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

“Morning, Commander Kopf,” I winked at the big lugian Vanguard as he marched out of the big tunnel in the wall that had opened up a couple minutes ago, courtesy of yours truly.

“Magos,” he responded in a warm lugian tone, which sounded very much like a grim, stoic, grinding iron tone if you couldn’t tell he was actually happy to see me. “I regret that this is not a time for conversation…”

His big Axe Lapis was crackling in Lightningphasing, and his fellow lugians were giving him careful berth.

I just fell in with him as he led his company of heavily-armed shield-users out of the tunnel.

He was in exactly the wrong spot to be stopped, the back end of their defenses. The main defensive forces were going to be shoved right up against their own fortifications as they were taken from behind.

Vanguards were all Marked. Kopf just pointed with his Axe, and the line of trotting lugians split off, the maps we’d made of the area quite accurate and laid out for them to advance in.

Kopf was heading up the main line of advance. Fighting was bound to be the heaviest there, so it was where I was needed the most.

Kris was up at the main nexus where any Summons who could be called would have to press through. When they did, they were going to run into her and any Vanguards who made it to her.

The miners who were down here gawked to see the fully armored and very non-Gotrok lugians moving through the area. Some were rash enough to call out alarms… calls that were swallowed and canceled by Sound Bubbles, and did little more than pick out troublemakers and rebels from among what was almost a slave force. Lugians loved to work with stone, but reluctance to work for the Gotrok as they tore apart lugian society with their continued civil war had made their workforce evaporate, and now the majority of their workers were conscripted.

Still, there were loyal clansmen working for them, generally placed in positions of supervision and tasked with prodding their reluctant miners into productivity.

They were generally leveled and silenced with the blunt side of a Moon Axe to the skull, or if they raised a weapon to attack, were cut down without further ado.

More to the point, their bodies were left to Burn vivic. They wouldn’t be returning to the special virindi-powered version of their Deathstones, either.

The Summons among the miners naturally went right to the attack, with no hesitation whatsover. However, they were miners, not warriors, and the Vanguards smashed them back, crushed them, clove skulls and chopped necks, and down they went, Burning vivic by Weapon or spell, never to return to their labors in this life.

Lugians didn’t much believe in lifts, so ramps and personally carrying burdens up, instead of carts, tended to be the rule. Given how much they could carry, that wasn’t much of an issue as far as getting the good stuff out, although they still appreciated a good cart system if Isparians set one up. After all, they could push or pull far more than they could carry…

The Vanguards swept into the entry areas to the mines, hitting the defensive points and sentries posted there with basically total surprise. Sound Bubbles attached to their Shields cut off all the sounds, the nature of the mines and the tunnels interfered with line of sight. The guards weren’t expecting trouble from behind them, of all places, and Kopf and his lads were moving quickly and viciously.

Gotrok warriors fell shouting, defiant to the end, perhaps knowing they might not be coming back, but certain they’d bellowed the alarms out. Sound Bubbles weren’t fields of silence, after all. So, they shouted and bellowed and died, and if it was all futile, they at least died happy they’d done their duty.

The Tukora appearing at the end of the corridor and coming this way, halting when he saw the intruders coming through the guard post’s doorway, was exactly the kind of random variable that was going to mess up this silent takeover.

He immediately snatched up a horn at his waist, and blew it powerfully, a strong, high blast that we couldn’t hear until Kopf came pounding in with far too much speed and slammed into the senior Gotrok warrior, driving him back off two-toed feet and into the wall, his growls of fury and the crunch of a half-ton of lugian smashing into the wall cutting off the alarm.

-Heard that,- Kris /reported from her position. I /glanced at her /window and noted four dead lugians stacked up against the wall, just out of sight of the guard station over there: the lugian keepers supposed to be checking on the Summons.

No surprises allowed at this point. We couldn’t get all of them, but we’d gotten most of them.

The abrupt cutting off of the alarm horn as the Sound Bubble covered it did more for the authenticity of it than letting it play out, as all the lugians could imagine something cutting off the blower of it abruptly in mid-note. They surged to their feet, and more horns began to ring out.

That was fine. Ahead and to the flanks, stone was Shaped out of the way, and more lugians surged into the sides of the second tier of defenses. An alarm coming from behind was going to pull forces from the front, who were going to find intruders already inside the mine and coming at them from the sides and behind.

The fighting was going to be vicious and brutal, but it was not going to be lasting long.

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Briggs had Endure locked to the back of his breastplate, the adamantine gleaming blue-black and completely unmarked. His arms were folded over his chest, and he was somehow managing to look bigger and badder than the lugians who loomed over him from behind.

The last of the Tukora were gathered in a circle in front of them, while the bodies of all the fallen were Burning vivic. None of them would be returning via the Deathstones.

I was sending out Healing spells to the injured, getting them out of danger and reattaching chopped fingers, ears, limbs, noses, teeth, and jaws. Minor Telekinesis put everything back in place and careful Healing magic rewove it all back into working condition. I used Healing Reserve for the most part, enough to do the job, saving mana for the ranged Heals that had saved at least three dozen lugians from death during the fighting.

I didn’t Heal any of the Gotrok unless they surrendered and threw down their weapons. Since very few of them did that, not many of them were going to survive this fighting.

There was a murmur from behind Briggs, and the lugians silently parted to let Kris through.

The Hag Princess had a very unsettling smile on her face, a custom-pattern chorozite lugian morningstar taller than she was on her shoulder, with six heads stuck on it to make them easier to carry.

She strolled easily up next to Briggs and brought the bigass morningstar taller than she was down with an emphatic crunch that pitted the stone floor.

She had a lot of lugian blood all over her she hadn’t bothered to get rid of, plus some rather important internal parts splashed here and there. “Hey, Fuzzy. Problems here?” she asked, as if they were strolling down the beach.

Briggs just grunted in reply, brought his arms down, and stepped forwards.

There was a crunch as his heavyfoot drove his boots down into the stone, and it cracked around the crater he made.

There was no emphasis in the motion, he was just taking a step, not pounding his feet down, not breaking his stride at all.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The lugians could feel each and every step through their tough bare feet, shoes and boots rather alien to them. I slapped my latest patient back to his feet so he could watch better.

The Gotrok began to flinch as Briggs came in, casual and easy, and the stone split and began to eject shards around his feet, which both he and Kris totally ignored.

He strode right up to Clan Lord Olgelvor, proud and arrogant in his bright green Tukora armor, clutching a really big Axe in front of him as he prepared to sell himself and his fellow Tukora dearly.

That wasn’t going to happen, either.

It probably didn’t help his resolve when Briggs stopped directly in front of him, in reach of that Axe… and the force of his footsteps drove the lugian clan lord backwards unstoppably. He would have fallen if his bodyguards hadn’t caught him and helped him back up.

And then Briggs reached out and grabbed his Axe with one hand.

“Don’t,” he ground out, glaring into the eyes of the clan lord. His gauntlet closed, metal squealed in alarm as it distorted under his grip, and all of the Gotrok there fixated on it in fear and horror.

Briggs’ index finger came up, down on the haft of the Axe, and Olgelvor shouted as his hands were forced off his own Axe irresistibly.

Briggs whipped the Axe back and behind him, and there was a swirl of Lost Light from Kris that seemed to sweep through the motion. Unable to look away, the Gotrok commander’s eyes, and a lot of the troops surrounding him, followed the hurtling Axe as it cleared the heads of their encircling enemies and slammed into the wall with terrifying force, the bit burying almost up to the haft.

Both halves of the double-bitted Axe that had been cut in two right through the haft in its middle, the metal still red-hot where it had been sliced through.

“You are done.” The rumble of his voice had all the command of a Warlord and warrior who had absolutely won. “You know if you die here, you are not coming back.” Their eyes turned to the heads mounted to the head of the morningstar that crunched into the floor and was released to stand on its own, gory skulls that should have dissipated under the magic of the Deathstones instead gaping in fear and shock at them.

“You fight for nothing but your deaths now. Your cause is a lie and always has been. Your allies will not save you.

“All who wish to die, stand up and I will give you death.”

Lightning crackled in tonal bells, and the lugians all cowered instinctively as they saw the silver electricity writhing above their heads, growing and gathering above them.

“All who wish to live, kneel and ready yourselves to give your oath of loyalty to King Kresovus, as your predecessors did to the lugian kings for a thousand years… and whose traditions you have shat upon for two generations now.

“That dishonor ends now and today, by one means or another.”

Bells rang above them, somber and deep, whorls of Silver gathering and deepening above them.

It was like the entire mountain that was supposed to be their fortress and home had turned against them.

“AHHHHH-!” screamed the Clan Lord, snatching the hammer from one of his guards. He started to pound forward, raising it to strike at the unmoving Briggs.

The TOOOOOOONG of the bell as the Thunderstroke came down was deafening to anyone not of Good heart, just as the Light of it was completely blinding. It drove most of the Gotroks right from their feet, screaming as they clutched their ears, clutching blinded eyes also streaming bloody tears now.

The melted and fused remnants of the hammer hit the ground at Briggs’ feet. White ash sprinkled down where the clan lord had been.

Ding! Ting!

They were deafened, their heads ringing with the condemnation of Heaven, and they still heard those two notes sound out… and they knew what those notes meant.

“Kneel to your king, or die. Heaven has no use for the mad,” Kris’ voice whispered right into their souls.

Blinded and unable to see, they still looked up, and they saw him there, standing next to the Isparian Hag and… whatever the Warlord Briggs was.

Kresovus had TWO hands upon his Axe, staring down at them with regal authority and the stature of a king, backlit by the authority and power of Heaven!