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

We heard the commotion before we saw them. I opened my eyes from Meditation, having emptied my mana pool fueling Adamant spells on forged items ready to receive them, of which there was a never-ending supply. Tack on Reed, Stone, Edge, and Bond spells, and I could go through a very impressive Mana Pool very quickly indeed, even with my Mana Conversion skill as impressively high as it was.

“They came,” Kris informed me calmly, even before a messenger could run breathlessly up and deliver the news, just in case she didn’t actually know everything that was going on around her.

No need to be towed this time. I walked out of the tent behind her, and headed for the center of the camp, where King Kresovus had set up his flag.

Several sages among the citizens of Linvak Tukal had stayed behind after hearing of the devastation of Linvak Tukal. Gotrok armies had rolled out of at least two of their hidden mines, advancing quickly here to see what was going on, and found no attackers, only a gaping hole in the ground where the pride of the lugians had once raised its proud towers and carved caverns.

The scouts had reported some shouting matches between the living lugians outside the city and the commanders of the army of Summoned, the former obviously not impressed with the late arrival of a bunch of Summons who were completely useless. The unrest had spread among the new arrivals instead of being quelled, and the Scouts had reported the disgust of the survivors was not tamped down, but instead seemed to be rising.

Control of the Summons was impacted by the unrest, and the scouts even saw some uncontrolled Summons go wandering off towards wherever their Spawn Points were, effectively deserting unless rounded up by other Gotrok… and if those Spawn Points were any real distance from the Gotrok holdings, that mean the departing Summons were going to be in hostile territory, wolfpacked down, slain, and their Spawn Points Sealed.

Too, the loss of a major Deathstone was also going to impact the lugian army’s morale. Presumably virindi-supplied to them, the one in Linvak Tukal was now gone, leaving two others that we knew of, both of them to the west in the Direlands.

Far away and hard to reach, thus hard to destroy. The odds more hadn’t been put up in the past fifteen years was also low, but those were the only ones we knew of… for now.

That might change now.

The soldiers had lined up, but also parted to give them an avenue of approach.

Over three hundred Gotrok had come, not just a small party of them. Among them they carried or escorted nearly a hundred elders of Linvak Tukal, some on stretchers, some merely supported as they walked.

Tellingly, there was not a single lugian in the armor of a Tukora among them. A Gigas seemed most senior among them, given by the arrangement of the force and the way they were deferring to him. The other Gigas and Tiatus were supporting him, and there didn’t seem to be any uncertainty among those following him.

We moved up to the flanks of King Kresovus, pointedly closer than his generals and advisors. Kris’ Warlord Rank hadn’t actually changed in the slightest, despite Briggs being the primary mover right now, and that meant she outranked the king.

However, this was a matter among the lugians, and she wasn’t going to interfere with what were effectively internal matters… unless things got violent.

Then, then there was going to be a lot of interference.

King Kresovus was standing there, both hands on the pommel of his new Axe, showing the gleaming blue-black of worldbone and a diamond-hard Silver edge to its Soulbound edge.

He was known to have lost his arm, and that was not the ancestral Axe of the King. That… was a wickedly nasty and dangerous thing built to kill, and it was made of worldbone!

If they didn’t realize who we were, they deserved to die if they tried anything. I didn’t expect a final charge upon the king, but if they did try to suicide valiantly, they weren’t even going to get close to him.

The Throne Guards in full armor of worldbone surrounding them would make damn sure of that.

-I think they are starting to realize why they are losing all the fighting,- Kris /sniffed, standing there with her arms crossed. If you were listening for it, there were two long, drawn out notes ringing softly yet pervasively in the air.

The lead Gigas marched up before the king of the lugians and there halted, his fellows stomping to a halt in time with him.

In his arms he bore a stack of carved slates.

“I am King Kresovus,” the king rumbled, but did not raise his Axe. That would have meant hostilities were ready to erupt, and he was not going to give them the idea that they were even a threat to him. “Who stands before me, and for what purpose are you here?”

“I am Tunokfur, a Gigas of Clan Kahruiin,” the leader of the Gotrok rumbled out in return, his voice lower, the equivalent of bowing his head. “I have come to deliver the Slates of the Fallen to the Court of the King, that they may be interred in the Halls of the Ancestors.” He lifted the slates in his arms towards the king, who made no move to accept them.

“The Hall of the Ancestors is for heroes of all the clans. Name the battle honors of the fallen, that we may decide if they are worthy of inclusion in the Hall!”

“Before all the clans, I, Tonokfur of Kahruiin, declare the names upon these slates to be heroes by proof of undinting courage and resolve. They are the names of the elders who stood before the gates of Linvak Tukal, seeking to leave before the virindi destroyed the city, and to join their children, who they had sent on ahead.

“The virindi came and ordered them back to their homes, and to a one, they refused.

“They did not flinch as the virindi cut them down with lightning. In their screams, there was only defiance and curses for their murderers. None ran, none cowered, and all fell where they stood… innocent, and brave beyond the measure of the cowards who watched them die.”

The rumbling from the watching lugians was absolutely awful, the hate in it almost liquid as it churned at the air.

A sage came forward and took the slates from the Gotrok warrior’s arms. He looked them over, and a woeful light was in his eyes as he saw the names.

“Read us the names, and let the people say who will be interred in the Hall of the Ancestors,” King Kresovus rumbled so, so softly.

The sage, obviously a native of the city, nodded as he held up the first name. “Zhilla the Maker, who wove clothing for her many years, and bore six children for her family. Dead before the gates of Linvak Tukal, slain by the virindi.”

“HAROO!” boomed out like thunder, as arms rose, weapons in hand, Gotrok and loyalists alike.

“She will enter the Halls,” Kresovus pronounced in the rather stunning silence that abruptly followed.

“Ongfang the Smith, bent yet proud, who stood as Armor Master for a generation, father of four. Dead before the gates of Linvak Tukal, slain by the virindi.”

“HAROO!” roared out their approval.

---

And so it continued, for twoscore names, and none remained silent as the lugians saluted those who had died forever and with courage.

And then there was silence as the sage stepped back, and the Gigas held up two more slates.

“Commander Jigbril of my clan could not tolerate the shamefulness of what he had seen done before him. Everything we had fought for, every tale of the elders… no Tukora would stand and allow such a travestry to be unavenged.

“And he knew that. He told us he had finally seen the heart of the Tukora, and it was great and mighty, indeed.

“He gathered every Tukora in the city, and they, in turn, took every Gigas and Tiatus with them of their clans and vassals, save one of each family, to report to the clans what had happened, and what they had done.

“They turned and they marched into the tunnels the Virindi took, there to undo the machinations of those things that would dare to attack elders who were no threat to them, dare to spit upon the honor of the lugians, and perhaps, to die, for the first time in many, many times, as the Tukora of legend died.

“We have been told that because of his attack, the virindi who would have escaped Linvak Tukal have perished forever, and the souls of the slain will never be slaved by the system, to become dull Summons to fight and die for the living.

“Jibril and his warriors strode to battle to avenge their elders, and they died as the Tukora should die, bringing death to the enemies of the lugians.”

And with great awkwardness, the Gigas fell to one knee, a massive act of submission as he held up the slates.

With clinkings of armor and the rustle of massive bodies, the Gotrok behind him went down to one knee as well!

“We, their soldiers and clansmen, ask that their names be placed in the Hall of Ancestors beneath the elders that they and we failed, that all know that they were avenged honorably.”

Well, that was a big moment, and a huge request to make of a king the Gotrok had been fighting for two generations.

“To be called a Tukora among the people is nearly an insult now, Gigas Tonokfur of Clan Kahruiin. The deeds of those among the Gotrok who claim to be Tukora has spat upon a thousand years of honor and service, deeds vile and contemptuous paraded about as if they ideals of legends and worthy of being stored in the tales.

“But, we remember the old tales. The great heights of honor, the depth of sacrifice, the duty that extended past the clan and kin, to all lugians, and gave us all ideals to look up to and strive for.

“Thus did the Tukora endure a thousand years among us.

“But, it is not I who will determine if they will stand beneath the elders they failed in life. Let us see if they will stand with them in death.” King Kresovus raised his head slightly. “Elders of Linvak Tukal, were you witness to these events, and to the choices of Commander Jibril of Clan Kahruiin?”

An old woman, shockingly thin for a female of the species, leaned on the sturdy Gotrok in front of her as she rose as tall as she could. “We were, Your Majesty!” she called out deferentially. Around her, the other survivors who could rose to their feet, and those who could not, were brought to the shoulders of the kneeling Gotrok so they could at least sit tall among their own.

“Tonokfur of Clan Kahruiin, read the names of the fallen, and let the elders of Linvak Tukal decide if they died as Tukora should.”

The Gigas was actually trembling as he set down the slates on the ground, and lifted the first one.

“Jigbril of Clan Kahruiin, who said that only if he died here was he ever worthy of being called a Tukora!” he called out loudly.

That name would decide them all.

The Gotrok did not dare to look at one another, keeping their heads down and holding their breaths as the elders looked at one another.

The old woman raised her arm. Slowly, some of them barely managing to do so, the elders followed suit. “HAROO!” they shouted as loudly as they could.

“HAROO!” the watching warriors thundered back in acknowledgment of their elders’ judgment.

Some of the Gotrok immediately broke down in tears and deep gasps that passed for sobs among their kind.

“He will stand beneath his elders in the Hall of Ancestors, there to avenge them forever!” King Kresovus declared formally and sternly, and Gigas Tonokfur choked up, so relieved that his commander and kinsman had been acknowledged and would be remembered with honor. How many of the Gotrok had fallen, whose names might be remembered in the halls of the clan… but possibly barely, even then?

“Continue, Tonokfur of Clan Kahruiin.”

---

The roll of the dead continued, thunders of approval echoed in the valley, and none were turned away.