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

“Are you expecting difficulties at this Villa?” Princess Kristie asked the Mick as we sped on through the night, wiping away the Summons we encountered and making sure they didn’t return on our way.

“Nae?” He caught her expression. “Ye hear or feel something?” He squinted ahead at the lightening horizon.

“Low bass notes coming through the ground. I’d hazard they are war cries from those lugians we ran into, were I a betting person.”

His expression hardened. “Aye, then. They’ve made a few attempts to use the Villa there as a forward base, an’ had t’ be evicted. Normally we just wait fer the shades to come in an’ do fer them, but we’ve had a few dust-ups in our time. The rocks they throw haven’t gotten much weaker, although they don’t carry many of them, anymore.”

“And let’s not teach them how to make Rocks of Throwing and Returning,” Kris wagged a finger at me, and I just raised my hands theatrically. “At least, not if they are not allies of ours.”

“They throw like Jotuns. It’s a natural weapon for them!” I pointed out.

“We’ve a few of them under old Kresovus with us on the islands, living in the higher hills on Ithanec. They’d love to move in on Xi Ru’s Island or Freebooter Island, but can’t reach it, an’ we’ve no idea what is waiting there fer us,” the Mick informed us.

“Sounds like exploration time to me!” was Kris’ only rejoinder.

“Are you certain they are only fighting random shades leaking out of Tou-Tou?” I asked archly.

“No,” the Mick stated firmly. “Although why any o’ us would waste time an’ manpower on the place after all these years is beyond me.”

“Someone got caught and they are attempting to rescue them?” was Kris’ immediate conjecture.

The Mick’s face grew even grimmer. “Aye, that’d do it. There’s not enough o’ us as it is, an’ the Gotrok would crow about capturing one of us, especially any humans. It’s a brutal end they give to us, if they do. Fighting in the arenas until we are exhausted an’ fall is the most common. They call it a ‘warrior’s death’, but they never give us a fair chance, an’ certainly their best warriors don’t like taking the risk of ending it on one of our blades.”

“I’m liking these Gotrok less and less,” Princess Kristie muttered, violet eyes flashing. “I can see a proud warrior society, but they’ve taken it too far...”

“Red.” She glanced at me. “The color of the soul of that living one we met.” Kris’ expression soured further. “Disciplined, violent, and extremely racist. What did you expect?”

“Brown, I was hoping.” Kris shook her raven locks, and grit her teeth. “Well, if there’s fighting ahead, they won’t be ready for an attack coming out of nowhere like us. Let’s just hope there aren’t too many of them...”

“Let’s make sure all your Gear is enhanced to spec before that happens, shall we?” I asked lightly. “Also, we may need to wait until after the dawn.”

“Why is that?” Kris asked sharply.

“Because I can then take another new spell,” I said firmly. “I was thinking this might be a time for Fireball?”

“If we need it,” Kris replied after a moment, thinking about that. “Numbers and magic that showy should be a nasty combination, true. I believe you also have Protection from Missiles?”

“I never go into the range of rock-throwing racist alien species without it,” I confirmed lightly.

“I think we’ll be needing some of that love.” She glanced at the Mick as well. “And you, Master Mick, could take both Profound Weapon and Dodge Missile with another Level in Arcane Fist, too.”

“That be the one that makes yer Weapon hit like an auroch, right?” he recalled eagerly.

“You’ll probably instantly be doing more damage than I am, since we tied it to your skill in Item Magic,” she nodded, glancing at me.

“He’s effectively a Twenty in it,” I confirmed. “He’s going to be a terror with Artificer Levels.”

“That he is, although he needs the ki pool to support it.”

The Mick preened to hear it. “If I regain half o’ what I used to be, the Gotrok wouldn’t know what hit them!” he promised avidly.

“I’ll settle for them dying faster then they’ve experienced in a while, and putting them to vivus so if they’ve got some sort of Deathstone working for them, too damn bad.”

“We’ve seen no signs of that, but aye, they’d want that more than anything. Dying over and over again in combat be like their version of heaven, or something.”

“Once is enough for any soul shining Red,” Princess Kristie spat. “Let’s see what they are doing and evaluate from there.”

----------

Flying, Invisibility, and enhanced sensory ranges. The PoT system had all the tools for deliriously useful scouting applications, the Mick softly swearing as he looked out my eyes from above and studied the camp below.

The isolated Villa here was in somewhat better condition than the smaller Cottages had been, simply because it wasn’t as easy to get to. Like the Mansions, Villas had had an extra-dimensional space attached to them for storage, which had come squirting back into reality when The Fall had surged through the ley lines. The Villas had suddenly been forced a dozen feet above the ground, while the basements collapsed into the new space below from the shock of re-entry, just like the Mansions had.

The maddened shades wandering about were happy to blast the reinforced stone and wood, but not always to climb up the sides of the little stone motte the Villa was basically built on now. So the roofs and upper parts of the buildings were blown and blasted all to bits, and all the windows and doors were definitely gaping open, but the walls and main floor were actually still mostly intact, not hammered down by the relentless rage of the zefirs at the Cottage settlement earlier.

There were no spawn points in the paved area and close by, which the Mick assured us was the standard. The zefirs infesting the Cottages were probably a reaction to the crazy environment in Tou-Tou, and I didn’t doubt a main branch of the ley line ran right under the place, as magically-reinforced buildings like he described to us would have needed the power source for them. Basically giving every home its own force-field to deny ANYONE else entry to it, and keeping them impervious from harm, was not a small amount of power.

Like most of the overarching effects, that observation just made the Mick shake his head at how much he’d ignored and taken for granted.

This Villa now had some squatters, who didn’t seem to have taken the warnings of the blasted buildings to heart. They had thrown up some rough fortifications about the paved area, chipping out stones up to the doorway, and even doing some rough repairs on the thing.

There were twenty lugians in either blue armor with purple stripes, or red armor with green stripes. There was plainly a deferral by the reds to the blues, but the big lugian in red armor with gold stripes and the helm with oddly straight horns out to the sides in proper ‘I want my stumpy neck broken by twisting with these convenient grab-handles I have here’ fashion was clearly in command.

-Tiatus lugians with Juggernaut commanders, an’ a Tukora in charge,- the Mick /observed through my eyes with a dry veteran’s experience. -Once, I could’ve ripped apart the lot of them meself. ‘tis a mite different now. Lass, mark that pile of chorozite rocks there.-

I’d spotted the Null Aluminum immediately, what they called chorozite here. The rocks would come sailing through my Force Armor and Shield as if they weren’t there, and these tall and blocky fellows had arms like cannons, able to toss the things better than baseballs despite the rocks being the size of bowling balls.

At the center of the camp, near the barely functional water fountain and staked to a stone pillar with iron chains, was a green humanoid.

Assay called him an Aun Tumerok, and it read ‘true’, as if he was what tumeroks were supposed to be. His face was longer and more extended than a human’s, and he distinctly had fur, small tusks, and longer fingers, with the most obvious other traits being an actual tail and digitigrade legs.

-That’s Aun Shumua. Several score tumeroks managed to escape with us, unable to make it back to Marae Lassel. How did he get captured, I wonder? He’s always been a sneaky git...-

-His Color is Gray.-

The Mick’s blink was actually audible in the Markspace. -What?- he /asked slowly, then looked at my Detect.

With Zealotry, Detect Evil III was actually Detect Non-Good III. His soul’s Color came across as a very obvious Gray… with little threads of Black.

-That’s...- the Mick /trailed off, his eyes growing hard.

-It’s usually a sign of self-interest and treachery. Is this fellow a wildly independent sort with a vengeful chip on his shoulder, maybe blaming humans for what happened to his people? Because those manacles he’s got on aren’t locked, either.-

A cold wind was blowing through the Markspace, and I could tell the Mick’s careful stalking to get closer to the Villa was now changed to advancing sideways to meet up with the other scouts in the area, hidden on the nearby slopes

-Tell the fucker we know he’s a treacherous cur, and we’re off to tell his family. Hope the manacles are comfortable,- Kris /spat coolly, following after the Mick.

The Mick took out a small signal horn from his pack and blew the retreat in a quick series of blats and low notes. The incoming arrow and spell fire from the snipers halted in some confusion, and I watched the seemingly battered Aun Tumerok raise his head in surprise.

Well, why not?

I even Said it in Tumerok, just so his eyes could widen in alarm as he realized the cost of his actions, proud and embittered warrior idiot with the self-awareness of a carrion shreth, or something.

“” he blurted out, frantically tearing loose of the manacles. “” The eyes of the lugians about were turning on him, maybe just a little suspicious of him, but the desperation in the cry was not because of loathing and fear of them, but of his plan not working.

Lure in some humans, get a few killed or captured rescuing him, deliver a spy into their midst who could harm more of the humans. It was a good plan, and it had now all come undone.

Just to put the point home, I whipped up an Illusion III for him, complete with sound and scent, although it was transparent and obviously not real. He jerked back in shock at the sight of the Mick’s scowling face.

, the illusion roared into the green fellow’s long face, and all his fur just seemed to flatten. With a guttural cry, he leapt at the illusion before the lugians around could even throw rocks at it, but it just dissolved into shreds of light and was gone under his claws.

I watched him tearing at the ground, crying and wondering what to do, while the lugians who saw the human scouts retreating from cover nearby were calling out to ask if they should pursue the cowardly little dirt grubbers and finish them off.

My Polyglot of the Hea had revealed that being declared clanless was a horrible punishment, and the only bonds the Gray truly acknowledged were emotional ones. Being called a drudge-fucker was basically being told they were worth less than a drudge, which was a horrible insult.

His clan knowing he was a traitor would totally do that, too…

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“Lord Mick!” Selena Arswick blurted out as the head of the Royal Dereth Scout Legion materialized out of seemingly nowhere. Her teacher was quiet and stealthy, but that looked like he’d come out of absolutely nowhere!

Her eyes grew really wide when the young woman with the scarred face and bearing of a noblewoman seemed to almost step out of his shadow, making the experienced young scout jump in alarm at her presence.