established meters, and soon had just about everyone in the hundred-man force singing along with him on the verses, some clamoring to add their own to what he was calling out… which was allowed, as long as they did it with enthusiasm.

For all they’d had a good two years to advance and a prime venue for it in the Frozen Valley, the paramounts under Briggs hadn’t actually seemed to progress all that much, which I found somewhat surprising. There weren’t many of them and most of them were spellcasters, which I realized was a good chunk of the problem.

Briggs was a teacher of melees, not Casters, and couldn’t help them all that much. They also didn’t want to establish a non-Caster Class as Primary, so they hadn’t been able to advance anything beyond Three, and they hadn’t had access to the teachers and innovations down in the south, either.

Plus, they were basically the master Healers for the whole population, keeping them alive and in good health. They couldn’t really be risked, and since there were only minor ways for them to advance, they hadn’t improved much.

His rote people were at least a step above the Royal Scouts, but they weren’t cross-trained to the same degree, either. Many of the men were still indifferent archers, for instance, whereas being good with a missile weapon was a primary requirement of a Scout, and even the Mick and Kris were damn good with them.

This was on display as we zipped through mountain valleys and along forest trails. The lead rider on his own Disk was one of Oswald’s students, a grim-looking fellow named Adso, giving quiet confirmations to the Mick on which way to go, effectively acting as a guide. It had been years since the Mick had come this way, and he had no problem deferring to the younger man as far as what trails to take and what passes to cut through or over.

It turned out the Stoneholders had been slowly Sealing Summons points in a wide area over time after Briggs had arrived, thinning out the number of Summons and opening up more areas to natural life. It had naturally helped the hunting situation of the Stoneholders out, more natural animals able to move in, breed, and repopulate the area with fewer Summons around to disturb things or chase them down.

Certain areas had been left untouched, particularly those that frequently popped up Fragments and Golums. Those places were regularly harvested for their resources and practice for the people of the Hold.

Briggs had impressed upon everyone what Naming Karma was and what it did. Improving their Weapons was on everyone’s mind, and the Mick wasn’t going to stop them from doing that. He was happy to swerve in close to Spawns, and the ranged riders competed to take them down before the melee guys could sweep past and hack them down.

“Undead force at the next pass!” Adso called out, eyes turning my way. I obligingly stood up as most of the force around me crouched down to give me a clear line of sight, kneeling or squatting as they were of a mind to.

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They were finally going south in the open.

Adso had served his master for many years, and was by far the best of Master Oswald’s students. He was the only other person to attain Nine in what they now knew to be the Magical Rogue Class, and gain the ability to Teleport as one of the Tricks the Class bestowed on them. It had felt good to operate in the open and be respected for his skills after the horrors of the Fall, and a small weight eased off of him when he thought of returning openly to the south after all these years, and not having to conceal his status as a student of Oswald the Green Hunter.

The Green Hunter was an Elder and the most admired man in Stonehold, even after the arrival of the outsider, Commander Briggs, and the huge, strange man’s new and very effective teachings. The Commander’s lore had lit a fire in the hearts of many of the residents, finding new ways to improve themselves in the face of the changes to magic and the absence of great new Gear, especially the way to grow Weapons and Armor if you had the touch of the steel.

But this new Magos… the young Gharu’n with the hair like spun silk, silver eyes visibly glowing as she stood there easily without a mask or helm as the Lord Mick raced along faster than a deer, was by far the most frightening thing he’d seen in years.

Her eyes were burning with that Silver light now after his call-out, looking ahead, and he could tell the instant the undead came into range of her senses through the trees by the way her eyes hardened, became almost crystalline… and the magic began to hum around them as wordless notes came from her throat, and all the world seemed to respond to them.

He could feel the Enchantments on his light Armor rippling in time to her Song, and the Runes on his Dagger I Serve were pulsing in his hand. All the Weapons that were unsheathed were visibly pulsing in direct time to the Song she was Singing, a medley of colors in absolute harmony with her, and… music was rising from them to accompany her!

He could see the look of awe and wonder on the faces of everyone around as he silently pulled his Dirk out, and a faint and subtle note from I Serve joined what was basically a quiet orchestra of magical Weapons, the magic that empowered them swelling at the sound of her voice, ready to be unleashed.

The nominally wedge-shaped formation behind the racing figure of the Black Aluvian, a fellow he knew to once have been absolutely loathed by the Viamontian Hands for the number of elites of that order he had slain, all burst from the treeline behind the man as his long Claymore, swirling with a torus of Lights Adso hadn’t seen in well over a decade, cleared the dagger’s sheath at the Mick’s hip and was held off to the side, ready and waiting.

The undead were there, standing in the middle of the narrow pass ahead that led towards the top of a neaby cliff, one of the shortest ways to get to the south of the Espers if you could stomach the fall.

There were maybe five hundred of them. Most were likely Summons, he found it hard to tell, but as the Silver in the woman’s eyes flashed and turned to blackness and stars, like looking into a vast night sky, he had no doubt she could tell that.

She lifted a slender dark hand, like something an orchestra leader might do, and circled it once.

The Lost Lights coming off Bunita swirled back, seeming to pass over and beyond every single warrior there. Runefire left Weapons, drawn to that passing mote of the Lost Light, bringing that Runefire around to her call, and Adso’s dark eyes widened.

He could feel the magic! He could see it coalescing! He could feel the magic of his Dirk in the coalescing javelins that were arrayed around her, snapping into position, more and more of them, and he could even tell exactly which one the Runefire of his Blade was upon!

The undead were still three hundred yards away and up the pass, a superior position, still out of range of their War Magic, but they could not have failed to see the light show.

It didn’t matter. Adso felt like he had a third eye as the woman swept her arm out almost negligently, and the Shards launched.

They flashed out across the distance, faster than any arrow, cutting through the wind, Singing a chorus in pyrotechnics and polythaumic glory, girt in so much strength and power! His eye was right with it as the Shard closed in on its target, seemingly one random undead among the many, and Adso jerked, instinctively pushing the Shard into its target, blasting energies anathemic to the undead life of the thing throughout its body. Then there was another target, and another, and another!

Leaping, punching, swirling, swooping, juking, impaling, exploding, the Shard he was one with tore a crazy path through the undead ranks, the hostile energies raging through them without restraint. From three hundred yards away, he watched as they seemed to scythe right on through the undead like a wave of fire going through the darkly armored bodies. As they blasted through the undead, he distinctly saw his Shard loop around with dozens of others and go plunging back into the mass, into undead already aflame with Fires that were going to devour them whole… but those were the tougher undead, the more resilient commanders and officers, the ones that were ‘real’, such as it was.

Their fate was to Burn and die with everything around them.

He knew that vivisizing a Summons away from its Spawn Point did nothing but free that Spawn Point up for another creature to manifest itself upon. He also knew that not a single soul that was present here was going to manifest on those Spawn Points again, whether they had lost themselves and become enslaved to the System or not.

There would be respawns in whatever secret places and chambers the undead had arranged for these things, showing that this force had died… but there would be no words or intelligence conveyed by others, informing them of what had happened and how it had done so.

“Slow it down, Mick,” the young woman said in a soft voice that carried with startling clarity to every ear. She snapped up another Disk as the Black Aluvian did slow down, and the Scouts at her side rose, missile weapons rising and taking aim as they did. The Stoneholder archers hurriedly matched them, while the melee grinders stayed crouched and down.

Only a dozen undead were still on their feet, and they were all Burning and plainly going to die as they staggered around.

“Heads,” Briggs ordered, without looking up.

Two dozen men leapt to the attack as the Mick passed first, Bunita flicking with serene skill as he passed the first undead by. Its head leapt into the air, Kopf reached up and grabbed it in mid-flight with a flick of his long arm, and magical Weapons hewed and hacked, trying to duplicate the smoothness of the feat and harvest their own Baneskulls.

Magical Weapons, some jewelry, and even some enhanced Armor tumbled through the air and stacked themselves on the new Disk the Magos had snapped up.

Goldweight, there to be harvested.